After I talked to von Dursen, I walked down to the water.

The museum island – Djurgården – where Anders and I walked around in the summer was right in front of me, resplendent with fall colors, still bright in the gathering dusk.  On sudden impulse, I decided to walk across it and take the little ferry back to Slussen.  I walked slowly, scuffing my boots on piles of fallen leaves, past the Nordiska Museum which looks like a fairy castle and on towards the lights of Gröna Lund, it suddenly hit me that I was composing this post in my head.

I was thinking through everything von Dursen had said, not really feeling it, but arranging it in a way that I could tell the story,  This whole time I thought that writing this was therapeutic, recording it all was helping me to keep my focus and perspective and not lose myself in the rabbit hole when thoughts and new information start swirling out of control.  But maybe I have been selfish.  I have taken comfort from the support of the commenters here, right from the beginning, and if I’m really honest with myself, that is partly why I didn’t stop writing when Hanna died.

But that doesn’t mean Malin knows what she is talking about.  I’m okay with re-thinking my own actions and motivations, but I will not be drawn that far into the crazy.  She left a couple of voicemails after she emailed me yesterday, reading out bits where I had said I hated Hanna and wanted her gone from our lives.   She kept saying that she knew I didn’t mean it like that, but would the police?

Of course they freaking would, if they have half a brain between them.  Of course.

Except then I felt the littlest flash of fear.  I did write, for the world to see, that I was making a plan to cut Hanna out of our lives right before she was murdered.  Anybody would get that I just meant hanging out with her less.  That I thought she was a jerk, I didn’t hate her.  That I was just shooting my mouth off, writing my own pointless thoughts and impressions for the entertainment of a handful of people on the internet.  It means nothing.  Nobody would take it seriously.

But then I started to think about how everything seems sinister in this context.  How I was suspicious of Tove for doing nothing but turn up at her best friend’s memorial when she said she wouldn’t.  How I wondered if Daniel – big, gentle Daniel – snapped if Hanna threatened to tell Tove.  We all say, “I’m so mad I could kill her” all the time and it means nothing, until someone dies then those same words suddenly mean everything.

I toyed with Nadja Johansson’s card.  Should I call her and tell her about the blog?  Invite her to read it, say that maybe there was something in the narrative no one had thought to tell her.  I don’t have anything to hide, I know what I meant and I am confident that nobody in their right mind would read it and suspect me.  Surely being the one to bring it to her attention will make that clear.

I had already decided that I was going to try to track von Dursen down, as Tove and I had planned.  Even though the theory about his family’s will seemed unlikely now as it couldn’t have involved Daniel, I needed to do something and figured it was just about possible he would know something about the threats Hanna was receiving, which might just illuminate… something.  I don’t know.  I just needed to do something.

Then Malin texted:

“We only have your word for it you were sleeping.”