Chapter 9

I should have known that wouldn't be the end of the questions about Daniel. Ulrik wasn't a gossip, but he didn't hold much back when he talked to Sara, and she and Monica were as thick as thieves. Monica arrived at the workshop with a late lunch for me and hung around while I ate the thick sandwiches she'd made.

"You never told me you have a housemate."

"Sara tell you that?"

"Yes. Ulrik said he's from Malmo. Daniel?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't know you knew anyone from there."

"He's the guy who overdosed. He had some trouble—lost his job and some other stuff. He's looking for a new place to work and live."

"What does he do?"

"He's a journalist. Used to work for Aftonposten."

"Not Daniel Ferbe?"

"How would you know that?"

"Because he's well-known. I used to read his articles. He's really good."

"Yeah."

"What's he like?"

"I don't know, just a regular guy. He's all right, I suppose."

"Doing your Good Samaritan thing as usual." Monica smiled. "Did you know he's gay?"

I frowned. "And?"

"Nothing, I just wondered if you knew."

"It's not a secret."

"Okay. We never talked about the subject, that's all. Sara doesn't know who Daniel is. Probably a good thing, because Ulrik's pretty homophobic."

"I don't care if he is. It's none of Ulrik's business who I have staying in my house, nor anyone else's," I retorted, more angrily than I intended.

"Whoa, Petter, calm down. It doesn't bother me. I'm just talking. How long is Daniel staying?"

"I don't know. As long as he wants. There's more going on than him losing his job. Someone tried to kill him, and he needed to get out of Malmo."

"Shit. Is it anything to do with the serial killer there? I know he wrote some articles about that and the guy was in touch with him."

"Yes, the killer wired his car and set a gas cannister in it. He didn't get in it, fortunately."

"That's awful. The poor guy. Is he okay?"

"Not really. He doesn't want to be alone for the moment."

"I'm not surprised. Doesn't he have anyone else, though? Family or friends?"

"He says not. I guess he called me because I helped him out when he overdosed."

"Well, if you want to bring him around to the house for a meal or something, I'd like to meet him," Monica said. "It might be good for him to know he's not completely alone. Apart from you, of course."

"I'll think about."

"You could just ask him."

"Right." I cleared away the sandwich wrappers and opened the can of lemonade she'd brought for me. "Have you heard from Lasse?"

Immediately, her focus was off Daniel. She turned as red as her lipstick, which she was wearing again, I noticed. I snorted. "Monica Hill blushing? Really?"

"Fuck off, Petter." She laughed.

"That's a yes, then. Is there another date on the horizon?"

"Tomorrow."

"And I thought you were taking it slow."

"We are. I am. It's just the movies."

"You want me to come over and watch the boys?"

"No, it's okay. I know you're working. My mum's coming over."

"All right. Let me know how it goes."

"Will do. I'll let you get on. Ask Daniel about lunch, okay? Sunday. I'm guessing you won't be able to have the boys this weekend."

"Fine. I'll ask." I got back to work. It shouldn't be awkward, should it? Taking my friend to hang out and have lunch with my ex-wife, the nosiest woman in Stockholm, and my kids. Great.

Daniel was working on his laptop when I got home, and something was simmering in a pot on the stove. I kicked off my boots and sat down. "You're cooking?"

"It's just one of those things where you throw everything into one pan and leave it. I thought it was the least I could do."

"Thanks, I'm starving."

"I got a message about an apartment, but it's too big for just me."

"There'll be others. It might take time."

"I don't want to outstay my welcome." He closed the laptop and smiled.

"You won't. It's no problem. Monica called at the garage today. She wants to meet you. Is that okay? She reads Aftonposten and liked your writing."

Daniel laughed. "She's a fan?"

"Something like that."

"You told her I was here?"

"Yeah, after she heard it from Ulrik's wife." I rolled my eyes. "She wants me to bring you to the house on Sunday for lunch. You can say no."

"Will your kids be there?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure that's okay?"

"What, that they meet one of my friends? Sure."

"Okay, then. Thanks. That'd be good."

"Right." I took out my phone and sent Monica a text: '2 extra for lunch Sunday.'

"The food should be done." Daniel went into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with two large plates of meat, potatoes, and various vegetables in sauce. "It's stew."

"Thanks." I dug in. It was pretty tasty—almost as good as the meals Monica used to make for me.

After eating, I switched on the TV to look at the news. There was another report about the killer, repeating what they'd said the day before. Nothing new had happened. The police were still "following leads." I changed the channel and found a movie instead—an espionage thriller. Daniel watched it, but constantly fidgeted. Eventually, he got up, put on coat and shoes, and went out. He came back fifteen minutes later, shivering from the cold and chewing gum.

"You all right?" I asked.

"Yeah. It's not smoking. I'll be fine in a few days."

That night, as far as I knew he slept okay. I didn't hear anything and when I woke up to take a piss, there were no lights on. Perhaps being with me was helping him. We fell into a routine over the next few days, where I went to work, he looked for jobs and accommodation, and made dinner for me when I got back.

"You know, if you keep doing this, I'll not want you to move out," I joked as I finished eating chicken fajitas on Saturday.

"You might not have a choice. I still haven't found anywhere suitable. There was one yesterday, but when I called it had already gone."

On Sunday morning, we drove over to Monica's house in the truck. The boys wanted to play football and I reluctantly left Daniel at Monica's mercy and went out into the yard. When we went back in, Daniel was in the kitchen drinking wine, and chattering to Monica about God knew what. They didn't stop for the next half hour as Per, Oscar, and me played with toy cars in the living room.

We all sat around the table to eat and after, Per who was outgoing and confident for his age, wanted to show Daniel his room and his schoolwork. He liked writing and was keen to show off to a journalist.

"You don't have to," I said in a low voice.

"It's fine." Daniel followed Per to his room, and I helped Monica with the dishes.

"He's a lovely guy," Monica said.

"Is he?"

"Come on. You like him, don't you?"

"I suppose. We get on okay. Good thing we do, since he seems to be stuck with me for a while."

"He's very good-looking." She laughed a little. "More so in the flesh than in pictures."

"Jesus, Monica. What would Lasse say?"

"Nothing, since Daniel wouldn't be interested in me if I was the last woman on earth. I think he likes you, though."

"Get lost." My face heated.

"I'm just joking. Would it bother you?"

"What, if a gay guy liked me? Why are we even talking about this?" I scowled at her. I didn't like the way the conversation was going. It made me think about the night I slept next to him and enjoyed it more than I was comfortable with.

"I just wondered if… I don't know. I remembered what you told me about your friend Torgny. I know he hurt you. It wouldn't bother me, you know, if you—"

"Well, I don't," I snapped. "Get that idea out of your head, because it's not happening."

"Fine, Petter. Forget I said anything." She smiled and dried her hands. "I like him, anyway. I'm glad he's staying in Stockholm. It'll be nice having a male friend who's not interested in anything with me apart from gossiping."

We left shortly after. I felt uncomfortable in Daniel's presence for the first time in days and didn't speak as I drove.

"Monica's lovely," he said suddenly.

"She said the same about you," I grumbled. "Maybe you should move in with her."

He stared at me. "Have I done something wrong?"

"No."

"Okay." He turned away to look out the window and didn't speak again. The tension grew and by the time I parked the truck and got out, I felt like I should smooth things over. I was being an arse and only because of what Monica had said to me.

I kicked my boots off in the hall and hung up my jacket. "I'm sorry," I grunted.

He shrugged. "Do you want me to go to a hotel? I only meant it to be a couple of days. I just didn't think it would be so hard to find an apartment."

"No, I don't want you to go to a hotel."

"But I'm in the way. You seem pissed off with me."

"I'm not. Stay until you find somewhere. I mean it. I'm sorry," I repeated with a sigh.

"All right. If you're sure."

"I'm sure." I reached out and gave his shoulder a squeeze. Immediately, he smiled. I snatched my hand away and went to get a beer out of the fridge. Suddenly, I didn't like the idea of him finding somewhere to live. I'd got used to having him around and somehow it was more than that. I just wasn't ready to accept I liked him in any way other than a friend.

A few days later, Daniel had both a request for a TV interview about his interaction with the serial killer, and a text about an apartment. The moment the text arrived, he called the number and arranged to see the place before anyone else could get in. It was a one-bedroom apartment on the third floor of a new block in the city centre. I thought it was expensive, but I didn't say anything. He could apparently afford it. I dropped him off in the truck on my way to pick up some motorcycle parts and picked him up an hour later. I found him standing outside the block with a smile on his face. I pulled up and he got in.

"Good news?"

"Yes, it's available. Or it was, until I paid the deposit twenty minutes ago." He grinned. "I get the keys in two weeks. Then you can get rid of me."

"Shut up. I told you I don't mind you staying. But I'm glad you found a place. What's it like?"

"Spacious, modern, clean. Similar to my old place, but without the clutter—yet."

"That's good."

"I spoke to the TV people again while I was waiting. They want me to do the interview on Friday." His smile disappeared. "In Malmo. I wouldn't even consider it, but they're paying the equivalent of three months' salary for it. I mean, I have to go back there at some point to get my stuff anyway."

"I'll go with you," I said without hesitation.

"You don't have to, Petter. You've done enough for me."

"You really want to go to Malmo alone with that psycho still on the loose?" I glanced at him and he shook his head. "What time is the interview?"

"Three in the afternoon."

"So, we'll set off early in the morning and drive down. We can pick up the stuff from your apartment either before or after, then leave right away."

"I can't ask you to drive twelve hours in one day. That's crazy."

"You can drive my truck some of the way. Or we'll stop at a motel somewhere Friday night on the way back. Whatever." I shrugged. "I'm going."

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

I didn't voice my thoughts, but I could imagine the entire trip being a nightmare for Daniel. Not only was the serial killer still at large in Malmo but being interviewed about it was bound to affect him. Another worry that I kept to myself, was whether the killer knew where Daniel had lived. He'd tampered with Daniel's car twice, so who was to say he hadn't done something to the apartment also? I reminded myself to take my gun, just in case.