The Spring Tide by Cilla Börjlind, Rolf Börjlind Page A

murder.’
    ‘Olivia, I’ve twigged that.’
    And now she won’t say any more, Ulf thought, as usual.
    ‘Why are you always so damned secretive?’ he said.
    ‘Am I?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Olivia was taken by surprise. Both by the personal nature of the question and the whole awkard situation. What did he mean, secretive?
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘That you always slip away, in some way, have an excuse or a…’
    ‘You mean with the beers?’
    ‘Yeah, that too, but you never follow up. You ask questions and get answers and then you’re on your way.’
    ‘Oh, am I?’
    What was he after? Ask and answer, and on her way?
    ‘Well, I suppose that’s what I’m like,’ she said.
    ‘Apparently.’
    Now Olivia could have gone on auto-pilot and driven off, but suddenly she came to think of Molin senior. Ulf was the son of one of the top people in the national crime squad, Oskar Molin. Which was hardly his fault. At first, it had irked Olivia a little. She didn’t really know why. Perhaps a suspicion that Ulf had a bit of an advantage over the rest of the class. Which was silly of course. He would have to do the same, and get the same grades as all the others. Besides, he probably had more pressure on him from home. But of course he would probably have greater possibilities to move up. With a dad who could help him over the highest thresholds .
    But what the hell.
    ‘Do you have any contact with your dad?’ she asked.
    ‘Yeah, of course. Why do you ask that?’
    ‘I’m looking for an old detective who’s no longer in the force and nobody seems to have any idea where he might be. Tom Stilton. Thought your dad might know something.’
    ‘Stilton, you said?’
    ‘Yes, Tom.’
    ‘I’ll ask.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    Olivia climbed into her car and drove off.
    Ulf remained where he was and shook his head a little. A difficult lady. Not stuck-up, but difficult. Always kept her distance. He had tried to get her to join him in a pub crawl with some others from the class, but no, she always had an excuse. She’d be studying, she’d be going to the gym, she’d be doing stuff that everybody else did but still had time to have a beer. A bit secretive, Ulf thought. But pretty, a bit of a squint, lovely full lips, always straight shoulders, no make-up.
    He wasn’t going to give up.
    * * *
    Nor was Olivia. Not on the beach case, nor on the vanished detective. Perhaps there was a connection there? He might have found something out and was stopped and pushed off abroad? And why would he do that? He left for personal reasons, didn’t he? Was that the speck in Boglund’s eye?
    Olivia noticed she was getting carried away. That was the downside of having been born with imagination and growing up with parents who solved intrigues at the kitchen table. She was always looking for a conspiracy. A connection.
    An enigma she could ponder while she fell asleep.
    The white car drove out onto the Klarastrand road. The music in her earphones was muffled and suggestive, this time it was the Deportees. Olivia liked lyrics that said something.
    When she passed the slope with all the rabbit warrens she smiled to herself. Here was where dad always used to slow down and glance at his daughter in the rear mirror.
    ‘How many are there today?’
    And little Olivia would count them as fast as she could.
    ‘Seventeen! I can see seventeen!’
    Olivia suppressed the memory and pressed the accelerator. There was surprisingly little traffic. The holidays had begun of course, she thought. People will have started going off to the countryside. This led her to think about their old holiday house out on Tynningö Island. The family place, where she had spent her summers while she grew up, with Maria and Arne and a decidedly protected idyll. A little inland lake, crayfish, a swimming school and wasps.
    Now Arne was no more, and the same applied to the crayfish . Now there was only her and her mum left. And the family place. Which was so strongly associated with