The Princess of Burundi - Kjell Eriksson [84]
Now he was dreading going home. Should he tell her the truth? She would be furious. She was the jealous type, he knew that from before, not least when it came to Ann. Haver tried not to mention her at home since he knew that Rebecka was threatened by the fact that they were so close. Up till now there had been no grounds for her jealousy, but if he told her about the kiss, all hell would break loose. Even if she accepted his explanation and tried to erase the whole thing from her mind, the underlying suspicion would always be there.
He decided not to tell. It would stop at a sprinkling of flour on his chest, an embrace, and a kiss, but he could not deny the curious mixture of pride and shame he felt at betraying Rebecka. A soft voice inside encouraged him to get in touch with Ann again, to continue the foray into explosive, dangerous territory.
It had been a long time since he had felt attractive. And now someone had wanted to touch him. He wasn’t the one who had taken all the initiative. Ann was just as guilty, if one could call it guilt. Even though they had stopped at an embrace and a single kiss, Haver sensed that Ann would have considered going further, and when he thought about this he was suddenly angry at her. She had tempted him, damn it. She knew very well how jealous Rebecka was—she had used him, his vulnerability had been written in his face. No, that wasn’t how it was, he told himself and couldn’t maintain the anger. They were two adults, both in need of human warmth. Ann was the woman, besides Rebecka, whom he felt closest to. They had been brought close through their work, and apart from their mutual respect for each other’s abilities there had always been an undercurrent of sexual attraction.
Now the foundation was trembling. The underground channels were quaking and their hot inner lakes threatened to spill over. Was it love or more a desire for warmth, an expression of friendship where the boundaries had simply become blurred?
So much was broken in his relationship with Rebecka, he could see that now. The passion in Ann’s embrace and in the answer of his body was not only a rush of lust but a yearning for intimacy, evidence of the emotional poverty of his life. Rebecka and he were unhappy together, it was that simple, and Haver had needed only one single kiss to see this clearly.
Could he continue to live with Rebecka? He had to. They had two children together and still loved each other. At least he thought they did.
Twenty-eight
Allan Fredriksson read through Ryde’s report from Vivan Molin’s apartment. There was nothing noteworthy. The place was full of Vincent Hahn’s fingerprints.
The only thing they had found in the apartment that made Fredriksson raise his eyebrows was a pair of handcuffs that the technicians had found stuffed away in a closet, together with two porn films and a vibrator. Battery-operated with two speed settings, Ryde had noted.
They were still establishing her network of friends and relatives. Her parents were dead and she had no siblings. There was a note in her address book about an “Aunt Bettan” and a phone number with a 021 area code. They had called it, with no results yet. Fredriksson had asked a cadet, a Julius Sandemar, to contact Hahn’s brother again. He seemed to be the only one who would be able to give them more information about possible relatives. He would also need to be informed that Vincent was now wanted for suspected assault and murder.
Someone threw out the idea that Hahn might try to leave the country and look up his brother in Israel, but it turned out that Hahn had never applied for a passport. Nonetheless, officials at Arlanda airport were notified to be on their guard.
Fredriksson had no idea where Hahn might have gone. Strange, he thought. A person without any social network. Where does a person without any contacts go? To a bar? He had trouble seeing Hahn nursing a drink in a bar. To the library? More plausible. Sandemar would have to go down to the