‘The odd wolf does find its way down here. Last year one made it to Österlen, and only three weeks ago a truck driver photographed a wolf over by Perstorp. I’ve got gin traps out in a couple of good places, including where I caught the lynx.’ Once again, he points to the animal in agony. Anna suppresses a shudder. She can’t understand what Agnes finds so fascinating about this revolting cellar.

‘Isn’t it dangerous? What if a dog or a child steps on the trap?’

‘I only put them out where no one goes walking,’ Mats mumbles. ‘And I put up warning signs. It’s not my fault if people don’t read them.’

Agnes has her photographic equipment set up in front of the last display case, which contains three white doves arranged side by side on a branch, half turned away from the observer. The fairy-tale landscape painted on the back wall looks familiar – low green hills and dales, trees and bushes extending all the way to the edge of the forest, which must be about a kilometre away. The clouds are coloured pink by the setting sun. It is the view from the bench where she and Elisabet were sitting a little while ago.

‘Did Karl-Johan paint this?’

Mats nods and straightens his shoulders. ‘This one and two more. I did the rest myself.’

Anna admires the arrangement for a few seconds. There is something lovely about the three doves, admiring the sunset together. After a while the beauty actually outweighs the unpleasantness.

One of the doves is slightly smaller than the others. Are they meant to represent Elisabet, Karl-Jo and Simon?

‘It’s beautiful,’ she says truthfully, earning an appreciative nod from Mats. Agnes moves one of her screens a fraction before she starts clicking away, the flash illuminating the doves and the painted sunset.

Flash, flash.

After a few seconds the rhythm becomes almost hypnotic.

Flash, flash.

‘I’m best at doves,’ Mats murmurs. ‘I’ve had the most practice on them.’

Flash.

‘How come?’

Flash.

‘There was a girl I liked, a long time ago. She liked doves, so I did them for her.’

Flash.

‘She was so beautiful. Everyone thought so.’ His voice softens.

Flash.

‘Almost like a white dove.’

Flash.

A white dove, Håkan whispers in her ear, then he begins to hum ‘Una Paloma Blanca’ in an ironic tone. Suddenly Anna realises who Mats is talking about.

White dove, Blanca-Bianca.

‘Carina Pedersen,’ she says. ‘That’s who you mean, isn’t it?’

Mats doesn’t answer, but his silence tells her she is right.

Chapter 39

39

Autumn 2017