only one.” He started the car again. “Eric Burdon and the Animals.”
They drove through Allen.
“I’m glad you came along, Fredrik.”
“Well, of course I’m curious. Too.”
The world of the seasons was unlit, and the contrast to downtown was great. Smoke rose from the large factories, or maybe it was fog that was rising in the sudden warmth.
The houses towered up like transatlantic ships in dry dock, but with their cabins lit up.
There were no people on the street. Shadows, but no people. Cars drove by at great intervals, but they seemed driverless. There were no sidewalk cafes.
“Cozy,” said Halders.
“It’s the in place to live now,” said Aneta.
“I know. Why else would we be here?”
“We’ve arrived,” she said, nodding toward the building.
“My God,” said Halders. “Does this monster of a house end anywhere?”
Graffiti had been written over the top of graffiti in the elevator. Some people called it street art. Halders stared at that shit with a hateful look. Not so long ago, Swedish Television had called the CID and asked for a policeman who could participate in a debate program during prime time about graffiti versus street art, art versus damage. Some joker at the switchboard must have sent it up to Mollerstrom, and Mollerstrom proved that he had a sense of humor when he transferred the call to Halders, and Halders said yes.
Birgersson had managed to put a stop to the whole thing at the last second. It’s for your own sake, he had said to Halders. Someone has to find out the truth, Halders had said. Soon, Birgersson had said, soon. The police commissioner had sent someone from a department no one had heard of, and Halders hadn’t watched the piece of shit.
“When did you last see a mirror in an elevator in a building like this one?” he said, turning to Aneta, who was trying to prepare herself for their arrival on the floor above.
“It was before your time, anyway,” continued Halders, and let out some sort of laugh. “There were mirrors everywhere. Jesus, it’s almost like you can admire how naive they were back then!”
“It was a belief in the future,” said Aneta. “Don’t be so cynical. They believed in the residents.”
“Cynical? Me?”
“There are still mirrors in elevators,” she said.
“In hotels downtown, yes. And in Winter’s building!”
“Are you ready?” she asked.
Halders followed the numbers above the elevator door and nodded.
The elevator stopped.
The doors opened automatically.
All the doors in the stairwell were closed.
The light went out above them as they walked up to the door.
There was a light coming from inside.
25
Aneta Djanali rang the doorbell. They couldn’t kick in the door. It wasn’t ringing in there. Aneta didn’t remember the doorbell being broken. She heard steps inside; it sounded like steps. Was it the thieves? The ones who said they were father and son? The criminal always returns to the scene of the crime.
“Don’t stand right in front of the door,” said Halders.
He knocked, or banged.
The shuffling inside stopped. Halders banged on the door again.
They heard steps again.
“Who is it?”
Aneta recognized the voice.
“Police,” said Halders.
They heard the voice again, but no distinguishable words.
The door opened.
“So we meet again,” said Aneta.
“What are you doing here?” asked Halders.
“I thought Anette was here,” said Sigge Lindsten.
“She said that she had spoken with you tonight.”
“Have you spoken to Anette?”
“Just now,” said Aneta, “at Forsblad’s sister’s house.”
“I was already on my way here then,” said Lindsten.
“Why would she come here?” asked Halders.
“If she wasn’t at home or with us down in Vallda, well, where else could she be? This was the only place I could think of.”
“What about Susanne Marke’s?”
“No,” said Lindsten.
“No, what?”
“I didn’t think she’d be there.”
“Why not?”
“Not after… what happened.”
“Where could Forsblad be now?” said Aneta.
“Not at his sister’s, then?” said Lindsten.
“No.”
“He could have been here,” said Halders.
“He doesn’t have a key,” said Lindsten.
Is he that naive? thought Aneta. Forsblad could have made any number of keys he wanted to.
“I was just about to go,” said Lindsten.
“What is that smell?” said Halders.
“I don’t smell anything here.”
Halders pushed past Lindsten before he had time to say anything more. Aneta saw Halders turn into the kitchen on the left side of the hall.
She heard Halders’s voice: “Coffee. Brewed pretty recently.”
Aneta looked at Sigge Lindsten.
“I felt like a cup.”
“Food in the fridge,” Halders’s voice said.
“Were you hungry too?” asked Aneta.
Lindsten threw a glance over toward the hall and the kitchen.
“It’s for Anette’s sake,” said Lindsten.
“Sorry?”
“If she has to come here. Suddenly. If something else happened.”
“Isn’t this the last place she would choose?”
Lindsten didn’t answer.
Halders came out into the hall again and walked into the bedroom on the other side and came back.
“Are the air mattress and sleeping bag in there for her sake too?”
“Yes.”
“Apparently you think of everything,” said Halders.
“It’s still my apartment,” said Lindsten. “I can do what I want here.”
“When is Anette coming home again?” asked Aneta. “Home to the house in Fredriksdal?”
