Free The Viper by Hakan Ostlundh

case, she had to prepare herself for a long convalescence, at least six months, maybe even a year or more.
    Maybe she just wanted to step out of her own life.
    Easier said than done.
    She sat in still silence as the minutes ticked by. Alone there in that empty house it was almost as if she was removed from her life. At least she could pretend that she was for a brief moment.
    Then she suddenly understood where she had been on her way to. That vague persistent feeling in the pit of her stomach had been urging her to seek out a place of her own. Now she saw it: the low rocks beyond the pier where her parents had their summerhouse in the Stockholm archipelago. Bedrock that she had sat on every summer from when she was seven years old right up until they moved to Gotland. Or maybe the rocky outcrops at Hellas in Nacka, that she had swum from and set off on skating excursions with Jocke when he was little. She wanted to sit on solid, familiar bedrock and look out across the water, not on some brittle goddamn limestone that fell apart as soon as you looked at it.
    She got up with a jolt and grabbed the first things she could get her hands on, a pepper mill of brushed steel that she had been given as a fortieth birthday present by distant relatives, and threw it with all her might at the kitchen cupboards.
    “Goddamn you!” she screamed.
    The pepper mill smashed a nasty hole in one of the cupboard doors and the little plastic container that kept the peppercorns in such a viewing-friendly manner, broke into pieces that went skittering across the floor with a rustling sound. Not unlike what you hear when a gust of wind shakes the water from a tree top after it’s rained.
    “Goddamn you!” she shouted again and threw a hot dish holder and the pile of newspapers immediately after it. “Don’t you dare die on me now! And don’t you dare become some fucking vegetable that I have to spoon-feed for the rest of my life! You hear me?”
    She remained standing there with her hands clenched, fixing for a fight, as if she were ready to have it out with life itself.
    It just couldn’t end up that way. She had been dragged to this goddamn island half against her will. She had just started to feel a little bit at home—despite the drawbacks—thanks very much to her job and colleagues at the school. As a teacher you quickly worked your way into a community, made contacts, and gained stature. But it was also because of her job that they had ended up so far out in the countryside, over thirty miles from town.
    What the hell was she doing here?
    Was it her destiny to rot away in a limestone house in the middle of nowhere with a husband who couldn’t wipe his own ass? It just couldn’t end up that way.

 
    11.
    The October sun had risen up higher into the sky. The day had become mild and clear.
    “Wonderful day,” said Gustav as they sat in the car. “First, two people cut to shreds, then a grandpa with a screw loose.”
    “Let’s see how much fun we have at the ex-wife’s house,” said Fredrik and steered the car toward Södercentrum.
    He was hungry, had eaten too little breakfast as usual.
    “We’ll have enough time to grab a quick lunch after Inger Traneus, right?” he asked and Gustav nodded.
    “So what do you think?” Gustav then asked. “You think Rune Traneus is right?”
    “Unless the guy’s completely nuts, then I guess he must have a good reason for reacting the way he did. But we didn’t get anything useful out of him.
    “His son’s car was parked outside, there’s no escaping that. But it could just as well be Arvid Traneus lying hacked to pieces inside the house.”
    “More likely even,” said Gustav.
    “In which case Anders Traneus’s car points in a different direction altogether.”
    *   *   *
    INGER TRANEUS LOOKED like her daughter. Tall and slim with the same long hair, more gray than blonde, in a tight ponytail. A beautiful woman just over fifty.
    Once again, Fredrik explained the reason for