“All you have to do is track down all the Ford Escorts in the city. Or the country.”
“All the CLXs.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No, but that’s where I’m gonna start. That case I worked on last spring, in London-my colleague there told me they were looking for a car and all they had to go on was the color and maybe the make. This is better.”
“Maybe.”
“Of course it’s better, Göran. I can really feel my optimism growing just sitting next to you.”
“Then maybe I’d better rein it in.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t have anything new on that strange marking on the tree. Or whatever you wanna call it.”
“This kid in my department suggested that it might be a Chinese character.”
“Well, that would make things easier.”
“Exactly.”
“Then there are just a billion Chinese to bring in for questioning.”
“You’ve forgotten all the Westerners who know Chinese,” Winter said.
“I suggest you start there,” Beier said.
They sat in silence for a short while, sipped their coffee, listened to the noisy ventilation system. Winter almost felt cold in the chilled air. We’re probably the only two police officers in the whole building wearing ties today, Winter thought, noting that Beier’s leaned toward burgundy. He loosened his own. Beier didn’t comment on it.
“I’m sure it’s connected to the murder,” Winter said.
“Why?”
“It’s just a hunch, but it’s a strong one.”
“Positive thinking, you mean.”
“It’s too much of a coincidence that someone would paint on the tree at virtually the exact same time.”
“Maybe she took part in a ritual.”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“That little inlet may have been a haunt for satanists and other fanatics, or maybe even still is, but she didn’t take part in that kind of thing.”
“Maybe she didn’t have a choice.”
“It would have been noticed. Someone would have heard something.”
“Like our colleagues from the investigations department.”
“That department has some of the most keen-eyed officers on the force.”
“Regardless of the state they’re in?”
“A police officer is always prepared.”
“For what?”
“For the worst,” Winter said, and they both became serious. “It’s often been shown that the choice of location is not random. A murderer selects his spot.”
“I agree with you. I think.”
“We have to ask ourselves why she was put there. Why she was lying at Delsjö Lake. Then, why at that particular end of the lake-”
“Proximity to the road,” Beier interjected.
“Maybe. Then we have to ask ourselves why she was lying exactly in that spot. Not five yards this way or that.”
“You really go in for the mise-en-scène.”
“The mise-en-scène involves movement; it’s the opposite of standing still.”
“That was beautifully put,” Beier said.
Halders preferred to wander the path along the shoreline on his own. The houses slept soundly and impassively atop the hillside.
The area reminded him that he was a poor homicide detective who would never be anything else. He would never make inspector, but he didn’t know whether or not he was bitter about it.
If he was in the right place at the right time, his fortune would be waiting for him there. They would shake hands and return to headquarters, and the police chief would invite him up to his office and at the same time call out to Winter to say, “Now you can just hand everything over to inspector Halders here…”
He began the door-to-door inquiries at one of the houses close to a school he didn’t know the name of. He rang the doorbell and heard the chime echo through the cavernous interior. There was an awning above the door that shaded him and caused the sweat on his forehead to roll more slowly down his face and linger on his eyelids. When the door was opened by a woman in a robe, he blinked and bowed his head. She was dark haired, or it may have been just the intense sunlight that was streaming in from the open doors behind her.
“I’m sorry to bother you. I’m from the police,” Halders said, and held out his police ID. “Homicide department.”
He fumbled with his wallet.
“Yes?”
“We’re conducting an in-”
“Is it the murder on the other side of Boråsleden? I just read about it. We were talking about it a moment ago,” the woman said, and a barechested man in swimming trunks suddenly appeared behind her.
“It’s just routine. We have to ask everyone in the vicinity if they’ve seen or heard anything within the last twenty-four hours.”
“When should we be counting from?” the man asked. “My name is Petersén, by the way.” He held out his hand. Halders shook it.
“Same here,” the woman said. “Denise.” She smiled and held out her hand, and Halders squeezed it gently.
“Halders,” Halders said.
“Come in, by the way,” the man said. He followed the couple to an outdoor patio that was paved with what might have been mosaic tiles.
“Would you like a refreshment?” the man asked, and Halders answered with a yes.
“A drink? Gin and tonic?”
“I’m afraid-”
“A beer?”
“That would do nicely.”
The man walked back inside the house, and the woman sank into a folding chair that looked complicated. She nudged a pair of sunglasses to the tip of her nose and seemed to look at Halders. He looked back. She dangled one sandal on her foot. The sandal was red, like the fire in the sun.
“I’m happy to be of service in the meantime,” she said.
Don’t let your imagination run away with you now, Halders thought. Try to keep a little blood up in your head.
The man returned with a tray and three bottles of beer.
15
WINTER HAD FORGOTTEN ABOUT BENNY VENNERHAG, FOR THE moment, when he called.
“I heard you solved it-the attack on your colleague.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“You haven’t become naive, now, have you, Inspector?”
Winter thought of his hands around Vennerhag’s jaw.
“I’m still in pain,” Vennerhag said.
“What?”
“The brutality of the police force. What you did to me the other day? I could-”
“I may need your help again soon,” Winter said mellifluously.
“I don’t like that tone in your voice,” Vennerhag said. “And in that case it’ll have to be over the phone.” He waited but Winter said nothing more. “What do you need help with?”
“I don’t know yet, but I might be in touch soon.”
“What if I leave town?”
“Don’t.”
“I’m not allowed to leave town?”
“When did you last leave town, Benny?”
“That’s beside the point, Inspector.”
“You haven’t been outside the city limits in four years, Benny.”
“How do you know that?”
“You haven’t become naive, now, have you, Master Thief?”
Vennerhag snickered. “Okay, okay. I know what it is anyway. I read the papers. But I don’t see how I can be of any help to you when I don’t know anything about it. Who is she, by the way?”
“Who?”
“The dead woman, for Christ’s sake. The body. Who is she?”
“We don’t know.”
“Come on, Winter. There’s no such thing as an unknown body anymore.”
“Maybe not in your world.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Winter was tired of Vennerhag’s voice. He wanted to end the conversation.
“I honestly don’t know who she is,” he said. “I may end up needing your help. And you will help me then, won’t you, Benny?”
“Only if you’re nice.”
“The police are always nice.”
Vennerhag’s laugh cut through the phone line again. “And everybody else is mean. How’s Lotta doing, by the way?”