Frozen Moment (18 page)

    Beckman
had stalked off into her office. Tell couldn't remember if he'd carried on
arguing with Bärneflod or if he'd just allowed the irritation to chafe at him
for a while before it gradually faded away, as he usually did. Sometimes an
exchange of views cost a great deal more than it was worth in terms of time and
energy. At least he convinced himself that was the case.

    Now
he heard footsteps outside his office and automatically glanced at his watch.
Twenty past six. Because his thoughts had been with

    Bärneflod,
he almost expected to see him standing in the doorway, but it was Karlberg who
appeared, which seemed only logical. It was the evening before Christmas Eve.
What normal man with a wife and children, even if they were grown up, would
choose to stay on at work going through reports? Tell had encouraged his
colleagues to go home and start celebrating several hours ago.

    'What
are you doing here?' he said. Karlberg shrugged his shoulders.

    Tell
pretended to look stern. 'Get out of here.
And merry
Christmas.'

    
'Same to you.'

    Karlberg
disappeared. Tell realised he hadn't given any thought to how he was going to
spend Christmas Eve.

    Of
course he had a standing invitation to his older sister Ingrid's enormous house
in Onsala, but they had little contact. The main reason for this was the man
Ingrid had married. In Tell's eyes he was an unpleasant boastful stockbroker
who didn't always take a strictly legal approach to his share dealings. And
then there was Ingrid herself. Tell didn't know what he feared most: whether
she knew about her husband's underhand deals but didn't feel that she was in a
position to get involved since he supported her, or whether she was just too
gullible to notice what was going on.

    Whatever
the case, Tell felt sufficiently uncomfortable to avoid his sister's house
except on Christmas Eve, when he and his father, an increasingly confused
widower, were invited to sit on ridiculously expensive furniture as a symbol of
the host couple's generosity and goodwill. Tell couldn't stand it. He suddenly
realised this was why he was glued to his desk as the lights in the station
went out room by room.

    He
reached for the telephone, keyed in a number and waited for the high slightly
strained voice.

    
'Krook.'

    'Hi
sis, it's me. How are you coping?'

    'Not
too bad. But there's such a lot to do. Are you coming tomorrow? I rang you the
other day, and Dad, but there was no reply.'

    'No,
I should have called and let you know, but I'm right in the middle of a
complicated murder investigation. I was waiting to see if there might be a
window when I could get away, but…'

    'It's
not looking good?'

    'No,
I'm sorry. It looks as if I'm going to have to work right through

    
Christmas.
Unfortunately.
I was
looking forward to seeing you.'

    'Well,
there's nothing you can do, I understand that. Duty comes first. But Dad will
be disappointed. He says he only sees you at Christmas, more or less, even
though you live so close to one another.'

    'Well,
it's not that close,' said Tell, the anger welling up inside him. Just like
Ingrid to take the opportunity to make him feel guilty. No doubt she would
mention Christmas presents soon; naturally he hadn't got around to buying any.
'It's ten kilometres, not exactly next door.'

    'Oh
well. Anyway, we'll meet up some other time. I'll put your present in the post.
It's nothing special, just a few chocolates. And look after yourself,
Christian. Don't go working yourself to death.
Merry
Christmas.'

    
'Merry Christmas, Ingrid.'

    If
he hadn't been convinced before, he was now absolutely sure he'd made the right
decision.
Don't go working yourself to death.
There was certainly no
risk of Ingrid doing that; she had never done a day's work in her life - if you
didn't count housework, dinner parties for her husband's contacts and bringing
up children. Still, it seemed petty for a person who had all the time in the
world at their disposal - particularly since both her sons were grown up and
didn't exactly need her to blow their noses or change their nappies - to place
the entire responsibility for their father's social life on him.

    He
had sometimes wondered what the nervously animated Ingrid got up to all alone
during the day in her big house. When there were no guests to look after. Were
her features softer, was her smile less strained? Suddenly he could see her in
his mind's eye at sixteen or seventeen, when they were both still living at
home. He remembered how it used to bother him when his mates started sneaking
off to the room next door, standing in the doorway and grinning inanely at his
sister. She had been a pretty teenager. And cool.

    A
figure appeared on the other side of the fence surrounding the car park, and
stood there gazing up at the building. Tell realised he couldn't be seen from
outside as there were no lights on in his office apart from the electric Advent
candles. When the boy started climbing the fence, Tell hammered on the window,
almost frightening the life out of the poor kid. Because you had to feel sorry
for a lad who was trying to break into a police station on 23 December, instead
of sitting at home with mulled wine and the television.

    The
feeling of relief at avoiding Christmas in the Krook household was beginning to
ebb, and was replaced with a new sense of disquiet: the thought of an empty
flat and the blue glow of the neon sign across the street. He wondered if there
was anything left in the bottle of Jameson he'd opened just after the feast day
of St Lucia, on 13 December. He looked at his watch again. Only ten minutes had
passed.

    The
radio programme he'd been listening to was interrupted by the traffic news,
informing listeners that the traditional holiday jam in the Tingstad tunnel had
temporarily eased. And it was getting late. Most of those who had been going
nowhere fast a few hours earlier up by Gasklockan, the huge gasometer, had
presumably made it to their cottages in Bohuslän by now; perhaps they were
already filling up the fridge with Christmas fare.

    He
decided to go for a little outing.

    The
examination of the crime scene had been completed but he still parked by the
side of the road; old habits die hard.

    Tell
pulled down the garage door. He didn't want the cold fluorescent light flooding
across the yard. Even if it was highly unlikely that the murderer would return
to the scene of the crime so long after the murder, he still didn't want to
advertise his presence. He hung his coat over the back of the chair in the
makeshift office.

    There
was a computer containing a simple book-keeping program in which the company's
income and expenditure had been entered. Tell couldn't see anything untoward in
the services specified or the amounts involved, even if he wasn't exactly an
expert when it came to cars. And it was obvious that the workshop hadn't made
Waltz a rich man, unless he was doing work that didn't go through the books.
Which of course he could easily have been doing, thought Tell.

    He
shut down the computer and sat there for a moment on the office chair, trying
to decide what to do next.

    The
bottle of Jameson, hopefully still half-full, popped into his head. Perhaps it
was time to go home and sit up late watching TV, like any normal Swede would be
doing. Distractedly he took down two files from a shelf above the desk.

    Apart
from a list of telephone numbers, the files didn't contain anything that seemed
unusual. He folded up the list and tucked it into his jacket pocket. He was
just about to put on his coat when a noise made him jump. It seemed to come
from outside, and sounded like the engine of a car being turned off a little
way down the road. There were no other houses nearby. Could Lise-Lott have
decided to come home after all, despite informing them that she would be
staying with her sister over Christmas and New Year?

    Instead
of making a noise by opening the garage door, Tell decided to go out through a
smaller doorway within the big barn doors. As quietly as he could he moved
across to the other part of the barn, where agricultural machinery in various
stages of decay stood along the walls like the skeletons of prehistoric
animals. Even though a full moon was shining on the cluttered cement floor, it
was difficult to avoid stumbling over buckets, sacks and tools.

    The
doorway Tell was aiming for faced the road, which meant he would have a good
chance of surprising any intruder from behind. He was filled with a mute sense
of relief as he stepped out of the barn. It had stopped raining. A little way
off on the gravel track he could definitely make out the silhouette of a car.

    Tell
crept around the corner of the barn, keeping his back against the flaking wall,
and listened carefully. A sound in the bushes made his heart skip a beat. He
wasn't carrying his service pistol, of course. He groped for something with
which to defend himself and found a thick branch by his feet. The shadow of an
animal, presumably a rat, darted from the bushes and disappeared under an
outhouse.

    He
clutched the branch firmly. It was now pitch dark, except for a narrow strip of
moonlight emerging from a gap in the clouds. Someone was moving towards the
house with rapid, light footsteps. He didn't have time to think; he just took
three long strides and wrapped his arm tightly around the intruder's throat.

    The
scream that shattered the silence took him completely by surprise. A moment's
hesitation was all it took for his captive to gain the upper hand by elbowing
him hard in the stomach then spinning around and driving a knee into his crotch
so that he doubled over in pain. Both the voice and the red Wellingtons were
familiar.

    'Seja
Lundström? It's Inspector Christian Tell,' he gasped.

    'Berg,'
she said, her voice trembling as she caught her breath.
'Seja
Lund
berg!

    He
managed to straighten up, still furious as he looked into her terrified eyes.

    'What
the hell are you doing here? This is a crime scene, and you're a witness! Do
you understand how serious this is, creeping around here in the dark? And how
suspicious it looks?'

    'No…
well, yes. I do understand. But… it's not what you think.' She took a step back
as if her first instinct was to turn and run away.

    'I
don't think anything,' Tell hissed, angrily wiping away a tear that had
squeezed out of his eye as a result of the sudden pain. 'The only thing I know
is that you need to come up with a good explanation as to why you're here, and
bloody quickly. I think the station is the best place for that conversation.'

    She
backed away from him and shook her head so violently that the hat under which
her hair had been tucked fell to the ground. Momentarily distracted from his
rage, Tell noticed that her brown curly hair looked surprisingly coarse, like
horsehair.

    'No!
I mean, there's no need. I know it seems odd, but I have absolutely nothing to
do with all this, with the murder. I wasn't even with Åke when he found the
body, you already know that. I will explain, but I'd rather not do it at the
police station. It's Christmas, after all… not that I'm that bothered about
Christmas…'

    Tell
thought about the station, virtually in darkness. Right now it would be empty
apart from a few duty officers and some poor sod on the desk
who
was probably doing the crossword and looking at the clock every ten minutes. He
sighed and set off towards the car, taking Seja Lundberg's arm.

    'Didn't
you see my car?' he couldn't help asking.

    She
was almost running to keep up with his long strides.

    'No.
It's dark.'

    She
hesitated as he opened the passenger door.

    'Would
you trust me to drive my own car? Otherwise I don't know how I'm going to get
it home. 'She added, 'Perhaps we could drive into Hjällbo and get a cup of
coffee somewhere. I could really do with one. Then you can question me at the
same time.'

    Tell
wondered if she was teasing him. He was bothered by the lack of respect she was
showing in the face of his attempt to exert authority. He thought about letting
her go and booking an interview after the holiday. She was hardly a suspect,
after all, and was highly unlikely to take off anywhere. But coffee sounded like
a good idea, especially compared with the alternatives on offer - the whiskey,
the TV and the glow of the neon sign. He made his decision.