exactly best buds, him and me. We were only half brothers, on our mumâs side. But just because youâre related doesnât mean that you spend lots of time together. It doesnât necessarily mean you even like each other, for that matter.â
âDidnât you get on?â
âYeah, or perhaps, hell, I donât know.â
Lasse thought about it for a second or two. He lifted up one leg a little, scratched his crotch area and in doing so exposed a hole that was the size of a large coin. Then he started telling about his relationship with his brother. How it wasnât really good. That they actually hadnât had any contact at all this past year. And it was because of his own gambling. But he didnât gamble now. For his sonâs sake.
âI could always borrow money from my brother when things were really bad. He didnât want Simon to go without food. Itâs tough living on welfare and, you know, youâve got to pay the rent and so on.â
Lasse rubbed the palm of his hand against his right eye, then went on: âBut then something strange happened. My brother became stingy, claimed that he didnât have any money. I thought that was bloody nonsense. If you live in Lindö then youâve got money.â
âDid you ever find out what happened?â said Henrik.
âNo, just that he said he couldnât lend me anything more. That his old lady had put a stop to it. I had promised to pay him back, even though it wouldnât be for a while, but I promised anyway. But I didnât get any more money. He was an idiot. A stingy idiot. He could have done without a pricey steak dinner one evening and given me a hundred kronor, you might think. Couldnât he? I would have, if I were him, that is.â
Lasse thumped his chest.
âDid you argue with him about money?â
âNever.â
âSo youâve never threatened your half brother or exchanged harsh words, anything like that?â
âThe odd curse word, perhaps, but I would never have threatened him.â
âYou have a son, right?â Mia went on.
âYes, Simon.â Lasse held out a framed photo of a smiling boy with freckles.
âMind you, heâs only five in that photo. Now heâs eight.â
âHave you got a better picture of him, a recent one?â said Henrik.
âIâll have a look.â
Lasse reached toward a white cupboard with glass doors and pulled out a little box that was full of a jumble of stuff.
Sheets of paper, batteries and electric cables all tangled together. There was also a smoke detector, a headless plastic dinosaur and some sweet wrappers. And a glove too.
âI donât know if Iâve got a decent recent one. The photos they take at school are so hellishly expensive. They charge four hundred kronor for twenty pictures. Who can order those? Bloody daylight robbery.â
Lasse let the sheets of paper fall onto the floor so he could get a better look at the contents of the box.
âNo, I havenât got a good one. But come to think of it, in my cell I might have one there.â
Lasse disappeared into the kitchen and came back with an old-fashioned flip phone in his hand. He remained standing on the floor and pressed the buttons.
Henrik noticed that the arrow button was missing and that Lasse had to use his little finger to browse through the picture folder.
âHere,â said Lasse, and held the cell toward Henrik, who took it and looked at the photo on the screen.
A low-res image showed a relatively tall and still freckled boy. Reddish cheeks. Friendly eyes.
Henrik complimented Lasse on his sonâs good looks, then told him to send the picture via MMS to him. Within a minute he had saved it in his image archive.
âIs Simon at school?â said Henrik when he put his telephone back in his pocket.
âYes, he is,â said Lasse and sat down on the stool again.
âWhen does he come