Room No. 10

by Ake Edwardson

  “Now we just need to find the Martinsson couple to see if either of them is missing a hand,” said Halders.

  “The woman, in that case,” said Winter.

  “The mom and the boy didn’t know them, you said?”

  “No, no. That’s no cozy little row-house neighborhood, Fredrik. People don’t even know each other if they live in the same stairwells.”

  “But they must at least see each other, right?”

  Winter shrugged. That was the second time this evening. He didn’t like to shrug. He would have to quit.

  “How is it for you?” he said. “And me? Quite honestly, I don’t give a shit about people in my building up in Guldheden. I wouldn’t be able to point out a third of them.”

  “And yet you’re an expert,” said Halders.

  He swung into the half circle around Central Station. The line for the taxis outside the main entrance was long. Winter could see people’s breath. That’s how cold it had gotten. Shit. Then it would be November, and December, January, February, March, half of April. That was the white winter. Then the green winter would start. His father had talked about leaving this part of the world once and for all, and then he had. That had been quite recently. He had taken his money with him and he’d forgotten to pay the taxes. Winter understood that his father wanted a life in the sun, but he didn’t understand the other part. They no longer spoke to each other. Maybe they would in the future, but Winter wasn’t sure. First he wanted an explanation. But that wouldn’t be enough.

  “Metzer wasn’t much help,” Halders said. “He got nervous because it sounded so bad, he said. And that was all.”

  “Did he know the Martinssons, then?”

  “No.”

  “No one knows anyone here, apparently.”

  “That’s how it is,” said Halders.

  “So what do we do now?” said Winter.

  “Wait for the Martinssons to call,” Halders said. “Or be found. Maybe just one of them.”

  Winter didn’t answer. They waited at a red light outside the GP building. Maybe he would be able to read about what had happened out on Hisingen in the paper the next day.

  “After that we’ll just have to see what the guys in forensics come up with,” Halders continued.

  “One of the guys was a girl,” said Winter.

  “Well, it’s just like they say,” Halders said. “If a chick is good enough, she becomes one of the guys.”

  He parked outside the police station. They were going to go in and write, and then this day would be over.

  “Are you coming along for a brew after?” Halders said.

  “Not tonight.”

  “A lady waiting for you?”

  “Yes, actually.”

  “Be careful.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of getting stuck. It can go fucking fast.”

  “No chance,” Winter said.

  “Is she cute?”

  “None of your damn business, Fredrik.”

  “I’m just curious. What’s her name?”

  “Hasse.”

  “Hasse? Come on now, for fuck’s sake.”

  “She’s one of the guys.”

  “Ha-ha. Come on, Erik. What’s her name?”

  “That’s none of your damn business either.”

  • • •

  Angela took a step back from the crosswalk. It might have been at the last second.

  “Did you see that?!”

  Winter didn’t answer. He tried to read the license plate, but it was too dirty. It was an S40, a later model. He hadn’t had time to see the driver as the car passed at sixty-five or seventy kilometers per hour.

  “He ran a red light!” said Angela.

  The S40 turned right and drove the wrong way on Chalmersgatan, maybe on its way toward the local police station at Lorensberg. Winter took out his cell phone, called right away, explained quickly.

  “Yes. Yes. He might be on his way to you right now.”

  He waited, with the cell phone against his ear. They were still standing at the crosswalk. Angela had taken two steps back.

  “Yes? Okay. Oh? Well, there we go. Thanks.” He put away the cell phone. “They got him.”

  “Serves him right.”

  “A thief.”

  “Did they say that?”

  “A real celebrity,” Winter said.

  “Could they tell so quickly?”

  “We live in speedy times.” The light turned green again. The traffic stopped, nice and proper. “Should we be brave and cross?”

  They walked through the park and down toward Salutorget.

  “Hasn’t it always gone quickly?” Angela said after a little bit.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Haven’t you always felt like things go too quickly? Too quickly through life?”

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “Can’t you answer?”

  “Well . . . yes, I guess I can.” He slowed down. “Maybe I have . . . felt like that before.”

  “With us, for example?”

  “No, no, no.”

  “You know, we were actually seeing each other for only five years before we moved in together,” she said without looking at him. “It went very fast.”

  They were walking on the bridge across the small river. It was black in the night light. It was hard to see where you were walking. He felt for Angela’s arm.

  “Did we live apart for such a short time?” he said.

  “The time really did fly by.”

  “I like it when you’re being sarcastic,” he said.

  “Although you did stay with me up in Kungshöjd an awful lot,” she continued.

  “There you go.”

  “You said that you felt more at home there than in Guldheden.”

  “Yes. And then I got the apartment at Vasaplatsen and then it was like there wasn’t really much to discuss, was there?”

  Angela’s cell phone rang.

  “Yes? Yes? Yes. Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. Yes. Yes. Exactly. Exactly. Of course. Yes. Yes. Yes.”

  She hung up and put the phone in her purse.

  “The babysitter,” she said.

  “I could tell. Problems?”

  “No.”

  They continued across the square to the restaurant on the east end. Angela had made a reservation yesterday. The table was by the window. From the inside, it looked very cold outside. Winter smelled good smells in the room. He ordered a dry martini; Angela ordered a Kir Royale. The martini was very dry; there had only been a few drops of Noilly Prat on the ice before it ended up in the glass.

  They clinked glasses.

  Winter looked out through the window. It looked like winter out there. He could see his mirror image in the glass. It was blurry. He saw the glass in his hand. He saw Angela.

  “Do you know what we’re celebrating tonight?” Angela said, looking up from the menu.

  “Of course.”

  “But you didn’t say anything when I booked the table. Or the babysitter, for that matter.”

  “Did you want to test me, Angela?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you believe me, then?”

  “No.”

  He took the box from the inner pocket of his jacket and handed it over. It wasn’t large. He could have hidden it in his hand.

  “So do you believe me now?”

  “How could you hide your true intent for so long, Erik?”

  “ ‘Intent’? Don’t you mean ‘present’?”

  “How could you keep it up like that?”

  “That’s my job.”

  20

  Winter’s cell phone rang at the same time the appetizer was placed on the table. He smelled the fresh, oven-browned herbs that lay like a little brush on the plate. He would use them to paint the scampi.

  He answered reluctantly.

  “Where are you, Erik?”

  It was Halders.

  Winter told him where he was.

  “I’
m not far from there,” Halders said. “Västra Hamngatan.”

  “The fitness center?”

  “You could put it that way.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I met Paula’s boyfriend here. Or whatever we should call him. He didn’t like that term.”

  “Are you sure?! Is it him?”

  “Nina Lorrinder’s the one to ask. She’s sure.”

  “What does he say?”

  “He’s not saying much. He doesn’t like this.”

  “Where is he now?” Winter asked.

  He saw Angela’s questioning look over the table. He could still smell the scents of everything that was on his deep, oblong plate. But not for much longer. Another thirty seconds and it would all be ruined.

  “He’s standing two meters away,” Halders answered.

  “Do you want to bring him in?” Winter asked.

  “I think I’ll question him a little more first,” Halders said. “Then I’ll see. I don’t think he’ll leave the city.”

  “Call me in an hour.”

  “What will Angela say?”

  “Just call me.”

  “I might call before then,” said Halders.

  • • •

  The boyfriend looked like a man of thirty. He still had his hair. Halders was suspicious of men who still had their hair; that went for everyone, from drunks to financiers. For that matter, most financiers were drunks.

  The boyfriend didn’t look like a drunk. He had an open face. There was something unfinished about it, some features that hadn’t been outlined yet. It would take a few years. Some people drank their way to a face, especially actors; there was a particular purpose for it. But that took time, too.

  Halders wasn’t sure that he would have remembered this face if he’d seen it only a few times. And anyway, it looked like so many other faces in this place. Maybe it was the exercise that did it, the aerobics. Their appearances became streamlined.

  “I only spoke with her a few times,” the boyfriend said. “That was all.”

  “Listen here, Johan . . .”

  “Jonas.”

  “Listen here, Jonas. We’re just trying to find out as much as we can about Paula.”

  They were sitting in the café. Halders wanted it that way. It was far enough from the next table after he’d rearranged things a little in there.

  “I’m happy to help,” said Jonas.

  “What do you do, Jonas?”

  “What?”

  “Where do you work?”

  “Uh . . . I’m unemployed right now.”

  “How well did you know Paula?”

  Jonas looked confused. That was the point. Not all questions needed an immediate follow-up. Jonas looked somewhere, as though the witness who’d pointed him out would step forward and explain that it had all been a mistake. But he hadn’t met the witness. Lorrinder had left without showing herself after she’d recognized him.

  “But I already told you that I didn’t know her.”

  “You were just talking to Paula a little?”

  “Yes.”

  “Isn’t that what knowing someone means?”

  “Well, it—”

  “How did you two happen to start talking?”

  “Can’t you take it a little slower?”

  “Is this moving too fast for you, Jonas? Don’t you have time to think?”

  “What, I ca—”

  “What did you talk about, you and Paula?”

  “Nothing, really.”

  “Is that common?”

  “What part?”

  “Talking about nothing? Is that what you usually do?”

  Jonas looked around in the café, as though the other patrons might hear him, or rather Halders. Halders was leaning over the table.

  “Don’t you like this, Jonas? Should we go to my place instead?”

  “To your place?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t understand your . . . tone. I haven’t done anything.”

  “You didn’t contact us after Paula’s death.”

  Jonas didn’t answer.

  “Did you hear what I said?” Halders asked.

  “Yes. But . . . what could I have done? Or said? Said to you?”

  “She was murdered. Did you know that?”

  Jonas nodded and mumbled something.

  “I didn’t catch that,” Halders said.

  “Yes. Yeah. I . . . read it.”

  “Read it where?”

  “Where? It was . . . at home.”

  “In which paper?”

  “It was . . . GP.” He looked around and then at Halders again. “I think.”

  “A woman you know is murdered. It wasn’t a car accident or something. She was murdered, for God’s sake! It happened a quick ten- or fifteen-minute walk from here. It might have happened the same week you met her.” Halders leaned closer. “Maybe it happened the same day?”

  Jonas recoiled. Halders could see drops of sweat on his forehead. It might have been left over from working out, but the kid hadn’t done his workout yet. He probably wouldn’t get his workout tonight.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t mean anything. I’m asking.”

  “I didn’t meet her that week.”

  “So you checked out what week it was?”

  “I read—”

  “You read, but you didn’t react?”

  “Yes, I did re—”

  “No, Jonas, you didn’t react. You didn’t contact us.”

  Jonas didn’t answer.

  “So what did you and Paula talk about?”

  • • •

  The appetizer was gone; the main course was on the table. Turbot, melted butter, horseradish, simple as hell and just as expensive. A grand cru from Bergheim.

  “Are you waiting for Halders to call?” Angela asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Try to eat a little now, my friend.”

  “I’m glad you understand,” Winter said.

  “I have a few questions, but I’ll wait for the coffee.”

  “If there is any coffee.”

  “Have a bit of fish now, Erik. Doesn’t it look nice?”

  He looked down at the fish. A whole turbot, the skin partially rolled down, the wonderful flesh underneath, like a silk sheet under a velvet coverlet. He lifted a large piece onto his warm plate, sprinkled horseradish over it, ladled on the frothy butter. The boiled potatoes were good here. Good potatoes were rare in Swedish restaurants. Potatoes were this country’s national food, but they were worthless at restaurants. It’s strange, he thought. In Alsace the sauerkraut is almost always perfect. He took a little sip of the wine. Not to mention the wine. He put down his glass. Best to take it easy. The telephone might ring at any time with any damn manner of bad news. Or good. They run together. The worst news is often the best news.

  “Have you talked to Siv yet?” Angela asked.

  “Yes . . . I guess I have. Are you thinking of something in particular?”

  “Is she feeling better?”

  “I didn’t know she was feeling worse.”

  Angela didn’t say anything.

  “Isn’t she feeling well?” Winter asked.

  “She’s been feeling dizzy again.”

  “Well, what is it?”

  “I don’t know, Erik. We’ve talked about that. She needs to take it easy. And she needs a real, thorough examination.”

  “Examination of what?”

  Her body, he thought in answer to his own question. The shell of thoughts. Yes. Reinforced with nearly fifty years of alcohol and nicotine. If I keep at it, I’ll become my mother’s son.

  “We’re going down together,” he said. “You know that.”

  Angela lifted some fish over to her plate. She gave him only a quick glance.

  “Think of that little place by the old soccer field,” Winter said, pouring more wine for her. “Those two tables on the sidewalk.”

  “Are you in Ma
rbella now?”

  “I sure am. That grilled pepper salad. The garlic shrimp. Those were no average garlic shrimp.”

  “Was that where we went one time after midnight? Was it that place?”

  “It sure was.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Exactly. That about sums it up.” He smiled. “The cook blew fresh life into the coals again. There were still a few sea bass on ice.”

  “Wasn’t it the waiter?”

  “They helped each other.”

  “The waiter looked like he had a chimney sweep’s face when he brought the fish,” Angela said.

  Winter’s cell phone rang.

  “Yes?”

  “We’re up in the department,” Halders said. “Perhaps you could come over here pretty soon.”

  21

  They finished their dinner. They didn’t want dessert after all. Winter drank his espresso while he paid.

  “Halders doesn’t call if he doesn’t need to,” he said, out on the square.

  Angela nodded.

  “Will you be there all night?” she asked.

  “If I am, then maybe it will all be over tomorrow.”

  “Do you think that guy will admit to anything?”

  “Halders wouldn’t have brought him into the station if he didn’t suspect something.”

  “Maybe he was just nervous.” She looked at him. “Anyone could get nervous when Halders is asking questions, couldn’t they?”

  “Now I’ll be the one asking questions,” Winter said.

  • • •

  Halders had sent a car and they went via Vasaplatsen.

  “Good night, then,” Angela said as she climbed out.

  “I’ll call in a few hours,” he said.

  “Call my cell,” she said. “Elsa has trouble falling asleep again if she wakes up.”

  She would set her phone on silent. It would light up the room when he called. She would read something, maybe tropical medicine. No. Marbella isn’t tropical yet, she’d said just now, as they were sitting at the restaurant. But soon, he had said. It’s getting warmer everywhere on earth, he’d said, and looked out into the Nordic night. Except here, he had added, up here by us. Incidentally, do you know what malaria means? Bad air, he’d answered, before she had time to open her mouth. Everyone knew that.

  The car turned down from Vasaplatsen and continued east on Allén. This is the street I’ve driven on more than any other in this city. The pigs are trawling.

  The city lights flashed by, light and dark, sun and shadow, dawn and dusk. That was what he liked most of all down south: the dawns and dusks over the Mediterranean. Over Africa.