Sun and Shadow Read online

  “What do you mean?”

  “What’s that? Have you been swiping pictures from the forensic lab? Photos from a murder scene?”

  The woman looked at the wall and started to blush. She’ll soon be so hot that her makeup will melt, thought Djanali. “Oh, I thought we’d taken them down. I suppose it’s been overlooked. They’ve been hanging there for a while and then, well, after a while people only see the wall.” Her face was still scarlet. “But they are very unsuitable.”

  “What are they?” Halders insisted.

  “Er ... well ... they are a series of new fashion photographs.” She looked at the wall again. “We’ve had quite a few like that this autumn.”

  “Is this the fashion for the new millennium?” Djanali wondered.

  ‘A rush of blood to the head,“ Halders said. ”Brave New World.“

  Irma Fletcher looked as if she were shouldering the shame of the whole planet. She leaped to her feet, pulled down all three of the posters, crumpled them up, and stuffed them into a wastepaper basket next to the door. Then she sat down again.

  “As far as we can make out, Louise Valker hasn’t been working here for the last couple of months?” Aneta Djanali was checking her notes.

  “No. She worked sort of seasonally. I mean, she came to help out when we needed her. No regular pattern to it, in fact.”

  “It sounds a bit shady.”

  “That’s what I meant when I said ‘no regular pattern.’ But that seemed to be how she wanted it.”

  “That’s how she wanted it?”

  “I offered her a part-time job with regular hours a year or so ago, but she turned it down.”

  “Turned it down? That must be unusual.”

  Irma Fletcher shrugged.

  “She didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t ask her.”

  “Was she any good?”

  “Yes. She was competent enough. Maybe not too keen to learn anything new. But, there again, I suppose she wasn’t exactly a youngster anymore. I don’t know. And I’d rather not speculate.”

  “Did she socialize with any of the other hairdressers here?”

  “Not as far as I know. Feel free to ask them, but I don’t think so.”

  “So she kept to herself.”

  “We all work hard here, and you could say that we all keep to ourselves. Some of them have their own chairs, and they’re running their own business under my umbrella. And then everybody goes home when we close up shop.”

  “Did you get to know her at all?”

  “No, not really. We once had a coffee together at the café next door—that was when I offered her the job. I think that was the only time.”

  “Can you tell us anything about her? What she was like?”

  “She liked men.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I had the impression that she was very interested in men. A bit of a flirt, you might say. That’s something you tend to notice.”

  “Christian was a good salesman. What a tragedy.”

  It was afternoon. They were sitting in an office with a view over Gothenburg—apart from Halders, who preferred to stand.

  Comec’s open-plan office was on the twelfth floor. People were leaning over computers and conducting conversations. They’re talking over the computers’ heads, thought Halders. I’d better stop thinking along those lines.

  Comec’s head of sales and personnel was sitting in front of them, looking serious at one moment and cheerful the next. He keeps forgetting himself, Djanali thought.

  It was early afternoon on Friday, and all the men were casually dressed in checked shirts, T-shirts under comfortable tweed, polo shirts. The few women Halders could see were dressed normally. Maybe the occasional one in jeans. The sales boss was dressed in a black T-shirt under a black single-breasted jacket, boots, black jeans.

  Casual Friday, Djanali thought. When Comec becomes Comic.

  “In what way was he good?” Halders asked.

  “Knew what he was doing. Conscientious. Got results.”

  “Why didn’t you miss him, then?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He was absent for ten days. Why didn’t you miss him?”

  “In the first place that’s not how we work here,” said the man, crossing his legs. “We don’t keep a daily check on our workforce in that way. They are highly qualified people who take care of themselves.”

  Highly qualified, my ass, Halders thought. The only thing ...

  “And in the second place, Christian had taken a week’s vacation around that time. I didn’t know about it until later.”

  “But that was only a week.”

  “As I said, our staff take care of themselves. Perhaps he hadn’t booked anything for the days before and after his vacation. I haven’t checked that. Yet.” He looked at Halders, perhaps somewhat arro gantly. Halders wasn’t sure, and couldn’t be bothered to find out.

  “Did you know Christian?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Did you know him socially? Did you mix in your private lives?”

  “No. Maybe the occasional beer with the guys,” he said, and looked at Djanali. “With the team, I mean.”

  “Okay. Anything else?” asked Halders.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Can you tell us anything about his personality? Did he ever talk about his friends? Or his wife? Anything at all apart from Comec?”

  “Only the usual.”

  “What’s the usual?” Djanali asked.

  “You know, girls, that sort of thing.”

  They took the number-four tram to Hagen. Angela had been surprised when he suggested it.

  “I thought you never went by tram.”

  “I am tonight.”

  “Why?”

  What could he say? That he wanted to see the town in the same way as most people see it? Huh. He simply didn’t want to take a taxi, or to drive himself. He also wanted to walk a bit.

  “I feel like walking. Let’s walk as far as the Avenue and take the tram from there. Are you ready?”

  “Surely you can see that I’m not ready,” she said from the bathroom.

  “Okay. I’ll wait.”

  She brushed her hair and put a bit of gloss on her lips. She looked in the mirror and opened her eyes wide. The light in the bathroom wasn’t good. She had bags under her eyes in there. They weren’t there when she looked in a mirror at the hospital. She made a face at the mirror. It’s not the light. You want a house. Your apartment days should be over. A house by the sea.

  Winter had gone to the living room and was standing by the window. Coltrane was playing with Red Garland. “Soft Lights and Sweet Music.”

  The city was wrapped in gauze. Soft light shone out through the bandages. Lights blinked on top of high buildings. Gothenburg had acquired a different topography in recent years. It was reaching up to the sky. Airplanes cruised between its arms on their way down.

  He looked down. Down there. Somewhere. How many times have I stood here and thought: the answer is down there, the solution. The man I’m going to meet is down there somewhere, perhaps he’s walking past at this very moment. He’s walking through the park. Now he’s passing the obelisk. I’ve done that as well. I’ve kept meeting him.

  “Ready,” Angela said from the hall. The music came to an end at the same moment, and it was the last track. He switched it off and left the room.

  As they were waiting for the elevator an elderly man came out of Mrs. Malmer’s flat and closed the door carefully behind him. He hesitated when he noticed them, but nodded and stood alongside them to wait. He was tall, graying hair, moles on his face.

  “Who was that?” she asked when they left the building and started walking toward the Avenue. The stranger had disappeared in the opposite direction.

  “Never seen him before.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  There were a lot of people waiting at bus and tram stops in Vasaplatse
n. Their breath came out of their mouths like smoke. Angela could feel the cold through her coat and wished she was wearing a hat. Her ears were freezing cold already. Twenty degrees, and it was still only November. Perhaps it will be up to fifty on Christmas Eve.

  “There’s a colleague of yours there,” she said.

  “Where?”

  “In the police car on the other side.”

  “Yes, I can see it.”

  “It’s not moving.”

  “Well ...”

  “Can you see what it is?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Where it comes from.”

  “The district? I suppose it ought to be from Lorensberg. Why?”

  “Noth—”

  “Now I remember. We can ...”

  The car started moving and passed by them. Winter waved at it.

  “Simon Morelius,” he said.

  “Was that the driver? Do you know him?”

  “Only by sight.”

  The tram was full when they eventually got on, and they stood in the middle, holding on to the straps. Angela was standing with her legs apart so as not to lose her balance, and seemed to be protecting her stomach. Not such a bright idea after all, Erik, he thought.

  A lot of passengers got off at Kungsportsplatsen and Angela was able to sit down. It was quiet where they were, but somebody was muttering away and occasionally shouting threats at the back. Everybody looked the other way. Several drunks came on board at Brunnsparken. Winter had to move.

  After two more stops the seat next to Angela became vacant. There was a smell of smoke and alcohol in the tram, and sweat from the fat man in front. Some teenage girls were staring at Winter. A black man was playing something on his Walkman that was making him jerk his head from side to side. At Järntorget a group of young men got on. They were all wearing black leather jackets covered in names and symbols. A devil, two witches. An ax dripping with blood. There was a clanking noise from the shopping bags full of beer cans when they put them on the floor, which was covered in black slush. A teenage couple three rows ahead of them kept turning around, apparently to look at him, or at Angela. There was something vaguely familiar about the girl. He looked out the window. A police car overtook them as they approached Stigberget. The long arm of the law again, he thought.

  Lotta Winter welcomed them in a cloud of garlic and herbs.

  “Where are the girls?” asked Winter.

  “It’s Friday night. Eight o‘clock. They won’t stay at home anymore, not even for you, Erik. Let me give you both a hug!” She embraced them. “You’re FREEZING!”

  “They’ll be back before eleven, won’t they? The girls?”

  “Grow up.”

  “He’ll find out eventually,” Angela said.

  “What can I get you to drink?” Lotta asked.

  “I’ll have some wine, please. Angela will just have water.”

  “Have you spoken to Mom?”

  “Yes.”

  “How was she?”

  “Still says she’s coming for Christmas.”

  “How was she otherwise, did you think?”

  “As you said, she seems to be ... strong. Let’s hope she can keep it up.”

  Let’s hope she can, for all our sakes, thought Lotta, as she poured the drinks.

  22

  Hanne Östergaard was shoveling snow. Her spade scraping over the stone paving, through the snow drifts. The garden was covered in white.

  The trees are sticking up like the skeletons they now are, she thought, and could feel the sweat under her woolly hat.

  Several neighbors were also out snow-shoveling this Saturday morning, using fancy types of “spade” that still didn’t seem to be much good. Gothenburg isn’t inside the Arctic Circle. Nobody expected the snow to last for very long.

  Three houses down the road a man was busy putting winter tires on his car. She looked toward her own garage as the side door opened and Maria appeared in wool sweater and a six-foot scarf, but with no hat or gloves. She was carrying a broom, and now sat astride it and jumped three paces.

  “I thought I’d do a bit of flying,” she said.

  “Wrong time of year, love.”

  “Exactly. Swedish witches appear at Easter. So you believe in witches, do you?”

  I believe in everything evil, thought Hanne, but it was only a fleeting reaction.

  “I believe in what I see before me,” she said instead. “Sometimes, at least.”

  Maria looked put out, for a couple of seconds. Then she looked up again.

  “I thought I would give you a hand.” She cleared a strip of the path with one sweep of the broom. “Get rid of the remainder.”

  “That’s terrific.”

  Maria brushed away. Suddenly, she was a child again. Hanne Ostegaard saw the little girl in her face, and was overcome with love and affection when Maria looked up and smiled. Her attempt to ask for forgiveness. Hanne was determined to swallow it, hook, line, and sinker. She’s only a child.

  Patrik appeared and walked along the newly cleared drive sporting a thick and gigantic knitted hat that was big enough to accommodate Maria as well.

  “Patrik, hello.” She held out her hand. “Long time no see.”

  “Hello! I thought I’d pay you a visit. About time I ventured into the sticks.” He looked around. “Virgin white out here.”

  “That’s one way of putting it.”

  “Virgin white. Most of it’s already gone in town.”

  “What would you say to a cup of hot chocolate?”

  “Well, what do you say?” said Maria, looking at Patrik.

  “I’d love it. I’m freezing. There was something wrong with the heating in the tram.”

  She’d made cheese rolls and two mugs of hot chocolate, with another on the way.

  “Do you know what it is yet?” asked Maria, barely audible with her mouth full.

  “I was playing it over in my mind last night, but I was so damn ... so tired,” he said, looking at Hanne, the vicar.

  “It’s all right.”

  “Did you listen to the disc I lent you?” he asked.

  “Not on your life. You put it into my bag without my knowing.” She took another bite. “I don’t like that kind of stuff.”

  “What don’t you like?” Hanne asked. “I’m curious.”

  “Hard rock.”

  “Death metal,” Patrik said. “Black metal.”

  “Eh?”

  “Not Ria’s thing. Too heavy.”

  “What is it? A sort of punk?”

  Patrik roared with laughter. “Metal punk, in that case,” he said, and Hanne noticed he had finished his chocolate. She went to the stove to heat up some more milk.

  “Patrik knows everything about music,” Maria said. ‘And about stuff that doesn’t deserve to be called music as well.“

  “And you’re saying that this, er, metal is in that category?”

  “It’s not music as far as I’m concerned, Mom.”

  “But you can’t just ... sweep it under the carpet,” Patrik said.

  “But what does it sound like?” asked Hanne, who had returned to the table with the hot milk. “I’m getting curious again.”

  “All right,” Maria said. “Hang on a minute.”

  “We’re not going anywhere,” said Patrik.

  Maria left the kitchen, and a minute or so later some kind of music could be heard coming from the living room. Hanne looked at Patrik when somebody started hissing like a madman against a background of what sounded like a plane crash.

  “Black metal,” Patrik said.

  Maria came back.

  “The idea is that it should sound like a witch singing,” Patrik said.

  “I’ll go and get my broom,” Maria said.

  It was Patrik’s fourth mug. They had finally gotten around to telling Hanne about his suspicions about the apartment, and the phone call he’d made to the caretaker.

  “Haven’t the police spoken to you as well?” asked Hanne.<
br />
  “No.”

  “That’s odd.”

  Patrik put down his mug for the last time. He shrugged.

  “Suits me and I don’t suppose it matters. They were informed, after all. I can’t tell them any more than the old guy will have.”

  “That’s usually something for the police to decide.”

  “Come on, Mom. You’ve spent too much time at the police station.”

  “I bet the old guy wants to grab all the credit for himself,” Patrik said. “Maybe he thought he’d get a reward.” He looked at Hanne. “Maybe there was a reward, in fact.” He looked at Maria. “Maybe I made a big mistake.”

  “I think you ought to get in touch with whoever it is handling the investigation,” Hanne said. “The crime unit.”

  “It’s the man you know,” Maria said. “He works for the crime unit, doesn’t he?”

  “Erik? Erik Winter? I don’t know if he’s involved in that particular case, but I suppose he may well be.”

  “It was him,” said Maria, looking at Patrik.

  “What do you mean?” Hanne Ostergaard looked at her daughter.

  “We saw him on the tram last night,” Maria said. “He was with his girlfriend or wife or whatever she is.”

  “Angela.”

  “They were on the same tram as us. We went to Stigbergstorget.”

  “What were you going to do there?” Hanne asked. She was aware that her voice was suddenly suspicious.

  “Oh, Mom! It was eight o‘clock, or thereabouts, and Bengans was open late.”

  “On a Friday?”

  “Yes,” Patrik said. “It was a special release promotion. Ultramario played some tracks from their latest disc.”

  “That explains everything then,” said Hanne, and tried to smile. Maria looked angrily out of the window where the sun was glinting on the snow in the back garden.

  Neither Patrik nor Maria spoke.

  “So you saw Erik Winter? I didn’t know he ever used the tram.”

  “It was definitely him,” said Maria. “And we’ve seen the lady going into the building where he lives.”

  You two get all over Gothenburg, it seems, Hanne thought, but she kept it to herself.

  Patrik had also been looking out the window. The sun was bright now, lighting up the snow. Like a lamp. He thought about the bluish-yellow light on the stairs, the newspapers, that hellish music pounding out when he opened the flap of the mail slot.