The Princess of Burundi - Kjell Eriksson [76]
He nodded and she sat down on his desk chair.
“How are things?”
Justus shrugged.
“Do you know anything that could help to explain why your dad died?”
“Like what?”
“Maybe he said something, something you didn’t think was important at the time but that could help explain all this. It could be something as little as the name of an acquaintance he thought was acting crazy.”
“He never said anything like that.”
“Sometimes grown-ups want to tell you something but they don’t manage to get it out, if you know what I mean.”
Beatrice waited, giving him time. She got up and closed the door before she continued.
“Did he ever give you money?”
“A monthly allowance.”
“How much is that?”
“Five hundred.”
“Is that enough? What do you buy?”
“Clothes, records, sometimes a game.”
“Did you ever get a little more?”
“Yeah, if I needed something and they could spare it.”
“Did you ever get extra money this fall? Did it seem like your dad had more money than usual?”
“I know where you’re going with this. You think Dad stole some money, but he worked for it like everybody else.”
“He was unemployed.”
“I know. Sagge was the one who ruined everything. He didn’t get that Dad was the best welder he’d ever had.”
“Did you sometimes visit him down in the shop?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do you know how to weld?”
“It’s really hard,” Justus said emphatically.
“You tried it?”
He nodded.
“The part about Sagge ruining everything—how do you mean that?”
“He made Dad unemployed.”
“Did it make your father anxious?”
“It made him…”
“Angry?”
Justus nodded.
“What did you used to talk about?”
“The fish.”
“I know nothing about aquariums and fish—and I’ve never seen a tank as big as yours.”
“It’s the biggest one in town. Dad was really good at it. He sold fish to other people and sometimes he was invited to give talks on cichlids.”
“Where did he get invited?”
“Meetings, miniconferences. There’s a national organization for people who have cichlids.”
“Did he travel a lot?”
“He was supposed to go to Malmö next year. Last spring he went to Gothenburg.”
“Do you take care of the aquarium now?”
“Dad showed me how to take care of it.”
“You’re in eighth grade now. What do you plan on doing when you graduate?”
Beatrice realized her mistake as soon as she had mentioned school, judging by Justus’s expression. He shrugged.
“Maybe you can work with aquariums,” she said.
“Maybe.”
“Didn’t your dad ever think about working full-time with the fish?”
Justus didn’t answer. His initial grumpiness had been replaced by a kind of passive sadness. The thoughts about his father were like logs on their way downstream that were snagging and accumulating in a narrow passage. Beatrice wanted to coax him forward but didn’t want the dam to burst. In her experience, it only created more resistance down the line. Right now she wanted to establish a line of communication, establish trust, push those logs along one by one.
“Is it all right if I come to you with questions about aquariums? In my line of work, and as a mom, I get asked a lot of questions. But there’s no way I can know everything about everything.”
Justus gave her a knowing look that unsettled her as if he saw right through her.
She got up and opened the door.
“One more thing,” she said before she left. “You should know that everyone we’ve talked to had only good things to say about your dad.”
His eyes met hers for a millisecond before she closed the door.
Twenty-five
Ola Haver left the station with a sinking feeling. On his way out he had read the police chief’s traditional Christmas message. Several other officers were gathered around the notice board. Some of them made bitter, sarcastic comments, others shrugged and kept walking, unreceptive to the latest whims of their superiors. All the phrases about another successful year, despite the serious challenges, rang more hollow than ever. One of the officers, who worked a beat, burst into laughter. Haver walked away. He didn’t want to listen to the criticism, even if it was warranted.
Instead of going home he took a