Until Thy Wrath Be Past Part 32

He gets into the car. The puppy is wrapped up cosily in his jacket on the pa.s.senger seat.

He turns the ignition key. Purses his lips. Looks at the puppy, which has fallen asleep again. Thinks about how Wenngren held Martinsson by her neck. Imagines them kissing back there in the house. Hears Wenngren saying, "He's very fond of you, that police officer."

When Eriksson gets home, he hands the puppy back to Tintin, who licks it thoroughly.

He strokes Tintin's head. She has lain down on her side so that the puppy and its siblings can feed. The blinds are drawn. It is dark in the room, although outside the spring evening is light.

What did I expect? Eriksson asks himself. That she would throw her arms round my neck?

He thinks about her lying in the hole in the ice, and managing to rescue his dog. Imagines her being dragged under the ice. He tries to convince himself that love is about giving, not taking. It should be O.K. simply to be a giver. To love without expecting anything in return. But he finds that difficult. He wants her. He wants her for himself.

"I think I love her," he says to Tintin. "How the h.e.l.l did that happen?"

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS.

Dead people crop up in all of my books. I very much hope that this life is not the only one allotted to us, even if it is big enough in itself.

A lot of what happens in this story is true. For instance, the German army really did have large depots in Lule. Other things besides soldiers going on and returning from leave were transported by Swedish Railways. Swedish drivers and lorries were rented out to the German army to transport supplies to the Eastern front. Walther Zindel actually existed. A lot of German s.h.i.+ps were never recorded officially in the harbour ledgers of Lule.

But most of the plot is made up. I have done what I always do when I write my stories: I borrow incidents, people, places that I have experienced myself or heard about, and combine them with my own inventions. Once upon a time, for instance, two young boys really did get lost in the forest near Piilijarvi, and one of them did not find his way back home until a week later. But they were not brothers. And they did not fall out: the younger boy grew tired, and the elder one went to fetch help. I heard about the incident, and my mind immediately began to turn it into part of a plot.

I have read about the war, of course. I should mention especially Slaget om Nordkalotten (The Battle for Arctic Scandinavia), by Lars Gyllenhaal and James F. Gebhardt; Spelaren Christian Gunther (Christian Gunther the Gambler), by Henrik Arnstad; and Svenskarna som stred for Hitler (The Swedes Who Fought for Hitler) and Dar jarnkorsen vaxer (Where the Iron Crosses Grow), both by Bosse Schon.

Many people have given me valuable a.s.sistance, and I would like to take this opportunity to express my special thanks to some of them: Dr Lennart Edstrom, who helps me to understand what happens when people go over the edge; Dr Jan Lindberg, who helps me bring the dead to life; Dr Marie Allen, a senior lecturer who can explain the genetic make-up of watery life so lucidly that I almost understand what she is saying; Cecilia Bergman, a prosecutor; Pelle Hansson, a diver; Jan Viinikainen of the Kiruna munic.i.p.al archives; and Goran Gune, who knows about aeroplanes. Many thanks to all of you. If there are mistakes in the book, they are not of your making.

Special thanks also to my editor Rachel Akerstedt and my publisher Eva Bonnier, who give me encouragement or bring me down to earth in the correct amount at the right time. All the lovely people at my publisher who work on my books in various ways. The intelligent, helpful staff of the Bonnier Group Agency. And Elisabeth Ohlson Wallin and John Eyre for the original dust cover.

And thanks to my mother for her perpetual "Come on, get on with it, I want to know what happens next I've been thinking about Hjalmar all week." Thank you for your patience when I have been out of sorts and my head has dropped onto my desk. Thanks to my father and to Mona, who read my texts, check Kiruna facts, help me with Tornedalen Finnish and a thousand other things. Many thanks to Perra Winberg and Lena Andersson and Thomas Karlsen Andersson.

Life is totally unpredictable, but pretty good even so. Thank you, Per. This book is almost our third child, after all. There are a thousand things I would like to thank you for, but you know about them already. And thank you, Christer, for your love and for putting up with me when all I had time for was the book, the book, the book, and everything else was of no interest whatsoever.

end.