The Double Silence (Andas Knutas 7)

money. At times Stina wondered why her parents had adopted her. She sensed that, in any case, she had never met their expectations.
    As soon as she had turned eighteen, she had moved away from home and applied for a job with various airlines; the biggest of them hired her. It wasn’t long before she met Håkan on a flight across the Atlantic. He looked to be at least ten years older than her and projected a self-confidence that she had never before encountered in a man. They chatted more than she usually did with passengers, and before he got off the plane, he had given her his business card.
    A few days later Stina was seized by an impulse and phoned him. He sounded happy to hear from her and invited her to lunch in Stockholm. A year later she moved in with him on Gotland, in the house where he and his ex-wife had lived. At first that bothered her. Håkan already had two children and a dog, and living all around them were neighbours and former friends that he and his wife had known. And then she arrived. A mere slip of a woman, sixteen years younger than Håkan, and to top it all off, Asian in appearance – as if directly imported. Of course people had made an effort to be nice, but she was aware of what they said when her back was turned. It was a relief to move away from there to the newlydeveloped Terra Nova, where everyone was starting from scratch. Nobody knew anyone else. She had been pregnant and immediately found new friends. All it took was one visit to the antenatal clinic. There she met Andrea, who had just moved in and was also expecting a baby. They became best friends, and gradually their group of acquaintances expanded.
    As her family and social circle grew, Stina began to feel more secure. And they had a good life, she and Håkan. Two wonderful daughters, a big house with a garden and a swimming pool that they’d had installed last year when the company gave Håkan an extra big bonus. She still enjoyed her job as a flight attendant. Maybe it was because the atmosphere on board suited her. It was a temporary situation; everyone was always on their way somewhere else, and she had only superficial contact with the passengers. She forged no permanent bonds with anyone. Her colleagues came and went, and she was always working with new people.
    She had filled the emptiness in her own way. No one had any idea what went on underneath, but soon everything was going to change. Her life was about to take a dramatic turn. Although she was terrified by the thought of the consequences, she realized that this change was inevitable. She had reached a crossroads. With one blow her secure existence would be turned upside down, and she was the one who had made that choice.
    There was no going back.

AT THE FOOT of the stairs, she stops abruptly. She is staring upwards, nervously biting her lower lip. Her expression is rigid, focused. Her body is on high alert, like a hunted animal, listening, watching. Not a sound. She is pale but beautiful; her lips are painted red. Her dark tresses reach all the way past her waist. Her body is slender; she has long bare arms; she is wearing a skimpy top and shorts. She has kicked off her shoes. She puts one foot on the stairs made of Gotland limestone. Her red-painted toenails look like ripe wild strawberries – a lovely contrast with the grey. The light falls in from the side, creating a suggestive shadow play.
    Just as she’s about to go upstairs, she hears a sweeping sound behind her and she freezes. In a second the man is upon her, grabbing hold of her long hair and yanking her backwards. She falls on to the hall floor.
    ‘Cut!’
    Sam Dahlberg lifted his eyes from the monitor, relaxed, and brushed the hair back from his forehead. The actors cast him enquiring looks. Was he finally satisfied? This was the twelfth take of the same scene. The lead actress, Julia Berger, was starting to get a headache.
    ‘We’ll take it one more time.’
    Stifled sighs, resigned expressions. One person dared to shake his head, cursing the director who was never satisfied. And the cinematographer felt the same way. It was stuffy and hot in the house near Bungeviken where they were shooting the very last scenes, and the crew was running out of patience. It was past seven in the evening, and they’d been at it since dawn.
    Everyone was exhausted and hungry. Julia Berger shrugged and turned her hands palm up as she spoke to the director.
    ‘First, I’m going to need a cigarette and a glass of