“Couldn’t stand it,” she said. “And he couldn’t stand it.”
Winter and Macdonald didn’t say anything.
“I sent a letter,” she said.
“It arrived,” said Winter.
She turned her head to them, suddenly.
“Be careful down on the beach.”
When they had crossed Bayview Road and continued down the steps to Seatown, Winter could see the harbor and the breakwaters and the few local fishing boats, the very small ones, which were in a little row alongside the wall.
He could also see the trawler of steel that was just inside the harbor entrance. It was blue, blue like the sky and the sea on this day.
He saw the name.
Aneta stood facing the car and saw Susanne’s silhouette in the window.
Last time, there had been a small plastic boat moored at the dock that belonged to the cabin. It was gone now. That meant something.
Someone moved behind the car.
“I didn’t want you here,” said Hans Forsblad, stepping into the sunshine.
“Where is Anette?” Aneta asked.
“Where is Anette? Where is Anette?” Forsblad mimicked her.
“She has the right to live her own life,” said Aneta.
“Not as long as you keep interfering,” said Forsblad. “You’re always interfering!”
“I’m here with your sister,” said Aneta.
“I’m aware of that.”
There was a shine in his eyes; it wasn’t from the sun.
Aneta took a step forward.
“What have you done with Anette?” she said, but she knew the answer.
Halders could move his head. He had regained consciousness some time ago; he hadn’t been gone from the world for long. There were people standing around the car. He could see colleagues in marked cars and uniforms. I don’t see an ambulance. They wouldn’t waste an ambulance on me.
Someone had opened the car door without cutting the metal.
He could get out!
He did so, with some help.
“The ambulance is on its way,” said Jansson or Jonsson or Johansson or whatever the fuck his name was, the detective from Frolunda.
“You can take it yourself,” said Halders. “I don’t need an ambulance.”
He walked a few steps, and after a little bit, a few more.
“What time is it?” he said.
His colleague answered. Halders tried to focus on his watch, but he couldn’t really see his arm clearly. He focused on the guy in the uniform.
“Can you drive me somewhere?” Suddenly he felt that it was urgent. He saw more clearly. “It’s fucking urgent,” he said, and fumbled for his cell phone but then gave up. “Can you make a call for me?”
Winter and Macdonald walked across the beach. Seatown was behind them. Winter could see the cars in the parking lot of the golf club. He thought one of them shimmered green, like metal.
They walked toward the figure. It was a man bent over, looking across the sea. They saw him in profile. He straightened up but remained in profile.
Winter knew who it was; Macdonald knew. It was the same profile.
He knew now. Here they came, side by side, one fair and one dark, suede jacket, leather jacket. As though they owned the whole world. But no! They didn’t own a thing.
When he had seen their car over there an hour ago or so, he knew that they were there again. That they would come out here to him.
And he waited.
It must have been the telephone. He didn’t think she’d said anything; she wouldn’t dare. Was it possible to find out something like that? The telephone? Tracing, it was called. It was probably possible.
He didn’t intend to answer any questions.
This was his beach, his city, his house, his
Don’t answer, don’t say anything.
He could scare them,
There was no one left who could say anything.
They had stopped ten feet from the old man. He turned around, toward them.
“John Osvald?” Winter asked.
The man looked through them as though they were invisible. He seemed to fix his eyes on something behind them, maybe his house. Or the viaduct.
“We only want to know if you’re John Osvald,” Winter said in Swedish.
The man didn’t answer, continued to look with his misty gaze.
“Are you John Osvald?”
“Who are you?” said the man. In Swedish.
“I’m from home,” Winter said. “I come with a message from home.”
The marked car drove through the little grove of trees toward the sea. Halders saw the sea. His colleague Jonsson hadn’t been able to contact Aneta. Halders had tried himself. No reply. Now he saw that there was no reception.
They cut across the beach and saw the house that had to be the Lindstens’. He saw the car that he knew was Aneta’s. He didn’t see any other vehicles.
He saw a woman on her knees next to the car. He recognized her. It was Susanne Marke.
He saw a man fifty feet out, bent over the water. He recognized him. He watched Hans Forsblad dive suddenly and start to swim away. Halders saw Forsblad’s shoes kick the water.
He saw Aneta at the edge of the water. She was standing still.
The old man hadn’t said anything more, hadn’t moved. Everything was still. There were no birds, no fish, no people, nothing in between. They were alone in this northern world.
“What happened to your son?” said Winter, who had taken a step closer. “What happened to your son, Axel?”
The old man’s gaze slowly became clear. It made him appear younger.
He was wearing a cap with a narrow brim. His face was sharp. He had a thick, knitted sweater under a tweed jacket. He was tall when he wasn’t bent over. Winter saw a blue spot on one cheek.
There was a bulge in one of his jacket pockets.
“What happened to Axel?” said Winter.
“He washed himself,” said John Osvald.
“What do you mean?”
“He washed away the sins. He wanted to do it. I couldn’t do it.”
“He wasn’t wearing any clothes,” said Winter.
“Only someone who God loves can do that,” said Osvald. Winter thought the old man’s gaze seemed to cloud again. “Whatever happens, good things will come to a man who loves God.”
“Sins,” Winter said. “What sins are you talking about?”
“My sins,” said John Osvald.
“What sins are those?” Winter asked.
Osvald didn’t answer.
“Does it have to do with what happened during the war?” Winter asked.
Osvald stared at Winter, or perhaps at something else. His gaze was clear again.
“Comes a time,” he said.
