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onto her brow and she pulled it back behind her ear.

      “What’s the matter?” said Henrik.

      “What?”

      “It looks as if you want to say something.”

      “No.”

      “Are you sure?”

      “Yes, sure.”

      “Okay.”

      “There’s a good film on TV, I’m going to watch it in the bedroom.”

      “I’ll come soon, just going to shower.”

      “And shave?”

      “Yes, I’ll shave.”

      Emma smiled and closed the door behind her.

      Oh well, Henrik thought, and dug out his razor from the drawer. He’d be having a shave after all.

      * * *

      Fifteen minutes later, Henrik came into the bedroom with the towel wrapped around his hips. Emma seemed lost in some magnificent drama that had won more than one Oscar. Henrik feared he would be forced to watch the end of the tearful film. Fortunately there was no five-year-old in the bed.

      “Felix?” he said.

      “Asleep in his room. He has made a ghost drawing for you.”

      “Another one?”

      “Yes,” Emma answered without taking her eyes off the huge TV on the wall.

      Henrik sat down on the edge of the bed and glanced at the couple entwined around each other on the TV. Felix was in his own bed. Now perhaps there might be a chance to...

      He put the towel aside, slipped in under the warm duvet and snuggled up close to Emma. He put his hand on her naked tummy, but her eyes stayed glued to the film. He leaned his head against her shoulder and slowly stroked her thighs. He felt her hand on top of his, and they played with each other’s fingers under the duvet.

      “Emma,” he said.

      “Mmm-hmm.”

      “Darling...”

      “Yes?”

      “There’s something I wanted to ask you.”

      Emma didn’t answer. She studied the couple on the screen who were now united in a long, intense kiss.

      “I’ve been thinking a little and you know that I’d like to start back at the gym. So I thought...if it’s okay, that I...that I might go twice a week. After work.”

      Emma gave a start and for the first time took her eyes off the film. She gave him a disappointed look.

      Henrik supported himself on one elbow.

      “Please, sweetie?”

      Emma raised her eyebrows. Then she demonstratively lifted Henrik’s hand off her tummy.

      “No,” she answered briefly and returned to the end of the romantic story.

      Henrik was still leaning on his elbow. Then he moved over onto his back with his head on the pillow and cursed himself. He knew better. He should have phrased his request in such a way that she couldn’t say no. He stared up at the ceiling, then he puffed up the pillow and turned his back to Emma. Sighed. No sex today either. And it was his own damned fault.

      * * *

      It had just started snowing when Jana Berzelius and Per Åström decided to leave the local restaurant, The Colander. Per had suggested a restaurant dinner out to celebrate their judicial successes in a dirty divorce case, and Jana had finally given in. Making food alone was not exactly her favorite pastime, nor was it Per’s.

      “Thanks for this evening,” said Jana and got up from the table.

      “Happy to do it again soon. If you’d like to,” said Per and smiled.

      “No, I wouldn’t,” said Jana and refused to return his smile.

      “That was a dishonest statement.”

      “Not at all, dear Mr. Prosecutor.”

      “It wasn’t?”

      “No.”

      “May I remind you that you appreciate my company?”

      “Not one bit.”

      “A drink before we go?”

      “I don’t think so.”

      “I fancy something with gin. It’ll have to be the usual. You?”

      “No, thank you.”

      “Then I’ll get two.”

      Jana sighed as Per vanished off to the bar. She reluctantly sat down and saw through the window how the snowflakes were slowly falling to the ground. She put her elbows on the table, leaned her chin against her clasped hands and looked across toward Per who was talking to the barman.

      She caught his eye and he waved from the bar the way small children often do, by opening and closing his hand. She shook her head at him and then looked toward the window again.

      The first time she met Per, she had just arrived at her new office at the prosecution department. Her boss, Torsten Granath, had introduced them to each other and Per had amicably told her about routine procedures at the office. He had given her some tips about good restaurants too. Also about music. And asked her questions about everything else that wasn’t work-related. Jana had answered briefly. Some questions she hadn’t answered at all. Per wasn’t satisfied with the answer in the form of her sultry silence, and continued to ask various unnecessary questions. To Jana, Per’s curiosity felt like a sort of interrogation and she had told him to stop. Then she briefly informed him that she did not like small talk. He had simply grinned at her, in a dreadfully stupid way, and from that day on their friendly relationship developed.

      The restaurant was fully booked. The dining room felt rather squashed with all the winter coats, and the brown checkered floor was wet from the snow tracked in on the guests’ shoes. The buzz of voices was loud and the clinking of glasses quiet. There were a few lamps and a lot of candles.

      Jana’s eyes left the window and were again drawn to the bar, past Per and on to the mirror shelf behind the barman. She looked at the selection on offer and recognized the labels like Glenmorangie, Laphroaig and Ardberg. She knew they were among the classics and were all distilled in Scotland. Her father was keenly interested in whisky and insisted on sipping a smoky sort at every family dinner. Jana’s interest was limited, but she had been brought up not to say no to a glass when it was offered. She preferred a glass of white, from a well-chilled bottle of sauvignon blanc.

      Per came back and Jana looked suspiciously at the large measures in the glasses he put down on the table.

      “How strong?” she said.

      “A single.”

      Jana glared at her dining companion.

      “Okay, okay, a double then. Sorry.”

      Jana accepted his apology. She sipped her drink and made a face at the dry taste.

      Somewhat later, when they had emptied the contents of the glasses, and Per had insisted on ordering two more, the conversation had turned into collegial bickering about morality and ethics in the world of law. After having discussed various stories about much-publicized cases and lawyers of doubtful reputation, the conversation turned to the problem of tired lay magistrates.

      “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, the lay-magistrate system should be radically changed. Instead of political nominees they should appoint people who are interested in law and justice,” said Per.

      “I agree,” said Jana.

      “You want people who are dedicated. After all, their votes on the magistrates’ bench are decisive.”

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