Chapter 67
The food is every bit as delicious as Olivia expected, but the conversation is hard work. No one has much to say, everyone seems lost in their own thoughts.
She and Emil have tried to create a cozy atmosphere, with candles burning on the table, but the others are simply staring down at their plates.
Olivia takes a couple of sips of red wine before spearing a potato on her fork.
This is her second glass; she should probably take it easy from now on.
It’s not a good idea for her to get drunk too.
She has already taken a painkiller for the tension headache that crept up on her after the conversation with that detective—Hanna.
Emil reaches for the dish of neatly carved pork tenderloin. He holds it out to Pontus, who is sitting diagonally across from him.
“Would you like some more?”
Pontus is the one who has drunk the most this evening. As usual. He started well before dinner. His movements are clumsy, his eyes glazed. This is nothing unusual, but tonight Olivia reads something else in his expression.
Rage. Bitterness.
Hatred?
She doesn’t understand what’s happening, but she notices that Pontus glares furiously at Emil when he offers him the dish.
What’s going on?
Why is Pontus so mad?
Did the boys have an argument this afternoon when she wasn’t around?
“There’s plenty of meat left,” Emil says with a warm smile.
He doesn’t seem to be picking up on Pontus’s increasing anger; Emil’s attention is on the food. It is only Olivia who sees Pontus’s face darken.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he suddenly yells, slamming his fist down on the table.
Emil jumps and almost drops the serving dish. Some of the meat juices spill onto the pale-colored runner.
“What are you doing?” Olivia snaps, but Pontus ignores her.
“Was it you who told the police about me?”
He is staring at Emil, spitting out the words in a way that Olivia finds chilling. This sounds more like a threat than a question.
“What do you mean?” Emil seems shaken. Olivia doesn’t recognize his voice—it is higher than usual, almost shrill.
“The police took my computer. Was it you who’d been poking around? They knew about my search history, knew I’d googled lots of stuff. Murder and manslaughter, that kind of crap.”
A shocked silence fills the room. Olivia’s mouth drops open. Why on earth had Pontus googled those words?
And why had Emil been looking at his computer?
“They think I’m involved in Filippa’s death,” Pontus continues. He leans across the table toward Emil. Olivia has never noticed his hands until now. They are big and meaty, with thick, stubby fingers and protruding veins.
“You’re the only one who was home during the day. It can’t be anyone else!” Pontus sounds even more menacing than before. “Did you look at my computer? What did you say to the police about me?”
Everyone is staring at Emil, whose cheeks are bright red.
“Answer the fucking question!” Pontus bellows. “Are you trying to frame me for Filippa’s murder?”
Emil seems unable to move, and not a sound comes out of his mouth.
Then everything happens very fast.
Pontus lurches at Emil. He grabs the collar of his polo top with both hands, and before Emil can react he pulls hard, as if he is trying to force an answer. His elbow hits Emil’s plate, which crashes to the floor, with food and shards of porcelain flying everywhere.
“What did you say to them?”
Pontus is still yelling, spraying saliva in Emil’s face.
Suddenly Olivia hears her own voice through the chaos. “Stop it!”
Pontus takes no notice of her. His fingers are squeezing Emil’s throat now. Emil is taller, but he is sitting down and can’t shake him off.
Pontus is stronger, incandescent with rage, and very drunk.
“Stop it!” Olivia shouts again. “He can’t breathe!”
Why isn’t anyone doing anything?
She is desperate, she tugs at Pontus’s clothes, but he doesn’t even notice.
“Help him!”
At last William reacts. He races around the table and grabs a hold of Pontus to pull him away. But Pontus refuses to let go, instead his grip tightens.
He seems completely unreachable, lost in his own world of blind fury.
“You fucking homo!”
Emil is beginning to have difficulty breathing. His face is turning purple, and horrible rattling sounds are coming from his throat. His fingers are scrabbling helplessly at Pontus’s solid fists.
Soon it will be too late.
“Stop, stop, stop!” she shouts.
William joins in. “For fuck’s sake, Pontus! You’re killing him!”
Finally Amir comes to life. Together he and William manage to drag Pontus away from the table. Emil slides off his chair and falls to the floor, coughing and clutching his throat, which is covered in angry red marks.
The sound when he tries to inhale is truly terrible.
Olivia drops to her knees beside him to try to help, but Emil simply shakes his head as he struggles for breath. Out of the corner of her eye, Olivia sees that William has bundled Pontus over to the sofa, where both he and Amir are holding on to him.
“We’re not letting go until you’ve calmed down,” William says. “Do you understand?”
Pontus struggles for a few seconds, then gives up. Emil is still coughing, but his face is returning to its normal color. Olivia helps him back onto his chair and fetches a glass of water.
“Oh, Emil . . .”
Her entire body is shaking due to the shock. She hardly dares look in Pontus’s direction, in case he decides to attack Emil again.
Everything is falling apart.