He puts the cigarette he’s shaken out in his mouth and lights it. Ove breathes so heavily that his chest is pumping up and down under his jacket.
The woman gathers up her papers and files and adjusts her glasses.
The man just sighs, as if Ove is a cheeky child refusing to stop riding his skateboard on the sidewalk.
“You know what I’m doing here. We’re taking Rune, in the house at the end of the road, into care.”
He hangs his arm out the window and flicks the ash against the wing mirror of the Škoda.
“Taking him into care?” “Yes,” says the man, nodding indifferently.
“And if Anita doesn’t want that?” Ove hisses, tapping his index finger against the roof of the car.
The man in the white shirt looks at the woman in the passenger seat and smiles resignedly.
Then he turns to Ove again and speaks very slowly. As if otherwise Ove might not understand his words.
“It’s not up to Anita to make that decision. It’s up to the investigation team.”
Ove’s breathing becomes even more strained. He can feel his pulse in his throat.
“You’re not bringing this car into this area,” he says through gritted teeth.
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