“Mmhmm.”
Winter could see the entrance to the harbor, and the bridge over to Styrso. A ferry traveled out, on its way south to Vrango, the last island. He hadn’t been there in years. After Vrango there was only the sea.
“For my part, I’m also competing with the shipowners here,” said Osvald. “The shipping industry. It’s immense here on Donso. It turns over a billion per year. Donso is the home harbor for over fifteen percent of the Swedish merchant fleet. Did you know that?”
“No.”
“They’re my old friends,” said Osvald, “the shipowners and officers of those vessels are my age.”
“I understand,” said Winter.
Erik Osvald changed when he discussed the competition. The Osvald family had come from nothing and become something. Winter understood that. It meant a lot to Osvald. How much? Winter could see that Osvald’s thoughts were lingering on the rivalry, the competition. Maybe money. Maybe great risks to attain success, riches.
What risks had Erik Osvald been prepared to take to attain his position, here on the island and out at sea? Winter wondered. Beyond the risk of being out on the great sea. To expose oneself to solitude-or whatever happened out there. It was a lonely life, an abnormal life. People had gone crazy at sea.
“You hav’ta hold your own against that lot and get th’ best people for fishin’ instead,” said Osvald.
15
Aneta Djanali opened two drawers in the kitchen. There was nothing there. She saw herself sitting at the kitchen table that wasn’t there now, on a chair that existed somewhere, but not there. Drinking coffee made by a stranger. Good God.
“What happens now?” said Sigge Lindsten.
“Report of theft,” she said.
He let out a gruff laugh.
“How will you find the people who did it?”
“I remember their faces,” she said.
“And their names,” said Lindsten, and she heard a few bars of the gruff laugh again.
“You seem to think this is funnier than I do,” she said.
“Well, there
“Does Anette think so too?”
“We don’t know, because we haven’t asked her, have we?” Lindsten remained standing in the doorway. “She doesn’t know that it’s happened, does she?”
“I don’t think she’ll laugh when she finds out.”
“Don’t say that, don’t say that.”
Aneta looked at him.
“New start,” he said. “This way there are no reminders of him.”
“Him? Forsblad?”
“Who else?”
“That might be where they are,” she said.
“Sorry?”
“At Forsblad’s house. That might be where the stolen goods are. The furniture. Her things.”
“The question is just where that devil is himself,” said Lindsten. “Do you have an address for him?”
Aneta shook her head.
“Lots of unknowns here,” said Lindsten.
“What kind of work do you do, Mr. Lindsten?”
“Excuse me?”
“What is your job?”
“Does it matter?”
“Don’t you want to answer the question?”
“Answer… of course I can answer.” He stepped into the kitchen, the naked kitchen. Their voices were loud in that particular way of rooms without furniture, carpets, lamps, pictures, decorations, household things, knickknacks, food, fruit bowls, radios, TVs, appliances, clothes, shoes, pets.
Everything was naked.
It is extra naked here, she thought. I have been inside a lot of empty places, but never one like this, never this way.
“Traveling,” said Lindsten.
After a few seconds she got it.
“What does that involve?”
“Traveling? That you travel and sell things.” His words echoed in the kitchen, which had ugly marks on the walls from things that had hung there.
Marks like bullet holes. She had been inside homes where she’d known what kind of holes they were. Others had been there, on their way in or out. Some of them alive, some not. Family affairs. Most often they were family affairs. There was no refuge among the near and dear. She must never forget that. All police knew it. Always start with the nearest, the innermost circle. Often that was enough. Unfortunately, that was enough. It was good for preliminary investigations, but it wasn’t good if you looked at it in a different way.
You shouldn’t do that. How could you work if you did?
Sigge Lindsten traveled and sold things. She would ask him what he sold, but not right now.
“Forsblad must have a job, anyway,” she said.
“Yes. He has a job, but no address. That’s pretty unusual, isn’t it?”
Aneta stopped Hans Forsblad in the hall. He was carrying three binders. He had company.
“Do you have a minute?”
He looked at his watch as though he were starting a countdown. He looked at his companion, a woman.
“It’s already been ten seconds,” he said. The woman beside him smiled but looked uncertain. She looked at Aneta. Aneta had the urge to knock the binders out of Forsblad’s hands.
“Is there somewhere we can go?” she asked calmly.
He seemed to consider this; he looked at his companion again and then gestured toward one of the doors far along the left side of the hall.
They walked over the marble tiles.
“I don’t have much more than this one minute,” he said.
He showed her into a conference room that didn’t have windows. That must be so the decisions are made quickly, she thought. No one can stand being in a room without windows.
He showed her to a chair, but she preferred to stand.
“When did you last speak with Anette?” she asked.
“No idea.”
“What does that mean?”
“That I don’t remember.”
“Try to think back.”
He looked like he was thinking back. The binders were on the table now. There was nothing written on their spines.
“A while ago,” he said, taking a step closer; she recoiled, an automatic movement.
“God, take it easy,” he said.
“What did you talk about, then?”
“Oh, the usual.”
“And that was…?”
“Oh, that it wasn’t working out.”
He looked at his binders as he spoke and reached for one of them. There’s something that works, she thought.
