Åke Edwardson - Sun and Shadow

“Yes, my name’s Alicia.”

“Erik.”

“I know,” she said with a smile, indicating the form she had in her hand.

He waited outside. A constable emerged and ushered him into a room looking out over the main road. It was the man Winter had seen earlier that morning going into the bar, and later into the motorcycle showroom.

“I apologize for the problems, Chief Inspector.”

“It was my own fault.”

The man said nothing. Perhaps he wondered how on earth I could have been such an idiot, something I was asking myself as well.

“They are getting more and more bold.”

“That’s the way it is.”

“But we mustn’t give up, must we?”

“Of course not.”

“Where would the world be if the police were to give up?” wondered the officer, but Winter decided not to enter into that philosophical debate just now. The officer spoke excellent English. Their discussion could have been very involved. “When the police give up, the world is doomed.”

“Do you need any more information?”

“I beg your pardon? Er, no. I’ll just finish filling this in.”

The man wrote in silence, much more slowly than he had spoken. He needed to concentrate hard. Winter had no intention of disturbing him. He might take it amiss.

“There. It’s done. Could you sign here, please? Both copies.”

Winter duly signed and got to his feet, one of the copies safely in his pocket.

“Be careful out there, Chief Inspector,” said the police officer, and Winter searched for a trace of irony; but the man’s face was a complete blank. “It’s a jungle.”

As he passed by the front desk, Alicia emerged from her office carrying more forms: Winter could see another tourist in the chair in front of her desk.

“Good-bye, Inspector Erik,” she said, giving him a winning smile.

He thought briefly about her as he walked down the hill. He was behind the wheel of his car and ready to drive to the hospital before he remembered that he needed to stop in at the bank.

Maria and Patrik were wandering around the center of town. It was chillier now. A northerly wind. Maria plunged her hands into her pockets.

“Didn’t you bring any gloves?”

“I thought I had put them in my pocket.”

“It’s cold.”

“That’s better than rain, though.”

“Have you got any cigarettes?” she asked, stopping outside McDon ald’s. The big stores in the Nordstan shopping center were closed, but the doors into the warmth were still open.

“I’m trying to stop.”

“Stop? You’ve only just started.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Who does?” she said, going into the shopping center. They walked under a blast of warm air. A group of adults followed them in. They all seemed to be laughing. Maria could smell booze and perfume and aftershave. The group stopped outside King Creole, then went in just as Maria and Patrik were passing.

“Dance band,” he said with a laugh.

“At least they have somewhere to go.”

“I’d prefer to stay outside.”

“Even so.”

Groups of people were dotted around the square outside Femman. Two police officers strolled across to where a street musician was playing the guitar. He didn’t stop playing just because they were standing over him. He started to sing. One of the officers, the older one, seemed to be swaying in time to the music. The singer increased his volume.

“He sounds as if he’s in pain,” Patrik said.

“It’s meant to sound like that,” Maria said. “It’s something from Spain. Flamingo, they call it.”

“Flamenco. It’s called Flamenco.”

“I didn’t think you knew about stuff like that.”

“But it sounds as if he’s hurt himself.”

“Just imagine being able to fly off there.”

“A last-minute package to the Canary Islands.”

“Have you been there?”

“We were all there, the whole family… before Mom moved out.”

“What was it like?”

“When Mom moved out? Just let it drop.”

“I meant the Canary Islands.”

Patrik paused, listening to the musician, who had launched into a new tune that sounded identical to the previous one.

He could tell her about a swimming pool and how he’d dived from a little stone ledge where there was a palm tree and the pool was just one story below the balcony of the apartment they’d stayed in. His little sister had had water wings and his mom had walked beside her in the blue water, laughing. He’d been diving and swimming all day long and in the afternoons they’d played bingo. He’d been swimming after dark as well, and demonstrated a new dive to his parents as they’d sat at a poolside table with his sister. Watch this, he’d shouted, and they’d clapped. It was nearly as hot in the evenings as during the day, but back home in Sweden there was snow everywhere. He’d held his father’s hand.

But there was no little sister, no mom, no trip to the Canary Islands, no swimming pool, no palm tree, no bingo. Had never been. He used to dream, sometimes, dream aloud. Maria knew nothing about that. She could visit whatever islands she wanted.

“There was nothing special about the Canary Islands,” he said.

Morelius was standing outside Harley‘s, waiting for Bartram, who’d gone inside to chat with the owner. Morelius stamped his feet. It had turned colder, and felt much chillier and drier after only a couple of hours.

“It’ll take place tomorrow,” said Bartram as he came out. “They’re not thinking of changing it.”

“Okay.”

“Maybe that’s just as well.”

“Does it matter when the Harley-Davidson club have their party?”

“I suppose not.”

“Same high jinks no matter when.”

“Pretty girls, though,” Bartram said. “They always have some top-class babe with ‘em.”

“Don’t you include them among the members?”

“They’re hangers-on,” said Bartram. “Attractive hangers-on.” He stamped his feet. “I wouldn’t mind an HD chick to warm me up right now.”

“You don’t say.”

“Get her inside all this leather.” He stroked his leather jacket. “Get down to the basics. Get what I mean, Simon? The basics.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Now what’s the matter?”

“I’m fed up with your chatter.”

“Relax a bit, for God’s sake! It’s a…” But Bartram shut up as he saw two young people approaching along the Avenue. They were only six feet away now. “Ah, some old friends! Good evening.”

“Good evening,” Patrik said.

“So you’re out walking again,” Morelius said.

“It’s a free country,” said Maria.

“Of course it is,” said Bartram. ‘Aren’t you cold?“

“No,” said Maria, but Morelius could see her red nose and earlobes and her bare hands stuck into her pockets.

‘Are you on your way home?“

“Whose home?”

“Suit yourselves,” Morelius said. “We’re just about to pick up a car and could give you a lift.”

“The night is yet young,” Patrik said. He’d heard that somewhere and thought it sucked so much, he just wanted to say it. Morelius looked at Bartram but made no comment.

“It is indeed,” said Bartram. “Have you something special in mind?”

“We’d thought of going to a pub,” said Maria.

“You’re too young for that.”

“Exactly. That’s just it.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s nowhere we can get into.”

“You don’t want to be sitting around in pubs.”

“I’m not just talking about pubs. I’m talking about places. Anywhere. Any place where young people can get in and hang out.”

“Hang out?”

“Hang out. With other people.”