‘Eh?’
‘Never mind.’
‘A lorry?’
‘You’ll have to get someone to tell you about that.’
‘Will do.’ I’m waiting for something, but I don’t know what. ‘Have you got his … Levin’s documents? The sound file?’
‘I’ve got them. I haven’t done anything with them yet, just made sure that no one else has them. Gabriella Halvardsson has been in touch and asked to see them.’
‘What do you think?’
‘I thought I’d start by asking you what you think.’
I close my eyes. I so wish he was here, that I could talk to him.
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I don’t know yet.’
‘Apparently, they found a sack truck. At Goffman’s, in his cellar. They think it was Levin’s, that Goffman used it to move the boxes from Levin’s house to his car, which was probably parked in a clearing in the woods behind Alvavägen. Söderlund, the technician, photographed some tyre tracks there — did you see them?’
‘Yes,’ I say, when something in my memory clicks into place: I was standing on the lawn with Tove, there in the gloom behind Levin’s house, and looking over at the dark woodland. Something about the woods was unsettling. ‘Yes, I think so.’
‘The first analysis indicates that at least one set of tracks looks to have come from Goffman’s car. So that probably is where he parked the car and the route he took to and from the house. They haven’t found any boxes or papers, though. He refuses to say a word in interviews, but they suspect that he has tried to burn them somewhere, perhaps successfully, along with the computer, the phone, and the scanner.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I thought you’d like to know,’ she says. And then, after a short pause: ‘There was one more thing, something I was thinking about while I was in hospital.’
‘What was that?’
‘What Bredström said during the interview, about Eva Levin’s car crash, that she almost never drove, and how there wouldn’t be any witnesses who had seen her in the car on the night she died. When the investigation into Levin’s death got underway, on the Thursday, we pulled up the documents around that incident. I didn’t look particularly closely at them then — Davidsson had said that there was nothing strange about it, and I didn’t see anything either. But when I was lying there in hospital …’ She hesitates. ‘I don’t know. It was just something that occurred to me.’
‘About what?’
‘What is supposed to have happened is that while Charles was down at Brukets Bar having a drink, Eva took their car to go and pick up Marika, who was going to sleep at a friend’s but changed her mind. According to Bredström, Eva had a licence but almost never drove anywhere. That’s correct — I checked the notes, and it says something along those lines. That statement came from a colleague of hers at the supermarket. That night, she is meant to have got in the car, perhaps because it was easier to pick Marika up that way, I can buy that. That was also mentioned in the investigation — that if she ever did get in the car, it was because she had Marika with her. There’s no one in the file though, as far as I can see, who reports having seen Eva in the car, not even the parents at the house that she picked Marika up from, although they were never asked, since the investigators only asked the standard questions, but no one saw the car that night. Weird, eh?’
‘Yes. It is. I don’t know what to say.’
‘It could be nothing,’ she continues. ‘And even if what actually happened diverges somewhat from what the investigation concluded, it still doesn’t necessarily mean that there was any basis to Bredström’s accusations.’
‘But it is weird. Are you at work?’
‘In the graveyard.’
‘Oh, okay.’
‘I’ve never been here before.’
Then neither of us say any more, and now I imagine her moving between the headstones, surrounded by the encroaching trees. Maybe she knows which one is his, or maybe she’s looking for her brother’s name, grave by grave. I try to decide what kind of headstone I think he might have, how big it is. Whether there are flowers on the grave. Maybe Tove’s got some with her.
She ends the call. I realise that I don’t know what happened to Eva Levin.
I lift up the little remote and turn it right up, so high that before long I’m not thinking anymore.
I’m dreaming. My field of vision is cloudy, and crumbling away at the edges. When the doctor in charge — not the surgeon, another doctor — was here before, she mentioned that they’re giving me a cocktail of medication that can interfere with my sleep. Or else it could be the morphine. I might have pumped myself full of a bit more than I should have.
It must be that. I’m having feverish dreams without knowing. I’m anxious and I want to wake up but can’t. The door is closed, but beyond it I can hear the gentle movements of someone on the other side.
Then the door handle is carefully pushed down, and eventually the door opens. I realise now that I’ve been waiting for it, that I’m impatient and very, very happy to be seeing my friend again.
As he enters the room, he allows himself a little smile.
‘Leo,’ he says, walking over to the chair where Sam was sitting just a few moments before. ‘I told you we’d see each other soon.’ He sits on the chair. ‘Have you been expecting me?’
‘Yes.’
‘I can’t stay long.’
‘I understand,’ I say. ‘A brief appearance in a dream is better than nothing.’
A look of surprise washes over Grim’s face, before it’s replaced by something that there isn’t a word for, just a feeling.
‘Yes. Yes, maybe.’
‘How did you get out?’ I ask.
‘Oh, you know.’ Grim smiles. ‘I had some help.’
‘From who?’
‘From Gabriel.’
‘I don’t get it,’ I say. ‘He shot me. Goffman shot me.’
‘I heard.’
‘I’m scared. I thought I was going to die. I … Sam … I don’t know …’ Tears. Tears again, I can’t help it. There’s something wrong, a dam deep inside me about to burst.
‘Kit …’
‘It’s okay, Leo.’
He leans over, and I can smell my best friend, and for a second it’s summer, long ago, and we’re lying next to each other on our backs by the water tower in Salem, looking up at the cloudless sky above us. There were rumours of a thick fog due to arrive that evening, but it’s still clear and light, and Grim turns to me, squinting because of the sun, says that he’ll miss me if we ever have to go our separate ways.
Then I remember.
‘Are you going to hurt me?’
‘No.’
I daren’t trust him; I wish I could. It’s going to take more than words this time. He puts his hand on my arm and looks me in the eye, says again:
‘It’s okay, Leo. Breathe.’
‘It hurts. My chest …’
Grim follows the little transparent tube running from the back of my hand and on to something just behind me. He looks around and bends down, and when his hand leaves my arm, my skin is warm and I want him to touch me again. It feels safe, in spite of everything. He comes back up with the little box that controls my pain relief.
‘It had fallen onto the floor,’ he says, pressing it.
‘Again,’ I say. ‘More.’
When he’s finished, he puts it onto the bed next to my hand and glances quickly at the closed door.
‘Isn’t this …’ he says. ‘Isn’t this a bit too realistic to be a dream?’
He wants me to wake up, I think to myself. I don’t want to. I want to stay here. I shake my head.
‘Everything’s blurred round the edges. Like a sheet of paper that’s started burning at the margins.’
‘Oh, okay. Yes. Unfortunately, r
eality doesn’t burn up that easily.’
He smiles, makes me want to laugh.
‘Exactly.’
‘If I disappear again, Leo …’
‘Don’t do it.’ I search for his hand but don’t find it. The effects of the morphine are taking over, making life go quiet and wrapping it all in nice grey wool. ‘I don’t want you to.’
‘I don’t want you to go looking for me. I want you to leave me alone. Can you do that?’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, ‘for what happened.’
‘I know that. And I’m going to leave you alone. I’m not going to …’ Grim blinks, doesn’t finish the sentence. ‘If I don’t do anything, I could be in trouble. You’ve got to believe me. You have to trust me this time, Leo.’
‘I don’t understand,’ I say.
‘Say that you trust me.’
‘I …’ It’s only as I say it that I realise it’s true. Only now do I realise how much he means to me. How much I’m going to miss him if he really does go up in smoke again.
‘I trust you.’
‘Good.’ He looks at the door again. ‘I think I have to go now.’
‘Why did you come, then?’
He smiles, a weak smile.
‘To say farewell.’
‘No.’ I grasp at him, scared. ‘No. Why?’
He takes my hand, and for just a second he winds his fingers around mine. I want to hold him there, but I haven’t got the strength. The logic of the dream is too strong. It cannot be defied.
I must have nodded off, I think. I’m not sure, but something’s happened, anyway, because when I open my eyes the light coming through the window into the room is different. It looks like it’s very, very warm out there, and I’m glad I don’t have to deal with that.
There’s something in my hand: a stiff, folded little note. The way the edges scrape my hand feels nice. I open it.
farewell, leo
at least
until we meet again
Contents
About the Author
Title Page
Copyright Page
Charles
Leo
Tove
Leo
Tove
Leo
Charles/FEBRUARY 1984
Charles/JANUARY–FEBRUARY 1971
Charles/FEBRUARY 1984
Leo/JUNE 2014
Tove
Leo
Charles/MARCH 1971
Charles/MARCH 1984
Charles/MARCH 1971
Charles/MARCH 1984
Gabriel/JUNE 2014
Leo
Charles/SEPTEMBER 1984
Paul/OCTOBER 1965
Charles/OCTOBER 1984
Charles/SEPTEMBER 1971–AUGUST 1972
Tove/JUNE 2014
Leo
Charles/OCTOBER 1984
Charles/MAY–JULY 1980
Charles/OCTOBER 1984
Charles/JULY 1980
Leo/JUNE 2014
Gabriel
Charles/NOVEMBER 1984
Charles/JULY 1980
Charles/NOVEMBER 1984
Charles/JULY–AUGUST 1980
Charles/NOVEMBER 1984
Leo/JUNE 2014
Gabriel
Leo
Leo
Gabriel
Davidsson
Gabriel
Leo
Charles/SEPTEMBER–OCTOBER 1980
Charles/NOVEMBER 1984
Charles/NOVEMBER–DECEMBER 1980
Leo/JUNE 2014
Leo
Charles/DECEMBER 1980
Davidsson/JUNE 2014
Tove
Leo
Tove
Leo
Leo
Leo
Leo
Charles
Leo
Master, Liar, Traitor, Friend: a Leo Junker case Page 33