recycling station that was overflowing with discarded paper and packages. Somebody had put an old radio in front of the green bins.
âSo this is where he lives, the half brother,â said Mia. She got out of the car, stretched and yawned out loud. Henrik got out and slammed the car door on his side.
A few people were standing and talking to each other in the grassy area between the low-rise apartment buildings. Nearby a couple of children played with a bucket and spade in a sand pit next to a set of swings. The chilly April weather had made their cheeks rosy. A man, presumably the father, sat on a bench next to them, fully occupied with his cell phone. A woman in an ankle-long winter coat was approaching them on the sidewalk with shopping bags in each hand. She stopped and said hello to a long-haired man who was unlocking a yellow Monark bicycle in a bike stand.
Henrik and Mia walked across the grass and looked for the right building number. They entered number thirty-four. A thinly-dressed man was standing in the entrance hall; he took a few steps to one side and walked back and forth, more or less as if he were impatiently waiting for somebody.
Mia glanced quickly at the list of residents next to the elevator and read the name for the third floor. Lars Johansson. Then they walked up the stairs and rang the doorbell.
Lars opened immediately. He was only wearing underpants and a pale football jersey adorned with the Norrköping teamâs emblem. He was unshaven and had dark rings under his eyes. While he massaged his neck, he looked with surprise at the two police officers standing in front of him.
âAre you Lars Johansson?â Henrik asked.
âYes, whatâs this about?â said Lars.
Henrik introduced himself and Mia and showed his warrant to enter.
âAnd I was thinking that you came from one of those rags or something. Journalists have been running around here the last few days. But come in, damn it, come in! I havenât cleaned recently so keep your shoes on. Have a seat in the living room, Iâll just go put some trousers on. I must go for a pee too. Are you willing to wait?â
As Lars backed away toward the bathroom, Henrik looked at Mia, who couldnât help shaking her head when they followed him down the apartmentâs hallway.
The bathroom was straight ahead and they could see Lars in it, picking out a pair of gray cotton trousers from the laundry basket. Then he closed the door and locked it.
âShall we?â said Henrik and gestured politely toward Mia. She nodded and took a few steps more.
The kitchen lay to the left, and they could see it littered with piles of dirty plates and pizza cartons. A tied-up bag of rubbish sat in the sink. The bedroom that was across from the kitchen was rather small and contained a single unmade bed. The Venetian blinds were closed and Lego pieces of various sizes cluttered the floor. To the left of the bathroom lay the living room.
Henrik hesitated as to whether he should sit down on the brown leather sofa. A duvet in one corner made him realize that the sofa doubled as a bed. It smelled stuffy.
A flushing sound could be heard and Lars came into the living room wearing trousers that were five centimeters too short.
âSit down. Iâll just...â Lars pushed the pillow and the duvet onto the apricot-colored linoleum on the floor.
âThere now, take a seat. Coffee?â
Henrik and Mia declined and sat down on the sofa, which made a hissing sound under their weight. The smell of sweat was pervasive and made Henrik feel a little queasy. Lars sat down on a green plastic stool and pulled his trousers up another two centimeters.
âLars,â Henrik began.
âNo, call me Lasse. Everyone does.â
âOkay, Lasse. First and foremost, our condolences.â
âFor my brother, yeah, that was bloody awful, that.â
âDid it upset you?â
âNo, not really. You know, we werenât
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