The Princess of Burundi - Kjell Eriksson [78]
“Forget myself,” she repeated with a snort. She walked over to the pantry and took out a bottle of wine. She poured herself a glass.
“I’m weaning him,” she said.
“Still drinking Rioja,” Haver stated, relieved in some way.
She sat down and they continued talking about the case. Ann also wanted to hear all the details of the attack in Sävja and the murder on Johannesbäcksgatan. Haver noticed her eagerness and felt his brain—for the first time in this investigation—start to click into gear. Up till now he had been obsessed with doing everything right. He was formally in charge of the case. Only now could his mind move freely, as it had so many times before in conversations with Ann. He suddenly wondered if she felt any sense of competition with him since he had taken her position while she remained absent. He didn’t think so. Ann was not concerned with prestige, and she had a natural air of authority that meant she would have no trouble moving back into her former role at the station.
“How are the girls?” she asked when their conversation about Little John was starting to ebb.
“They’re doing great. Growing all the time.”
“And Rebecka?”
“It’s probably the same for her as for you. She wants to go back to work, or at least I think so. She seems so restless, but then the other day she was talking as if she didn’t want to return to the hospital. Something about too many budget cuts and bullshit.”
“I read an article by Karlsson, from the county council. I can’t say I was impressed.”
“Rebecka starts getting worked up if she so much as sees his face in the paper.”
Ann poured another glass for herself.
“I should probably get going soon,” Haver said, but didn’t get up.
He knew he should call Rebecka, but felt somehow embarrassed about doing so in front of Ann, to reveal that he needed to call home and say where he was. It was a ridiculous thought, but right now he didn’t want to bring his wife into this. He didn’t want to think about the standstill their life had come to, an armed truce of sorts, where neither party was willing to get up out of the trenches, nor willing to lay down arms.
“You look worried,” Ann said.
He had an impulse to tell her everything, but quelled it and mumbled something about having a lot to do.
“You know how it is. You run around all the time, back and forth, and all the time new shit is coming in. Sammy is completely frustrated. His work with the youth groups has come to a dead end. It started so well but now we don’t have the people and the resources to keep it up.”
“We should send out a message to all scum: ‘Please suspend all criminal activity for the next six months as we are in the middle of a youth project.’”
Haver laughed. He was about to have more beer when he realized that the bottle was empty. Ann set out a new one and he drank without thinking of the fact that he was driving home. I should call her, he thought again and put down the bottle.
“You were thirsty,” Ann said.
“I have to call someone,” he said.
Haver excused himself and walked out to the hall, then returned almost immediately.
“Everything’s fine,” he said, but Ann read the opposite in his face. Neither of them said anything. Ann sipped her wine and Haver looked at her. Their eyes met. Haver’s unexpected feeling of lust returned. He gripped the beer bottle. Ann put her hand on his arm.
“Why don’t you tell me about it?” she asked.
“Sometimes I feel like getting a divorce,” he said. “Even though I love Rebecka. I play with the idea, like a masochist, to punish myself or her, for I don’t know what. Before, I was drawn to her like a magnet. And I think it was that way for her too. Now we’re indifferent. She looks at me as if I were a stranger.”
“Maybe you are a stranger to her sometimes,” Ann said.
“She watches me as if she were waiting for something.”
“Or someone. Is she still jealous? You said something about that when we went to Spain.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think she really cares.”
Ann saw that he was becoming more and more uncomfortable. She worried that he would start