Hidden in Snow (The ?re Murders, #1)(7)

She is alone in the corridor; the majority of the almost four hundred students have left for the day. Amanda is hungry and wants to go home. Plus she’s freezing; it’s cold indoors at this time of year. When the temperature drops below minus twenty, it’s hard to keep the large school building warm.

She hears footsteps on the stairs; then Lasse appears.

He wears jeans and a sweatshirt, even though he’s at least thirty-five.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says breathlessly. “I got stuck in the principal’s office.”

“No problem,” Amanda mutters.

Lasse unlocks the door and leads the way into the room with moss-green curtains. There is a round table in the center, surrounded by three chairs upholstered in black.

Amanda sits down opposite Lasse, not too close.

“So, Amanda,” he begins. “How do you think things have gone this semester? You’ll be taking your final exams in the spring—soon you won’t have to put up with me and the other teachers every day.”

He gives her an exaggerated smile, and once again Amanda is struck by how yellow his teeth are. She smiles back to keep him in a good mood.

“Okay, I guess,” she replies with a shrug.

Her grades are all right; she can’t be bothered to study in the evenings, although she knows she should.

Lasse rummages around in his shabby briefcase and pulls out a sheaf of papers.

“How do you think you did in the national English assessment on Friday?” he asks.

Amanda picks at the dark nail polish that has begun to chip on one thumb. She found it difficult to concentrate on the questions, even though she knew it was important.

She’d lain awake for hours the night before, wondering what to do.

Her thoughts tumbled around and around, but she couldn’t find an answer. She knows she ought to talk to an adult about what’s happened, but it’s all so complicated.

“Amanda?” Lasse’s voice brings her back to reality.

“Sorry?”

“You’ve lacked focus recently. Is there anything you’d like to share?”

The irony in the question stuns Amanda.

He is the last person she would confide in.

Before she has time to react, Lasse moves his chair a fraction closer. He reaches out and places his hand over hers.

“I’m here to help.”

The hand lingers for a little too long. She feels his sweaty palm on her skin before she pulls away.

“I’m fine,” she assures him. “I think I’ve just been working too many hours instead of studying.” She makes a discreet attempt to lean back, increasing the distance between them. “To earn money to buy Christmas presents,”

she adds.

“I understand,” Lasse says, leafing through his notes.

“But your absences are also a cause for concern. That’s not dope.”

Lasse would very much like to be seen as a friend despite his age. He uses expressions that sound stupid coming out of his mouth.

“And I’ve had a cold,” Amanda lies. “One cold after another, in fact. I’m sure things will be better next term.”

Lasse goes through what her various teachers have said, while Amanda tries to look as if she’s listening, and as if she cares.

At the beginning, when Lasse became their class adviser, she thought he was good looking and cool. A lot of her fellow students liked his slightly flirtatious style, the way he made each person feel kind of special. He wasn’t like the other teachers.

She continues to pick at her thumb; there’s hardly any polish left now.

Finally, they’re done. It’s just after four thirty; she’s going to have to run to catch the bus.

When they get to their feet, Lasse moves toward her and puts his arm around her shoulders. She can’t shake it off without making a big thing of it.

“I hope you’ll come to me if you need to talk,” he says.

“I’d be very disappointed if you didn’t.”

She can’t work out if it’s a simple invitation or something else, something that might cost her.

The smell of stale cigarettes and coffee on his breath fills the space between them.

Amanda nods, smiles stiffly, and glances at the door.

There are no windows; no one can see in.

She just wants to get away as quickly as possible.

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7

It is six fifteen when the airport transfer bus drops off Hanna in the center of Bj?rnen.

In Stockholm the ground was clear; up here it’s deepest winter.

Everything is white.

Hanna has traveled to ?re like a zombie, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other and not saying a word unless it was essential. And yet she feels exhausted, as if she’s run a marathon. Her chest aches with sorrow, and she hates herself for making such a mess of her life.

The GPS on her phone leads her away from the compact town center with its apartment buildings, chairlifts, and ski rental shops. She crosses a bridge, passes the cross-country skiing arena, and heads for the new development known as Sadeln.

The snow crunches beneath her feet; otherwise the silence feels somehow unreal. The falling snow muffles any sound, and the world is wrapped in a white blanket. The cold numbs her fingers and toes.

After ten minutes she reaches the entrance to the complex. Slate walls line both sides of the road, and she sees the word Sadeln displayed in shining copper letters.