The Cruel Stars of the Night - Kjell Eriksson [62]
If he, on the other hand, parked on the street, chances were good that the neighbors would see his car and start to wonder what it was doing there. Even if he crouched over the Dahlströms would catch him, he was convinced of that.
He stopped but let the motor run. Laura’s car was partly concealed behind a hedge but he could see her sitting inside.
The lights were on in the bottom story of his house. Stig could picture Jessica, how she sat in the study and went through the Hausmann document, with concentration but upset, always glancing at the clock in the right-hand corner of the computer screen. Many times he had admired her ability to set aside all worry and soldier on, effective and focused.
If Laura left her car and approached the house what should he do? Try to stop her? How could he do that without attracting attention on the street? She would most likely start to argue in a loud voice. Run her over? That would wake up the whole street.
Stig visualized Laura’s pale body, crushed against the black asphalt. He sneezed once, twice. How would he explain it? That she ran out in front of his car and he hadn’t had a chance to veer away? In Laura’s current condition no one would consider that implausible.
Harder to explain the scratches to Jessica. She would be able to accept that he ran over a confused Laura, but she would never accept infidelity from him.
It started to rain harder. The Nilssons turned out the light downstairs. Gustav Rosén let out the cat. Poor devil, Stig thought, as he pushed the car into first gear and quickly drove up to the driveway, opened the garage door with the remote control, drove in, jumped out of the car, and pulled the door down. All done in the span of a few seconds.
He took out a knife from the toolbox on the workbench, tested its edge on his finger, and then cut the back of his trousers with four quick slices of the knife. There was a sting of pain as the knife went through the fabric and cut his skin, and he yelped. Before he threw the knife back he jabbed his right hand, then opened the door to the driveway, closed it as quickly behind him, and walked into the house.
“That fucking cat,” he yelled as he shut the door to the laundry room and walked into the kitchen.
“What is it?” Jessica shouted from the study.
“Rosén’s damn cat attacked me.”
He poured water on his hand. Jessica came out into the kitchen and stared at him.
“The cat?” she said unusually stupidly.
“Yes, Rosén’s damn tiger. He was sitting in the garage and when I got out of the car he attacked me.”
“What was he doing in the garage?”
“How the hell would I know? It must have snuck in.”
“Is it still there?”
“No, I kicked it out.”
“You pants are ruined.”
“I’ll make that damn tree-hugger pay for it. And the cat should be shot!”
“Calm down. You must have scared it.”
“Are you working?” Stig asked.
“Yes. Where have you been?”
“At Laura’s. She called. She’s dissatisfied with Hausmann. I think she’s going a little nuts.”
“She’s been that for a long time. But why didn’t you call?”
“It just didn’t happen. I’m sorry, but she threatened to call Weber and tell him, well, you know, everything . . .”
“Call Weber!”
Stig was rejoicing inside. He had succeeded in diverting Jessica’s attention and now he stoked the fire. The relief made him improve even further on his story, how he had stood in the rain at Laura’s, anxious to get away, but how she had more or less attached herself to him, even pulling him by the tie, and kept arguing with him.
“She said something about there being sixty thousand euros reserved for extraordinary costs for phase B. Is that correct? It seems ridiculous.”
“No, no, it’s only half that,” Jessica said.
“Can you check it?”
“I know it’s thirty thousand.”
“But could you check it, please? It’s thrown me for a loop. She may even have gone in and changed it.”
Jessica walked back to the study and Stig followed, pausing in front of the hall mirror to check if the marks around his neck were visible. He was red there but that sometimes happened when his shirts were too tight.