Where does all this hatred come from, Lindell wondered. She glanced at Fredriksson, who had a neutral expression. They exchanged a look and Fredriksson nodded almost imperceptibly.
‘I need to see Sven-Arne,’ Ante Persson burst out, and drew the walker over as if he was planning to leave immediately.
‘What do you want to say to him?’
‘That he is an idiot! I don’t understand why he ran off to the police. He should have stayed in India, but he must have gone a bit crazy there. Make sure I get to see him.’
‘We will have to see,’ Lindell said. ‘There is another question that I find perplexing.’
Ante Persson chuckled, a dry sound that surprised her.
‘Perplexing,’ he said with a snort.
‘Elsa Persson,’ she resumed. ‘Why did she get run over? I assume that she had visited you, and from what I understand she became completely incoherent, not to say distraught, after talking with you. Why? What did you say to her?’
‘She’s never liked me,’ Ante Persson said. ‘She always gets upset when we meet.’
‘She didn’t know anything about Sven-Arne being in India,’ Lindell stated rather than asked. ‘But you were always aware of how and when he disappeared. How did she take it?’
‘Elsa looked down on Sven-Arne. I’ll bet she was relieved to get rid of him, but she never said anything about that. No, the schoolteacher had quite a poker face, didn’t she? She never cared about him before, so why would she care when he left? She didn’t give a shit about anything. Money and status were all that mattered. She thought I was a loony.’
‘Were you a threat?’
‘Why would I be a threat?’
‘You are close to your nephew and shared secrets with him.’
Ante fired off a new humourless laugh.
‘When can I see Sven-Arne?’
‘We have to talk to him first,’ Lindell said.
‘Doesn’t he want to?’
‘I don’t know anything about that. But if you want to see him you will have to cooperate a little. You were in the house when Nils Dufva died and now I want to know what happened. You will not help Sven-Arne by keeping quiet. We know you were there.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Your fingerprints were in the house. You knew Dufva. You were there. We want a story.’
Ante Persson stared at her.
‘How is Sven-Arne?’
‘He seems relieved,’ Fredriksson said. ‘And tired.’
‘What did you do during the war?’ Ante asked.
‘I wasn’t born then,’ Fredriksson said, and smiled.
Ante Persson scrutinised him.
‘Oh,’ he said, and appeared to lose interest in Fredriksson. He turned back to Lindell. ‘Please arrange for me to speak with him. That is the most important thing.’
Lindell did not comment on this request and waited, but received no further elaboration. Ante Persson refused to speak. It was as if all his strength had drained away. His hands rested limply on the handlebar of the walker and he hung his head.
‘Would you like to rest for a bit?’ Lindell asked after a minute of silence.
Ante Persson looked sideways at her. There was nothing of his anger or resistance left, only a pair of deeply mournful old eyes that regarded Lindell for a few seconds before his head sank back against his chest.
Lindell looked at Fredriksson, who stood up and walked over to the old man.
‘Shouldn’t you lie down for a while?’ he suggested, and put his hand on Persson’s shoulder.
Ante Persson did not reply. Lindell indicated with her head that she thought they should leave.
‘We’ll talk to the staff,’ she said when they were outside in the hallway. ‘They can look in on him. We won’t get anything else out of him right now.’
‘What do you think?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Lindell said absentmindedly. She had caught sight of a woman down the hall whom she assumed was a member of the staff. ‘I’ll talk to her. We can’t just leave him like this.’
She walked over to the woman, whose name according to her name tag was Anneli Hietanen. As soon as Lindell mentioned Ante’s name she started to smile.
‘Oh, Ante. Yes, he’s something else. He gets a little tired sometimes but in general he’s more alert than everyone else put together.’
‘I think it would be a good idea for you to look in on him,’ Lindell said. ‘And keep an eye on him for a while.’
‘Are you a relative? I haven’t seen you here before.’
‘I’m a police officer.’
Anneli’s smile extinguished immediately.
‘Has anything happened?’
‘No,’ Lindell said after a moment’s hesitation. ‘We were just questioning Ante about… It’s regarding one of his relatives.’
‘I see,’ Anneli said. ‘Is it the girl in India?’
‘Who are you thinking of?’
‘Ante sometimes gets letters from India. I joke about him having a girlfriend there, a geisha or something.’
‘Geisha?’
‘Whatever they call it.’
‘Do you know if he’s kept the letters?’
‘I think so, actually I know he does. He puts them in a box in the bookcase. That box is so makeshift. But why are you asking? Has anything happened to her? Is Ante sad? Why didn’t you say anything?’
The woman left Lindell and walked to Ante’s room with swift steps, knocked on the door, opened it, and disappeared inside.
Lindell rejoined Fredriksson, who was already waiting by the lift. She told him about the letters from India.
‘That would be something to read,’ Fredriksson said.
‘We’ll have to bring it up with the district attorney.’
Lindell checked her watch and thought about calling Fritzén, but dismissed the idea. Sammy Nilsson and Fredriksson could handle that. Lindell had the feeling that she should not get too tangled up in the case, because mentally she was still out in Bultudden. On top of that she wanted to get away to the day care and pick up Erik a little earlier. She had been inconsistent of late and now she wanted an extra hour or so with him.
‘Let’s go,’ she said.
Fredriksson leant against the wall of the lift and closed his eyes.
‘Geishas,’ she said. ‘Aren’t they Japanese?’
He opened his eyes.
‘Sometimes,’ he said, and looked at her in that way that made him the colleague she so dearly valued, ‘it’s enough to make me despair. There’s such a struggle inside us. Ante Persson is over ninety and deserves a little peace. Did you hear him say: “It’s been a war this whole time. I was born in a war.”’
‘I think he got to be ninety because of those struggles inside him,’ Lindell said.
‘He’s still caught in a war. Didn’t you see his suffering?’
‘Sure, but he’s still alive, maybe more than I am,’ Lindell said.
The lift came to a halt with a little jolt. Fredriksson smiled at her.
‘You’re something else,’ he said simply, and pushed the lift door open. Lindell accompanied her somewhat hunchbacked colleague out into a December day where the snow was falling over Eriksdal’s courtyards and rooftops.
FORTY-FOUR
The footprints in the newly fallen snow illustrated the slow progression of a thoughtful man. He turned around once and studied his own tracks. It made him think of hare prints, but hares don’t turn around, he thought. Their trajectories are erratic, they throw themselves this way and that. I walk straight ahead. I have always done so.
Once he reached the boulder and the birch tree with the split trunks occasioned by its great age, he paused a second time. The snow whirled in the wind and he loosened the straps of his hat and lowered the ear-flaps. He looked around: a sparse forest with patches of lichen and brush. It was so reassuring and familiar – nonetheless an unease tingled inside him. It was in exactly this area that he had once intended to subdivide a couple of lots. He tried to imagine a development with two or three houses and was glad he had changed his mind at the last minute.