Never End

by Ake Edwardson

  Halders stood under one of three trees ten metres from the house. There was a light in two of the windows, but he couldn't see anybody. There was no sound coming from inside.

  Now what?

  There was no door leading down to the basement. That would have been too easy.

  The two windows on the left were dark. He moved swiftly over the lawn. Both windows were the old-fashioned sash type and appeared to be closed, but the left-hand one didn't close quite flush. Halders guessed there would be a catch that he couldn't see and he took a thin chopstick that he'd taken from Ming's that same afternoon from his inside pocket. He inserted it into the narrow crack, located the catch and unfastened it. It wasn't easy as the window was almost two metres from the ground.

  He opened the window and put the chopstick back in his pocket.

  He looked round. There was a water butt at the gable end a few metres to the left. He went up to it to test how heavy it was, and found it was quite light as there had been no more than one or two short thundery showers for ages. It wasn't difficult to carry it to the window.

  He climbed onto it and peered in: furniture outlined in the murky darkness, a door looking greyish-white at the back of the room. Nothing animate in there.

  Halders clambered through the window, and looked back but saw nobody racing up with a machine gun. Nobody came barging in through the door.

  He could hear the usual sounds of night from outside.

  Now what?

  He went to the door and listened. No footsteps. A mumbling sound coming from somewhere, music perhaps. He could see there was no light on the other side of the door, so he opened it.

  He found himself in a hall, empty. There were a couple more doors. A Chinese box, he thought. Go in through one door and you find another one. Go in through that, go in through the next one. You always go in, but never out.

  There was a light behind the door to the right, at the end of the hall, but a weaker light under the door to the left. As if it were coming from further away. He walked quickly and quietly to this one and took hold of the handle. He opened the door carefully and saw a staircase leading down to the light.

  Sara Helander expected Halders to come back at any moment. The idiot. I was supposed to be playing the heroic part in this drama. I found the house. It should be me creeping around inside.

  She knew that she would never do that.

  A car approached from behind and passed. She'd heard something but not seen it until it drove past and parked outside the house. It had been moving slowly with no lights on. A shiver ran down her spine. Had they seen her sitting in the car?

  Nobody got out. She ducked down, but was able to see the silhouette of somebody in the driving seat. Their arm was bent. Whoever it was might be on the phone. Maybe talking about the occupied car not far away.

  This is dangerous, she thought. More dangerous than we anticipated. I'll phone as soon as I can. More than twenty minutes has passed.

  Halders went down the stairs. He crept down. It felt as if he were acting in a film. Normally he never crept. When had he last crept? When he reached the fourth step he suddenly thought about his children. He could see Margareta. The whole of my life is passing before my eyes. Does that mean I'm dying? Huh. We're all dying. Nobody lives for ever. Am I scared? No. I have my SigSauer in its holster and I'm strong. It's definitely stupid of me, coming in here. There's a woman I think I'm in love with.

  He was at the bottom. This was the basement. There was another door in the Chinese box, and it wasn't closed. Ten metres to go. He could walk that without casting a shadow. There was music. He could see a shadow himself. The music was some awful disco rubbish from the lunatic seventies. He went closer and the music came closer. He saw that the door led into another hall, or a narrow corridor. Somebody was moving in there. Halders took out his gun, which was cold and comradely in his hand. What am I getting into? he thought. He could hear a voice, a woman's voice, and then a man's voice, shouting, or bellowing, no, something different, sobbing now, Good God, the voice was rising and falling, the awful music bounced down the brick-lined corridor, which felt narrower and narrower the further he passed along it. He could see the woman gyrating to the music; she was wearing a G-string, nothing else: she was chewing gum, thinking about something else, and Halders was closer, there was a pane of glass between her and the man who was on all fours in front of her and baying to the moon, wearing no clothes but a dog lead round his neck. Kurt Bielke was staring at everything and nothing without seeing, it was him, and Halders saw his body starting to twitch, like a religious fanatic in a state of ecstasy at some cult meeting, a cult meeting, Halders repeated to himself. I'll shoot that filthy bastard right between the eyes, he thought. Bielke swayed backwards and forwards and Halders had seen all he needed to see for the time being, thank you very much, and took a step backwards, then another, and felt the blow, actually felt it, saw it with the eyes in the back of his head, as if it were coming at him in slow motion, as if it were all over before it actually smashed into his skull.

  A dog started barking on the other side of the street but stopped abruptly, as if it had been beaten. Winter got out of the car and crossed the street in his shirt and shorts. The shirt felt tight round the collar. He'd spoken to Angela on the phone, and she'd sounded ... flat. Tomorrow they'd try to get down to the beach, in the evening. He'd have to get some sleep first, but he didn't know when. 'It's too hot in the flat,' she'd said. What she'd actually said was that houses are cooler. Still, before long all this heat would be over and they wouldn't have another summer like it until the next millennium and by then they'd all be very, very old in their flats or houses.

  The front door was open, as were all the windows Winter could see. Benny Vennerhag was outside at the back, as always. The pool shone: black water. Vennerhag turned to face him.

  'Have a midnight dip.'

  Why not?

  Afterwards he dried himself on the bath towel Vennerhag had brought him, and pulled on his shorts without underpants, which he'd wrapped inside his shirt: he didn't intend wearing that again tonight.

  'Would you like to borrow a shirt?'

  Winter shook his head.

  'Enjoy that?'

  Winter nodded.

  'How about a beer?'

  'Yes, please.'

  Vennerhag stood up with difficulty, swayed unsteadily and disappeared into the house. He came back with two beers and sat down again, heavily.

  'Are you drunk?'

  'A bit.' Vennerhag opened the bottles and handed one to Winter. 'An intimate little dinner here at home with lots of decent drinks.'

  'Nothing to eat?'

  'Cotriade.' Vennerhag saluted with the beer bottle. 'What do you say to that, you snobby bastard? You thought I gobbled egg 'n' bacon morning, noon and night, didn't you, eh?'

  'I never said any such thing.'

  Vennerhag took another drink, yawned and looked at Winter over the bottle neck.

  'Couldn't this have waited until tomorrow?'

  A telephone rang inside the house, possibly several as the sound was so clear. Winter looked at Vennerhag's mobile on the plastic table under the parasol, but it was switched off. No compromising conversations in front of the Chief Inspector.

  'I have to ask for your help in finding out more about the boy,' said Winter. 'Have you any good contacts among the new Swedes?'

  'New Swedes? I like that expression.'

  'What do you prefer, niggers?'

  'No, no, I'm just as politically correct as the next man.'

  'This has nothing to do with that. Politically correct is a negative term used by cowardly types who try to hide their own sloppiness by accusing others of being politically incorrect.'

  'Of course, of course.'

  'Can you do this or can't you?'

  'The answer's obvious, isn't it?'

  The telephone rang again, ring after ring after ring. Vennerhag didn't stand up, looked at the silent mobile but didn't touch it. The phone cont
inued ringing away in the house, making a racket like a car alarm. Vennerhag had renounced answering machines at an early stage, which according to him meant he had a better chance of living longer.

  'Aren't you going to answer, Benny?'

  'Not at this time of night. Only fools call now.'

  'The fools seem keen to talk to you.'

  'I'm also being polite to you as my guest. By not answering.'

  Winter bowed.

  'Are you dry now?'

  'That was also considerate. What you really mean is: piss off.'

  'In my own way, yes.'

  The telephone rang again. Vennerhag looked at Winter, at his mobile. The foolish calls are piling up, Winter thought, getting to his feet.

  'I'd better give you an opportunity,' he said.

  'I shan't answer later either,' said Vennerhag.

  'I admire you.'

  Winter walked through the house, which was silent now. He noticed the smell of high-class cooking that persists in a house for hours.

  Had Benny kidnapped a cook?

  As he drove off, he heard the telephone ringing yet again, through Vennerhag's open door and windows.

  Vennerhag stayed by the pool. He thought he could still hear Winter's car sweeping down the hills. He drank the rest of his beer and reached for his mobile. There were four messages and he listened to all of them: they were all from the same caller and all said the same thing. He suddenly felt sick.

  The telephones in the house started ringing again. He stood up, swayed unsteadily, went inside and picked up the nearest receiver.

  'Why aren't you answering?'

  'I've just listened to your messages. What's happened?'

  'Father-in-law's disappeared.'

  The man was using the prearranged code. Vennerhag had always thought it was silly, but it was necessary. His house wasn't bugged, and he couldn't believe his phones were tapped, not by the police at least, but it was dead easy to trace old calls nowadays. Not to mention mobiles.

  'I had a visit from a good friend of mine. He's just left,' said Vennerhag.

  'What about Father-in-law?'

  'I'll come now. At Mum's place?'

  'Yes.'

  'I'll be there as quick as I can,' said Vennerhag, and Johan Samic heard a 'pang!' as Vennerhag slammed down the receiver.

  Sara Helander waited. Two cars came and went. One stopped outside a house further down the road. She rang Halders' mobile but there was no reply. Nobody switched it off.

  She checked her watch. He'd been gone for a long time. Fredrik was an idiot, but not that much of an idiot.

  She waited. An estate car drove past and went round the corner, but she thought she could still hear it through the open window.

  It was hot in the car. It wasn't much cooler outside. She thought she could make out a long shadow at the back of the house. The trees were grey and black. Was that something moving there? A seagull cried. It would soon be a new day. Soon she wouldn't be able to see lights in the windows.

  How many times have I sat in a car like this so far? she wondered. Stake-outs. But this is different, and we must get out of here. It'll soon be daylight.

  There were vibrations over her right breast. At last.

  'How's it going?' asked Winter.

  'Oh, I thought it was Fredrik.'

  'Isn't he there?'

  'He ... went a bit nearer to the house to ... check.'

  'Check what?'

  She didn't answer. She didn't know what to say.

  'When was that?' Winter asked. His voice sounded tired, like a rasp from his vocal cords.

  'When he left?' She spoke softly. A young woman came out of the house and got into a car that had driven up. It did a U-turn. She ducked down.

  'Sara?'

  'I just ducked down a bit. Er ... it was nearly an hour ago.'

  'An hour?!'

  'Fredrik knows what he's doing. And it's less than an hour in fact.'

  'How long, then?'

  'An hour.'

  'And he hasn't phoned?'

  'No. I've phoned him several times but there's been no answer.'

  'I'm coming there,' said Winter.

  'It's starting to get light.'

  'Yes, of course it is.'

  'So I don't know if—'

  'Bollocks to the light,' said Winter. 'I'll see you there. Stay in the car, but you don't need to hide. Check to see if anybody comes or goes.'

  'I've been doing that the whole time.'

  'I'll park in front of the house,' Winter said. 'Then you can get out.'

  32

  She saw Winter pull up outside the house. He got out of the car and waited for her to join him.

  'We saw Bielke go in,' she said, 'Kurt Bielke.'

  'Yes.'

  'You don't seem surprised?'

  'Let's ring the bell.'

  They went up the steps. Seagulls were crying on all sides, laughing at them as Winter pressed the bell-push in the middle of the door.

  'Fredrik recognised him,' said Sara Helander.

  'Was he sure?'

  'Yes.'

  Winter rang again but still nobody answered. He knocked hard with his fist but there was no sign of any response. It would soon be fully daylight. The outline of furniture could be seen through the window to the right of the door.

  'Come on, we'll go round.'

  There was no door at the back. A window was open with a water butt underneath it.

  'That's where he got in,' said Winter.

  Winter looked down at the lawn and saw a few drops of dew on his deck shoes. He looked closer at the grass that hadn't needed cutting for weeks. There were tyre marks.

  'Did you see a car here during the night?'

  'I think so,' she said. 'A big shadow.' She looked back at the road. 'An estate car went past shortly before you arrived. Maybe a Volvo. I think it turned off into the neighbouring plot.'

  She pointed. It was only partly built on, and it would be possible to drive over it, hidden by the house they were standing behind.

  Winter approached the window and climbed onto the water butt. It was harder to keep his balance than he'd expected. The damp grass under the window had been flattened in places.

  'Hello?' he shouted. The window was not secured, and he could open it with his elbow. 'Hello?'

  Vennerhag collected Samic under the viaduct and drove west.

  'Whatever's gone on, it's nothing to do with me,' was the first thing Vennerhag said.