Room No. 10

by Ake Edwardson

She lifted hers. They drank.

  “She doesn’t want me to tell any at all,” Angela said, putting down her glass. “She says that no one is mean when I try to tell them.”

  “You should be happy about that, Angela.”

  “Well, if that’s the case, what does it say about you, Erik?”

  “I just want to be nice,” he said, smiling. “I just do as she tells me.”

  “Pour me a glass, please.”

  “They’re only stories, Angela.” He poured her another glass. It was Friday. He pulled over the pan of scampi. “They’re fantasies.”

  35

  He couldn’t sleep, nor had he counted on being able to. But a person had to try. No one could last long without sleep. This line of work caused sleeplessness, but he wasn’t alone in that. It would have been better to do manual labor along with mental work; then the physical exhaustion might lead to sleep. But manual labor wasn’t without danger. Trees could fall on your head. Scaffolding could fall. Tractors could overturn.

  Winter sat up in his bed. Angela was snoring cautiously, as though she wanted to test him. Elsa’s snoring had stopped miraculously, as though it wanted to play a practical joke on medical science. She no longer needed an operation. Winter thought that the ear-nose-and-throat surgeon had looked disappointed, but that must have been his imagination.

  He had seen disappointment in Mario Ney’s eyes when he explained that Ney couldn’t go home. Explained. He had just said it.

  Halders had shaken his head outside the interrogation room.

  “We don’t know enough about this guy,” he’d said.

  Winter had looked at the clock.

  “And next week you’re off to the sunshine,” Halders had said, following Winter’s gaze to the face of the clock.

  “That’s not what I was checking.”

  “Then what was it?”

  “I wanted to know what time it was.”

  Halders had laughed. It sounded strange in the brick corridor, as though it had been somewhere else, a brighter place.

  They had met Ringmar up in the department.

  “Jonas took off half an hour ago.”

  Winter had nodded.

  “His mother didn’t look happy.”

  “How did he look?”

  “Guilty,” Ringmar had said.

  “Of what?”

  Ringmar shrugged.

  “I’m going home,” Winter had said.

  • • •

  His whiskey glass gleamed in the moonlight. It was the only light in there; a beam that reached farther in than the streetlights down on Vasaplatsen did. It was a clear night. Winter thought of Mario Ney when he saw the stars up there. It was the same space that Ney had appeared to long for. There were more stars than Winter had ever seen before. They covered the sky all the way from the southern archipelago to Angered.

  He lifted his glass. He couldn’t see the color inside of it now, but he knew that it was amber. There were no colors at night, if you didn’t count black. And white. Winter could see the white light cutting through the darkness in the room. White. He thought of the white hand. He thought of the color white as a symbol. He thought of it as paint. He thought of the can it had once been in. He thought of a wall that has been painted white. Why had Paula Ney’s hand been white? Why had Elisabeth Ney’s finger been painted white? Paula’s white hand. It meant something. It was a message. White paint. The can of paint. A white wall. Painted white. Painted recently. Where did the can of paint come from? They didn’t know. Had they asked . . . the painters? The painters in Paula’s apartment. The walls there. Half-finished. Almost finished. Unfinished. What is it that we’re not seeing? Halders had said. Winter had thought it himself. Think back. Think.

  A white, half-finished apartment.

  Think!

  Nothing strange about a wall that looks like it’s been torn down and rebuilt.

  But.

  A message.

  The wall is a message.

  Behind the wall. The white wall.

  Some careless brushstrokes over it.

  Someday it will be finished.

  The white will be finished.

  He set his glass down on the table. He had been holding it in his hand without noticing for the last minute, and he hadn’t noticed until his hand had begun to tremble. He still hadn’t taken a drink.

  He got up and went back into the bedroom and picked his clothes up off the chair.

  “What is it, Erik?”

  Angela moved in the bed. The moonlight reached the bedroom, too. The sheets were very white. It looked like a painting in there.

  “I have to check something,” he said.

  “Now?” She sat up. “What time is it?”

  “I’ll be back soon,” he said.

  • • •

  Winter’s thoughts moved more quickly than the elevator did on the way down to the garage.

  Why was Jonas Sandler digging at that particular spot in the dirt? At that particular time? He was digging for Paula. Was she a symbol? A symbol of what? Childhood? Lost childhood? Love? Or did he really believe Paula was down there? Did he know that his dog was down there? No. Yes. No. Had he seen Börge out there? Seen him digging in the grove of his youth, in the grove of his adultdom? Was that what it was called? Adultdom? Doomed to become an adult.

  Winter hit the remote and his car blinked at him.

  He dialed Anne Sandler’s number.

  She answered after the third ring. He identified himself and asked about Jonas.

  “I don’t know where he is right now,” she said.

  Her voice sounded distant and muffled. It wasn’t only because he was calling from underground.

  “I was going to call you,” she said.

  “Oh?”

  He opened the car door. The light came on inside. He smelled the familiar scent of leather. It never went away; it was like a reassurance.

  “I thought I recognized a face out here from before,” she said. “Recently.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I don’t know. A face. Someone . . . who lived here then. When Jonas was little. Or, maybe not lived . . . it was someone I saw a few times.”

  “And who you remember this much later?”

  “Yes . . . isn’t it strange?” Winter thought he could see her face in his mind. Her confusion. “Maybe I was mistaken.”

  “Why did you want to tell me about this?”

  “I don’t know . . . I told Jonas. That I had seen him again out here, that man. Recently. I . . . don’t know why I said anything.”

  Sometimes the subconscious doesn’t tell us why we say something, Winter thought. Not right away. Sometimes it comes out later.

  “What did Jonas say?”

  “He didn’t say anything . . .”

  Winter waited for her to continue.

  “. . . but I could tell that he was affected by it.”

  “Affected? In what way was he affected?”

  “I don’t know. He was . . . affected. I’ve tried to ask him, but he won’t say anything. But he seemed to react to the fact that I’d seen that man.”

  Winter didn’t say anything.

  “And shortly after that . . . well, you found him out there in the grove of trees.”

  • • •

  Winter drove south, up Aschebergsgatan, past Vasa Hospital, where he’d had a summer job in a long-term care ward during a time in his life when he never thought he’d grow old.

  He passed Chalmers University of Technology, turned left in the roundabout at Wavrinskys Plats, passed Guldhedens School, turned right in the roundabout at Doktor Fries Torg, and crossed the streetcar tracks in order to continue on one of the stree—

  • • •

  The woman came running down the path that led out of the wooded area.

  Her hair floated after her in the wind, the headwind.

  She ran with arms waving wildly.

  Maybe she saw him; maybe she didn’t.

  Winter had sla
mmed on the brakes, in the middle of the track.

  He heard a sudden clatter and saw the hill to the left light up with a bright light. The light turned into headlights that were on the front of a streetcar that was on its way over the hill, headed for him. The light caught the woman, who was still running toward him. Winter saw the shelter and thought, Oh Christ, the streetcar has got to stop! There’s a stop there! But it kept coming. No one was waiting at the stop. No one was getting off there. Winter heard the horrible roar of the streetcar, the clatter, the warning signal.

  The woman was only a few steps away from him. He wrenched the wheel to the right, put the car in gear, stepped on the gas pedal, and lifted the Mercedes from the tracks like a fighter pilot taking off from an aircraft carrier.

  36

  Her eyes were large, like the surface of the moon above them. She stared at him through the windshield, but her gaze was simultaneously empty and filled with fear.

  She lay on the hood and breathed as if she were doing it for the last time.

  Winter quickly folded himself out of the car, took the few steps to the hood, and tried to lift her up. She was about to slide down onto the ground. She weighed a ton, like a streetcar.

  The streetcar had braked with sparks and smoke fifty meters down the hill. Winter could see it blinking all its lights in confusion; they were shining on the facade of Guldhedens School.

  He held her in his arms. She didn’t weigh very much now; she braced her feet on the asphalt and her legs seemed to hold her, but just barely.

  “Come here,” he said, and he half carried, half supported her around the hood to the passenger side, opened the door, helped her into the seat, closed the door, walked around to the other side, and sat down in the driver’s seat. The streetcar was still standing still. Maybe the driver was communicating with the police over his radio.

  “Are you okay, Nina?”

  She tried to say something, but she had begun to shake violently. He extended his right arm and pulled her close to alleviate her shaking. It worked after half a minute. During that time, he saw the streetcar start to glide away slowly. It had a timetable to follow.

  “What happened, Nina?”

  She lifted her head and looked out through the window, toward the vanishing lights of the streetcar. Winter released his grip.

  “What happened?”

  “He . . . he got right in front of me. On the path.”

  “Who?”

  She didn’t answer. It looked as though she was going to start shaking again. Winter lifted his arm, but she waved it away.

  “The man who’s been st-stalking me,” she said.

  “Who is it, Nina?”

  “I think it’s . . . him.”

  “Him? Do you mean Jonas?”

  At first she didn’t seem to recognize the name. She looked out through the window again, as though to see whether he was still out there.

  “Jonas? Jonas Sandler? Paula’s friend?”

  She nodded.

  “Was it Jonas?” Winter repeated.

  “I think so,” she said.

  “Did he say anything?”

  She shook her head.

  “Did he do anything?”

  “I . . . I ran. All of a sudden he was standing there, and I . . . I started to run.”

  “Why do you think it was Jonas?”

  “I saw . . . it looked like him.”

  “In what way?”

  “His height . . . I don’t know. It looked like him.”

  Winter looked out through the windshield. No one had come out through the trees. Nor had he expected anyone to. But maybe he was still out there. If he acted fast, maybe he could catch him.

  He suddenly heard sirens to the north. He recognized that sound. It wasn’t an ambulance. He could see the blue lights over there now, on the way down into the hollow where the streetcar had been standing. They lit up the facade of the school ten times better than the streetcar had.

  The siren died as the patrol car skidded in beside Winter’s Mercedes. The blue lights were still going. Lorrinder stared out at all the blue and white as though it implied a new danger. The shadows came and went on her face.

  Winter saw one of the uniforms step out of the car and say something into the radio microphone. The other uniform stepped out. Winter didn’t recognize their faces in the nervous light. But he saw that they were two male police officers, maybe from Lorensberg.

  He opened the car door and stepped out.

  “Take it easy there!” called the policeman closest to him.

  “It’s me, Erik Winter,” Winter called. “Winter from homicide.”

  He took a step away from the car.

  “Stand still!” the other policeman shouted. It looked like he was reaching for his Sig Sauer.

  Good God, Winter thought. I don’t need this, too.

  He threw a glance down at Lorrinder, but she was sitting still, thank God. His colleague on that side might draw his weapon. A sudden movement over here and Winter might end up in the middle of another murder.

  He saw a gleam from the weapon on that side.

  “Put away your weapon, you damn fool!” Winter yelled. “This is Chief Inspector Erik Winter on an official duty. Who the hell are you two?”

  He saw the policeman closest to him turn around toward the other one.

  “I think it’s him,” he said. “I recognize that Benz.” He turned back to Winter again. “Is that you, Winter?”

  “May I step forward?” Winter called.

  “Hands over your head!” yelled the policeman with the weapon. Winter couldn’t see the weapon anymore.

  “No, no,” said the closest policeman. “It’s Winter from homicide.”

  Winter started to walk.

  “We got a call from the streetcar,” said the policeman. “He thought that someone was trying to drive into him on purpose.” He smiled, or at least that’s how Winter interpreted it. “We thought maybe it was someone escaping?”

  “Escaping from what?”

  The policeman shrugged. Winter pulled out his ID and held it high over his head. He passed the first policeman, walked around the car, stood in front of the second one, made sure he had put away his Sig Sauer, and landed one lightly on his solar plexus.

  The policeman was bent over in front of him, as though taking a deep bow.

  “Were you planning to shoot us to death?”

  “Take it easy, Winter,” said his colleague.

  Winter looked up.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said take it easy.”

  “Easy? Who is it that should take it easy here?” Winter looked down at the bowing man. He had begun to straighten up, and he was simultaneously shuffling away to safety.

  Winter pointed at the Mercedes.

  “There’s a woman in the car who has just been the victim of an attack in the woods behind us. In the woods is the person who attacked her. It might even be a murderer who is guilty of four murders so far. Whom I have been hunting all fall. Whom I might have been able to catch if you two hadn’t come. I seriously doubt he’s still there now.”

  “How the hell could we have known all of that, Winter?” said the older policeman.

  “And furthermore, I was about to follow up on an idea,” said Winter. “I was in a hurry.”

  The policeman shook his head. That could mean several things. For example, it could mean that he and his colleague had done most things correctly. That they had played it safe. That Winter ought to know that policemen today drew their weapons more quickly than they had in the past. It was more dangerous than in the past.

  “Should we go into the woods and look for the perpetrator?” the policeman asked.

  Winter looked over at his car. Lorrinder’s silhouette was sharp against the car window, as though it had been cut from stiff cardboard.

  “Yes. But first we need to take care of that woman over there. Take her wherever she wants to go.”

  • • •

&nbs
p; He stood at the mouth of the path and watched the back lights of the patrol car as it drove up toward Wavrinskys Plats.

  Lorrinder couldn’t tell them anything more.

  She was finally on her way to her friend. She didn’t want to go anywhere else.

  A patrol was on its way here, but Winter doubted that they would find anything, or anyone. He had asked the younger policeman how he felt. He answered that he felt tip-top. If you want to report me, go ahead, Winter said. I thought you wanted to report me, the policeman had said. Look me up when I’m back from my leave of absence, Winter had said. After June first.

  He walked back to his car. No one else had been seen since this drama started when he crossed the tracks. It was as though they had been alone on a stage. But the show was over, and it was as empty here now as it had been before.

  Winter got into his car and dialed a number on his cell phone and waited.

  He listened to the voice mail message until the beep:

  “Jonas, this is Erik Winter. I want you to call me as soon as you hear this. In case you’ve forgotten the number, here it is.”

  He recited the number. He also said the time. The night was on its way into the hour of the wolf.

  “I also want you to turn yourself in to the nearest police station. Or to police headquarters. I hope you’re listening to what I’m saying. I hope you understand, Jonas. I want to help you. I know what happened tonight up in Guldheden. You can stay where you are and call the police. Or call me. It’s over now, Jonas.”

  He didn’t know whether that last bit was true, but it sounded good. It sounded like he knew about everything.

  Winter put the car in reverse and backed over the tracks again.

  He put it in first gear and the car roared away. He started for where he had been heading.

  • • •

  The building was one of five that had been built at the same time and in the same style. This one was second from the left, and it was in the shadows outside the streetlights. It was the darkest of all the buildings. The moon didn’t seem to reach it.

  Winter had parked in the narrow parking lot and walked across the small yard. There were no swings here, no playground equipment at all. Maybe they were on the other side. He hadn’t actually seen any playground here. Maybe there were no children here anymore.