Åke Edwardson - Sun and Shadow

There was another picture on the screen now. The same scene, but from another angle, closer. Winter had approached the screen and raised his hand toward the bodies, but it seemed to Ringmar that he was hesitating. Winter thinks like me. He also feels a sort of shame.

Winter said something, but Ringmar couldn’t hear what it was. He felt as if he had cotton wool between his ears, as if his infection had got worse during the time he’d spent in this room. Someone turned the lights on.

‘And this is what we heard when we entered the room,“ said Winter, switching on a tape recorder. Music filled the room, louder than Winter had intended and he lowered the volume. It seemed to get louder again of its own accord when the song started. Song? thought Winter. This is something new for me.

The crime unit officers listened, and looked at each other. Somebody grinned, somebody else put their hands over their ears. Winter could see no sign of recognition; none of the younger officers raised a hand. He switched it off.

“Damn,” Halders said.

“You’re saying that’s what they had on?” Djanali asked.

“Yes. According to the caretaker there’s been music coming from the apartment for some time.”

“That particular music?” asked Möllerström, the registrar.

“He says he’s not an expert,” said Winter drily, “but it sounded very like that.”

“What the hell is it?” asked Halders.

“I’ve no idea,” said Winter. “That’s why I’m playing it for you now. Does anybody know?”

Nobody responded. After a few seconds Winter saw a hand go up. One of the younger officers. Setter. Johan Setter.

“Johan?”

“Er… are you asking for the name of the band? The band that’s performing the stuff?”

“I’m asking what it is. If anybody can tell me what band it is, then bingo. But, well… I haven’t a clue about this.”

“Well… it’s some kind of trash metal,” said Setter. “Not really my thing, but it’s metal all right. Death metal, I’d say. Or black metal.”

“Death metal?” Winter said, gaping at Setter, who looked unsure of himself. “Death metal?”

Somebody giggled.

“An appropriate name,” Halders said.

“What on earth is death metal?” asked Ringmar.

“You’ve just heard it,” Halders said. “Quite a beat to it.”

“Zip it, Fredrik,” muttered Djanali.

“It’s pretty popular,” Setter said. “Well… more popular than you might think.”

“Popular with whom?” asked Halders. “The Swedish Nazis? The Liberals?”

“Popular with the Valkers?” Möllerström wondered.

“We don’t know,” said Winter, looking at Halders. “We haven’t got around to examining the CD collection in the apartment yet.”

“So it wasn’t a record?” Helander asked.

“No, an unmarked cassette tape. BASF. CE Two Chrome Extra. Ninety minutes.”

“Fingerprints?”

“The forensic boys are busy with that now. What you’ve just heard was a copy we had made.”

“Did they have a lot of cassettes?” Halders asked.

“Apparently none at all,” said Winter. “At least, we haven’t found any yet.”

“Where’s Bergenhem?” asked Halders. “Lars listens to all kinds of peculiar shit.”

“He’s off sick,” Ringmar said.

“Send this crap to his place for him to listen to.”

“Will do,” Ringmar said.

“It could be a message, then,” said Djanali. “A message to us. Or am I jumping to conclusions?”

“You could be right,” Winter said. “At least the murderer left the tape running.”

“For how long?” one of the younger officers asked.

“How the hell could we know?” Halders said. “If we knew that we’d have won half the battle.”

“So this is the music the caretaker heard, is that right?” asked Helander.

“We don’t know,” Winter said. “But I know what you’re getting at. If we can get him to remember when he first heard it, we might be on to something.”

“How long have they been dead?” Djanali asked. “Have we heard from the pathologist?”

“Could be fourteen days,” Winter said. “Could be longer.”

“Oh, hell,” said Halders.

“Can a tape run for as long as that?” Möllerström asked. “Can it keep going on repeat for two weeks?”

“Evidently.”

“It’s called auto-reverse,” Halders said, looking at Möllerström. “When the tape comes to the end it turns around and goes back to the beginning. It keeps going back and forth until it’s switched off. Or the tape breaks.”

“There is another possibility, though.”

Ringmar nodded. He was standing next to Winter now.

“What’s that?” Setter asked.

“That the gentleman responsible sneaked back a week or so after the murder and put some music on to improve the atmosphere,” Halders said. Somebody giggled again.

“So what are we going to do with this?” Helander asked.

“Well, it’s been suggested that Bergenhem should listen to the cassette, and that thought had occurred to me as well,” said Winter. “But we’ll have to check with anybody who might be able to help us with this. Record shops, including ones that sell secondhand stuff. Bands here in Gothenburg. If this music is so popular, somebody must recognize it. Recording studios. Check with rock critics working for newspapers, radio, television.” He looked around those present. “Johan. Can you look after that? You’ll get some help. Take the cassette around to Bergenhem’s place, then see where you go from there.”

Setter nodded.

“There’s one more thing,” said Winter, signaling to the rookie. A new picture appeared on the screen. It showed the wall in the room where the two dead victims had been sitting. There was something on the wall. Everybody could read it, the letters were a couple of feet tall and covered a large part of the wall:

“And that was there when you got to the apartment?” Djanali asked.

“Yes. We’re waiting to hear how long it’s been there.”

“As long as that couple have been sitting on the sofa,” Halders said.

Winter made no comment.

“A message,” Djanali said. “That’s not exactly a wild guess.”

“Is it red paint?” Halders asked.

“No.”

“ ‘Wall,’ ” said Ringmar. “Is the murderer trying to tell us that he’s writing on a wall?”

“Assuming it was the murderer,” Winter said. “But this doesn’t look as if it’s a single word. I don’t quite get it. A circle around the W. What does that indicate? A gap between the W and all.”

“All,” said Ringmar. “It could mean he took all of them.”

“All two?”

“All who come after.”

“Pack it in, Bertil. Go home to bed now.”

‘Are we all going to be off sick? All?“

“Bergenhem will be back tomorrow.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“Half an hour ago.”

“Had Setter been with the tape?”

“Yes. Not Bergenhem’s cup of tea,” he said.

“Okay. Anyway, this is another message for us, as well as the music. He’s trying to tell us something.”

“Does he want to be caught?” asked Winter.

“Or is he playing with us?”

“It took a lot of time to write… to prepare this. To fix… the paint. He had to go backward and forward.”

“He used a paintbrush.”

“Yes.”

“Did he have a paintbrush with him?”

“He? You’re saying ‘he’ all the time.”

“Do you think it’s a she?”

“No.”

“The question is whether he had a paintbrush with him.”

“One of the questions,” Winter said. “Another is: where is it now?”