Åke Edwardson - Sail of Stone

“Just answer this one.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“That piece of shit wouldn’t dare come here. If he did, it would be the last thing he did.”

“When did Anette move out of the apartment in Kortedala?”

“That’s another question.”

“I’ll explain soon,” said Aneta.

Lindsten suddenly seemed to lose interest in the conversation. He turned toward the counter and turned on the faucet and turned it off again.

“When?” repeated Aneta.

“What?”

“When did she move?”

“She hasn’t moved,” said Lindsten. “Not officially. She has left the apartment but she hasn’t given notice yet.”

Good God, thought Aneta.

Time to explain.

Lindsten had made himself a cup of coffee. Aneta had declined. She had called dispatch and reported a break-in. She had called the local police.

She had felt like an idiot the whole time.

Would Fredrik have asked for identification first off if he had been her and had come up to Anette’s apartment and met a nice but worried dad and a sulky brother? She wasn’t sure. She would ask him.

It was an interesting psychological situation. She had wandered right into it. The man who had claimed he was Sigge Lindsten had shown exceptional presence of mind in this situation. Exceptional. She had been under his command. The younger man had been under his command. When she thought back to the hour or so she had spent in the apartment, she realized how skillfully he had handled everything. Almost an hour! They were in the process of emptying an entire apartment and the cops knock on the door and they offer coffee and wave good-bye in the end!

It was comical, but it was also something else.

She had exposed herself.

To the two men.

And to Hans Forsblad. If it had in fact been him.

Was that man also someone else?

“Do you have a picture of Forsblad in the house?”

Lindsten went and got a photograph without a frame. A young woman and a young man, trying to outdo each other’s smiles. It was possible that several years had gone by since, but she recognized Forsblad from the meeting in that damn apartment.

It struck her that this was the first time she’d seen Anette, really seen her. She had come here without having a face in mind. That was unusual for her. The first time. But she had also come here. Something had brought her here, and there was also something frightening in that thought.

Suddenly she thought of death. She thought of her own death. She felt the sharp but fleeting sense of dizziness again, as though she had been dragged down into an abyss, a darkness.

Something told her that she ought to run away from these people, these events. Run away from everything, immediately, hurry away from this case, this investigation, before everything got bigger, even more incomprehensible, worse. More dangerous.

Anette Lindsten had regular features that tried to make her beautiful but didn’t really succeed. Aneta held the picture in her hand. Anette’s face was long, and the impression was intensified by her hair, which hung free. She was wearing a dress that was bigger than it needed to be. Anette and Hans were sitting on a bench, and it wasn’t possible to determine how tall Anette was. The man was of an average build, well over six feet.

Anette held a Popsicle that was in the process of melting.

The picture was taken on a street with cars parked on it. A store was visible behind the couple, but she couldn’t see the name. A child was on the way into the store, maybe on the way to the ice cream counter. There were sharp shadows in the photograph. Somewhere outside the picture was a sharp sun.

“It was taken a few summers ago,” said Sigge Lindsten.

Aneta nodded.

“And now it’s probably time to go to Kortedala and see the damage,” said Lindsten.

“I’ll drive you,” said Aneta.

In the car, she thought of Anette.

Had he already beaten her then? The man sitting next to her in the photograph, with his big smile?

Was she still hoping?

I’ll have to ask her. If I ever meet her.

The Winter-Hoffman family was on the way home over one of the bridges when Winter’s phone rang.

“Yes?”

“Hi, Erik, Möllerström here.”

“Yes?”

Winter heard Möllerström give a cough. Janne Möllerström was a detective and the department records clerk. Everything went through Möllerström just like it went through Winter. But Möllerström kept everything in his advanced data files. Winter had his thoughts, his theories and hypotheses, in his PowerBook. Möllerström had several computers. And telephones.

“A woman has tried to reach you a few times. Sounded a little desperate.”

“What’s her name?”

“Osvald. Johanna Osvald.”

“Did she leave a phone number?”

Möllerström recited the number. Winter recognized it. She had given it to him.

“What else did she say?”

“Just that you should call when you can.”

“Tonight?”

He watched Angela and Elsa, who were five yards ahead of him. Elsa’s hand stuck out from the stroller. Angela was walking briskly.

He quickly dialed the number he’d gotten from Janne. He released his breath when he heard the busy signal. The phone rang as soon as he hung up. He recognized the number on the screen.

“She called here again,” said Möllerström. “Just now.”

“It’s after working hours,” said Winter.

“That’s something new to be coming from you,” said Möllerström.

“What is it that’s so urgent?” said Winter.

“She just said that she wanted to talk to you.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I assume the best way to find out is to call.”

“Thanks for the advice, Janne, and have a good rest of the night at the department.”

“Thank you,” Möllerström snickered, and hung up.

Angela was waiting at a red light at Allén.

“The mobile office,” she said.

“Well…”

“There is an off button.”

He didn’t answer. He thought she was being unfair. She didn’t know that he was trying to avoid a conversation. There was still a first time for everything.

“For everyone but you,” she said.

“What?”

“A button for everyone but you.”

“Please, Angela…”

Red turned to green. They walked across the street. He saw that Elsa’s head was hanging. He would have had trouble staying awake himself if he was being pushed around in a stroller just after twilight.

“They can send a car for you if it’s really important, can’t they?”

“As long as I haven’t left town,” he said.

“Left town! Surely you don’t have permission to leave town!”

“By written request three months ahead of time.”

“In which case you can be wanted if you’re away from the house,” she said.

“Like now,” he said.

“You know what I mean.”

He looked at his watch.

“Officially, I’m still on duty,” he said.

“Did that also apply to the hour at the new bar?”

“It’s my new office.”

His phone rang again.

“You have to answer,” said Angela. “You’re still on duty.”

It was Möllerström again.

“For God’s sake, Janne!”

“Sorry, sorry, boss, but she called again and said it’s about her father.”

“I know that it’s about her father.”

He hung up and looked at Angela. They were standing outside their own door.

“I really did try,” he said.

“What is it about?” she said, and opened the door with one hand. Winter was steering the stroller. Elsa was sleeping and snoring quietly. The polyps. She would have to have an operation later, Angela had said. Are you serious? he had said. Unfortunately, she said. It happened to me too, she had said.