The Princess of Burundi - Kjell Eriksson [111]
A third car went by. The driver stared at him in curiosity. Justus gave him the finger and kept walking. When the noise of the car had died away he looked around. He saw a spiral of smoke from the cottage rise over the treetops. Then the road turned.
He knew that all the bad stuff had started when John was fired from the shop. Until then they had been happy. He had never before heard his parents quarrel in earnest, but that was when it started: the night talk that they thought he couldn’t hear. Their low, grinding voices from the kitchen or living room. Sometimes he couldn’t even tell who was talking. But he knew it was about money. He had sneaked up and listened. Once, they had been talking about him.
Justus walked on and quickened his step unconsciously. With every step his longing for his father intensified. How far would he have to go before the pain went away?
He reached an intersection where he came to a stop, not sure of what to do next. One thought he had had was to destroy that which had destroyed John. But suddenly he wondered if everything was Berit’s fault. What if it was true that she had met someone else? Justus collapsed as if a knife had been driven into his body. He sobbed as he thought about the shadow that had turned up in his doorway, when she thought he was sleeping. How she had simply stood there looking at him. Had she betrayed John? Was that why he had died?
He didn’t want to believe it, but the thought pestered him, rearing up like an ice floe inside. Was she the one who deserved to be punished? Had he been right to kill the Princesses? Loneliness drove him down into the pile of snow at the side of the road. The cold crept into his body as he pulled up his knees and leaned his head against them. A car drove by and slowed down, but Justus didn’t have the energy to pay any attention to it. The car stopped, a door opened, and the sound of a radio streamed out. The driver’s footsteps were muffled by the snow but still audible.
This is how Dad died, Justus thought. He died in the snow. Justus wanted to fall back into it. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.
Thirty-six
Ann Lindell called Haver from Berit’s apartment and told him that Justus had left the apartment early in the morning and not been heard from since. Berit had convinced Lindell that this wasn’t like him. The sight of the butchered fish was enough. Berit had picked up some twenty Princesses of Burundi from the floor and laid them out on a plate.
Ola had not asked her anything about the other night. Lindell didn’t know if he was angry. He had sounded normal. He had agreed to come by and talk to Berit.
Lindell thought about leaving before he arrived but didn’t want to leave Berit alone. Deep down she also wanted to see Ola again. She felt guilty about what had happened and wanted to at least explain why she had jumped into the investigation.
He arrived after fifteen minutes, nodded to Ann, and shook Berit’s hand. They sat down in the kitchen and Berit related what had happened. The plate of fish was on the kitchen counter and Lindell thought it was already starting to smell.
She looked at Ola Haver. He looked tired. The lines in his face, which she normally didn’t notice, stood out more than usual. She couldn’t help gazing at him in a new way, as if he were someone she didn’t know, and she thought how handsome he was. Well, handsome was perhaps not the right word. Nice-looking was better. His hands were on the kitchen