15

       Are you really sure you want to exit?

      Rebecca was exhausted when she got home. She had spent most of the afternoon with the Södermalm Crime Unit telling them what had happened out in Tantolunden. Or rather the parts that she deemed suitable to reveal.

      She didn’t mention her visit to see Manga, or the video clips she had seen in the shop. It was fairly likely that the clips had something to do with events out at the cottage, but before she’d had a chance to talk to Henke she didn’t really want to show them to her colleagues. She hadn’t missed the pointed silence that had fallen when Henke’s criminal record was mentioned.

      Then the obligatory questions: did her brother have any enemies? Did she know how he made a living? Did she know anything about the arson attack on his flat a week before?

      She answered no to each of the questions, which was actually true. Well, almost, anyway.

      She locked her bicycle away in the basement and took the stairs up as usual.

      Maybe it was because she was tired, or because she was deep in thought, but she didn’t notice that someone was waiting for her.

      ‘Becca!’

      She spun round and automatically raised her hands in front of her.

      ‘Calm down, it’s only me, Henke!’

      Of course it was only him.

      She should have realized. Where else was he going to go?

      She muttered something, turned round and unlocked the door of her flat before shepherding him in ahead of her. She stopped inside the door for a couple of seconds, then locked all four locks.

      But only once, and even though part of her was protesting wildly that would have to do. She had no intention of giving him a demonstration of her compulsive behaviour.

      In the hall the answer phone was flashing to indicate another missed call. Number withheld, same as usual.

      Henke had already made himself at home on the sofa in the living room.

      ‘Got any coffee?’

      She resisted, with some effort, a sudden urge to grab the nearest heavy object and smash his skull in. Fucking bloody idiot, creeping up on her like that! She didn’t even know he knew where she lived. When she’d been out searching half the city for him, and here he was all of a sudden, sitting on her sofa.

      And what on earth did he look like?

      Even more strung out than last time, with great bags under his eyes and nicotine yellow skin. Fingernails chewed almost to the quick, his hair all over the place, and utterly filthy too.

      A smell of ingrained smoke and unwashed male wafted up from her sofa, making her wrinkle her nose.

      He was looking at her quizzically and she realized she hadn’t answered his question.

      ‘Sure,’ she snapped and went out into the kitchen.

      ‘You can clean yourself up in the meantime, the bathroom’s off the hall,’ she called from the kitchen as she sorted out the machine.

      But when she came back a few minutes later with a tray of coffee, he was asleep.

      She sighed, poured herself a cup and decided, after a bit of thought, to let him sleep. He looked like he could do with it.

      A surprising feeling of tenderness came over her and she couldn’t help giving his cheek a quick stroke. He was still her little brother, after all, her little Henke. Okay, so he was an immature idiot and a first-rate trouble-magnet, but that hadn’t always been the case. Once it had been the two of them against the world. And through all the shit, they had always had each other.

      But that was a long time ago. Things changed, whether you liked it or not.

      She drank the last of the cup, leaned her head back against the sofa and closed her eyes.

      She had realized from the noise he was making in the hall when he got in. The way he slammed the front door, the way he jangled his keys as he kicked off his shoes. She tried to warn Henke but he had his back to her, sitting on one of the folding chairs out on the balcony, smoking. Henke and Dag sometimes used to share a cig out there, even though Dag claimed he’d given up. Smoking didn’t fit in with his exercise regime and all that crap. Yet he still hung about out there all the time, leaning over the railing, and not just when Henke was visiting. From the balcony he could keep an eye on the backyard, as well as the carpark where the BMW was.

      On good days they got on pretty well, Dag and Henke. They could stand out there chatting, almost like they were friends. She liked days like that, they made her feel as if she had a proper family.

      But this definitely wasn’t going to be one of those days, she’d realized that the moment the front door slammed shut.

      ‘Hello!’

      His voice was ice-cold, almost emotionless, but she had no difficulty picking up the anger bubbling beneath it.

      ‘Is everything okay?’ she said as quietly and calmly as she could.

      He just snorted in reply.

      ‘Is there any food?’

      ‘Fish gratin, it’s in the oven. Henke and I have already eaten.’

      Another snort. This didn’t bode well, she knew from experience. At a guess, something had gone wrong at work, a troublesome customer, an order that had got lost, or his boss stirring things up. It didn’t usually take very much.

      ‘So how long is your useless brother going to exploit my hospitality this time?’ he muttered through gritted teeth a bit later, nodding towards Henke, who was still out on the balcony.

      ‘Just a couple of days,’ she said as neutrally as she could. ‘Things are a bit tricky at home with Mum and everything. He needed to get away for a couple of days.’

      A third snort, this time more scornful.

      ‘A bit tricky …’ he muttered as he shovelled a spoonful of the gratin into his mouth. ‘Your mother’s just a pathetic alcoholic,’ he declared between chews. ‘Get her into a home so you can have a bit of peace and quiet, then we won’t have that little crook hanging about round here all the time.’

      She was on her way to getting angry and he saw it. A happy grin spread over his face.

      ‘Oh, so you’re cross I said something nasty about poor, innocent little Henke?’ he added in that patronizing childish voice she hated. He’d gone straight for her weak point and she had to make an effort not to rise to the bait.

      ‘Henke’s just been a bit unlucky,’ she said with forced calm. ‘He hasn’t always had it so easy, and besides, he’s my little brother.’

      ‘Easy?’ Dag had suddenly gone red in the face, and he flew up from his chair.

      This was the row he had been looking for ever since he opened the door, and now he was getting what he wanted.

      ‘You talk about easy,