The Shadow Woman

by Ake Edwardson

  “Come on, Erik. For Christ’s sake.”

  Winter merged onto the highway, and Birgersson rolled up his window when they reached high speed. As the fog thickened across the fields in toward town, the cars were visible only by their low beams. Winter was overtaken by the airport bus. It careened along past them as if it were straining to take to the skies itself.

  “I questioned Bolander yesterday,” Winter said. “The member of the brotherhood who is set to go on trial for the shoot-out at Hising—”

  “I know who he is. I am your boss, you know.”

  “Of course he didn’t give away anything, but there’s still a connection to the gangs. I’ve tried to focus on that as I’ve read through everything. Several of the names that have come up in this case have had some kind of connection.”

  “To what?”

  “To those organizations. I say ‘those’ because there are several of them.”

  “Yeah?”

  “That’s it. We can’t get any further. You’ll get all that in writing later, so you can file it away, Sture. We can see a possible connection but that’s about it. We’ve sent all the files back and forth and searched back in time—well, you know with Brigitta Dellmar and Denmark and the threats against me. The possible threats.”

  Birgersson seemed to sink deeper into his seat. As they approached the Delsjö junction, he looked down at the lake and the parking lot beneath them. “The press is starting to lose interest in the girl,” he said. “It’s disturbing. Although it’s always disturbing where the press is concerned. When an investigation begins, it’s like going around with a boil on your ass, having them breathing down your neck all the time, and when the investigation plateaus and they start to lose interest, you realize you may never solve the case.”

  “We will solve this case,” Winter said. “And the media interest has picked up again. After Bremer.”

  “I’m counting on your being right, Erik.”

  Winter rang Bremer’s sister’s doorbell unannounced. A streetcar passed by with the sound of water being flung by a powerful force. The fall had rained its way into November. He felt the dampness on his forehead and hands.

  He pushed the bell again. No sound came from inside the apartment, so he rang it a third time and something shuffled inside. The lock cylinder turned. The door opened and he saw her face. She looked him over for a few seconds.

  “You again?”

  “I’d just like to ask a few more questions,” Winter said.

  It sounded as if the old woman was sighing deeply. She hadn’t moved in her wheelchair.

  “I was asleep,” she said. “I usually take a nap in my chair when the home helper is off looking after other worthless old geriatrics.”

  “May I come in?”

  “No.” She didn’t move. “If all you have is a few more questions, then you can ask them now.”

  “There are some things regarding your brother—about his past.”

  “It’s pointless.”

  “It’s important,” Winter said. “I’ll come back later. I’ll call and we can set up a time.”

  A day and a half passed. Winter questioned Georg Bremer again, but it felt pointless—lifeless words passed back and forth. He read the transcripts from the past few months. He waited.

  Then Beier called, from Ödegård.

  “There’s a second layer, and I don’t know how old it is, but it’s got prints. They could be from Bremer, if he put up the wallpaper, in which case we’re, well, back to square one. But they could also be from somebody else. It’s not much. And they’re small.”

  “Small?”

  “Small. That’s all I can tell you right now. Could be because of how much time has passed, the glue, moisture. But now you know, so stay off our backs for a bit. We’ll work quickly, I promise. But don’t get your hopes up.”

  “This could take you to Washington,” Winter said. “Think about it.”

  59

  WINTER WAS ON HIS WAY TO THE DAY’S QUESTIONING SESSION with Bremer when Michaela Poulsen got in touch. Her voice was neutral.

  “The layer of wallpaper underneath may have had prints, but the technicians say that time and wallpaper glue have destroyed everything.”

  “Our glue isn’t as high quality as the kind you use in Denmark. They’ve found something here.”

  “Really?” Now he detected a hint of excitement in her voice. “What have they found?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “I should add that they’re not quite done here yet. Now they’ve brought in the heavy guns, and by that I mean heavy. Heavy metals. White lead. Its powers of adhesion on greasy surfaces, for example, are truly awesome.”

  Winter sat a bit away from the table and listened while Cohen handled the questioning. Bremer seemed to be in another world—his own, which perhaps he created a long time ago.

  GC: Yesterday you told us you worked with others when you carried out those burglaries.

  GB: Was that yesterday?

  GC: It was yesterday. You confirmed that you were a member of an organization.

  GB: Not a member. I’ve never been a member of anything.

  GC: That’s what you said yesterday.

  GB: Then I used the wrong word. I didn’t mean member.

  GC: Are you in the habit of driving around town in your car?

  GB: What kind of a question is that?

  GC: Are you in the habit of driving around town in your car for no reason?

  GB: I still don’t understand.

  GC: Some people just go driving around in their cars. As a form of relaxation. I’ve done that myself.

  GB: I may have done that on occasion.

  GC: Are there any particular places you drive to?

  GB: No.

  GC: You can’t name any places?

  GB: I don’t know what the point of this is. A few times I guess I may have driven out to the shore. Looked at the sea. I don’t know, when you live in a forest maybe you want to see the sea sometimes.”

  Winter saw how Bremer gazed at the wall to his right, as if there were a window there through which he could see the sea. His face was stiff and featureless.

  GC: Do you remember that we said people had seen you driving in your car with passengers?

  GB: Yes.

  GC: Do you admit that you’ve had passengers in your car?

  GB: Who are these people? It’s not true.

  Winter knew Cohen would start to turn up the heat now; that is, if it was possible to do that in the world where Bremer currently found himself.

  GC: Why don’t you admit it?

  GB: What?

  GC: Why don’t you admit that you drove Helene Andersén and her daughter, Jennie, in your car?

  GB: I didn’t.

  GC: It’s not a crime to give someone a ride.

  GB: I know.

  GC: Then say it.

  GB: What am I supposed to say?

  GC: That those two individuals rode in your car. That they were at your house.

  GB: They weren’t at my house. I’m the only one at my house.

  Winter tried to study Bremer’s bowed face. There was something in his eyes that he’d also seen in his sister’s. A dull sheen, but something else besides. A sadness or knowledge—or was it simply fear?

  The home helper waited in the hall for the conversation to begin. There was no door, and Winter couldn’t exactly lock the woman in the kitchen if there were one.

  Greta Bremer looked even more frail this afternoon, the day gone and her face lit by a dim floor lamp. “What is it you want, now that you’ve forced your way in here?”

  “Just to ask you a couple of questions. About your brother.”

  “He always gets by,” she said. “You know all about his past, I assume?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’ve checked in your files, haven’t you?”

  She looked at him or at the home helper that Winter knew was listening in the gloom of the hallway.

&nb
sp; “We’re searching,” Winter said. He waited as the streetcar rattled past outside. “Do you know if Georg ever used to travel to Denmark?”

  “Denmark? What would he travel to Denmark for?”

  “I’m talking about way back. Twenty-five, thirty years ago.”

  “I don’t know what he was doing back then. Break-ins, that’s what he was doing. And other things.”

  “What do you mean by other things?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you know.”

  “I’m asking you, Miss Bremer.”

  “He broke into people’s houses.”

  “In Denmark?”

  “You know better than I do.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “You’re a policeman, aren’t you? You know.”

  The courts couldn’t find sufficient grounds to bring charges against Bremer. “A free man. Fucking courts,” Halders had said during the investigation briefing that afternoon. “They ought to go out there and see for themselves—then they’d understand.” His eyes were bigger than Winter had ever seen them before.

  “It was the judge himself who made the decision,” Ringmar said. Winter said nothing.

  He seems to be in his own world, thought Aneta Djanali.

  Another day passed and Winter called Spain, ready for his father to answer. He didn’t. It was his mother’s voice.

  “How are things now?”

  “Much better, Erik. It’s nice of you to call. We’re back home, as you already know.”

  “Was it an inflammation?”

  “Mostly overexertion, like I thought. Your father’s not a young man anymore.”

  “I’m glad it’s better.”

  “You sound a little tired, Erik.”

  “I am a little tired. Not very.”

  “When all this is over, you must come down here and rest up a little. Your father would be so happy.”

  Winter mumbled an answer and said good-bye. He put down the receiver and stood up. It was definitely November outside. The cars’ headlights swept light across the field. Soon Christmas would be here. Angela had night duty. And I may not have Angela anymore, he thought. Should I start preparing myself properly for that?

  He walked up to Beier’s laboratories and found Bengt Sundlöf hunched over a microscope. The fingerprint expert was so focused on his patterns of loops, arches, and whorls that he didn’t hear Winter enter. It was only when Sundlöf looked up to peer into another microscope that he saw that he had company.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Well, there are similarities, but I can’t say as yet if we can make it up to twelve points. Or even ten.”

  “How many do you have now?”

  “I’d rather not answer that yet. But I’ve got a special feeling, sitting here working with this one.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, the fact that it’s even possible. I have to admit that I never thought it would be.”

  “Is it really from a child?”

  “Looks like it. I have the two different sets here and I’m comparing them to the woman’s prints—and those of her as a girl.”

  Winter turned around.

  “Makes you think, doesn’t it?” Sundlöf said.

  Winter gave a jolt in bed. The phone was ringing. His reading lamp was on and he was still holding the file in his hand. The alarm clock said it was three in the morning. The phone rang and rang.

  “Yes, hello?”

  “It’s Göran. Time to get up.”

  “What is it?”

  “Two things. The NLFS is done with the DNA analysis. Mogren owed me a favor and called me half an hour ago. It’s hers. Helene’s. She’s had that cigarette butt in her mouth.”

  “We knew that, didn’t we?”

  “We never know anything until it’s been proven,” Beier said. “Now it’s been proven. And there’s something else that’s also been proven. Sundlöf is standing right here, so it’s better he tells you himself.”

  Sundlöf’s voice came through the receiver. “I have a definite match. We made it to twelve points.”

  Winter’s face felt like it had been dipped in fire. It was as if his hair was no longer there.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m damn sure, Winter. We have fingerprints here that show conclusively that she—Christ, I’m getting them mixed up—Helene, that is, that she was in that cabin as a child.” Sundlöf went silent in order to breathe. “The old coot wiped everything clean that was on the top layer of wallpaper, but he couldn’t get rid of what was underneath.”

  “No.” Winter’s head was still on fire. “He couldn’t get rid of everything.”

  “I’m handing you back to Göran.”

  “I’ve got the whole team together up here,” Beier said. “Are you going out there right away?”

  “You better believe it.” Winter now started to feel the coolness in the room from the wind slipping in through the half-open balcony door and on down the hallway into his bedroom.

  “I’ll come with you,” Beier said.

  Halders drove. Winter had called him immediately, and Halders had called Aneta, who was now sitting next to him in the front seat. Winter and Ringmar were in back. Beier rode in the radio car behind them.

  The forest was without color at four thirty in the morning. No planes slicing through the air above them. No lights as far as the eye could see. A starless void. The glow from the city didn’t make it out here.

  A dim lamp was burning above the porch, and Bremer’s Ford was parked as if the driver had been in a hurry. The car shone mutedly in the light from the porch that was shrouded in fog.

  “What was that?” Djanali said, when they had climbed out of the car.

  “It’s the horses beyond the trees,” Winter said. “They’re nervous.”

  “That’s nothing compared to what I am,” she said.

  The radio car pulled up behind them, and Beier and the uniformed officers climbed out. A proper police state, thought Winter. Pick them up in the dead of night.

  The police prepared themselves. Winter banged on the door, and the sound resonated through the house with a hollow echo. He banged again with his knuckles, but no one came to the door in their nightshirt. He felt for the handle and pressed down. The door opened inward. Winter called out Georg Bremer’s name but nobody answered.

  “Stay down, for Christ’s sake,” he heard Halders hiss behind him to Aneta or someone else. Ringmar stood next to him.

  “Let’s go,” he said to Ringmar and the others behind. “Bertil and I will go inside. Two men go round the back, and Fredrik and Aneta wait down here.”

  They stepped into the hall. The rooms smelled of earth, maybe of horse.

  “Christ it’s cold,” Ringmar said in a low voice.

  It was cold. Not as cold as out there, but cold like a house that hasn’t been heated for days.

  In the kitchen Winter touched the wood-burning stove, which felt ice cold. Through the window he could see the field behind the house. The sky was bigger there and tinged with light. Morning was on its way.

  “He’s not down here.”

  “Maybe he’s not here at all,” Winter said.

  Ringmar didn’t answer.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” Winter said, and went back to inform the others.

  “I’ll go with you,” Halders said.

  They climbed the steps. Every third one creaked. “Georg Bremer,” Winter called out. He held his gun in his hand. Steel glinted in Halders’s hand too, as they stood in the hallway at the top of the stairs, and suddenly a moonbeam shot between them and lit up their weapons. Winter followed the beam with his eyes, from right to left. It shone a few feet down the hall and in through a door a bit farther on and came to rest on two bare feet that floated in the air above the floor.

  “Damn it!” Ringmar shouted, and set off down the hallway and in through the door ahead of the others. Winter ran and saw him lift the feet and legs and body in the darkness of the room.
>
  “Where’s the light switch?” Halders yelled, fumbling at the door.

  The room exploded in light from a bulb dangling from the ceiling. Winter blinked and forced his eyes to see. Ringmar held up the body hanging by a rope from a thick iron eyebolt that had been drilled into the ceiling next to the light fixture.

  Halders tried to lift the rope over Georg Bremer’s blackened face, but he couldn’t. He took out his knife and cut it through, and together Winter and Ringmar laid the body down on the floor. Only now did Winter register the smells in the room. He saw that Halders sensed it too, his face set as if in plaster, his stubbled head a skull in the harsh light. Ringmar’s face was invisible, bent over the body, until he glanced up at Winter and pointed. Winter looked and saw the A4 sheet of paper that Bremer had fastened with pins through his shirt and into the skin of his chest. One of the pins had come off when they’d lowered the corpse, and the sheet of paper rested loosely against the body. Winter had to tilt his head in order to read what was written in capital letters with black marker: “I KILLED THE CHILD. GOD HAVE MERCY ON MY SOUL.” He read it twice without really understanding. Then he heard Ringmar’s high-pitched wheezing. He heard Halders’s stomach revolt onto the threshold of the room. He read it again and closed his eyes. Voices sounded from the ground floor below. He saw figures in the darkness outside the room. He saw Aneta Djanali lean over Halders, who was sprawled across the threshold with his head out in the hallway. He heard Ringmar speak to someone about something. He heard the words a second time: “Send down more units and machines. We have to dig. We have to dig up this place.”