Åke Edwardson - Sun and Shadow

“No, no. It was a pickpocket. But I can tell you the details later. Can you ring them? I think the phone numbers are on the bulletin board in the hall. Over the bureau, yes, I’m sure. Two cards. No, just phone them. They have all the details. What? It was just now, less than five minutes ago. Seven o‘clock, maybe. I’m on a hillside some way above Marbella and the bastard will have to make his way down to an ATM in town. If we can stop them now he won’t have time.”

“I’ll fix it.”

“Phone me back when you’ve done it.”

He switched off and turned to the man behind the counter, who had been following the conversation. Winter still hadn’t touched his coffee, or the water.

“Un ladrón, eh?”

Winter didn’t understand what he meant, but made a gesture in response.

“Ha robado la cartera, eh?” He pointed at Winter’s sleeve. “La cartera. Hijo de puta. ” He shook his head, as if regretting the existence of all the world’s riffraff. “Hijo de puta.”

“Yes,” Winter said. “The sonofabitch stole my wallet.” He looked at the cup of coffee. Steam was still rising from it. He’d have loved to take a sip, but he couldn’t pay for it.

“Sírvase,” said the man, gesturing sympathetically toward the cup. “Please. It’s on the house.”

She laughed at him. It was like the first time… when it had all started. She, the other one, and he… they’d both laughed.

She’d accused him of not being a real man. Just look at yourself, she’d said.

Now he did exactly what he wanted to do in this room, which had turned completely white in his eyes. He hardly noticed them as he walked over to the stereo and switched on the cassette that the other one had switched off with a curse only seconds after he’d started it.

“Do-not-switch-off-that-music,” he said.

“You’re out of your fucking mind.”

“Do-not-switch-it-off.”

“We want you to get out.”

‘Just fuck off,“ she said. ”We don’t want you here.“

“I-am-staying-here,” he said, turning the sound up and starting to react to the bass, to the guitars. The room was white. He closed his eyes tightly. He had stopped seeing. There was no darkness. He felt something hit his stomach, like a punch, or a kick, but he didn’t open his eyes. The white was still out there. He didn’t want to see it. The music was everywhere, WOAHWAOHWHAAWHOAWHAAWHO, he felt another blow and somebody was pulling his hair and he opened his eyes. The other guy hit him again, knocking him to the floor. This cretin was trying to get to the music, but he was in charge now. He was in charge. If he lay still and allowed him to turn off the music it would all be over, but that was impossible. He was in charge now. The real man. He stood up, opened his eyes and peered at them through the whiteness, and he no longer knew if it was quiet. He heard nothing as he grabbed hold of her, felt nothing, nothing as he groped after him as well, after his body. The white glow was still there, but at a distance now, as if waiting. He grabbed at her again, at him again.

A long time.

He was shaking like a dog. The music was still on when it was over. He’d done everything and toward the end he’d had all the help-the courage-he’d lacked earlier. He was still there in the white glow. He could hear the words, one after another, nobody else could make out any words in the blare of the music, the-blood-is-sacrificed-in-my-face.

Angela rang after five minutes.

“All done.”

“Good.”

“So, what now?”

“I’ll borrow money from Mom today. But you could phone the bank and ask them to send me some money to arrive tomorrow.”

“Where to?”

“To one of the banks in town. I’ll call in at the first one I come to and ask if they can receive transfers. Actually, I can phone my bank myself if you can give me the number now.”

“Okay. That was… pretty bad luck.”

“It was badly handled by me. That shouldn’t happen.”

“Every cloud has a silver lining. You’ll learn to have a bit of sympathy with the victims from now on.”

“Hmm.”

“You’ll have to report this to the police.”

“Oh, please.”

“Of course you must, Erik. You can’t come back home and contact your insurers and all that without having reported the incident to the police on the spot. Do I have to spell that out for you, of all people?”

“No.”

“Maybe the thief will pocket the credit cards and send all the rest to the police.”

“Maybe Santa lives at the North Pole.”

“I’m serious, Erik.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll report it to the police. At least I know where the police station is.”

“Good. Worse things have happened, Erik.”

“I know, Angela. I know.”

He walked around the bus station, investigating the waste bins and the dusty bushes, but the thief hadn’t thrown away the wallet.

Winter was still feeling furious, but Angela was right. There were people worse off than he was.

The gray marble walls of the police station had turned white when the sun started shining on them. He went up the steps and turned left to the Oficina de Denuncias, and tried to explain his problem to a uniformed officer at a desk. The man held up a hand, and used his other to point to a door. It was closed, but the sign, white on blue, said: INTERPRETER’ S OFFICE.

Winter sat down. After a few minutes the door opened and a couple who could well have been Swedes came out. The police officer beckoned to Winter.

Inside was a woman at a desk. She was busy filling in a form, looked up and indicated to Winter that he should take a seat on the chair in front of her desk. She looked twenty-five, possibly thirty, years of age. Dark, close-cropped hair; but when she looked at him he noticed that her eyes were blue. She didn’t seem to be wearing any makeup. An attractive woman. Wearing a loose-fitting dress, and her skin tone was unusually light for a Spaniard.

He told her briefly what had happened. She listened with interest, which surprised him.

“Please fill in this form. I’ll be back in just a moment,” she said.

She handed him a form headed “Diligencia,” and he started filling in personal data and a summary of what had happened. He hesitated at the word “Profesió,” but decided to tell the truth.

She came back and read quickly through the document.

“Do you still have your passport?”

“It looks like it. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to fill in the passport number, would I?” He’d sounded aggressive. He regretted his words. But she didn’t react at all.

“So, you are a chief inspector?” He thought he could detect a trace of a smile, but couldn’t be certain.

“Detective chief inspector,” he said.

‘Aren’t you a bit on the young side for that?“

“You think so? I’m in my fifties.”

“In that case you have lied about your age on this form.”

“I was only joking.” Winter could feel something inside his head, a sudden weak rush of blood. She looked at him again. “You also seem to be on the young side for an… interpreter,” he said. Oh, come on! I hope I’m not sitting here flirting.

She smiled and stood up. She was tall, taller than he had expected.

“I apologize for all the criminals we have here on the south coast.” She pointed at the door. “If you’d like to wait outside I’ll pass on this form to a police officer who’ll enter the information into the computer. You’ll be called in to him shortly.”

“Is that everything?” Winter said.

“I can’t think of anything else.”

He stood up. There was a sign by the door with three names under a heading that presumably meant “Police Interpreters.” Two men’s names and a woman’s: Alicia. She noticed that he was scrutinizing the sign.