Åke Edwardson - Sun and Shadow

Maria left the kitchen, and a minute or so later some kind of music could be heard coming from the living room. Hanne looked at Patrik when somebody started hissing like a madman against a background of what sounded like a plane crash.

“Black metal,” Patrik said.

Maria came back.

“The idea is that it should sound like a witch singing,” Patrik said.

“I’ll go and get my broom,” Maria said.

It was Patrik’s fourth mug. They had finally gotten around to telling Hanne about his suspicions about the apartment, and the phone call he’d made to the caretaker.

“Haven’t the police spoken to you as well?” asked Hanne.

“No.”

“That’s odd.”

Patrik put down his mug for the last time. He shrugged.

“Suits me and I don’t suppose it matters. They were informed, after all. I can’t tell them any more than the old guy will have.”

“That’s usually something for the police to decide.”

“Come on, Mom. You’ve spent too much time at the police station.”

“I bet the old guy wants to grab all the credit for himself,” Patrik said. “Maybe he thought he’d get a reward.” He looked at Hanne. “Maybe there was a reward, in fact.” He looked at Maria. “Maybe I made a big mistake.”

“I think you ought to get in touch with whoever it is handling the investigation,” Hanne said. “The crime unit.”

“It’s the man you know,” Maria said. “He works for the crime unit, doesn’t he?”

“Erik? Erik Winter? I don’t know if he’s involved in that particular case, but I suppose he may well be.”

“It was him,” said Maria, looking at Patrik.

“What do you mean?” Hanne Ostergaard looked at her daughter.

“We saw him on the tram last night,” Maria said. “He was with his girlfriend or wife or whatever she is.”

“Angela.”

“They were on the same tram as us. We went to Stigbergstorget.”

“What were you going to do there?” Hanne asked. She was aware that her voice was suddenly suspicious.

“Oh, Mom! It was eight o‘clock, or thereabouts, and Bengans was open late.”

“On a Friday?”

“Yes,” Patrik said. “It was a special release promotion. Ultramario played some tracks from their latest disc.”

“That explains everything then,” said Hanne, and tried to smile. Maria looked angrily out of the window where the sun was glinting on the snow in the back garden.

Neither Patrik nor Maria spoke.

“So you saw Erik Winter? I didn’t know he ever used the tram.”

“It was definitely him,” said Maria. “And we’ve seen the lady going into the building where he lives.”

You two get all over Gothenburg, it seems, Hanne thought, but she kept it to herself.

Patrik had also been looking out the window. The sun was bright now, lighting up the snow. Like a lamp. He thought about the bluish-yellow light on the stairs, the newspapers, that hellish music pounding out when he opened the flap of the mail slot.

But there was something else as well.

There was something else.

The thought had been there in the back of his mind, or rather the memory had. Something he’d seen a few weeks ago, or whenever it was.

It had grown stronger. The memory. It had something to do with when he’d been thinking about what kind of music it was. It couldn’t be more than a guess and presumably not even that. But… the other thing. He could see it again as he stared out at the sun on the snow, twinkling like stars in a white sky. It was there when he said thank-you for the chocolate and went into Maria’s room. She was already there and had switched off the music, which he was pleased about.

He sat on the bed and looked out at the garden again. There was a greenhouse in the shade. He gazed at it. It seemed to help him sort through what was in his mind. The greenhouse that the sun hadn’t reached. There was something there in his mind. Not quite enough light. It was…

“Have you seen something?” Maria asked. “Is there something mysterious in the greenhouse?”

He didn’t answer.

“Say something, Patrik. I don’t like it when you’re like this. It’s bad enough as it is.” She looked out, then turned back to Patrik. ‘All the horrible things that have happened.“

“There was somebody there… then,” he said.

“What, there was somebody in the greenhouse?”

“No, no.” He turned to look at her. “The stairs. The apartment building. When I came with the newspapers one of the mornings.”

“And…?”

“People come and go even in the early mornings. But not very often. I haven’t seen many people at that time.”

“I see. It’s all clear now. Clear as mud.”

“Listen, Ria. When I was going to walk up the stairs there was somebody who got on the elevator on an upper floor and started to come down. It must have been a couple of weeks ago, ten days, maybe.”

“You mean those stairs. That building.”

“Yes, obviously. I don’t usually take the elevator but I had a bit of a temperature or something and so I thought I would that day. That’s probably why I can vaguely remember it. But the elevator wasn’t there… so I started walking up, and then I heard it start moving from two floors up or so. I’ve been thinking, and I reckon it could well have been that floor. Maybe.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I dunno, I suppose you get used to staircases. You listen to things. I stood on the stairs, not far up, and waited for the elevator to come down.”

“And?”

“Somebody got out, then went out of the front door. A man.”

“Did he see you?”

“Nope. I was a few steps up and he didn’t turn around.”

“What did he look like?”

“He didn’t turn around, as I said.”

“But was he old or young, or what?”

“I’m not sure. He didn’t seem to be all that old. But when he went through the front door I think I saw a little bit of his face. His profile.”

“You’re a scream, you really are.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve seen people in the early morning.”

“What made you think about this particular thing? Why now?”

“I don’t know, maybe it’s the time… no… it occurred to me that… it might have been the music. That something was coming from the door.”

“This is awful. Terrible. You might have seen…”

“Let’s keep it quiet.”

“What Mom said is even more important now, Patrik. You have to go to the police.”

“Eh?”

“You must. You must, you must.” She’d picked up a pillow and was hitting him on the shoulder with it. “You must testify, you must testify!”

“Give it up, Ria.”

She dropped the pillow onto the bed.

“There might be tons of important things they want to ask you about.”

“Such as?”

“Are you stupid? Such as what he was wearing, for instance.” She’d picked up the pillow again, was holding it, thinking. “Do you remember what he was wearing?”

“He had on an overcoat.”

“Long? Short? Black? Brown? Beige?”

“Dark… is this a cross-examination?” But Maria wasn’t smiling. “There was… there’s something else as well. I’m trying to remember what it is… It’s been at the back of my mind. It was something he had on… under the overcoat, that I saw. But I can’t remember what it was.”

“You mean something you recognized?”

“I’m not sure. Yes, could be. Something that… seemed familiar. But I can’t put my finger on it.”

The letter was third in the pile. The return address said “Dirección General de la Policía,” but Winter had no doubt about who had written it. He put the white envelope to one side. It was burning the light-colored wood of his desk in protest at the intrusion of his private life into the workplace. The Spanish police stamp was a symbol for the borderline between life and work: dangerous, shifting. The scorch marks on his desk were much the same as those made by Alicia’s business card on the dark table in his room at La Luna.