Åke Edwardson - Never End

"She was there not long ago," Winter said.

Hansson seemed too tired and far too desperate to ask how Winter could know that.

"Other people might have seen her," said Winter. And seen other people as well, he thought.

He had another idea. He went back to Angelika's room and got the pictures of the graduation party, passing them to Hansson, who reached out a hand in a way that seemed almost apathetic.

"It's her graduation party," Hansson said.

Winter nodded. "Could you help me by identifying the people in the picture?"

Hansson studied the photograph.

"Even the ones with their backs to the camera?"

"If you can."

Hansson pointed at the photograph.

"That fatty over there on the left," he looked up at Winter, "that's Uncle Bengt. My brother, that is. He's looking the other way and chewing at a turkey leg or something." He held up his hand to his mouth. "Compulsive eater."

"Who else do you recognize?" Winter asked.

Hansson named them one after the other, sticking his index finger into their faces.

When he'd finished, there were still four left.

"Never seen them before," he said.

"Are you sure?"

"Why the hell shouldn't I be?"

Winter looked at their faces. Three men and a woman. Two of the men looked about forty. One was dark and the other blond, with a beard and glasses. There was something vaguely familiar about him. The third was a boy of around Angelika's age. The woman looked around forty too, maybe a bit younger. She was on the outside, as if about to step out of the picture. She was looking away, in another direction. One of the men was standing next to the boy. The man looked like the boy, or maybe it was the other way around. Southern European appearance, dark and yet pale, pale faces. The man with glasses and beard was holding a balloon and laughing, just as Angelika was laughing. Winter tried to think where he might have seen him before. He didn't recognize the face. Maybe it was his bearing, leaning forward slightly.

"Never seen them before," Hansson repeated.

Winter felt his flesh creep. Something was happening right now, right there. Something's happening. He looked at the four people with the unknown faces. It was as if the others standing around the girl were known to him, now that Hansson had identified them. But these four were strangers.

They could have been sent from some unknown place. Something was happening.

"Isn't that a little strange?" he asked.

Hansson shrugged. "There were a lot of people at the school hall, you can see that for yourself." He pointed at one of the pictures. "I guess these people I don't know got in this photo by mistake."

"Is that likely?" Winter nodded toward the picture. "They look like they're… part of it. Like they know Angelika."

"Well, I don't know them, in any case."

"You didn't speak to them?"

"I just said I don't know who they are, for Christ's sake."

"OK."

Neither of them spoke. Winter could no longer hear any rain pattering against the windows. He could hear a car driving past, the sound of the tires on wet asphalt.

"What the hell were they doing there?" said Hansson suddenly, looking again at the photo. "I didn't invite them." He looked at Winter again. His expression had changed. "I didn't notice them at the time. I suppose I should have."

"There were lots of people there, as you said yourself."

"They couldn't have been there," said Hansson.

"What do you mean?"

"They showed up… afterward." He looked at the photo again, then up at Winter, who could smell his sweat and the odor of fear and despair. "Don't you understand? They showed up later! They'd been sent to that goddamn party but nobody could see them!" He stared into Winter's eyes like a blind man. "Nobody saw them. Angelika didn't either. But they came with a message. A message from Hell!"

He continued staring right through Winter's head like a blind man.

"And they've gone back!" he shouted.

He needs counseling, thought Winter. Or he may be right, but in a way I don't understand.

Hansson's expression changed again. He shook his head and stared at the photograph in his hand. "You'll never find this group," he said.

"So you think they belong together? Like a… group?"

"It doesn't matter," said Hansson. "They don't exist."

Halders had chosen to play Led Zeppelinat the funeral, toward the end. Aneta Djanali recognized the tune, of course. It was something new for Winter, who was sitting in the third row with Angela and Elsa. The music sounded big in the little church.

Hanne Ostergaard conducted the service. She had been working part-time as a vicar for the police for several years. Somebody to talk to after disturbing experiences.

I must admit that she's been a rock since Margareta died, Halders thought.

"Led Zep was her favorite band," Halders had told Djanali an hour before the funeral. "She has memories associated with that tune, as I do." Then he'd said: "That's something we share. Memories." He'd looked at her. "Do you think it's inappropriate? The choice of music?"

"No. People often choose their own music at funerals nowadays."

"I haven't been to one in ages."

"Led Zeppelin is good," she said.

"It's only a song, anyway."

Halders stood beside his children as the soil was scattered over the coffin. No cremation. It was raining, but that would probably ease off during the day.

He spoke to people afterward, but didn't register what they said. The children stayed close to him.

"Is Mommy in heaven now?" Magda asked.

"Yes," he said.

Magda looked up and the clouds seemed to part in all directions. There was blue in the middle.

"Look, a hole!" she shouted, pointing upward. "Mommy can pass through that hole!"

He tried to look at the sky, but all he could see through the tears was a blur.

"Can you see the hole in the sky, Hannes?" Magda turned to look at her brother.

"There's no hole," he said. "It's just space." He looked down at the ground, which was wet.

"Oh, yes there is," she said, taking down her hand and grasping her father's hand tightly. "Oh, yes there is."

They were driving to the rocks south of Gothenburg. It was twice as hot now, after the rainy days. Angela was driving. Elsa was in the car seat in the front. Winter was in the back, looking out over the fields glistening in the sunshine. He asked Angela to turn off the air conditioning and rolled down the window, so that he could appreciate the smells.

They parked the car. He carried Elsa on his shoulders as they walked over the field. They paused to look at a foal resting in the grass. The mother was standing by its side, nuzzling her offspring.

There was nobody else in their little inlet. Winter changed quickly, walked down to the water's edge with Elsa, and kept dipping her into the sea. Angela took over, and he swam out. It was calm. He lay on his back and watched Angela and Elsa on their blanket on the rocks.

The oppressive feeling he'd experienced earlier sunk down through his body and under the surface of the water. There was not much of it left when he turned over and swam even farther out. He lay on his back again, and gazed at his family, who had become smaller.

Halders had looked as if he were sinking after the funeral. Winter didn't know when he'd come back to work. Tomorrow, or never. Impossible to say.

During the funeral Winter had felt like stone. It had been hard to raise his heavy body from the pew. Earlier memories came back to him, from recently, when Angela had been so close… when Elsa… when what was Elsa… when he'd stood outside that door as if frozen fast to the floor, as heavy as stone. He'd felt his own life falling, faster and faster, down into the bottomless depths.