The Cruel Stars of the Night Read Online Free PDF Page A

likely a sign. He spoke deliberately, even though no one could hear him, with his gaze lifted to a point somewhere above the waiting cars. The stream of sheep seemed never to end, someone in the cue beeped, and the shepherd raised his staff a few centimeters higher. He spoke without ceasing. Haver stepped out of the car—he was at the front of the line—and he observed the timeless scene.
    The same feeling now gripped him as he watched the old woman raise her cane at Fridh’s van. Wasn’t she also saying something? He thought he saw her lips forming words that no one could hear.
    Fridh had stopped. Dorotea continued over to Blomgren’s large gate, hesitated a moment as if she was unsure of where she was going, then turned into the yard. Beatrice walked over to her.
    Dorotea Svahn was out of breath. She covered her mouth with one hand, perhaps wiping some saliva from the corner of her mouth.
    “I want to see Petrus,” she said in a strained voice.
    Fridh had pulled up and Beatrice took the woman’s arm and guided her to the side so that the van could drive in.
    “He’s badly beaten,” Beatrice said.
    “I realize that,” Dorotea said.
    “I’m sure you’ll be able to see him later, I mean when they’ve had a chance to clean him up.”
    “I want to say good-bye. Here.”
    There was a faint smell of mothballs around her.
    “Of course you can say good-bye. I’ll come with you,” Beatrice said.
    Fredriksson turned away. Haver kicked the leaves at his feet. Lindell and Sammy Nilsson looked at each other. Lindell shook her head, turned, and walked up to the house.
    Beatrice accompanied the woman up to the door of the barn. Charles Morgansson had finished putting away his equipment and he made way for them. He nodded to Beatrice who took it as a green light for them to go in.
    “I think the very first blow made him unconscious,” Beatrice said.
    She felt Dorotea’s thin body tense up. She freed herself from Beatrice, took the cane as support, and sank down next to Petrus Blomgren, mumbled something, and put her hand on his shoulder. Bea was glad that Dorotea had not walked over alone in the dawn and found Petrus, but that she had just called the police and forced them to come out and take a look.
    “He was my best friend,” Dorotea said.
    Beatrice crouched down so she could hear better.
    “My only friend. We pottered around here like ancient memorials, me and him. Petrus said many times that it wasn’t right, ‘They had no right,’ was how he put it.”
    Beatrice didn’t really understand what she meant.
    Dorotea’s hand caressed the wool sweater. She appeared oblivious of the blackened blood in the wound on the back of the head.
    “Little Petrus, you went first. I could almost . . .”
    Her voice was overcome with emotion. The bony hand went still, took hold of the sweater as if she wanted to pull the dead man to his feet.
    “He came over with lingonberries this fall. More than usual. ‘Now you have more than enough,’ he said, as if he knew.”
    She braced herself on the cane and slowly straightened to standing.
    “When you are as old as I am you see things, how it is all connected. Petrus would always say it would be better to turn life around, be old first and then become younger, leave the frailty behind but keep the wisdom.”
    “That would be good,” Beatrice said.
    The old woman sighed heavily.
    “They had ten cows in here, maybe twelve. He sold the land later on.”
    “For a good price?”
    “It was good enough. He didn’t lack for anything, Petrus.”
    “It looks like he lived frugally,” Beatrice said, taking the old woman’s arm and helping her back out into the fresh air.
    “That’s how we were raised,” Dorotea said.
    “Do you know if Petrus had a special place for his valuable documents?”
    Dorotea shook her head. “I don’t know anything about that,” she said.
    The four police officers were still waiting in the yard. Beatrice had the feeling that she and Dorotea