Chapter 65
The corridors in the council offices are beginning to fall silent. Bengt Hedin is still sitting at his desk. The sun is setting, and shades of pink and red are reflected in the windows of the building opposite. However, Bengt can feel the black shadows reaching for him.
He rests his chin in his hands as his thoughts go around and around. Everyone is hassling him, even his own party comrades.
What the fuck is he going to do?
His colleagues have gone home to celebrate Easter, but Bengt is still here with his door firmly closed. Tomorrow is a public holiday, as is Monday, so that means four free days in a row. Maybe that will give him some breathing space.
The conversation with Gunilla Nymark was alarming.
If he acts, he knows she will take no further action.
However, the party is insisting that he distance himself from the background story of the Storlien project.
He needs to come up with a solid and credible explanation for the way Charlotte Wretlind was handled, and why she was given preferential treatment in the planning process.
So that Gunilla will be satisfied and drop the issue.
He has to clean up after himself, erase anything that can link him to Charlotte and her fucking project.
No one should be able to trace the money, but what about the rest? The text messages he was stupid enough to send, the electronic trail we all leave behind us these days.
The police investigation into the murdered women at the hotel . . .
His stomach hurts, a sharp pain that makes his guts contract and sends bile surging up into his throat. He closes his eyes, longs for something that will get him drunk. An anesthetic to make him forget reality for a while.
He has no alcohol at hand, but there are other ways. With a few clicks he is on one of the porn sites he visits regularly.
This time he chooses one of the most hardcore clips, where men do things to women that make them howl with pain.
Bengt’s gaze falls on the photograph on his desk, where his wife is smiling back at him.
He ought to text, explain that he’s working late, but he can’t bring himself to do it.
She is standing on the cross-country ski track, the sun is shining.
It’s more than ten years ago, before her hair went gray and she put on thirty pounds.
The last thing he wants is to go home to her constant whining.
Frustration makes him slam his fist down on the armrest. He wishes he had never met Charlotte Wretlind. She deserved to die, no doubt about it. Even though she’s finally gone, she is still managing to destroy his life.
Bengt turns up the volume on his computer, he doesn’t care if anyone is still around and might hear. The sound of the muscular man whipping the bound woman eases his thoughts.
He enjoys every single blow that lands on her bare skin.