Åke Edwardson - Sun and Shadow

“This isn’t an exact copy, is it?” Sara Helander said.

“No,” Winter said. “Beier’s looking more closely at the writing as we speak, but obviously it’s very reminiscent of the previous murders.”

“How much detail has there been in the press, in fact?” Djanali asked.

“We’ve managed to keep the writing quiet,” said Möllerström, the registrar, rising to his feet. ‘And the music, too. I haven’t seen that mentioned anywhere in the newspapers. Nor on the radio or television.“ He wasn’t looking at anybody in particular. ”It’s actually a bit odd.“

Winter thought about the men in black at Desdemona. They didn’t appear to be chatterboxes. On the other hand, it might not have been flattering for the genre if the murderer’s choice of music had become public knowledge.

“No music this time, then,” Halders said. “If we can call it that.”

“No.”

“No music while you work.”

Djanali groaned.

“One thing I do know,” Halders said, waving the photograph in his hand. “About reactions to this.” He looked around the room. “When it becomes known that another couple has been in the wars, if you can put it like that.”

“What do you know?” Ringmar asked.

“When this comes out there’ll be a mad dash for the divorce courts,” Halders said, looking around the room again. It sounded as though somebody sniggered, but Djanali saw Winter stiffen. “Who wants to be married or living with some…”

“That’s enough, Fredrik,” Winter said.

Djanli thought about Winter. He used to live alone but now he had a partner and would soon be a father. On the other hand, Fredrik was already a parent, but lived alone. When had he last seen his son? He’d tried to talk about that last night, but had had trouble finding the words.

“So they didn’t have a very big party,” Helander said.

“Three people, it seems.”

“The same as last time.”

“Yes.”

“So we’re waiting for Siv Martell to tell us. They must have been planning to dine with the murderer.”

Winter said nothing.

“How is she?” Djanali asked.

“Still unconscious,” Ringmar said. “Or perhaps they’re keeping her anesthetized.”

“Exactly what happened to her?” Halders asked.

Winter told him. Several of those present breathed in sharply, there was a sort of whisper all around the room.

“Oh, hell,” Halders said. “And they think she’s going to be able to give evidence?”

“Meanwhile, we have a job to do,” Winter said.

“Wall Street,” Halders said.

“Yes?”

“Vallgatan. That’s where the record shop is. It’s still there, I suppose?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t that kid buy the CD there?”

“That’s right,” Winter said. “He was there. We’ve checked.”

“Did they have several copies?”

“We’re checking that now,” Ringmar said. ‘Again, I should add. The question’s been asked before.“

“He must have bought the crap somewhere,” Halders said. He turned to Ringmar. “But it doesn’t have to have been there.”

“No. But what are you getting at exactly?”

“It could have been bought in the USA. That’s where the CD comes from, isn’t it?”

“Canada.”

“Canada. All right. That’s not far from the USA. What’s in the USA? Wall Street’s in the USA. New York, to be exact. Manhattan, to be even more exact.”

“Are you saying we should start looking in Manhattan?” asked Börjesson, one of the younger detectives.

“Manhattan,” Winter said.

“Yes…” said Halders.

“Manhattan…” Winter said again. “Janne, could you get a copy of the words for the Sacrament CD, please?”

Möllerström hurried off to his office, but was soon back. Winter took the paper and started reading.

It had been somewhere toward the end-there. He looked up, then down again. There it was. In two places.

He read the lines out loud, two lines from each location in order to make the connection clear. They were about Manhattan. Short visits to the earth.

“Sonofabitch,” Halders said. “I was right.”

“But it could be a coincidence,” Winter said. “We must keep reminding ourselves that all these clues, or whatever they are, might be pure misinformation.”

“But we shouldn’t take any risks,” Halders said. “I hereby volunteer to go and check on the spot.”

You’re already on your way to the seventh century B.C., Winter thought, and read the lines again. Manhattan was there, albeit as a place deep down in the Valley of the Shadow of Death.

“This only makes matters worse,” Djanali said. She looked at Winter. “How could we check if it’s relevant? Are you really going to send Fredrik to Manhattan?”

Everybody burst out laughing. Winter cleared his throat.

“This is only one part of a bigger picture,” he said. “Manhattan or not.”

“There are Manhattans all over the world,” Djanali said. “A newsstand could call itself Manhattan. Or a pizzeria.”

“What does it mean?” Möllerström said. “The word must mean something.”

“It’s Indian,” Ringmar said. “We’ll check up on that.”

“Why did he let her live?” Djanali asked out of the blue.

“A good question,” Halders said.

“What does it mean? The fact that she’s still alive?” Djanali looked at Winter. “Have you spoken to Lareda about that?”

“Not yet.”

“Something disturbed him,” Halders said.

“Any ideas?” asked Winter.

“The newspaper boy.”

“It’s incredible,” said Möllerström. “For the first time ever Göteborgs Posten is published on New Year’s Day, and just see what the poor newspaper boy finds.”

“No national holidays for newspapers anymore,” Halders said. “Talk about a successful premiere.”

“It happened before then,” Winter said. “The murder.”

“The telephone,” Halders said.

“We’re checking calls.”

‘A second person involved?“

Ringmar shrugged.

I’m fed up with speculation, Winter thought.

Just then Beier came in without knocking and stood beside Winter.

“I thought you’d want to hear this.” He paused for effect. “The man’s fingerprints… Bengt Martell’s. They match several we found in the Valkers’ flat.”

“Sonofabitch,” Halders said.

No more speculation, thought Winter.

“They’ve always sworn blind they’d never been there,” Halders said. “Both when Aneta and I were there, and when Erik paid them a visit.”

“So they were lying,” Ringmar said.

“He was, at least,” said Winter.

“The sperm,” said Halders. “When you’ve taken the blood samples you’ll find the DNA test shows that the guy’s sperm was on the Valkers’ sofa.”

If there’s enough blood left for that, thought Djanali, who had passed on the photographs, one at a time.

“You think there was something fishy about that relationship, then?” Helander said to Halders.

“I think their mutual interest was sex,” he said. He stood up. Beier was still there. “You can never tell about such things by looking at people, you can’t even suspect it, really. But more and more people are trying to make new contacts… and they want to have sex with one another. Wife-swapping parties. Group sex. God only knows what else.” He paused for breath. “Swinger parties. I think they’re called swinger parties.”

“You seem to know all about them,” said Möllerström.

“Shut your trap.” Halders remained on his feet. He turned to Winter. “It’s a way of meeting people. We’ve been wondering about how they got to know each other, haven’t we? They didn’t seem to have anything in common. No past history or anything like that.”