Chapter 72
But Hanna has bad memories from this place.
They recently passed Lake Gev and T?ngbole, where the murdered skier Johan Andersson was found by the roadside just over a year ago.
The investigation was difficult and upsetting, and ended in tragedy.
Hanna still finds it difficult to sleep sometimes because of the outcome, when the fatal shot was fired right in front of her before she could intervene.
It was that incident that made her realize how she felt about Daniel. In the midst of her despair he became her rock. He was there and he didn’t let go, in spite of all her tears.
Her phone rings, interrupting her melancholy train of thought. When she checks the display, she sees that Filip Wretlind is calling.
“Hi, Filip—how’s it going?”
“Not so good.”
She hears him inhale sharply, as if he is suppressing a sob. His voice is shaky.
“Have you seen the article about Mom?”
Hanna doesn’t know whether to deny or admit that she has read the wretched piece. She would prefer to say no in order to spare his feelings, but at the same time she doesn’t want to lie.
“I have, yes.”
“Are they allowed to do that?” He is clearly on the verge of tears.
“That woman, the journalist, she twisted everything I said. I didn’t put it like that at all, but she’s made it sound as if Mom and I fought about my studies all the time—as if Mom didn’t care about me.
She absolutely did, I know she loved me.
It was just that she had too much to do, because she was always working. ”
Hanna hears a car start up in the background. Filip must be outdoors, maybe he’s in the square outside ?reg?rden?
“I wish I’d never agreed to the interview. And I’m not a spoiled brat, as she puts it. I’ve never been given everything I asked for. I just wanted to tell people how generous Mom was, so they wouldn’t think she was only interested in making money.” He breaks off with another sob.
“I understand, Filip.”
Hanna doesn’t know what to say. Daniel is driving fast, the landscape is whizzing by. They have just passed Enafors. The turning for Handol and Snasahogarna is coming up on the left. They will reach their destination in fifteen minutes.
“I wish there was something I could do,” she continues; she can hear how pathetic it sounds. “Unfortunately it’s not illegal to write an article like that, even if it is pure crap.”
Filip has just lost his mother, and now this.
She tries to think of something that might make him feel better. There is no point in saying that he could report the newspaper to the press ombudsman; at best he would receive a judgment in six to twelve months.
She makes an attempt to console him. “I’m sure not that many people have seen it. Hardly anyone reads the evening papers these days.”
“Yes, they do.” There is anger in his voice now; he seems less crushed. “Everyone here at ?reg?rden has read it. Lots of people recognize me and come over to comment on the article. Or they’re curious and want me to talk about the murder, tell them how I’m feeling.”
Hanna has no idea how she can help him. She mumbles a few meaningless phrases, promises to see if there are any measures that can be taken.
“You can always call me if you need to talk,” she reminds him before they end the call.
It’s been a long time since she felt so inadequate.