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Back Marked for Revenge Save as PDF
Chapters (45)
  1. Cover
  2. Back Cover Text
  3. Booklist
  4. Dedication
  5. Prologue
  6. Chapter One
  7. Chapter Two
  8. Chapter Three
  9. Chapter Four
  10. Chapter Five
  11. Chapter Six
  12. Chapter Seven
  13. Chapter Eight
  14. Chapter Nine
  15. Chapter Ten
  16. Chapter Eleven
  17. Chapter Twelve
  18. Chapter Thirteen
  19. Chapter Fourteen
  20. Chapter Fifteen
  21. Chapter Sixteen
  22. Chapter Seventeen
  23. Chapter Eighteen
  24. Chapter Nineteen
  25. Chapter Twenty
  26. Chapter Twenty-One
  27. Chapter Twenty-Two
  28. Chapter Twenty-Three
  29. Chapter Twenty-Four
  30. Chapter Twenty-Five
  31. Chapter Twenty-Six
  32. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  33. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  34. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  35. Chapter Thirty
  36. Chapter Thirty-One
  37. Chapter Thirty-Two
  38. Chapter Thirty-Three
  39. Chapter Thirty-Four
  40. Chapter Thirty-Five
  41. Chapter Thirty-Six
  42. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  43. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  44. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  45. Acknowledgments

Pim bit her lip, took a deep breath and finally began to describe a boathouse, a stream and a strange light.

And a deep forest.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

THE WIND BIT their cheeks.

Roger Johnson, a professional fisherman, nodded to his father, Sture Johnson, and looked out over the sea. He felt the boat being rocked by the waves and saw a lot of fish on the sonar, but he continued farther out in the Arkösund archipelago toward where the net had lain overnight.

Roger’s fishing career had begun with poaching under the instruction of his father. Sture only had fishing rights to Baltic herring, and it was perfectly clear that other fish were not included. But Sture didn’t care in the least.

There were also rules for what should be counted as private versus open waters. Simply stated, the law said that the water in the Östergötland archipelago was largely private and belonged to the properties on land. Open waters generally began a thousand feet from the farthest islands. But Sture didn’t care about that, either. Sture and Roger therefore spent many nights poaching fish, both with illegal nets and illegal methods. They caught lots of fish: salmon, pike and perch by the ton, which they then sold for very good profits.

“Slowly now!”

Roger signaled with his hand, leaned over the rail, reached out to grab the float and lift the line. He pulled the net in bit by bit, trying to shake the fish free into the boat, but let the ones that had gotten stuck fast sit there until they got back to land.

Roger worked patiently, coaxing the lines past gills and fins. He pulled in more of the net but stopped when he suddenly saw something strange in the water.

He pulled again but had to really fight against whatever it was, pulled and pulled, more and more eagerly with each tug.

Then he recoiled.

He felt a strong sense of nausea as he realized what he was looking at.

In the net hung a dead woman.

* * *

The wall reverberated from the blow.

Jana Berzelius hit it again. Two, three, four times.

She felt anxious, impatient. She tried to dampen these feelings by striking out, but she still couldn’t relax. Something was haunting her, hunting her, taking up altogether too much space in her mind.

She had to find Danilo before the police did.

She whirled around, striking straight out into the air with both fists, aimed her foot and kicked, then again. She visualized him standing before her with his head down and his gaze dark. She hit harder, meeting only air but seeing in her mind’s eye that she made contact. She worked her right fist, left fist, a kick. Raised her left knee, then quickly kicked with her right leg, aimed at the wall, kicked again.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.