Åke Edwardson - Never End

"It hasn't."

"Maybe you know more than you've told us so far?"

"What? What else am I supposed to know?"

Winter said nothing.

"I don't know any more," Andy said.

"About the other girls."

"I've never seen them before."

"About where this… establishment is."

"I don't know, I've told you."

"Why didn't she say where it was?"

"Why should she?"

"Was she ever scared?"

"Eh?"

"Was she ever scared, Andy?"

"Let's forget Samic for the time being," Ringmar said. "In any case, I don't think he'll lead us to where we want to go."

"I guess you're right," said Winter. "Will you speak to Sara?"

"I've already broached the subject. She didn't seem too pleased."

"Let her continue for another night, then."

"Is that an order?"

"No."

"What would Birgersson say?"

"No, probably."

"Well, then."

"What she does in her spare time has nothing to do with us," Winter said.

"So you're prepared to exploit your staff until they drop, are you, Erik?"

"Of course."

Ringmar rubbed his brow. He had only a light tan, suggesting that he'd been hard at work, mainly indoors, crouching over databases and printouts.

"Mind you, Samic deserves to be shadowed by everybody there is, and charged, and sentenced." Ringmar scratched his stubble, which was two days old by now, and would probably still be there when he went on leave two days from now. "He's a nasty piece of work."

"Meaning what? Do you think we should jail people for not being nice?"

Ringmar scratched his stubble again. Rehearsing for his vacation. No doubt it would start pouring rain the moment he set foot outside the police station. That would be OK. The farmers could use a drop.

"The way things are now, Kurt Bielke would be a better bet."

"Why's that?" Winter had a good idea why, but he wanted to hear Ringmar's view. "What's he done?"

"Nothing."

"Why are you linking the rape of his daughter with this business?"

"Reasonable suspicion."

"Proof?"

"Zilch."

"Evidence?"

"Zilch."

"That sounds like a pretty convincing starting point."

"Could he have raped his own daughter, Erik?"

Winter lit another cigarillo, the eighteenth today. The smell from the cigarillo mixed pleasantly with the evening air. The sounds coming through the open window were pleasant. The lights were pleasant, soft in the blue dusk. He could see two couples walking over the river, and they looked pleasant. The river was flowing: pleasantly.

But Bertil Ringmar's question was far from pleasant. His own thoughts five minutes previously had not been pleasant. Nothing they'd been talking about had been pleasant, nothing they were working on was pleasant. If there was a polar opposite to the concept of "pleasant," they'd found it in their everyday work.

"There's a lot of tension in that family, but that might be fairly normal," Winter said.

"Normal for whom?"

"Normal for them."

"Or it might blow up," said Ringmar. "Explode."

"And the results, if it does?" Winter wondered.

Ringmar didn't answer.

"Should we maybe bring Bielke in and have a talk with him?" Winter said.

"Better just to see what he's up to."

"Why not do both?"

"Or neither," said Ringmar.

Winter gestured to the heap of paper on his desk. He yawned, tried to keep his face straight, could feel the tension in his jaw, a warning of a cramp.

"I'll try to read through this little bit again tonight," he said. "Then we'll see. We can discuss it tomorrow."

"Will you be staying here?" Ringmar asked.

"Yes, what do you mean?"

"Well…"

"Instead of doing it at home, is that it?" Ringmar sort of nodded. "It's quieter here," Winter said. "For whom, Erik?"

Winter sat down, picked up a piece of paper with his left hand, and looked up at Ringmar, who was still there.

"I thought you were on your way home, Bertil."

Sara Helander was on her way home. Drop Samic? Oh no, not after last night. The date-rape swine was under arrest, would be charged within four days.

She'd gone home, still thinking that she was an idiot, and thought about Samic. But perhaps even more about the woman standing beside him in the boat, looking expensive. Hair flying, and the half profile making it impossible to make out her features.

There was something there. Something to do with Samic. She'd find out what it was. She was no fool. Nor was she foolhardy. But she… needed something, needed to do something. Not some dashing heroic deed, that wouldn't be professional. But something… clever. Leading to a breakthrough.

It was nearly nine o'clock. The sky was a concert of shades. The sun was on its way to the other side of the world. Down Under. Her sister had been to Sydney. Waded through the junkies crawling around King's Cross. Hmm. It had been uplifting as well. Sunny, beautiful, like here. Distances that seemed bigger the farther away you got from the cities. The red earth. The dead heart. She'd received a postcard from Alice Springs labeled "A Town Like Alice," but hadn't gotten the point until she showed it to Aneta, who explained about the book. Oh, I see.

She went to the harbor known as Lilla Bommen. There were hundreds of people there now, in the boats, on the wharf, in the cafes, in front of the ice cream stand. The Opera House was basking in the final rays of the sun that pierced the abandoned cranes on the other side of the river.

She turned the corner. Not as many people. More boats lined up, all of them motorboats as far as she could see. A few sails in the distance. It was just as hot here. A couple was sitting on a bench, looking at the water. People coming and going. Engines spluttering over the water. Pennants fluttering halfheartedly in the warm breeze: Swedish blue and yellow, Norwegian, Danish, one German. Something blue with a red, white and blue cross pattern in the top corner-wasn't that Australian? Had some tough customer sailed all the way from Down Under?

She strolled along the wharf, as if winding down after work. Which was what she was, in fact, doing, in a way. No. That wasn't true, no way. She looked for the motorboat she'd seen Samic steering, and hesitated between two, or three. Was it that one, or that, or that?

She remembered a badge to the left of the name on the stern, some kind of decoration. There was a light above it, helping her see it. It was like a flower, in a dark color.

One of the boats had a lily next to its name, Nasadika. It had a motor in the back and a ship's wheel. She knew nothing at all about boats. It looked expensive, but they all did.

There was a Swedish flag at the stern. She stood on the wharf, looking down at the boat.

"Can I help you?"

She turned around and hoped the person who'd spoken to her hadn't noticed her start.

"Er… I'm… I'm sorry," she said, trying to adjust her feet and ensure that she didn't topple over backward into the water.

The woman seemed to be smiling. Her face was tanned, but not too much. Blond hair. Perhaps it could fly in the slipstream. It might be the woman from last night.

"You're sort of standing in the way of the steps," the woman said.

"Oh… I'm sorry." She moved along a few paces.

"Thank you," said the woman.

"I'm looking for a boat that belongs to a friend of mine," said Sara Helander. "I'd just established that it's not around here." She pointed toward the guest marina. "I think I'd better start looking over there instead."

The woman nodded and climbed nimbly down onto the deck. She might be forty, or she might be fifty-five. No younger, maybe older. She looked fit. Sara Helander got a good look at her now, her face. Her face in profile. She recognized it from the picture taken at the graduation party that Winter had shown her. She had a handsome nose that somebody should have remembered. They'd asked around.