Åke Edwardson - Never End

"Tomorrow? You mean you're staying?"

She stood up, went to the kitchen, and came back with a glass of water. There were streaks of the new day in the sky through the patio door.

Dylan and Halders continued their rendition.

"You have to take the children to school tomorrow."

"You don't need to remind me of that."

"We're on duty at eight."

"I said you didn't need to remind me about… about…"

The music stopped, Halders stood up and put the track on again. Then he turned to Aneta.

He sang: "There's no one that sings the blues like Blind Fredrik McTell."

Then he fell over the end of the sofa and ended up with his head almost on the floor.

"Fredrik?!"

Djanali rushed over to him and bent down. Halders's eyes were still open.

"Fredrik?"

He mumbled something and shook his head. He scrambled to his feet.

"I'm… I'm not all that drunk."

He started crying. Aneta Djanali hugged him. She felt his shoulders shaking. His neck was as tense as a steel cable. He wrenched himself free, stood up, then sat down again.

"This is all going to shit, Aneta."

She sat down.

"Have you really allowed yourself to grieve, Fredrik?"

He stared at her like a man who didn't know what she was talking about. Or didn't want to know, it seemed to her.

"This is all about you, Fredrik. Only you. And your children. You can't imagine. It's dangerous. You've just got to be yourself, and let yourself feel what you feel. Really feel. Do you follow me? Feel… and let it show."

Forensics had the answering machine. Winter had a copy on tape. He listened to the beginning. Who was Andy? They could find out what number he'd called from, but a mobile was… mobile. It moved together with whoever was using it. He could have made the call from anywhere.

Anne Nöjd had evidently lived alone. The SOC team was over there now. The forensics boys were always crawling over wherever you looked. They'd found some names: parents, or other relatives. Winter had made a few unpleasant telephone calls. Her mother. That was just a couple of minutes ago.

Now his own mobile rang. It was nearly 5:00 a.m.

"I was wondering," Angela said.

"I haven't had time to call."

"Come home when you can and I'll make caffe latte. Give me an hour and I'll go to the baker's and get some poppy seed rolls to have with it."

"I'll try to get back for that. And stay for a while at least."

His desk phone rang. He said good-bye to Angela, then took the other call. It was one of the forensics officers from the house at Längedrag.

"We have a young man here named Andy who was looking for the girl."

"Where is he?"

"He's here, standing next to me now."

"Let me speak to him."

Winter heard a different voice. It sounded young, scared. "What's going on?"

Winter said who he was.

"Can you come and see me now, right away?"

"What's happened to… to Anne?"

"If you get yourself into the car that's waiting where you are and come over here to me now, I'll fill you in on everything."

"What's happened to Anne?!"

Winter hesitated.

"She was murdered last night. That's why it's so incredibly important that you get yourself here as quickly as possible, Andy. We need your help."

He heard a yell, or a scream. Static. It sounded as if the mobile had been thrown high into the air.

"Hello? Hello?"

Winter heard the forensics officer's voice again. "We'll bring him in."

Winter waited in his office, which was illuminated by the gray light of dawn. The grayness was in tune with his mood. A strange feeling, as it was blended with the excitement he felt for what was coming next. Something was happening. He had a feeling of anticipation that was cold and, in its way,… undignified. It was like traveling through a barren landscape without hope, but feeling something reminiscent of hope even so.

There was a scent of newly woken heat from outside. Birds were singing again. The street on the other side of the river was being cleaned by a sweeper truck. He could hear the enormous brushes from where he was sitting.

The door was open, and in came a young man about twenty-five years old, accompanied by one of the forensics officers, who greeted Winter and then left. Andy looked as if his face had collapsed. His face had collapsed. Winter gestured toward the chair.

"What… what happened?"

Winter told him as much as he knew. But first he asked the young man's name.

"Andy."

"Your last name, too."

"Grebbe. Andy Grebbe."

Andy sat down. The T-shirt he was wearing had a tear in the left sleeve. His hair was cropped short but looked unkempt even so. There was a black ring under his left eye but not under his right. Winter could smell stale booze from the other side of his desk. Andy was sober enough now, but very tired. Nervous.

"When did you last speak to Anne?"

"Er… that would be tonight… no, I mean yesterday. Last night."

"When?"

"What do you mean? I said…"

"What time?"

"Er… about eight, I think. Eight, or thereabouts."

"Where?"

"Where? Nowhere… if you see what I mean. The telephone. I called her from home."

"And she answered?"

"Ans-of course she answered. I told you, I spoke to her."

Winter nodded.

"Then I called again later on, but she was out."

Winter nodded again.

"I left a message on her answering machine. It must still be there." He looked at Winter. A look that was white and red and black and tired, and maybe hounded. "If you play back her messages, it must be there."

"We have," Winter said. He tried to hold Andy's eyes. Was it now something would happen? Would he break down?

"OK. So you've heard it."

"Yes. What time did you call?"

"Er… after two. Half past two or so."

"Where from?"

"From a place in Vasastan."

He said the name of the bar. Winter knew the one.

"Why did you call?" he asked.

"Is this a cross-examination?"

"I'm just asking a few questions."

"Do I need a lawyer?"

"Do you think you do?"

"No."

"Why did you call?"

"Well… we were supposed to have met earlier, but I couldn't make it, and then she didn't show up at the bar, and so I called and said, would she give me a ring when she got home."

"Where were you going to meet?"

"At the bar."

"I meant the first time."

"At a café."

Andy said the name before Winter had time to ask.

"But you didn't go?"

"Yes, I did, but it was too late. She wasn't there."

"Had she been there?"

Andy didn't answer.

"Had she been there?" Winter asked again.

"I don't know. I looked inside, but she wasn't there, and there was nobody I knew to ask."

"What did you do then?"

"Wandered around town for a little while, and then went to the bar."

"And she didn't get in touch?"

"No."

"Where was she?"

Andy didn't answer. He took a drink of the water Winter had given him. His thoughts suddenly seemed to be miles away, in another world.

"Where was Anne last night?" Winter asked again.

"I don't know," said Andy, looking at something next to Winter. The grayness in the office had blended with the sharper light of morning, and it seemed to Winter that two lights mingling in that way caused confusion. It wasn't at all clear where they should go when they met in the middle of the room. The new light fell over Andy's face. Winter wondered why he was lying.

Halders wondered why she was lying. They were sitting in the garden. Her father was on the verandah. He's casting his shadow over her, Halders thought. He's thirty meters away, but his shadow is falling over her. It looks as if she's freezing cold, but it's eighty-five degrees.