Free The Drowning by Camilla Läckberg Page A

from now. Because the feeling he had when he ran, when his feet flew over the ground – rhythmically pounding at a steady pace that in the end seemed to merge with the beat of his heart – was like nothing else in the world. Even the fatigue, the numb sensation in his legs when the lactic acid built up, was something that he’d learned to appreciate more and more with each year that passed. He felt alive whenever he ran. That was the best way he could describe it.

    As he drew close to home, he began slowing his pace. When he reached his front door, he jogged in place for a few moments and then held on to the railing to stretch out his thigh muscles. His breath formed a white cloud of ice crystals, and he felt strong and cleansed after running twelve miles at a relatively fast pace.
    ‘Is that you, Kenneth?’ He heard Lisbet’s voice from the guest room as the front door closed behind him.
    ‘Yes, it’s me, dear. I’m just going to take a quick shower, and then I’ll come and see you.’
    He turned the tap until the water was steaming hot and then stood under the needle-like spray of the shower. This was practically the most pleasurable thing of all. It felt so good that it took a real effort for him to turn off the water. He shivered as he stepped out of the shower stall. The bathroom felt like an igloo in comparison.
    ‘Could you bring me the newspaper?’
    ‘Of course, love.’ Jeans, a T-shirt, and a sweater. He was ready. He stuck his bare feet into a pair of Crocs slippers that he’d bought last summer and went out to the letterbox. When he picked up the newspaper, he noticed a white envelope stuck in the bottom. He must have missed it yesterday. His stomach turned over at the sight of his name written in black ink. Not another one!
    As soon as he was back inside, he tore open the envelope and pulled out the card inside. Standing in the front hall, he read what it said. The message was brief and strange.
    Kenneth turned the card over to see if there was anything on the back. But there wasn’t. The only message was those two cryptic sentences.
    ‘What’s keeping you, Kenneth?’
    Quickly he stuffed the note back in the envelope.
    ‘I was just checking on something. I’m coming now.’

    He headed for her door, holding the newspaper in his hand. The white card with the elegant handwriting seemed to burn in his back pocket.
     
    It was like a drug. Sanna had become dependent on the high it gave her to check his email, go through his pockets, and surreptitiously examine his phone bill. Every time she didn’t find anything, she felt her whole body relax. But that didn’t last long. Soon the anxiety would start building again, and with it the tension in her body, until all the logical arguments for why she should restrain herself ceased. Then she would sit down at the computer again. She entered Christian’s email address and password, which had been easy to crack. He used the same one every time. His birth date, so he would always remember it.
    In reality, there was no reason for this feeling that kept tearing at her heart and clawing at her guts until all she wanted to do was scream. Christian had never done anything to give her cause to distrust him. During the years she’d been carrying on this surveillance of his correspondence, she had never once found the slightest trace of anything suspicious. He was an open book. And yet … Sometimes she had the feeling that he was somewhere else entirely, a place to which she was denied access. And why had he told her so little about his background? He’d said that his parents had died long ago, and she’d never had occasion to meet any of his other relatives, although surely he must have some. He didn’t seem to have any childhood friends either, and no old acquaintances had ever got in touch. It was almost as if he hadn’t existed at all until he met her and moved to Fjällbacka. She hadn’t even seen his flat in Göteborg when they first met. He’d