Åke Edwardson - Sun and Shadow

“What?”

No reply. He shouted again. Still no reply.

“Angela?”

He opened the curtain, took the bath towel from its hook, and quickly rubbed his hair, shoulders, and stomach. He dried his feet and fastened the bath towel around his waist, then opened the door. He could see his briefcase standing open on the floor outside the bathroom.

“Angela? Did you shout?”

No answer. He hurried into the kitchen and then into the living room. Angela was on the sofa, staring at him with a piece of paper in her hand. She held it up and Winter could see the return address of the Spanish national police force in the top-left-hand corner.

Oh shit! He’d been carrying that damned letter around instead of throwing it away as he’d meant to.

“I had to look through the pile you had in your case, and this letter was lying face up,” she said. “So don’t think I’m in the habit of snooping through your private papers.” She waved the letter in the air again. “But now I’d like an explanation of what the HELL this is, Erik.”

Winter could feel the water dripping from his hair. Or was it cold sweat? Despite the fact that it was nothing. The letter was nothing. There was nothing to explain.

“It’s nothing,” he said. He took a step toward her. There was water on the floor.

“But I’ve read it, I’m afraid. It wasn’t very long. But long enough.”

‘Absolutely nothing happened,“ he said.

“She seems to have a different idea about that.” Angela looked at the letter. “Alicia. Do you have a photograph of her as well? Maybe it’s hanging on the wall of your office?”

Winter went up to Angela and tried to touch her. She knocked his hand aside.

“I promise you, Angela. Nothing happened.”

“Oh, shut up!” She punched the air. “You’re talking to a witness who’s seen it all.” She burst into tears, quietly, with a soft, constant whimper he’d never heard before. “How could you, Erik? How could you?”

He sat down on the sofa beside her. It felt as if all his blood had rushed to his head. Damn it. He should have told her right at the start, but there was nothing to say. Why say something that could cause pain when there was nothing to discuss? It would be pointless. Destructive.

He started to say something but she stood up and headed for the hall.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“But I must… we must…”

She turned and threw the letter at him, it soared like a swallow for a couple of yards, then flopped down on the polished wooden floor, and he watched one corner sucking up the water that had dripped off him. She just stood there.

“I haven’t said anything because there’s nothing to say,” he said holding out his hands so that she could see how pure and guiltless they were.

“Your conscience is clear?” she said, and maybe that was a laugh he could hear. “Do you take me for an idiot?” She looked down at the letter, which was wet through by now.

“No.”

Bergenhem woke up with a headache. He seemed to have been resigned to it even in his sleep, and made himself ready.

He heard a little cry from the foot of the bed and saw Ada trying to climb onto their double bed. He could hear her struggling. He could also hear Martina working in the kitchen, and the screech of a lone seagull flying past the window.

Martina came into the bedroom and gave Ada a little shove so that the girl did a forward roll onto the bed and squealed in delight.

“Is it the usual again?” Martina asked.

“Yes.”

“You have to go to the doctor.” She reached out to prevent Ada from falling off the bed. “You said you would if it kept coming back.” ‘ She put Ada in the middle of the bed and Bergenhem sat up, took the girl’s hands, and lifted her up. It was like lifting a pillow.

“I know, I know.”

“Is it still behind one of your eyes?” She reached out to touch him. “The left one?”

“Stop it,” he said, pushing her hand away, perhaps too brusquely. He looked at her and took hold of her hand. “I’m sorry. But I seem to get so damned edgy with this.”

“You’ve been… edgy for a long time.”

“I know, I KNOW”

“Is there anything else?”

“Meaning what?”

“Is there something wrong between us?” she said, and he could see that she was trying to avoid looking at Ada.

“No, no.”

“Can’t you go to the doctor’s? You’ll have time tomorrow before nine.”

“All right. I’ll go.”

He reached for Ada and lifted her up, and again she squealed in delight. When he looked up at her everything turned black for a tenth of a second and he put her down again, fumbling almost like a blind man.

“What’s the matter, Lars?”

“I suddenly felt dizzy.”

“Good grief, you really must go to the doctor’s.”

“I bet it’s just migraine.”

“You’ve never had migraine before.”

“What sort of a comment is that? Say that to somebody who’s getting MS.”

“That wasn’t funny.”

“Well, stop nagging me.”

He got out of bed and strode from the room.

“Coffee’s ready,” she called after him, but he didn’t answer.

Angela had put on her overcoat, pulled on her leather boots, and left the apartment, and he wouldn’t have been able to hold her back by force.

He picked up the letter. It felt like a wet leaf. The letter heading was a disaster. Just as the conversation had been a disaster. The quarrel.

She came back after seven minutes, but she wasn’t carrying a bag of Danish pastries. She kicked off her boots and went to the living room, where he was still standing with the letter in his hand. She hadn’t taken her coat off, as if to signal that this was going to go on all evening. Backward and forward.

“Rereading it, are you?”

“No…”

“You’d damn well better have a good explanation.” She ripped off her coat and threw it on the floor. “A true explanation.” She took a couple of paces toward him. “Do you understand, Erik? I want to know the truth. No spin and no goddamn lies.”

“You don’t need to swear like that.”

“I’ll swear as much as I damn well want.”

‘All right, ALL RIGHT.“ He looked around the room, then put the letter on the coffee table. ”Should we keep standing, or should we sit down?“

She went to the sofa and sat down. He followed her.

“Listen now,” he said to her profile. She was staring out at the electric-blue sky. It was fine weather, like most evenings. She’d only been out a few minutes, but her cheeks were flushed. “This woman was an interpreter at the police station. I met her when I reported the theft of my wallet.”

“Terrific.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“A great way to meet.”

“Do you want me to explain this, Angela?”

“Yes, please.” She was still staring straight ahead.

“Anyway I met her again when I got the money from the bank. It was pure coincidence. We just bumped into each other outside the bank.”

“Maybe she was following you? Shadowing you?”

“Angela, don’t get paranoid.”

“Paranoid? Is that the chief inspector’s diagnosis?” She moved her head for the first time and looked at the letter on the coffee table: it had started to dry out and was curling up. A papyrus roll, Winter thought. The Dead Sea Scrolls. You can read about the past there. It can be true or false, depending on how you interpret it.

“And then you never left each other’s side until I arrived,” she said.

“Angela, that’s not true and you know it.”

“What is true, then? I’m still waiting.” She nodded at the letter again. “That wasn’t about a chance meeting outside a bank.”