Åke Edwardson - Sail of Stone

“That would have been perfect,” she said. “On top of everything you said.”

“Hmm.”

“She might report it.”

“Good. Then at least someone will.”

They got into Halders’s car. Aneta’s car was still outside the Lindstens’ house.

“They’re probably home by now,” she said. “The Lindstens.”

“She is fucking freaked out,” said Halders.

“Yes, but why isn’t she saying anything? To anyone else?”

“How do you know she hasn’t said anything to anyone else?”

“Yes, that’s true…”

“To the gal in there, for example.”

“Susanne? Do you mean that she’s protecting her?”

Halders turned to her with a crooked smile.

“Not a thought you really want to think, is it. She’s not worth it, is she.”

Aneta didn’t answer. They were on their way over the bridge again. The city’s lights were like a dome all the way from the flatlands in the north to the forests in the south. A sign for the ships out there to the right. For everyone who could see. Could see. Could…

“There’s something here that we haven’t seen,” she said.

“Isn’t it always-”

“Something obvious,” she interrupted. “Something totally, completely obvious that we haven’t seen. What it is. What happened.”

“Do we know what’s going to happen, too?” asked Halders.

The Lindstens’ house was unlit and quiet. Halders looked at Aneta’s questioning face: Shouldn’t the Lindstens be here?

“It’s almost like I don’t care anymore,” said Halders.

Their colleagues from forensics had left shortly after Halders and Aneta had arrived. There had been two of them. We needed to come out anyway, as one of them had put it, and the other cracked up and they went on their way.

No one was laughing now. There was no car in the driveway. Aneta called, but Sigge Lindsten didn’t answer, nor did his wife.

“Are you up for another drive?” said Aneta.

“Aren’t we going home? You said you’d come home with me.”

Halders looked at his watch. He had called the babysitter. Hannes and Magda were watching a quiz show that he had okayed. After that, straight to bed. He had said good night to the children just in case. But he had thought he would make it back. He and Aneta.

Aneta looked at him without answering.

He understood.

“No, Aneta. Not that. Not tonight.”

“Why not?”

“It’s late. We’re tired. Anyway, we can’t set up a…”

“Good interrogation? Who says it’s Hans Forsblad we’ll find there?”

She left the car at home in Kommendantsängen. “Governor’s field.” It was an interesting name for a concrete jungle. A beautiful concrete jungle. They heard drunken roars from Gyllene Prag over on the corner. Everyone was enjoying the reprise of summer. Two cafés had moved their furniture out again. The people of the city were out on the streets. It smelled like grilled meat and rapidly warmed wind from the south. They heard ambulance sirens out on Övre Husargatan.

“Someone else is in trouble,” said Halders. “In the dark I hear a siren… Someone else is in trouble. I am not the only one.” He started the car again. “Eric Burdon and the Animals.”

They drove through Allén.

“I’m glad you came along, Fredrik.”

“Well, of course I’m curious. Too.”

The world of the seasons was unlit, and the contrast to downtown was great. Smoke rose from the large factories, or maybe it was fog that was rising in the sudden warmth.

The houses towered up like transatlantic ships in dry dock, but with their cabins lit up.

There were no people on the street. Shadows, but no people. Cars drove by at great intervals, but they seemed driverless. There were no sidewalk cafés.

“Cozy,” said Halders.

“It’s the in place to live now,” said Aneta.

“I know. Why else would we be here?”

“We’ve arrived,” she said, nodding toward the building.

“My God,” said Halders. “Does this monster of a house end anywhere?”

Graffiti had been written over the top of graffiti in the elevator. Some people called it street art. Halders stared at that shit with a hateful look. Not so long ago, Swedish Television had called the CID and asked for a policeman who could participate in a debate program during prime time about graffiti versus street art, art versus damage. Some joker at the switchboard must have sent it up to Möllerström, and Möllerström proved that he had a sense of humor when he transferred the call to Halders, and Halders said yes.

Birgersson had managed to put a stop to the whole thing at the last second. It’s for your own sake, he had said to Halders. Someone has to find out the truth, Halders had said. Soon, Birgersson had said, soon. The police commissioner had sent someone from a department no one had heard of, and Halders hadn’t watched the piece of shit.

“When did you last see a mirror in an elevator in a building like this one?” he said, turning to Aneta, who was trying to prepare herself for their arrival on the floor above.

“It was before your time, anyway,” continued Halders, and let out some sort of laugh. “There were mirrors everywhere. Jesus, it’s almost like you can admire how naïve they were back then!”

“It was a belief in the future,” said Aneta. “Don’t be so cynical. They believed in the residents.”

“Cynical? Me?”

“There are still mirrors in elevators,” she said.

“In hotels downtown, yes. And in Winter’s building!”

“Are you ready?” she asked.

Halders followed the numbers above the elevator door and nodded.

The elevator stopped.

The doors opened automatically.

All the doors in the stairwell were closed.

The light went out above them as they walked up to the door.

There was a light coming from inside.

Aneta Djanali rang the doorbell. They couldn’t kick in the door. It wasn’t ringing in there. Aneta didn’t remember the doorbell being broken. She heard steps inside; it sounded like steps. Was it the thieves? The ones who said they were father and son? The criminal always returns to the scene of the crime.

“Don’t stand right in front of the door,” said Halders.

He knocked, or banged.

The shuffling inside stopped. Halders banged on the door again.

They heard steps again.

“Who is it?”

Aneta recognized the voice.

“Police,” said Halders.

They heard the voice again, but no distinguishable words.

The door opened.

“So we meet again,” said Aneta.

“What are you doing here?” asked Halders.

“I thought Anette was here,” said Sigge Lindsten.

“She said that she had spoken with you tonight.”

“Have you spoken to Anette?”

“Just now,” said Aneta, “at Forsblad’s sister’s house.”

“I was already on my way here then,” said Lindsten.

“Why would she come here?” asked Halders.

“If she wasn’t at home or with us down in Vallda, well, where else could she be? This was the only place I could think of.”

“What about Susanne Marke’s?”

“No,” said Lindsten.

“No, what?”

“I didn’t think she’d be there.”

“Why not?”

“Not after… what happened.”

“Where could Forsblad be now?” said Aneta.

“Not at his sister’s, then?” said Lindsten.

“No.”

“He could have been here,” said Halders.

“He doesn’t have a key,” said Lindsten.

Is he that naïve? thought Aneta. Forsblad could have made any number of keys he wanted to.

“I was just about to go,” said Lindsten.

“What is that smell?” said Halders.