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Ottosson hurried over.

“What the hell are you saying, Eddie?”

“It’s an older man, probably dead for a long time.”

There was nothing they could do to help him so they left the body and continued their task of searching the basement.

“Look at this,” Näss said, who was happy to leave the dead man behind.

Andersson looked at all the wine bottles. At the same time there was a loud boom behind them and part of the ceiling fell in. Näss immediately straightened his helmet and looked up at the ceiling of the wine cellar. There was an upside-down bathtub on the floor. The smoke divers exchanged looks. Andersson bent over and lifted the tub. A lifeless hand fell out onto the floor.

He wrenched the tub aside. Näss’s flashlight illuminated Ann Lindell’s twisted body. Andersson leaned over her.

“She’s alive,” he said.

“Start rescusitation of middle-aged female,” he said, as he checked her for possible external injuries.

Satisfied with what he observed he slid his hands under her neck and knees.

“I’ll take her up right now,” Andersson said and lifted Lindell.

With Lindell hanging over his shoulder he balanced up the ladder.Näss climbed behind him and helped him balance the load. The policewoman’s hair billowed out over his helmet.

The ambulance personnel were poised and started breathing resuscitation as soon as Andersson laid her on the stretcher.

Ottosson pushed his way forward and fell down on his knees next to Lindell.

The smoke divers returned to the house.

“And we’re lifting,” one of the emergency technicians said.

“Will she make it?” Ottosson asked.

Eddie Wallin shot him a look as the ambulance drove off with sirens blaring.

Fifty-one

“You came back,” Lars-Erik Jonsson observed.

He had been watching television when he heard a car drive up into the yard. He had sensed it was Laura.

She dragged a suitcase into the hall without saying anything.

“Would you like some coffee?” Lars-Erik asked.

She looked around as if it was the first time she was seeing his kitchen.

“Could you turn off the television?”

“Of course,” Lars-Erik said and hurried into the next room, turned off the TV, and returned to the kitchen.

Funny how much nicer it is to put in several measures of coffee, he thought and chuckled.

“We’re cousins,” Laura said.

“That we are, and that’s nothing to scoff at,” he said and turned on the coffeemaker. “Please have a seat.”

After having filled the coffeemaker with water he sat down at the kitchen table. Laura looked at him inquiringly as if she wanted to establish if there was anything hidden behind the casual words. He had the feeling that she regarded him as a country bumpkin, a real cousin from the country, and suddenly felt embarrassed.

“How is everything? You look a little down in the dumps.”

She shook her head.

“It’s been one of those days,” she said finally and sat down across from him.

“Well, everything is calm here,” he said.

“Why did you give me the letters?”

“Have you read them?”

She nodded. If only she wanted to talk more she would probably feel better, he thought.

“I only read the first few,” Lars-Erik confessed. “If I can be completely honest it got too hard.”

Laura regarded him with an amazed expression.

“It’s strange that they corresponded for so many years,” Lars-Erik said and started to put out cups and saucers.

“My father could hardly write,” he added with a grin. “He was a real practical type, if I can put it that way, thought all that stuff with gatherings and talk got to be too much. He often drew back, never took part in associations or anything. Well, he was part of the Construction Workers’ Union, of course, but that was so he could collect unemployment if things looked bad with work. And that happened from time to time. We on the other hand thought it was nice, because then he was home.”

Lars-Erik paused but kept going when she didn’t jump in.

“And the road association. That was obligatory of course. He—”

“Do you have any wine at home?”

He got up