Stjärnström let out a short laugh and shook his head. ‘You can’t talk to Eric that way. He slips away, feints and sidesteps and before you know it, you’re naked in his sauna with an IPA in your hand, planning a trip together.’ He fell silent as though he were summoning the strength to go on. ‘But in the end, I brought it up with Emilie, and she swore she wasn’t interested in him in the slightest. Just like me, she found him too vulgar and gauche. And I was foolish enough to believe her, talk about naïve, and then only a few months later, I discovered… It was during a dinner party at our house. It was just me, Emilie, Eric and his wife. We were discussing the killing of Osama bin Laden, when I realized his foot was between my wife’s… legs.’ He swallowed again but was overcome with emotion. ‘And she was sitting there pretending nothing was happening. Bloody hell.’

‘Maybe you should go talk to someone about this.’

‘Maybe. Yes, I suppose I should. But I honestly don’t know what good it would do. It’s not like I’ve done anything wrong.’

‘You haven’t considered moving?’

‘Every day. But Emilie won’t hear of it.’

‘I meant move as in move out, leave her.’

Stjärnström met Fabian’s eyes. ‘We might be going through a rough patch right now, but we have two children, a mortgage and a life together and I guess I’m still hoping it’s going to work itself out somehow. Anyway, I went through her phone a few nights after that incident. To my surprise, they’d only texted about the children and dinner parties I was invited to as well. I couldn’t find any emails at all.’

‘So what did you find?’

‘A picture. One that was different from all the others. At first, I didn’t understand what it was. It didn’t look like anything at all, until I realized it was a close-up of a pubic mound… Or, to be precise, Emilie’s pubic mound, which was shaved and had a tattoo.’

66

Assar Skanås opened his backpack, took out the two plastic bottles filled with water and put them next to the girl. It was her. He was sure it was her. The one the voices had told him deserved it. The one he could do whatever he wanted to.

But he was a nice man, he was, and he was going to be nice to her. At least during the act. Of course she should enjoy it too. Afterwards… Afterwards was afterwards.

Blood. He didn’t like blood. It had trickled from the wound down across her ear and dried. But not enough to make anyone react. Everyone had looked away or fiddled with their phones, assuming he was an ordinary dad carrying his tired daughter.