Åke Edwardson - Never End

"Eh?"

"What did she do?"

"Dan… danced."

"What did she dance?"

Bielke didn't understand. That was the only dance as far as he was concerned, and he didn't think of it as a dance, anyway. It was just a name, an expression.

"What kind of a dance was it?" asked Winter.

"Dunno."

"Was she dancing alone?"

"Alone."

"Who else was there?"

Bielke didn't answer. He seemed to be looking for somebody who wasn't there. There was only Winter and Cohen and a tape recorder and a video camera.

"Where's the boy?" asked Bielke out of the blue, raising his head.

"What boy?"

"The boy."

"Mattias? Was Mattias there?" Winter asked.

"He's my boy," he said.

"We know."

Bielke nodded.

"Was he there?" asked Winter.

"1 don't know."

"Who else was there?"

Bielke said something that Winter couldn't hear.

"What did you say?"

Bielke muttered again.

"Can you repeat what you just said?"

"She was there as well."

"Who's she?"

"She's been with him for ages. She took the boy with her. I didn't know at first."

"Was Mattias in the house?"

"He used to help a bit. I saw him sometimes." Bielke stared at the wall behind Winter. "He didn't know then. Yet. About me. Who I was."

"Did he see you?"

"Eh?"

"Did he see you?"

"No. I don't think so."

You think wrong, Winter thought.

Bielke said something under his breath.

"Can you repeat what you just said?"

"Drove off with him," said Bielke in a voice that once again sounded monotonous, flat.

"Drove off?" asked Winter. "Drove off with whom?"

Bielke mumbled something, but seemed to be thinking as well.

"Drove off with whom?" Winter repeated.

"Him who came."

"Who came?"

"Him."

"Who's him?"

"Dunno."

"Who was driving when they left?"

"Eh?"

"Who was driving?"

Bielke looked as if he were thinking again. Looked as if he were making up his mind.

"Johan," he said.

Johan Samic, Winter thought. Samic, Samic, Samic.

"He was the one who did it," said Bielke, in a louder voice, as if he was breathing out forcefully. "Samic did it."

"Did what?"

"My little girl."

Bielke burst into tears.

Winter waited. The tape recorder spun around silently. Cohen looked at Bielke, who now looked back. He dried his eyes with the back of his right hand.

"Hurt my little girl."

"Jeanette?"

Bielke nodded.

"Can you repeat what you just said?"

"He hurt my Jeanette."

"Why?"

Bielke sobbed, wiped his eyes again.

"He knew."

"What did he know?"

Winter could feel something cold in the back of his head, like a chilly draft.

"He exploited it," said Bielke. "Me. And… us."

"What did he exploit?" asked Winter. "What did Johan Samic exploit about you?"

Bielke seemed to drift away again, disappear into another world.

"What did Johan Samic know about you?" asked Winter.

"What I did."

Bielke looked at Winter, his eyes a mixture of alertness and fog.

"He said he could do whatever he liked," said Bielke.

"Why?" asked Winter.

Bielke muttered again.

"Why?" Winter repeated the question.

"Because I killed her."

Bielke said that with his head bowed. His hair was the same pale color as the walls of the room.

"Can you repeat what you just said?"

"I killed her." He looked at Winter and Cohen. "1 didn't mean to. I just followed her. I didn't mean to. You know that. Everybody understands that."

"Did you kill Angelika Hansson?" asked Cohen.

"Who?"

"Did you kill Angelika Hansson?"

"No, no. That wasn't me."

"Did you kill Anne Nöjd?"

"Not me."

Another snuffle from Bielke.

"Pardon?"

"He… away. He was there later. Ask him."

"I didn't get what you said just now," Winter said.

"When they drove away. Ask Samic."

"Ask what?"

"And Benny," said Bielke. "He was driving."

"Be… Benny?"

"Benny."

"Benny who?"

"Benny. Benny boy."

Winter was standing outside the interrogation room. His face was burning. He'd gotten to his feet immediately and left the room. Cohen stayed with Bielke.

Winter took the elevator up to the room where Setter and Bergenhem were sifting through documentation of Sarnie's business transactions, past and present.

Bergenhem was there.

"I need a name," said Winter. "Benny. Benny Vennerhag."

"Vennerhag?"

"Has Samic had any dealings with Benny Vennerhag?"

"I don't recognize the name."

"Then look, for fuck's sake!" Winter yelled.

"Hey, calm down, calm down."

Winter grabbed at the keyboard in front of Bergenhem.

"What the hell are you doing, Erik? Give me a chance." Bergenhem was tapping into the register of all the names they had so far.

"Yes," he said. "We've got the name here. I can't say if-"

"That's good enough," said Winter, and strode to his office. He met Ringmar. "Come with me," shouted Winter over his shoulder.

Ringmar followed Winter into his office and saw him picking through a pile of photographs.

"What's going on, Erik?"

Winter was holding the photograph taken at Angelika Hansson's graduation party. Lars-Olof Hansson behind the camera. In front of it: the woman in profile. He knew he would never meet her. Unless she came here now that Mattias was here.

The boy next to her.

A dark face that might be Johan Samic, might not.

For Christ's sake, it was Samic all right.

A fair-haired man, almost alongside him, with a beard and dark glasses. Lars-Olof Hansson hadn't recognized him either. There was something familiar about him. The beard looked a bit odd, the glasses…

Winter looked at the other photograph, taken at about the same time by Cecilia, Angelika's friend, who knew nothing about the house on the other side of the river. Couldn't have known about it, wouldn't have been able to cover it up unless she was out of her mind. They'd have another chat with her.

The woman, taken from directly in front. The boy wasn't in Cecilia's picture, he might have taken a step forward. That would explain it. The dark man was no longer there, but there were more people in this picture, more faces. He'd noticed that before.

He scrutinized the picture. Took out his magnifying glass again. Turned to the enlargements they'd made. Examined the first of them through the magnifying glass. Now he knew what he was looking for. That was the key difference. The photograph opened itself up as he looked and as he focused further into the mass of people, in the back, he could see a fair-haired head in profile, only the upper part of his face, a forehead, eyes, nose, and nothing more, but he didn't need a magnifying glass to see who it was in the background, under a cloud of balloons. Benny.

He was wearing a false beard. Samic had a wig. An arrogant joke, or something much worse.

Samic. The woman. Vennerhag. They hadn't been at the party for Angelika's sake, not in the first place. She was graduating, but so was Mattias. He'd gone to the same school, but hadn't been in the same class. Winter was certain now.

They'd been there for Mattias's sake.

The woman was Mattias's mother. Benny and Samic knew that Angelika would recognize them from the club.

Ringmar drove, up the hills. Winter directed him through the deserted streets. Somebody was having a midnight barbecue in his garden. Winter could see a flame leaping up.

The crack in his elbow was burning like fire.

"Shouldn't you have that bandaged?" Ringmar asked.

Winter didn't reply, merely smoked, gazing out into the night.

"Isn't Fredrik's house up here somewhere?" Ringmar asked.