“Not that there would be anything you want to keep secret,” says Lena with a smirk.
“Not at all,” Patrick agrees. “But you know... once you start really digging into someone’s past...”
“... you usually find something they’d rather keep to themselves,” says Lena.
“Something they’d rather... forget,” Patrick clarifies, with a nod towards the living room,
where Rune’s head sticks out of one of the armchairs.
The TV is on in there. A smell of fresh-brewed coffee comes through the door.
Patrick points one of his crutches, giving a little poke at the pile of paper in the man’s arms,
so that a sprinkling of snow settles over the man’s white shirt.
“I’d especially take a look at that Internet history, if I were you,” he explains.
And then they all stand there. Anita and Parvaneh and that journalist woman and Patrick and Ove
and Jimmy and Anders and Adrian and Mirsad and the man in the white shirt and the three nurses,
in the sort of silence that only exists in the seconds before all the players in a poker game
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