Never End

by Ake Edwardson

  'Not yet.'

  'Then I can go.'

  Halders drove the children to school, then went back to the house and did his tour again.

  He phoned Winter.

  'Did you see her?' he asked.

  'Yes.'

  'How did it go?'

  'How are you feeling, Fredrik?'

  'You're answering a question with a question.'

  'I wanted to know how it's going for you.'

  'Great.'

  'Stop it, for Christ's sake.'

  'OK, not great. But in the circumstances ...'

  'What are you doing?'

  'Walking round the house. Round and round. It looks as though I'll be moving back here. The kids want to stay.'

  'Walk round as many times as you like.' Winter could hear Halders breathing. 'Jeanette Bielke asked me to send her regards.'

  'I'm coming in,' said Halders.

  'Take a few days off.'

  'No.'

  'Well, I can't force you.'

  'If I collapse at least it will be while I'm on the front line.'

  'I'll pretend I didn't hear that,' said Winter.

  'I've got something else you maybe would like to hear,' said Halders. 'Something occurred to me in connection with the murder of Angelika Hansson. Something we haven't talked about.'

  'Can't we discuss it now? Over the phone?'

  'I'm coming in. It can wait for an hour.'

  'It will have to be this afternoon. I'm seeing the Wägners in half an hour.'

  'Did they ask for the meeting?'

  'No, I did.'

  She had cycled home and hung up her damp swimming costume on the line behind the house. Or in front of it, if you go in through the kitchen door. As she had done.

  It was quiet indoors. She had the evening to herself if she wanted to stay here. She could wander around with a beer or a glass of wine and smell the scents wafting in through the open windows when night fell. There was so much greenery outside that it was a joy to wander round the house, experiencing it.

  She took a shower. The answering machine was blinking when she went back to her bedroom. She listened to the message, and immediately returned the call.

  'I was in the shower.'

  'Hmm.'

  'Did you ring earlier? Somebody called my mobile and didn't say anything.'

  'No.'

  'So ... what's happening?'

  'Can you come here tonight?'

  'I don't know ... I haven't got the strength.'

  'Do you really mean that?'

  'It's true. I feel really lazy.'

  'You can be lazy here as well. Relatively lazy.'

  'It's on the other side of town.'

  'Take a taxi.'

  'Too expensive.'

  'I'll pay.'

  'No.'

  'I will, I promise.'

  'I didn't mean it like that. I feel like staying in tonight. Taking it easy.'

  'OK.'

  'You won't be angry?'

  'You'll regret it.'

  'Are you angry?'

  'Yes.'

  'Really?'

  'No.'

  'We could meet tomorrow maybe?'

  'I can't, sorry.'

  'Oh.'

  'I'll call you.'

  10

  It was raining when Winter left the police station. It was still hot but the atmosphere was close and he could feel sweat spring up on his brow, as well as rain in his hair. The grass next to the car park had turned greener after just a few minutes, and the air was heavy with the smell of it. This was the first rain for over a month.

  Suddenly the sounds coming from the traffic on all sides were different. The swish of tyres on wet tarmac. A softer sound.

  The colours were clearer than when he'd last driven through the centre of town. Not many people were wearing rain gear. Three young men naked from the waist up danced over the Allé when he stopped at a red light. One of them gave Winter a thumbs up. He nodded through the windscreen of his Mercedes.

  He drove through the tunnel then turned off and continued along minor roads until he pulled up outside the house. The rain had stopped by the time he got out of the car. There was no wind. His back felt sweaty despite the air conditioning.

  The house looked as melancholy as it always did. It was more than two years since he was last here. They'd kept in touch. Birgersson as well, but the fact was that Winter had felt a ... stronger need to stay in contact with Beatrice's parents. Maybe a duty, in addition to his professional reasons. Their daughter's murderer was still out there somewhere. They were prisoners of that crime for the rest of their lives, bound by the memory and the sorrow. Shut up for ever inside the brick-built house that was so heavy and dark in the mist; the windows were black, the door closed, but it opened as Winter walked along the short path from the gate. Bengt Wägner came out, closing the door behind him, and shook hands with Winter.

  'Lisen won't come out,' Wägner said. 'She's lying down. It all came back to her.'

  'I'm sorry.'

  'It's not your fault. It's no use trying to pretend it hasn't happened,' said Wägner. He took a few steps on the lawn that had stopped growing in the heatwave. 'It's best if Lisen confronts her grief. Otherwise it'll be worse. And worse still next time.' He looked at Winter. 'So, it's happened again.'

  'A girl called Angelika Hansson.'

  'In the same place.'

  'Yes.'

  'Exactly the same place?'

  'It seems so.'

  'And another girl has been attacked too, is that right?'

  'Yes.'

  'Also raped?'

  Winter nodded again.

  'No doubt there's more than one rapist running loose in town?'

  'Depending on how you count them, there are several,' Winter said.

  'But there's one who's special,' said Wägner.

  'It's a hypothesis.'

  'Does it make sense to work on that basis?'

  'I think so.'

  'What good does it do us?' Wägner gave a snort, almost like a dry little laugh. 'What do we get out of it?'

  Winter lit a Corps, exhaled and watched the smoke mix with the air that was growing clearer now that the last of the dampness from the sky was sinking into the grass at their feet.

  'If we can find a link it could help us. It could be of enormous help to us.'

  'How? What link could there be?'

  Winter took another drag on his cigarillo. He'd offered one to Wägner who'd accepted it, and now lit up.

  'Angelika Hansson's murderer could be the same one as murdered Beatrice. Neither you nor I can stop thinking about the fact that he's still on the loose. It's devastating for you, I know, but I can't forget it either.'

  'But what kind of a link do you expect to find by going through all that bloody shit yet again?' said Wägner, puffing at the cigarillo and studying the smoke as it rapidly became invisible.

  'If there's something in common we'll find it,' said Winter. 'That's what's going to help us.'

  'But what could it be? That really means something?'

  'It could be anything at all.'

  'You've read all the documents and reports and all the rest of it several times, Erik. Over and over again. Surely there can't be anything you've missed?'

  'I haven't had anything to compare it with.'

  'No, I can see that. But there must be lots of things that can be ... well, in common, without it meaning anything at all. Obviously there are three girls about the same age. Maybe with the same interests, for all I know. The same hobbies, perhaps. The same favourite parts of town. Maybe ... maybe they used to go to the same places. You said all three had only just left school. Good God, there's loads of things they have in common. There must be. How will you know what's important and what isn't when you read it and compare?'

  'I can only hope that I see it.'

  'Hope? Is that the best we can wish for?'

  Winter gave a little smile and took another puff.

  'Pretty strong, th
ese things,' said Wägner, looking at the long, thin cigarillo in his hand. 'I was going to buy a packet a few months ago, but they didn't have any.'

  'I'm the only one smoking them,' said Winter. 'And when they don't make them any more, I shall give up.'

  'But you won't give up on ... Beatrice.'

  'Never.'

  'Will you ... we ... will we find that bastard?'

  'Yes.'

  'Now you're hoping again.'

  'No. By the end of this summer we'll have got him.'

  'It could be a long summer,' said Wägner, looking up at the sky.

  Winter phoned from Wägner's lawn. Halders answered after four rings. Winter drove back eastwards and found the house in Lunden, following the instructions Halders had given him. Halders' car was parked outside. Winter pulled up behind it.

  'I could have come down to the station,' said Halders, who was waiting at the gate.

  'I was out anyway.'

  'It's a great job, lots of freedom, eh?'

  'Have you got anything to drink?'

  'Will low-alcohol beer do?'

  Winter said it would and followed Halders into the house.

  'I hadn't been here for four years or thereabouts.'

  'Not at all?'

  'Only to the gate.' Halders took a can out of the fridge. 'Here you go.'

  Winter opened the can and drank.

  'I can get you a glass.'

  Winter shook his head and took another gulp. It was light in the kitchen. There were no piles of unwashed crockery on the draining board. No crumbs on the work surfaces. Hanging on the wall over the kitchen table was a framed poster from the sixties advertising a toothpaste that no longer existed. Next to the telephone in front of Winter was a tear-off wall calendar, and he noticed that the date was old. Nobody had torn off the pages from day to day. Winter knew what date it showed without needing to work it out.

  'There's something fishy about her dad,' said Halders. 'Jeanette's dad.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Or between the pair of them. There's something odd there.'

  'Can you be a bit more concrete?'

  'There are several details on which their versions of events don't agree. The night she came home. After it had happened.'

  Winter had noticed the discrepancies. It wasn't uncommon. It needn't necessarily mean that one of them was lying, not consciously at least.

  'I wonder which of them's lying,' Halders said. 'I think it's her, and he knows but doesn't want to say anything.'

  'It happens.'

  'We've got to be tougher on them.'

  'On him, in that case.' Winter emptied the can. 'Jeanette needs to do a bit of thinking. Get us off her back for a while.'

  'I wonder what time she got home?' Halders said. 'I don't think it was when she says.' He went to the fridge and got a beer for himself. 'But then why doesn't he say anything about it? I don't think he was asleep.'

  They had a witness who'd seen Jeanette coming home around three hours later than she'd said.

  'She's the key,' Halders said. He looked at Winter, came closer to him. 'Jeanette Bielke is the key here. She went somewhere that night but doesn't want to say where.'

  The key, thought Winter. One of the keys.

  'Her old man might know.'

  'We'll question him again.'

  'I'll question him.'

  Winter could see how tense Halders' face was. Not just the usual Old Bill pessimism. The question was, how would it affect Halders' work? How would Halders react in a critical situation? It could end up in tragedy if he made a bad decision then.

  Should he take Halders off the case? What would be the right thing to do? Would it sort itself out?

  'There's another thing I've been wandering around thinking about,' said Halders, sitting down at the kitchen table. 'Sit down.' Winter did as he was bidden. 'Why haven't we found the bloke who put a bun in Angelika's oven?'

  'I can't tell you why, Fredrik.'

  'It was a so-called rhetorical question.'

  'There's nobody in her circle of friends who knows,' said Winter. 'Of those we've talked to so far. Nobody who wants to say anything, at least.'

  'That's bloody odd.'

  'She may have kept it secret. From everybody.'

  'Even from herself?'

  'She may not have known,' Winter said. 'Or may have suppressed the thought that she was pregnant.'

  'Which amounts to the same thing,' said Halders. 'But he does exist. The father.'

  'One of her friends knows,' Winter said.

  'She must have had a number-one boyfriend?'

  'Not according to her parents.'

  'They know nothing about that kind of thing,' said Halders. 'Parents haven't a clue about what their former little children get up to.' He looked at Winter. 'Am I right or am I right?'

  'You are right in that parents might not always be completely reliable witnesses.'

  'We've got to find this guy,' Halders said, pulling a face. 'He would have been a parent as well.'

  They had to find him. Winter felt the full burden of the case as he drove back to the police station. They had put a lot of resources into finding Angelika's boyfriend, but they had failed.

  Maybe they'd solve the problem when they found the father of the child that would never be born. Maybe he murdered Angelika. Maybe it was as simple as that.

  The man who murdered Beatrice was somebody else.

  And the one who raped Jeanette somebody else again.

  No.

  He'd parked the car and was inside his office within five minutes. There were a few raindrops still on the ledge under the window he'd left open.

  The phone rang.

  'We've got a new witness,' Bergenhem said.