'Well, there's nothing you can do, I understand that. Duty comes first. But Dad will be disappointed. He says he only sees you at Christmas, more or less, even though you live so close to one another.'
'Well, it's not that close,' said Tell, the anger welling up inside him. Just like Ingrid to take the opportunity to make him feel guilty. No doubt she would mention Christmas presents soon; naturally he hadn't got around to buying any. 'It's ten kilometres, not exactly next door.'
'Oh well. Anyway, we'll meet up some other time. I'll put your present in the post. It's nothing special, just a few chocolates. And look after yourself, Christian. Don't go working yourself to death. Merry Christmas.'
'Merry Christmas, Ingrid.'
If he hadn't been convinced before, he was now absolutely sure he'd made the right decision. Don't go working yourself to death. There was certainly no risk of Ingrid doing that; she had never done a day's work in her life - if you didn't count housework, dinner parties for her husband's contacts and bringing up children. Still, it seemed petty for a person who had all the time in the world at their disposal - particularly since both her sons were grown up and didn't exactly need her to blow their noses or change their nappies - to place the entire responsibility for their father's social life on him.
He had sometimes wondered what the nervously animated Ingrid got up to all alone during the day in her big house. When there were no guests to look after. Were her features softer, was her smile less strained? Suddenly he could see her in his mind's eye at sixteen or seventeen, when they were both still living at home. He remembered how it used to bother him when his mates started sneaking off to the room next door, standing in the doorway and grinning inanely at his sister. She had been a pretty teenager. And cool.
A figure appeared on the other side of the fence surrounding the car park, and stood there gazing up at the building. Tell realised he couldn't be seen from outside as there were no lights on in his office apart from the electric Advent candles. When the boy started climbing the fence, Tell hammered on the window, almost frightening the life out of the poor kid. Because you had to feel sorry for a lad who was trying to break into a police station on 23 December, instead of sitting at home with mulled wine and the television.
The feeling of relief at avoiding Christmas in the Krook household was beginning to ebb, and was replaced with a new sense of disquiet: the thought of an empty flat and the blue glow of the neon sign across the street. He wondered if there was anything left in the bottle of Jameson he'd opened just after the feast day of St Lucia, on 13 December. He looked at his watch again. Only ten minutes had passed.
The radio programme he'd been listening to was interrupted by the traffic news, informing listeners that the traditional holiday jam in the Tingstad tunnel had temporarily eased. And it was getting late. Most of those who had been going nowhere fast a few hours earlier up by Gasklockan, the huge gasometer, had presumably made it to their cottages in Bohuslän by now; perhaps they were already filling up the fridge with Christmas fare.
He decided to go for a little outing.
The examination of the crime scene had been completed but he still parked by the side of the road; old habits die hard.
Tell pulled down the garage door. He didn't want the cold fluorescent light flooding across the yard. Even if it was highly unlikely that the murderer would return to the scene of the crime so long after the murder, he still didn't want to advertise his presence. He hung his coat over the back of the chair in the makeshift office.
There was a computer containing a simple book-keeping program in which the company's income and expenditure had been entered. Tell couldn't see anything untoward in the services specified or the amounts involved, even if he wasn't exactly an expert when it came to cars. And it was obvious that the workshop hadn't made Waltz a rich man, unless he was doing work that didn't go through the books. Which of course he could easily have been doing, thought Tell.
He shut down the computer and sat there for a moment on the office chair, trying to decide what to do next.
The bottle of Jameson, hopefully still half-full, popped into his head. Perhaps it was time to go home and sit up late watching TV, like any normal Swede would be doing. Distractedly he took down two files from a shelf above the desk.
Apart from a list of telephone numbers, the files didn't contain anything that seemed unusual. He folded up the list and tucked it into his jacket pocket. He was just about to put on his coat when a noise made him jump. It seemed to come from outside, and sounded like the engine of a car being turned off a little way down the road. There were no other houses nearby. Could Lise-Lott have decided to come home after all, despite informing them that she would be staying with her sister over Christmas and New Year?
Instead of making a noise by opening the garage door, Tell decided to go out through a smaller doorway within the big barn doors. As quietly as he could he moved across to the other part of the barn, where agricultural machinery in various stages of decay stood along the walls like the skeletons of prehistoric animals. Even though a full moon was shining on the cluttered cement floor, it was difficult to avoid stumbling over buckets, sacks and tools.
The doorway Tell was aiming for faced the road, which meant he would have a good chance of surprising any intruder from behind. He was filled with a mute sense of relief as he stepped out of the barn. It had stopped raining. A little way off on the gravel track he could definitely make out the silhouette of a car.
Tell crept around the corner of the barn, keeping his back against the flaking wall, and listened carefully. A sound in the bushes made his heart skip a beat. He wasn't carrying his service pistol, of course. He groped for something with which to defend himself and found a thick branch by his feet. The shadow of an animal, presumably a rat, darted from the bushes and disappeared under an outhouse.
He clutched the branch firmly. It was now pitch dark, except for a narrow strip of moonlight emerging from a gap in the clouds. Someone was moving towards the house with rapid, light footsteps. He didn't have time to think; he just took three long strides and wrapped his arm tightly around the intruder's throat.
The scream that shattered the silence took him completely by surprise. A moment's hesitation was all it took for his captive to gain the upper hand by elbowing him hard in the stomach then spinning around and driving a knee into his crotch so that he doubled over in pain. Both the voice and the red Wellingtons were familiar.
'Seja Lundström? It's Inspector Christian Tell,' he gasped.
'Berg,' she said, her voice trembling as she caught her breath. 'Seja Lund berg!
He managed to straighten up, still furious as he looked into her terrified eyes.
'What the hell are you doing here? This is a crime scene, and you're a witness! Do you understand how serious this is, creeping around here in the dark? And how suspicious it looks?'
'No… well, yes. I do understand. But… it's not what you think.' She took a step back as if her first instinct was to turn and run away.
'I don't think anything,' Tell hissed, angrily wiping away a tear that had squeezed out of his eye as a result of the sudden pain. 'The only thing I know is that you need to come up with a good explanation as to why you're here, and bloody quickly. I think the station is the best place for that conversation.'
She backed away from him and shook her head so violently that the hat under which her hair had been tucked fell to the ground. Momentarily distracted from his rage, Tell noticed that her brown curly hair looked surprisingly coarse, like horsehair.
'No! I mean, there's no need. I know it seems odd, but I have absolutely nothing to do with all this, with the murder. I wasn't even with Åke when he found the body, you already know that. I will explain, but I'd rather not do it at the police station. It's Christmas, after all… not that I'm that bothered about Christmas…'
Tell thought about the station, virtually in darkness. Right now it would be empty apart from a few duty officers and some poor sod
on the desk who was probably doing the crossword and looking at the clock every ten minutes. He sighed and set off towards the car, taking Seja Lundberg's arm.
'Didn't you see my car?' he couldn't help asking.
She was almost running to keep up with his long strides.
'No. It's dark.'
She hesitated as he opened the passenger door.
'Would you trust me to drive my own car? Otherwise I don't know how I'm going to get it home. 'She added, 'Perhaps we could drive into Hjällbo and get a cup of coffee somewhere. I could really do with one. Then you can question me at the same time.'
Tell wondered if she was teasing him. He was bothered by the lack of respect she was showing in the face of his attempt to exert authority. He thought about letting her go and booking an interview after the holiday. She was hardly a suspect, after all, and was highly unlikely to take off anywhere. But coffee sounded like a good idea, especially compared with the alternatives on offer - the whiskey, the TV and the glow of the neon sign. He made his decision.
'We'd better go into town. I shouldn't think there'll be anything open in Hjällbo by now.'
'We could try the pub at the railway station,' she said. Her smile seemed familiar, but he couldn't work out why.
He pulled himself together. She was a witness. He'd found her in an isolated location where a man had recently been murdered. If she wanted to even out the balance of power by pretending they were friends or flirting with him, he wasn't going to be stupid enough to fall for it. He pushed her firmly towards her own car.
As he drove behind her on to the empty main road, heading into town, he couldn't help wondering about the sudden awkwardness Seja Lundberg had aroused in him.
After they had abandoned the idea of the pub at the central station, since the clientele consisted largely of faces that were too well known to Tell, they walked around for half an hour searching for a cafe or restaurant that was still open on the night before Christmas Eve. The place they finally ended up in was crowded, mostly with young people packed around tables in a huge space covering three floors. The floor was painted pale grey, with a very high shine slightly reminiscent of dirty ice. The walls were a deep red and covered with photos inspired by the 1950s. He recognised the flicked up hair and big sunglasses of Jackie Kennedy. Somehow the sea of young people rubbing up against one another seemed even more alien since the smoking ban had made the picture clearer. In Tell's day veils of smoke had lain thickly over bars and pubs, smoothing rough edges and giving you something to do with your hands, as well as a dreary but acceptable chat-up line.
Seja took the words out of his mouth.
'This isn't exactly the kind of place I usually go to.'
'No.'
The music was far too loud for Tell's taste. They took a window table from a couple who appeared to be on their way home so that they could concentrate on each other undisturbed. It made the conversation Tell had intended to conduct with Seja seem somewhat absurd.
She was rummaging in her rucksack, her head down. That hair again, covering her face in a great heavy swathe, like a separate entity in itself. She wasn't wearing a scrap of make-up, and was dressed in practical clothes: jeans and a warm sweater.
She emerged with a tin of snuff. Tell discovered two things: her upper lip was beaded with sweat, and although he was fighting against it, he couldn't help finding this extremely sexy. The second thing was that she had a piercing in her nose, which surprised him. It suggested a certain kind of self-awareness he had thought Seja Lundberg lacked. She wasn't wearing anything in it, and at first he had thought the black dot was a birthmark.
She leaned forward, her elbows on the table.
'I wasn't with Åke when he found the body,' she said, taking a sip of her beer.
'No, I know that,' said Tell. 'Anyway, it was perfectly obvious you were lying.' He put his cup down on the saucer. 'The question is, why? That's what I want you to explain to me.'
She sighed and chewed on a nail as she gazed out at the outdoor bar, which was closed.
'I can't explain it. I know it seems insane, but I… I wanted to see the dead man. Something drew me there, not just Åke. I'm a journalist - at least, I soon will be. Maybe I thought that… well, it doesn't matter what I thought. Åke was disturbed by the whole thing, and he didn't want to go back there on his own. Besides, he did actually need a lift. His wife isn't very well and I think he didn't want to worry her. I usually help them out. With all kinds of things.' She kept her eyes fixed on Tell as she repeated, 'I wanted to see the body. That's why I lied and said I was there when Åke found it. Otherwise I would never have been allowed past the gate.'
'And what did you think?'
His expression was challenging as he held her gaze over his coffee cup, and he noticed her hesitation. Enough interviews, if not exactly along these lines, had taught him to see whenever a person was wondering just how truthful they should be. A range of possible versions flitting through their mind, like lines that had to be followed to their conclusion so that they could be dismissed. In the end lies wound themselves together into one big tangle that became impossible to sort out, under the implacable searching gaze of the professional. Some people broke down and told the truth. The difficulty lay in knowing whether the person in front of you was lying or simply concealing part of the truth.
'I was fascinated. And scared.'
He nodded. A fascination for crime scenes was something they had in common.
'But what were you doing there today? In the dark.'
Instead of adopting a veiled expression, which Tell would have found appropriate, a wry smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.
'And what about you? Haven't you got anything better to do than lurk about at the scene of a murder on a night like this? Shouldn't you be decorating the tree? Cooking the Christmas ham?'
'Answer the question,' said Tell, feeling torn. In a different context he would have interpreted the smile as a definite sign she was flirting with him. And he couldn't help being turned on by her warmth; it seeped out of those grey-green eyes, from the corners of her mouth and through her voice, which was deep and sensual.
She leaned back in her chair.
'Christmas frightens me. I split up with my partner not long ago, and I get lonely sometimes. Not always, but today. Tonight. I got the heebie-jeebies and just took off. As I said before, I was scared. And fascinated. I'm often fascinated by fear and, for me, checking things out is a way of controlling it. Finding its roots. I drove to Björsared because somehow I already felt involved. I was thinking about the woman, his wife, and I wanted to see if she was there. Talk to her.'
'As part of your research, I suppose?'
She ignored his cynical undertone.
'I just wanted to talk to her, that's all. But she wasn't there. And then you jumped on me.'
A techno version of'Jingle Bells' was turned up to full volume, and a gang of boys and girls at the long vermilion bar began to sing along.
Tell looked at Seja and risked a smile.
'Let's go. I think I know a better place, if you can cope with a stronger drink. But Detective Inspector Tell won't be coming with us.' He hesitated for a moment before throwing all reason overboard. 'Christian will have to do.'
She smiled back. As he thought about the fragile heart that had decorated the froth on top of his coffee, he suddenly remembered an evening in the pub at the central station. Seja had been sitting next to him on a bar stool, with her coat on. Tell had thought that this woman seemed to exude the same kind of loneliness as himself, a loneliness that was above all spiritual, and incurable. Being surrounded by other people somehow increased the sensation of standing all alone on a spiritual plane where everything else has been flattened by a strong wind. Carina, the person with whom he had come closest to creating a life together, had put it like this: Christian, according to your view of the world, you are all on your own there in the middle. Everyone else is just a peripheral shadow. Unreliable. Unnecessary.
'He'll do fine.'
Seja Lundberg put on her anorak.
She could handle her beer better than he'd expected. This miscalculation cost him the remains of the sense he had left behind, and his sobriety. The hole in the wall underneath the Hotel Europa had countless brands of lager, and at some point during the course of the evening they decided to try them all. When the jovial Irish owner turned off the artificial candelabra at around midnight and threw them out with a kindly word - 'Don't forget Christmas, kids' - they had to lean on one another.
A sharp frost had followed the rain. The canal, its bridges adorned with sparkling ropes of light, was covered in a thin layer of ice, as were the broad stone steps leading down to the water and the iron chains that were meant to stop the public from falling in. As far as he could remember afterwards, they had no qualms about ignoring this safety barrier. They just sat there on the bottom step, the soles of their shoes resting lightly on the thin ice.
Gradually the frost found its way through their clothes. With numb frozen behinds and feet, it seemed obvious he should invite her up to his flat.
'I don't live far away,' he said. 'We're going to freeze to death.'
And it was true. In any case, she wasn't exactly capable of driving.
Ending up in bed wasn't part of the plan. It was, he thought on the morning of Christmas Eve as the pale sun stabbed him in the eye, the result of poor judgement followed by severe intoxication. This could cost him dear and would be difficult to explain to his colleagues. And to Ostergren, if the gossip got that far. And it probably would, given that the police station was like one big coffee morning.
He reached out and traced the contours of her body, careful not to wake her. The bones of her spine lay defenceless beneath the thin skin, and the morning light revealed downy hair at the back of her neck. Her calm even breathing reminded him of a sleeping child.
Memories of the previous evening came back to him in disjointed chunks: he suddenly remembered her face beneath him, her mouth and eyes open, telling him about fear and trust.
Frozen Moment Page 12
