Eva paused, in part because she was feeling hot and did not want to arrive at Dakar dripping with perspiration, in part because she wanted a chance to watch the workers. A couple of men were laying stones, roughly hewn rectangular pieces that were mortared together into a wall or bench if one so desired. The men had the aid of a backhoe, in whose claw the stones were directed into place. They adjusted the stones with metal tools. It looked astonishingly easy even though they were handling such weights. The machine was doing its part, of course, but Eva thought she could read a great satisfaction in their work in the men’s faces. One of them put his hand on a set stone, almost like he was petting it, as if to say, “Here you are now and it looks good,” before it was the next block’s turn.
Eva was struck by the durability of their work. Around the city there was stone in the paved streets, on the front of buildings, in bridges and ornamental structures in parks. No human force could shift these stones. Once a worker patted them into place they were set, testifying to his work.
She compared this to her own job, waitressing at Dakar. This left no visible traces more than for the moment, that was simply how it was, just like her earlier work at the post office. “The woman at the counter,” that was what she had been for many years, but God forbid she leave her place for a quick bathroom break or to sign a form in one of the inner regions of the office. Then there were immediate complaints.
The men coaxed a new block into place. The driver swung the backhoe to the side, allowing it to rest on the pile of stones. Perhaps they were going to take a break. One of the workers gave her a quick, curious look.
“It’s turning out well,” she said and climbed back onto the bike.
The man nodded and took a few steps closer to her, putting one foot up on the block he had just set.
“Time for me to go to work,” she said.
“I was just going to offer you a cup of coffee,” the man said and Eva couldn’t tell if he was serious or not.
“Are you taking a break right now?”
“No, we’re done for the day.”
Two of the man’s fellow workers were waiting in the background.
“Where do you work?”
“At a restaurant. It’s called Dakar.”
“Then you will have to be the one to invite me,” the man said and laughed. “See you!”
He gave her a mischievous look before he joined his colleagues and left for the work trailer.
She ended up standing around for a little while longer before biking the rest of the way.
A heated discussion was under way in Dakar’s kitchen. Feo’s aggravated voice and Donald’s interruptions could be heard out all the way into the dressing room.
When Eva stepped into the kitchen the two chefs abruptly stopped and stared at her.
“Don’t let me interrupt,” she said.
Donald turned his back on her, grabbed a pot from the rack but changed his mind, put it back, and walked out to the bar instead. They heard how he took out a bottle of soda or mineral water. Donald never drank anything stronger than this on the job.
“We were talking about the union. They want to come here.”
Eva nodded.
“Anything in particular?”
“No, they have some campaign. I’m in the union now, but not Donald. He calls them parasites.”
“I don’t know that I’ve ever found them so helpful, but I still think it’s important to join.”
“Exactly! Suddenly it happens.”
Donald returned.
“Have you formed a club now?”
“Yes, you are treasurer,” Feo said.
This, her third evening, involved the most work so far. A party of sixteen had come thundering in at six o’clock. They had been playing golf all day and now demanded drinks and food. Eva recognized one of them, a classmate from the Eriksberg school, but he did not recognize her, or else he didn’t want to acknowledge it.
“I hate golfers,” Tessie said.
After the party, which had not been booked in advance and created a great deal of work in the bar and kitchen, there were dinner guests in a steady stream until nine o’clock. Luckily Johnny was working as well and so they were three chefs and one apprentice.
Tessie demonstrated the extent of her professional capabilities. Eva quickly realized that the other waiter, Gonzo, did not maintain a particularly stunning pace. After having being fired he mainly walked around muttering about the “fascists,” Slobodan and Armas. It was even worse after Slobodan turned up at eight o’clock to have a glass of grappa. Then Gonzo seemed to move in slow motion.
It was Tessie, assisted by Eva, who managed to maintain the level of service and Eva’s respect for her increased even more.
At half past nine things calmed down. The last desserts were going out, the party of golfers had disbanded after lounging in the bar for an hour, the rest of the dinner guests were gradually paying and leaving. Eva sat down. Donald had started scrubbing down the meat stove; Feo, who was putting finishing touches on the last desserts, offered Eva an ice cream, which she declined, while Johnny started to cover things in plastic wrap, clear things away, and put them into cold storage.
Måns, the bartender, looked in.
“There’s a phone call for you, Eva. You can take it in here,” he said rapidly, and left again.
Eva looked around, bewildered. Feo pointed to the wall where the telephone was mounted. The kids, she thought, and an image of Patrik’s bleeding face appeared in her mind.
She listened without saying more than “yes,” “no,” and “of course,” then she replaced the receiver.
“I have to go home,” she said. “I have to stop now.”
“Has something happened?”
She shook her head, but changed her tack as quickly.
“It was the police,” she said.
“The police?” Feo asked.
“And to think I’m on a bike,” she sobbed. “Can someone call me a cab?”
“I can take you,” Johnny said, immediately untying his apron. “I took the car today. The rest of you can manage, can’t you?”
Donald nodded.
A patrol car was parked outside the front of the building, and a group of teenagers had assembled in the yard. Eva recognized many of them. A few were classmates of either Hugo or Patrik.
Johnny accompanied Eva into the apartment. She had not said a single word during the drive to explain what had happened. Johnny suffered with her and the silent anxiety that drove her to lean forward in her seat with one hand on the dashboard.
There were two police officers in the kitchen, one female and one male. Two unfamiliar and frightening people in her kitchen, two gigantic figures who took up the entire room, that was how Eva perceived them and they gave her a feeling of terror.
There is no security, she thought. Everything breaks down, the joy of the past week with a new job, a new hairstyle, and a new life. All of that had been brushed aside.
“What has happened? Where is Patrik?”
She stared at Hugo who was sitting wedged in between the wall and one of the officers.
“Come here!”
Hugo got up and stood behind her.
“We’re looking for Patrik. We have received a report of an assault and we have reason to believe he was involved.”
It was the female officer who was speaking.
“Assault? You think Patrik assaulted someone?”
“Wouldn’t you like to sit down?”
Eva shook her head, suddenly infuriated by the fact that these two were occupying her home, her kitchen. This was a place for Eva, Patrik, and Hugo and no one else!
“Was it necessary to drive a police car up to the front of the building?” Johnny asked.
“Who are you? Are you Patrik’s father?”
“I’m a colleague of Eva’s,” Johnny said. “I gave her a ride here.”
“Perhaps you could leave us now.”
“He stays,” Eva said.
He looked fixedly at Eva while he spoke.
“We believe that Patrik had a part in this. There are a couple of witnesses who say he was there, at least last night. Do you know where your son is?”
“No, I’ve just come from work.”
“So you have no idea of where your son may have been last night or where he is right now?”
“What is your name?”
“I introduced myself before but I can do so again. I am Harry Andersson, and my colleague is Barbro Liljendahl.”
“Do you have any children?”
He nodded.
“How old are they?”
“That’s not relevant to the matter at hand.”
“Do you know exactly what they are doing right now?”
“That isn’t relevant in this context.”
“Don’t come here, you little shit, and tell me how I should raise my children.”
“I understand that you are upset, and naturally we are not here to criticize you, but you have to understand that it is our duty to follow up on anything that can have a bearing on an assault case. Especially when there is a knife involved.”
“Patrik doesn’t own a knife.”
“Tell us about last night,” Barbro Liljendahl urged.
Eva felt Hugo’s arms around her middle.
“Hugo came home and went to bed around ten o’clock. I sat up and waited for Patrik who was supposed to be home by ten-thirty at the latest, but I fell asleep on the couch. I was really tired. When I woke up in the middle of the night, Patrik was home. He was sleeping in his room. Then I went to bed too.”
“So you don’t know when Patrik came home?”
“I was completely exhausted. I’ve just started a new job.”
“When did you fall asleep?”
Eva shrugged.
Barbro Liljendahl jotted something down in her notebook.
“We have tried to call Patrik on his cell phone—we got the number from his brother—but he doesn’t answer. Don’t you have any idea where he might be?”
“No, but isn’t it better if you go out and look for him rather than sitting here?” Eva asked.
“It’s helpful for us to know where to look,” Harry Andersson said.
“Hugo,” Eva turned around and pushed the boy into the hallway, “I think it’s best you went to bed.”
He dutifully followed her into the bedroom. Eva closed the door behind her.
“What have you said?”
“That I was sleeping.”
He was close to tears.
“Good, stay here, you can play a video game or something. We’ll talk more after the cops leave. Do you have any idea where Patrik is?”
Hugo shook his head.
“Is he with Zero?”
“I don’t think so.”
She hugged Hugo, returned to the kitchen, took out a glass and let the water run until it became cold. Then she took four long sips and racked her brains for where Patrik could be.
The two police officers were sitting behind her back. Johnny was standing in the doorway to the hall.
“I don’t know where he is,” she said finally, putting the glass down so loudly that Harry Andersson jumped.
“As soon as he gets home, we would like you to call this number,” Barbro Liljendahl said and handed her a card.
Eva laid the card on the kitchen counter without looking at it.
“Of course,” she said.
When the police had left, Eva turned to Johnny.
“Thanks for your help,” she said and sank down onto a chair in the hall.
“It was nothing. What are you going to do?”
“I thought maybe you could stay here for a little while. Is that all right? Just so Hugo doesn’t have to be alone. I’m going to look for Patrik.”
Johnny nodded and pulled off his coat.
“I want to come with you,” Hugo said. He was standing in the door to his room.
“It’s better if you stay here, in case Patrik calls. You can try to call Ahmed, Giorgio, Anton, Emil, and …”
“Mossa,” Hugo finished.
“Good. Mossa too. But don’t say anything about the police. If they ask, just say you want to reach Patrik. If Patrik calls tell him to call me on my cell phone, okay?”
Eva did not like the narrow walking paths that connected the various areas of the neighborhood. Some stretches cut through dense forest and were poorly lit. This late at night there were not usually many people out, perhaps a couple of teenagers or the occasional dog owner.
She walked at a brisk clip in the direction of the school and saw a patrol car in the distance. Naturally they were going around, snooping. But if they thought they could find Patrik they were naive. He was smart enough to stay away. The Sävja jungle drums did their work and he would surely know they were looking for him.
The first wave of anxiety was beginning to give way to anger. What was he doing out in the first place? He had promised to stay home. But she should have known better. Patrik was a restless soul who hated staying in. Sometimes she could tempt him with watching a video, otherwise he left as soon as dinner was over.
And now she would have an even harder time keeping tabs on him. Several times a week, and every other weekend she had to work. She stopped at an intersection. Should I stop working at Dakar? Is it right to be gone so much? She turned to the right and came to an area that was even more deserted.
The darkness was oppressive where the streetlamps were even more spaced out. She heard rustling in the fallen leaves, a blackbird flew up and disappeared into the tree canopy.
She ran around for an hour, to the school, toward the southern part of the area and back, swung down to the grocery store and turned back again. During this time she called Patrik’s cell phone a few times and once back to Hugo at home.
She encountered ten or so other people, of whom four were dog owners and three were teenage girls. Eva knew one of them from preschool. That was ten years ago, but you could tell it was the same girl. She nodded to Eva, who slowed down a bit, not sure if she should ask if they had seen Patrik, but decided not to and continued on quickly to the old post office.
She heard the girls laughing behind her. They probably knew that the police were out. Tomorrow all of Sävja and half of Bergsbrunna would know.
She stopped under a streetlight. Was there any sense in running around like this? She was convinced Hugo was calling around to all the friends.
Patrik was wanted by the police, he was most likely aware of it by now and God only knew what the child was going to do.
She ran the last part home. The assembly of young people in the yard had dispersed. The light was still on in Helen’s apartment. Darkness descended over the area. A tawny owl started to make its call.
Her cell phone rang at that moment.
“Hi, it’s me.”
“Where are you?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“What have you done?”
“Nothing. It’s just the cops who—”
“Tell me about the assault!”
She could hear Patrik’s breaths.
“Are you okay?”
“Sure. What did the cops say?”
“You are the one who should tell me what’s happened,” Eva said. “They talked about a man who had been stabbed.”
“It was Zero.”
“Zero was the one who did this? Were you there?”
“I have to stop now. I’ll be home later.”
“You come straight home. Now.”
“I think the cops are keeping an eye on the building.”
Eva looked around. There was nothing that indicated that the police were present, but Eva realized they would hardly park in the middle of the y
ard.
“I want to see you. Think about Hugo, he’s also worried.”
Patrik was quiet and Eva knew he was thinking it over.
“The community gardens, go there.”
“How will I—?”
“I’ll see you when you come.”
Patrik hung up. Eva stood frozen for a while, then she called Hugo.
Seventeen
The bar at Alhambra was the place that Slobodan Andersson liked best. Dakar was okay, he dropped by there every evening at eight o’clock to have a grappa, but it was at Alhambra that everything had started, really gotten going. Here he had planned and discussed things with Armas. Slobodan recalled how the tight anxiety mingled with the triumphant feeling of doing exactly the right thing, how they laid out the plans and went through the details again and again. Armas had a feeling for the small details, those that could mean the difference between catastrophe and success. He never left anything to chance. In a few words he steered Slobodan where he wanted. Slobodan was sometimes struck by the suspicion that he was inferior to Armas and knew that he more than once had Armas to thank for his successes.
Strangely enough Slobodan was worried. That did not happen often. Perhaps it was Armas’s comment about the computer, that the police could easily retrieve even those messages that had been deleted. Slobodan wondered for a long time if this could be true, but by now the machine had been taken apart and discarded, and Armas had purchased a new laptop and installed it before he left for Spain.
Slobodan sat at the short end of the bar, smoked a cigarette, and observed those who came and went, greeting old customers with a nod or a brief handshake, exchanging a few words but not embarking on more extensive conversations.
Alhambra was doing well. He registered every transaction that Jonas and Frances made with the cash register, not the sums but the sound of the fingers on the buttons and the click when the cash drawer popped out.
He recalled how, at the start of his restaurant career, he had stared at the figures every evening, counted and figured, compared and planned, wished. Now he no longer had to be so concerned; still, he kept a daily check on how the business was doing. He trusted his staff. He was the one who had hired them, and to question their competency and honor was to dismiss his own judgment. In the case of Gonzo at Dakar he had been wrong, but now that mistake had been corrected. Despite Armas’s protests he had allowed Gonzo to work a couple more weeks and take out all of his remaining pay, even his vacation compensation. Anything beyond this would be ridiculous. Thereafter a kick in the ass.
The Demon of Dakar Page 11