Room No. 10

by Ake Edwardson

  The lobby was cold and raw. It felt colder in there than it did outside. When the heat had been turned off, the cold must have come creeping in, as though it finally had the chance to take over.

  The stairs creaked with every step he took. The thick walls kept out most of the noise from the storm.

  “Hello?” he called. “Hello?”

  He stopped on the stair second to the top and listened.

  It was quiet in there, as though the silence had taken over for good, like the cold.

  “Salko? Are you here?”

  He stood up there in the hall and let his flashlight light up all the corners it could reach.

  The corridor that led to room number ten was to his right. Winter turned his head and saw the farthest door. He aimed his flashlight in that direction, but the beam of light didn’t quite reach it.

  As he walked closer, he saw that the door was half-open. The light from outside seemed to be wavering back and forth in there, like the beam of his flashlight had just done. Back and forth. He took a few more steps.

  He saw the body swinging in the fiery glow.

  He saw a back, a neck. The rope. It was black now, but he knew what color it would be in daylight. The body swung slowly toward him. Winter was two steps from the room. He suddenly heard a cell phone ringing; it must be his. He felt the vibrations across his chest, but they could just as easily have come from his heart.

  He stepped over the threshold and saw the shadow of the blow before it hit him across the throat.

  • • •

  Djanali heard the ringing from deep within a dream that she would forget when she woke.

  She woke up and reached across Halders, who always slept the sleep of the innocent, for the phone. It normally took more than a telephone to wake him up. The room was completely black; it was night. She fumbled for the receiver for a few seconds.

  “Yes, hello? This is Aneta.”

  “I’m sorry I’m calling so late . . . or early . . . this is Angela . . . Angela Hoffman. Erik Winter’s partn—”

  “Angela,” Djanali interrupted her. She had heard the deep concern in Angela’s voice. “What’s going on?”

  “I . . . don’t know. Erik took off . . . tonight. He was just going to check something, he said. And then he called. And . . . and he hasn’t called again since.”

  “When did he last call?”

  “It was probably . . . about an hour ago. Maybe a bit less. I tried to reach him a little while ago, but he didn’t answer his phone.”

  “Where was he calling from?” Djanali asked.

  “Vasagatan. It’s right nearby. I’m so worried. I didn’t know what I—”

  “What was he going to do?” Djanali interrupted her.

  She heard Halders sit up in bed behind her.

  “What was he going to do there?” she repeated.

  Halders leaned close to her so he could hear.

  “He said he was on his way to . . . that . . . Börge guy’s place,” Angela said. “Christer Börge.”

  “I’ll go,” Halders said, flying out of bed. “I’ll call people in.” He reached for the cell phone on the bedside table.

  “What a fucking idiot,” he mumbled as he pulled on his pants.

  • • •

  Something scraped against Winter’s cheek, but he hoped it was just part of a dream. I don’t want to wake up from this dream, he thought.

  He woke up. He didn’t know what he had dreamed, or whether he had already been awake.

  He was lying in a semiprone position. He tried to move his arms, but they were tied behind his back. His feet were tied together tightly.

  He felt a horrible pain across his throat, and now he could hear that he was breathing as though his windpipe had been broken in two.

  A pair of feet came toward him across the floor. That was his perspective, the floor. A pair of shoes stopped right next to his face. Winter recognized the brand.

  His face was lifted up. It was difficult to fix his gaze.

  “You finally came, after all,” said Börge.

  Winter could see Börge’s face. It was a face he’d never forgotten, and which he would remember as long as he lived. It might be the last thing he would see. Yes. No. Yes. That depended on what Börge had to say. How long he would take. I’ve got the car two blocks from here. Soon everyone will be here.

  “I don’t have much to say,” Börge said, smiling. “I’m not much for explaining.”

  Winter opened his mouth and tried to say what he’d planned to say, but no sound came out. He could hear the hiss through his throat, but it had been there long before he’d opened his mouth.

  “I think your voice has had a shock,” Börge said, standing up. He grabbed Winter’s collar and started to pull him up, against the wall. It felt as though Winter’s throat were breaking in two again.

  The back of his neck was at a strange angle against the wall. His tendons were already starting to ache.

  “But I can say this much: I didn’t like it that she left me,” Börge said.

  He was still standing in the spot where he had stood up.

  “Didn’t like it at all.” Börge appeared to lean forward. “I saw her, you know. Actually, I’ve seen her several times, but right now I mean that time, at the station.” Börge gestured with his hand, as though he was pointing in the direction of the station. It wasn’t far away. Nothing is far from here, Winter thought. You can almost reach out your hand and touch everything. But he couldn’t move his hand.

  “She was going to help the girl leave,” Börge continued. “They were both going to leave.” He nodded twice. “She was going to leave again.” He nodded again. “But it was too late for that this time. I couldn’t let them do that. Not this time. Not for good.”

  Börge crouched down, but he was still several meters from Winter.

  “Well, of course you saw her, too. Or the traces of her, you could say. I presume you’ve been to my place.” He smiled again. It was a smile Winter had seen only a few times during his career. “She . . . well, she was sorry. But it was a bit late by then.” Börge gestured with his arm, some sort of circling motion. “And now they’ve left us, all of them. There you go. Call it revenge, call it whatever you want. She did bad things. It’s bad to do bad things. She lied. She did much worse things.” His eyes suddenly became small.

  “They all lied! And who thought of me, huh? Who out of all of them thought of me?” Börge shifted position but remained crouching. “They didn’t deserve to be able to keep lying. I wanted them to beg for forgiveness for what they did to me. And in the end, they did. They all begged me for forgiveness. Maybe then they weren’t guilty anymore. Maybe the white paint helped them with that, too. And led you here at the same time.” He changed position again. “But I don’t care anymore, and I don’t think you do either, right now, do you?”

  He smiled again. Winter tried to move his head, but it was stuck where Börge had placed it. He felt as though his throat were about to burst, as though he were being strangled.

  They didn’t beg you for forgiveness, he thought. Paula didn’t beg you for forgiveness, you bastard. She begged for some kind of hope that you couldn’t give her. She begged for all the lies to disappear.

  “And of course you’re going to follow them, Erik Winter. You’re going to go away, too, like they did. Call it . . . logic. It will be a one-way trip this time.”

  Börge got up again and took a few steps closer to Winter.

  “Are you uncomfortable? Shall I help you?” He leaned over him and tried to drag his upper body up again, pressing Winter’s head to the side at the same time. “Is that better?”

  I have to say something, Winter thought. I have to try to say something.

  He saw Salko’s hanging figure. It was still now. Börge must have set it in motion before Winter stepped in.

  Börge followed his gaze.

  “You’re wondering about that old bellhop?” He looked down at Winter again. “There’s nothing
to wonder about. He just got scared. He knew a thing or two, and apparently he didn’t tell you. Maybe he should have. Maybe he tried, what do I know? But he wanted to see me, and this was the best place, wasn’t it? There’s peace and quiet here.” Börge turned his head again and looked up at Salko. “He wanted some money, but I had no desire to give him any. He thought I had something for him, but it wasn’t what he thought it was.”

  Börge looked down at Winter again. “That’s actually how it started. Salko wanted something. You could say that he put something in motion. Maybe you’re wondering why it took so long for me to . . . react. Well . . .” Börge shrugged. “It was like the old joker out on Hisingen, Metzer. You’ve met him, too. Maybe he didn’t want money, but he didn’t want to keep his mouth shut either. He didn’t think it was fun anymore. It was like he only wanted to have fun.” Börge’s eyes became small again. His voice became that of another. “But everything isn’t fun, is it? And when it’s not fun, maybe a person should think carefully. Not threaten to rush off and talk to just anyone. He wanted to talk to you, for example. About me! He threatened to do it.”

  Börge’s eyes became larger, and they seemed to turn to another direction, another time. “And in one way he already had. Do you remember the Martinsson couple?” Börge smiled. “Of course you remember them! You and your colleague went out to that place on Hisingen when someone called about a fight.” Börge smiled again. “It was Metzer who called, but you know that. And I was the one who was fighting! Although it wasn’t really me. I was only in that apartment because it was close to Ellen’s. I had gotten to know the Martinssons. But that idiot Martinsson thought I was interested in his ugly wife.” Börge wasn’t smiling now. He looked wronged, misunderstood. “How could he think that? How could he think I was interested in anyone but Ellen? She lived out there then, Ellen and her fucking bastard child. I kept an eye on them. It was my right. Martinsson didn’t get that. Not just anyone would get that.” He nodded at Winter. “People like you, for example. Just anyone. You are just anyone, aren’t you?”

  Börge smiled. He looked as though he was going to say something else, but his gaze moved away from Winter’s face.

  “But that’s enough talking,” he said after a few seconds.

  I have to say something, Winter thought. It’s life or death.

  Abruptly Börge walked over to a plastic bag that was behind the door. Winter could see it out of the corner of his right eye. Börge bent over the bag and stuck in one arm. He suddenly looked up.

  “There’s something special about this room, isn’t there? This was where Ellen ran the first night, but you know that!”

  I have to say something, have to say something, have to say something, say something, say . . .

  “Jo . . . Jon . . . Jo,” he said, and it sounded like he was trying to whistle.

  Börge gave a start. His arm was still in the bag.

  When he lifts up that arm, it’s all over, Winter. Then it will be a one-way trip.

  “Jon . . . Jon . . .” he whistled again.

  Börge lifted his arm. His hand was empty.

  “What? Are you trying to say something, Winter?”

  Winter couldn’t answer. He felt exhausted by his attempts to speak. But the horrible pain in his throat began to abate. It was as if his throat was starting to heal. And thoughts were starting to move in his head again, as though they too had been temporarily strangled by the blow.

  • • •

  The blue lights swept over Vasagatan. The wind tore at them, making them rotate irregularly, like a broken carousel. There were two patrol cars outside the front door of Börge’s building. Halders had left his car door open behind him as he ran to the door.

  There were already people inside the apartment.

  “The door was wide open,” said the police inspector outside.

  “Is he in there?” Halders asked.

  “It seems empty.”

  Halders walked into the hall. It bent strangely, and he followed the bend. He saw the open door at the far end. He could see a uniform moving in there. He saw a face turn to him. He saw the expression on it.

  “What is it?” he shouted, starting to run.

  While he was still in motion, he saw the ropes, the metal eyebolts, the workbench, the body parts, the molds. A large stain on the floor, shining in the naked light.

  The female inspector was holding her chin, her mouth, her nose. Halders could see only her eyes.

  There was nothing alive in this room. Erik has been here, Halders thought. He must have seen this. He must have understood. Did he understand where he would go from here?

  There was a can of paint on the floor next to the wall on the right side. There was a paintbrush on the floor. The white paint had spattered in the shape of a fan when the brush had been thrown. There was writing on the wall. The writing was snow white against the grayish-white plaster of the wall:

  MURDERER

  The word was painted with letters that were half a meter high. It covered the whole wall. The paint had run down the wall and out onto the floor and had become part of the fan.

  “Someone was here after Erik,” said Halders.

  • • •

  Börge walked across the room and leaned over him. He leaned closer, placed his ear near Winter’s mouth.

  “Maybe it will work better if you whisper?”

  “Jon . . .”

  “Jon? Jon? What are you saying? Jon?”

  “Jon . . . Jona . . .”

  “Jonas? Aha! Jonas! You’re asking about Jonas?!”

  Winter blinked. That meant yes.

  “My God, Winter, don’t tell me we have more old friends in common! You saw the photo at Paula’s house, didn’t you?” Börge’s eyes were large now, as though he were the happiest person on earth. “Sweet boy, that one. Like the girl. They were both so sweet.” Börge appeared to lose himself in memories for a few seconds. “He got a little worked up by my little joke when he was little, Jonas did. I was just joking around a bit with that hand he saw.” Börge smiled, but it was a different smile than before, a warm smile. “That was a hobby of mine even back then. A person has to work a little with his hands, don’t you think? Old Metzer didn’t think it was funny, but I didn’t care all that much what he said.”

  “He . . . he . . .”

  “What are you saying, Winter? Hee-hee? You’re right, it is funny.”

  Winter gathered all the lung capacity and muscles he had to be able to squeeze out a few more words.

  “He . . . he saw you.”

  Winter breathed heavily after his exertion.

  “Saw me? Saw me?” Börge grabbed Winter’s shoulder and shook it. “Saw me when? When I was here? Hardly. When I was there? Hardly then, either. Here or there, doesn’t matter. He came snooping around when I stole the rope from Paula’s apartment, but I was already out by then. Those two poor souls clung to each other somehow.”

  Börge let go of Winter’s shoulder.

  “He’s dependent on me, that boy. Just like she was dependent on me. You read the letter, I assume?” Börge nodded, as though at his own words.

  Winter had read it. Paula had written it to Börge. Winter hadn’t understood at first. How can you understand something like that? She had written about her life, about the right to her life. She had wanted her freedom. She had demanded it. Maybe she thought that all the secrets would stop then, all the lies. That something else would come after all the silence, something better. She had also demanded Jonas’s freedom.

  “The fact is, I invited the boy here,” said Börge. “He’s welcome to come at any time now. He’s dependent on me, as I said. I did say that, right? Has he told you anything, for example? About anything? The answer is no.”

  Winter’s cell phone rang. He had forgotten that he owned one. It belonged to another world, another life. Börge reacted to the sound, but only for a second. It didn’t matter, not for him, not for Winter.

  Here I lie. Or sit, or whatever the h
ell it is. I sat here myself. I set myself in all of this. I was yanked along. I stopped thinking. No, I thought, but in the wrong way. I was alone. Who did I talk to last? It was Jonas. Was it Jonas? What did I say? I don’t remember. I heard hardly anything he said. Too much happened in a short time. The night was too short. I talked to Nina, too. I told her that I was going to Paula’s apartment. I did do that, didn’t I? But that doesn’t help. I wanted to do everything. Solve everything. A complete solution. I wanted it done before I got on the plane. Now nothing will come of any of it. I shouldn’t have hit that young policeman. I didn’t even ask his name. That was Angela on the phone, I could feel that it was Angela. Jesus! Elsa, Lilly. I should have married Angela. She wanted to. I love you all and I will always love you all no matter what happens. Paula knew. She wrote about forgiveness when she was allowed to write what she wanted. Her murderer wasn’t dictating. She wrote what she wanted when she knew she was going to die. She took the blame upon herself. I understand it now. All the chaos that happened in her life was because she was an unplanned child, maybe unwanted. She must have seen, understood, discovered. What did Börge say to her in this room? Did he have to say very much when she already knew? She wanted to ease the sadness for those who survived her. God in heaven. Help me now, now that I understand, now that I know. If my legs had been free, I would have kicked this bastard to death. Now he’s getting up. He’s walking over to the bag. I have to prepare myself for this. He’s pulling something out. Yes, yes, it’s a rope; he has enough rope to reach around the world. Can I head-butt him? He has to come close enough to put the noose around my neck and if I can reach, then . . .