What else was there to say?

Jeppe turned around and opened the door. He walked down the stairs, letting the distance between them grow. Every step he took from now on would lead them farther away from each other, and it was going to hurt, hurt when he thought about her and hurt just as much when he didn’t.

He opened the door to Burmeistersgade. Now she was just Saidani to him, a colleague. She wasn’t his Sara anymore.

IT WAS THAT kind of spring morning when one felt compelled to take off their jacket and throw it carelessly over one shoulder. Anette slowed down and smiled up at the sun. The air was mild, and the anticipation of summer’s arrival seemed even more magical than summer itself.

Gudrun was in a great mood and happily offered a goodbye kiss from the sandbox, so Anette was able to walk away from her daughter’s day care without the parental guilt that can ruin the whole day. She strolled home through her residential neighborhood in Greve Strand with a fundamental sense of gratitude. Her suburb wasn’t fashionable or chic, but she and Svend owned their own wonderful house here and could create a safe home for their daughter.

The investigation into Malthe Sæther’s murder had been wrapped up and the killer taken into custody. She was still in the hospital under observation for a concussion, but as soon as she was healthy enough, she would be charged and face preliminary questioning.

It didn’t seem like determining guilt would be a problem. In the hospital late yesterday, Jenny Kaliban had already explained how Malthe had visited her in her atelier Friday night and behaved threateningly. He accused her of having sexually abused Oscar. It ended in a scuffle, and she had to defend herself, but couldn’t remember the details of his death and hadn’t offered any immediate commentary on what had happened afterward. She had just panicked. It was going to be interesting to hear her try to explain how this panic had led her to apply makeup to the body and photograph it.

Anette crossed the path and turned down toward Holmeås. She stopped by a trash can, found the old pack of cigarettes in her jacket pocket, and threw it away. She wouldn’t need it again.

As she walked up the driveway to number 14, she saw Svend in the yard, digging out the old tree stump that they had been talking about removing for ages. His bare arms were glistening with sweat, and he was humming along to a song blasting from the radio on the windowsill. Anette stood watching him until he noticed her. Sure, there were men who were skinnier, more mysterious, and with sorrowful eyes, but Svend was the one she loved.

She walked over and planted a long kiss on his lips.

“I’m really sweaty.”