Chapter 63
A large glass containing ice cubes and a clear liquid is standing on the coffee table in front of Pontus when Olivia walks into the main house. She can see from his unfocused gaze that he is well on the way to getting drunk. It isn’t even seven o’clock.
But it has been a terrible day. Finding out that the police had gone through their possessions while they were out skiing had really shaken her. The thought of someone rummaging around among her clothes . . .
It feels both disrespectful and insulting.
Without warning, the door behind her is flung open, and a strange man is standing there. Olivia gives a start and lets out a little scream; then she recognizes him. It’s Staffan, the property manager who called by on Saturday evening shortly after they arrived.
“Sorry—I didn’t mean to scare you!” he says.
He is wearing a woolen hat pulled well down over his forehead, and he is carrying a snow shovel.
“I should have knocked first. I’m just so used to coming and going that I didn’t think.”
Olivia manages a wan smile. She instinctively recoils from the idea that this guy can walk in whenever he likes.
Could he have been the one outside her door last night?
The thought comes from nowhere.
She tries to take a closer look at him discreetly; does he resemble the shadow she saw in the darkness? Was it him, or is her imagination running away with her?
The silence is beginning to feel uncomfortable.
“It’s fine,” she says. “It’s just that the last few days have been a bit much.”
“I can understand that.” Staffan props the shovel against the wall. “It’s terrible, what happened to your friend. Hard to believe it’s true.”
“Mmm.”
Olivia can’t talk about it. Especially not with him, a stranger. Someone who might have tried to get into the cabin while she was sleeping.
“Have the police said anything more?” Staffan wonders, with a slightly-too-curious glint in his eyes. “Do they know how your friend died?”
“I have no idea.”
Olivia just wants him to leave. She glances at Pontus, half hoping that he will come over and join in the conversation so she doesn’t have to be alone with Staffan, but Pontus is ignoring him completely.
“Do they think it was the result of a crime?” Staffan stares at Olivia, as if he is trying to work out how much she actually knows.
“I need to . . .” Olivia points in the direction of the kitchen, hoping he will take the hint and stop asking questions.
It seems to work, because he stamps the snow off his boots on the doormat, then removes them.
“I’m just going to clear the balcony,” he explains, picking up the shovel. “It won’t take long.”
He carries his boots through the living room and opens one of the patio doors.
Olivia remains standing in the hallway, staring at the black handle on the front door.
What’s the point of locking up when anyone who knows the code can get in?