Page 30 of Hidden in Memories
After a great deal of thought, she has decided to keep quiet.
The police are bound to catch the murderer without her help; there’s no point in getting involved. She speaks Swedish very poorly, and her English isn’t much better. She doesn’t know how to describe what she saw on Sunday, let alone explain how frightened she is that they won’t be able to protect her.
Aada remembers all the times her mother tried to get help back home in Maardu. No one was prepared to intervene, because her stepfather was a police officer. The odd argument at home should be dealt with behind closed doors; they ignored the fact that her mother was regularly beaten black and blue. Aada’s stepfather’s colleaguesrefused to get involved, even though her mother eventually suffered such a serious assault that she was left with permanent brain damage.
The police in little Maardu had one another’s backs.
What if the Swedish police are the same, protecting men who hurt women?
There is nothing to suggest that the forces of law and order in Sweden are any different. And what if they don’t believe her, and rumors start?
She could lose her job.
Or even worse, the murderer might find out and regard her as a threat.
As she approaches the parking garage, she takes out the key card that hangs around her neck. The staff entrance is next door. She swipes the card and lets herself into the desolate area. There are only a few cars today. The lighting is sparse, and fights a losing battle against the black concrete floor.
The dark-red walls remind her of blood.
She shudders and glances over her shoulder. She can’t see anyone, but that doesn’t calm her nerves. As she hurries toward the changing room, a noise stops her in her tracks.
It sounded as if the door opened again, right behind her.
She looks around anxiously, but there is no one in sight. She peers at the dark corner, but can’t make out any movement.
The murderer can’t have seen her clearly on Sunday, she tells herself. Everything happened so fast, and the door was only open a little bit.
He can’t possibly know who she is.
But as she sets off again, she hears something behind her. Footsteps following her—she is no longer alone in the parking garage.
She stops dead, too scared to look around.
Has he come after her? Is he determined to silence her?
Her heartbeat is pounding in her ears, her palms are sticky with sweat.
At that moment the changing room door opens. Two girls emerge, chatting and laughing. Aada hurries forward and slips in behind them.
When she turns her head, she catches a glimpse of a dark jacket disappearing in the direction of the exit.
She is absolutely certain now.
Therewassomeone there.
Someone who had followed her.
25
Daniel hurries across the square with Hanna. They have just grabbed a quick hot dog for lunch, and now they are on the way to Åregården Hotel, where Charlotte’s son, Filip, has checked in. He flew up this morning, but preferred not to stay at Copperhill, where his mother was murdered.
The snow sparkles as they approach the hotel. The daylight is so bright that Daniel wishes he hadn’t left his sunglasses in the car. The square is full of relaxed skiers, taking a lunch break in the spring sunshine. Most food outlets have moved their operations outside because of the COVID restrictions, and a long line has formed at a pop-up bar. In the middle is a guy wearing a bright-yellow chicken costume; his helmet is adorned with yellow Easter feathers sticking out from the top of his head. Next to him is a girl in a white furry helmet with bunny ears.
Yesterday’s brutal murder doesn’t seem to have impacted the atmosphere around here.
Nor does the pandemic.
“Idiots,” he says, waving an arm in the direction of the crowd.
