Room No. 10 (31 page)

“Yes. And then I got the apartment at Vasaplatsen and then it was like there wasn’t really much to discuss, was there?”

Angela’s cell phone rang.

“Yes? Yes? Yes. Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. Yes. Yes. Exactly. Exactly. Of course. Yes. Yes. Yes.”

She hung up and put the phone in her purse.

“The babysitter,” she said.

“I could tell. Problems?”

“No.”

They continued across the square to the restaurant on the east end. Angela had made a reservation yesterday. The table was by the window. From the inside, it looked very cold outside. Winter smelled good smells in the room. He ordered a dry martini; Angela ordered a Kir Royale. The martini was very dry; there had only been a few drops of Noilly Prat on the ice before it ended up in the glass.

They clinked glasses.

Winter looked out through the window. It looked like winter out there. He could see his mirror image in the glass. It was blurry. He saw the glass in his hand. He saw Angela.

“Do you know what we’re celebrating tonight?” Angela said, looking up from the menu.

“Of course.”

“But you didn’t say anything when I booked the table. Or the babysitter, for that matter.”

“Did you want to test me, Angela?”

“Of course.”

“Do you believe me, then?”

“No.”

He took the box from the inner pocket of his jacket and handed it over. It wasn’t large. He could have hidden it in his hand.

“So do you believe me now?”

“How could you hide your true intent for so long, Erik?”

“ ‘Intent’? Don’t you mean ‘present’?”

“How could you keep it up like that?”

“That’s my job.”

W
inter’s cell phone rang at the same time the appetizer was placed on the table. He smelled the fresh, oven-browned herbs that lay like a little brush on the plate. He would use them to paint the scampi.

He answered reluctantly.

“Where are you, Erik?”

It was Halders.

Winter told him where he was.

“I’m not far from there,” Halders said. “Västra Hamngatan.”

“The fitness center?”

“You could put it that way.”

“What do you want?”

“I met Paula’s boyfriend here. Or whatever we should call him. He didn’t like that term.”

“Are you sure?! Is it him?”

“Nina Lorrinder’s the one to ask. She’s sure.”

“What does he say?”

“He’s not saying much. He doesn’t like this.”

“Where is he now?” Winter asked.

He saw Angela’s questioning look over the table. He could still smell the scents of everything that was on his deep, oblong plate. But not for much longer. Another thirty seconds and it would all be ruined.

“He’s standing two meters away,” Halders answered.

“Do you want to bring him in?” Winter asked.

“I think I’ll question him a little more first,” Halders said. “Then I’ll see. I don’t think he’ll leave the city.”

“Call me in an hour.”

“What will Angela say?”

“Just call me.”

“I might call before then,” said Halders.

•   •   •

The boyfriend looked like a man of thirty. He still had his hair. Halders was suspicious of men who still had their hair; that went for everyone, from drunks to financiers. For that matter, most financiers were drunks.

The boyfriend didn’t look like a drunk. He had an open face. There was something unfinished about it, some features that hadn’t been outlined yet. It would take a few years. Some people drank their way to a face, especially actors; there was a particular purpose for it. But that took time, too.

Halders wasn’t sure that he would have remembered this face if he’d seen it only a few times. And anyway, it looked like so many other faces in this place. Maybe it was the exercise that did it, the aerobics. Their appearances became streamlined.

“I only spoke with her a few times,” the boyfriend said. “That was all.”

“Listen here, Johan . . .”

“Jonas.”

“Listen here, Jonas. We’re just trying to find out as much as we can about Paula.”

They were sitting in the café. Halders wanted it that way. It was far enough from the next table after he’d rearranged things a little in there.

“I’m happy to help,” said Jonas.

“What do you do, Jonas?”

“What?”

“Where do you work?”

“Uh . . . I’m unemployed right now.”

“How well did you know Paula?”

Jonas looked confused. That was the point. Not all questions needed an immediate follow-up. Jonas looked somewhere, as though
the witness who’d pointed him out would step forward and explain that it had all been a mistake. But he hadn’t met the witness. Lorrinder had left without showing herself after she’d recognized him.

“But I already told you that I didn’t know her.”

“You were just talking to Paula a little?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that what knowing someone means?”

“Well, it—”

“How did you two happen to start talking?”

“Can’t you take it a little slower?”

“Is this moving too fast for you, Jonas? Don’t you have time to think?”

“What, I ca—”

“What did you talk about, you and Paula?”

“Nothing, really.”

“Is that common?”

“What part?”

“Talking about nothing? Is that what you usually do?”

Jonas looked around in the café, as though the other patrons might hear him, or rather Halders. Halders was leaning over the table.

“Don’t you like this, Jonas? Should we go to my place instead?”

“To your place?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t understand your . . . tone. I haven’t done anything.”

“You didn’t contact us after Paula’s death.”

Jonas didn’t answer.

“Did you hear what I said?” Halders asked.

“Yes. But . . . what could I have done? Or said? Said to you?”

“She was murdered. Did you know that?”

Jonas nodded and mumbled something.

“I didn’t catch that,” Halders said.

“Yes. Yeah. I . . . read it.”

“Read it where?”

“Where? It was . . . at home.”

“In which paper?”

“It was . . .
GP.
” He looked around and then at Halders again. “I think.”

“A woman you know is murdered. It wasn’t a car accident or something. She was murdered, for God’s sake! It happened a quick ten- or fifteen-minute walk from here. It might have happened the same week you met her.” Halders leaned closer. “Maybe it happened the same day?”

Jonas recoiled. Halders could see drops of sweat on his forehead. It might have been left over from working out, but the kid hadn’t done his workout yet. He probably wouldn’t get his workout tonight.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t mean anything. I’m asking.”

“I didn’t meet her that week.”

“So you checked out what week it was?”

“I read—”

“You read, but you didn’t react?”

“Yes, I did re—”

“No, Jonas, you didn’t react. You didn’t contact us.”

Jonas didn’t answer.

“So what did you and Paula talk about?”

•   •   •

The appetizer was gone; the main course was on the table. Turbot, melted butter, horseradish, simple as hell and just as expensive. A grand cru from Bergheim.

“Are you waiting for Halders to call?” Angela asked.

“Yes.”

“Try to eat a little now, my friend.”

“I’m glad you understand,” Winter said.

“I have a few questions, but I’ll wait for the coffee.”

“If there is any coffee.”

“Have a bit of fish now, Erik. Doesn’t it look nice?”

He looked down at the fish. A whole turbot, the skin partially rolled down, the wonderful flesh underneath, like a silk sheet under a
velvet coverlet. He lifted a large piece onto his warm plate, sprinkled horseradish over it, ladled on the frothy butter. The boiled potatoes were good here. Good potatoes were rare in Swedish restaurants. Potatoes were this country’s national food, but they were worthless at restaurants. It’s strange, he thought. In Alsace the sauerkraut is almost always perfect. He took a little sip of the wine. Not to mention the wine. He put down his glass. Best to take it easy. The telephone might ring at any time with any damn manner of bad news. Or good. They run together. The worst news is often the best news.

“Have you talked to Siv yet?” Angela asked.

“Yes . . . I guess I have. Are you thinking of something in particular?”

“Is she feeling better?”

“I didn’t know she was feeling worse.”

Angela didn’t say anything.

“Isn’t she feeling well?” Winter asked.

“She’s been feeling dizzy again.”

“Well, what is it?”

“I don’t know, Erik. We’ve talked about that. She needs to take it easy. And she needs a real, thorough examination.”

“Examination of what?”

Her body, he thought in answer to his own question. The shell of thoughts. Yes. Reinforced with nearly fifty years of alcohol and nicotine. If I keep at it, I’ll become my mother’s son.

“We’re going down together,” he said. “You know that.”

Angela lifted some fish over to her plate. She gave him only a quick glance.

“Think of that little place by the old soccer field,” Winter said, pouring more wine for her. “Those two tables on the sidewalk.”

“Are you in Marbella now?”

“I sure am. That grilled pepper salad. The garlic shrimp. Those were no average garlic shrimp.”

“Was that where we went one time after midnight? Was it that place?”

“It sure was.”

“Mmm.”

“Exactly. That about sums it up.” He smiled. “The cook blew fresh life into the coals again. There were still a few sea bass on ice.”

“Wasn’t it the waiter?”

“They helped each other.”

“The waiter looked like he had a chimney sweep’s face when he brought the fish,” Angela said.

Winter’s cell phone rang.

“Yes?”

“We’re up in the department,” Halders said. “Perhaps you could come over here pretty soon.”

T
hey finished their dinner. They didn’t want dessert after all. Winter drank his espresso while he paid.

“Halders doesn’t call if he doesn’t need to,” he said, out on the square.

Angela nodded.

“Will you be there all night?” she asked.

“If I am, then maybe it will all be over tomorrow.”

“Do you think that guy will admit to anything?”

“Halders wouldn’t have brought him into the station if he didn’t suspect something.”

“Maybe he was just nervous.” She looked at him. “Anyone could get nervous when Halders is asking questions, couldn’t they?”

“Now I’ll be the one asking questions,” Winter said.

•   •   •

Halders had sent a car and they went via Vasaplatsen.

“Good night, then,” Angela said as she climbed out.

“I’ll call in a few hours,” he said.

“Call my cell,” she said. “Elsa has trouble falling asleep again if she wakes up.”

She would set her phone on silent. It would light up the room when he called. She would read something, maybe tropical medicine. No. Marbella isn’t tropical yet, she’d said just now, as they were sitting at the restaurant. But soon, he had said. It’s getting warmer everywhere on earth, he’d said, and looked out into the Nordic night. Except here, he had added, up here by us. Incidentally, do you know what malaria means? Bad air, he’d answered, before she had time to open her mouth. Everyone knew that.

The car turned down from Vasaplatsen and continued east on Allén. This is the street I’ve driven on more than any other in this city. The pigs are trawling.

The city lights flashed by, light and dark, sun and shadow, dawn and dusk. That was what he liked most of all down south: the dawns and dusks over the Mediterranean. Over Africa.

“Okay,” said the police inspector at the wheel, braking outside of the main entrance.

“Thanks,” said Winter, and he climbed out and the car drove off, turning back out into the October night. A fog had suddenly swept in from the sea. The car disappeared off into the gray before Winter had made it through the doors. He inhaled the moist air. It didn’t feel good. He would exchange it for cigar smoke later.

The air was lighter in the interrogation room, as though someone had opened a window that looked out onto a different evening.

The guy was sitting on the chair. His hair hung down over his eyes, as though he had combed it forward to hide his identity. But it was known. His name was Jonas. The name didn’t tell Winter anything; first names seldom did. He didn’t recognize the guy, or the man: Winter knew that he was thirty years old.

The question was what he was doing here.

“My name is Erik Winter,” he introduced himself. “I’m a detective chief inspector.”

The man nodded without saying his name.

Winter picked up the form that lay on the table and read the topmost lines. The man’s name was indeed Jonas. He had a relatively unusual last name, which didn’t tell Winter anything either. Yet he read it again, along with the first name. There was something vaguely familiar about the name. He lifted his gaze and observed the man. There was nothing in his face that Winter recognized.

“Why am I sitting here?” said Jonas Sandler.

“We just want to ask a few questions.”

“That’s what your colleague said, too. Now you’re saying the same thing. But I still don’t understand why I’m sitting here.”

“It’s quieter here,” said Winter.

“Surely you don’t think that I had anything . . . anything to do with Paula being murdered?”

Winter didn’t answer. He observed the man’s face again. It wasn’t just the name. There was something else, too.

“Do you really think that?” Sandler repeated. “Then you’re crazy.”

“Have I seen you before?” Winter asked.

“What?”

“Have we met before?”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I’m saying.” Winter sought the man’s eyes. “I think I recognize you.”

“You think I’m some old thief, you mean?”

“No.”

“Is this a new method of interrogation?”

“Have you ever had anything to do with the police?” Winter asked. “Before. When you were younger, maybe.” He put down the form. “Where you were . . . a witness to something, for example?”