“Of something he heard?” said Winter.
“No. Saw.”
“What did he see?”
“His father.”
“Would he be afraid of that?”
“It depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“Who his father was,” said Ringmar.
“Who he was? Not
“Who he was. Who he had become.”
“Yes.”
“Or who he had always been.”
“Hmm.”
“It has to do with the past,” said Ringmar.
“Doesn’t it always?”
“Here more than ever,” said Ringmar.
“How so?”
“Whatever happened with the dad has to do with what happened on that monster of a sea.”
“How so?” Winter repeated.
“He found out,” said Ringmar. “He finally found out what happened.”
“And it led to his death?”
“Somehow,” said Ringmar.
“He had no memory of his father,” said Winter. “He was only a baby when he saw John for the last time.”
“Does that matter?”
“I don’t know, Bertil.”
“And there are other people who have memories of him,” said Ringmar. “Of John Osvald.”
“Yes and no,” said Winter.
“What do you mean by that?”
“The only survivor from the war years-the only
“Have you met Algotsson?” asked Ringmar.
“No.”
Ringmar looked at him.
“There hasn’t really been a reason to, Bertil.” Winter looked at Ringmar. “And the question is whether there is one now.”
“Who told you that Algotsson is demented or totally senile or whatever he is?”
“Johanna Osvald. And her brother.” Winter looked at Ringmar again. “Are you saying they could have lied?”
“I’m not saying anything. I’m just wondering whether they’ve made the correct diagnosis. Has anyone made the correct diagnosis?”
“Arne Algotsson is pretending to have dementia, you’re saying?”
“I’m still not saying anything,” said Ringmar. “But maybe it couldn’t hurt to have a few words with the old fisherman. Or try to have a few words with him.”
Winter nodded.
“If there actually is a reason to, as you just said yourself,” said Ringmar.
“Just the fact that we’re sitting here working our way through our method as though this was a case makes it into some kind of case,” said Winter.
“So how do we move forward?” Ringmar said.
“By trying to talk to Algotsson,” said Winter.
“The salty old survivor,” said Ringmar.
“Mmhmm.”
“And then?”
“Then we’ll see how much of a mystery we think this is.”
“And the granddaughter will call tonight,” said Ringmar. “That will guide what we do in the future.”
“I think I know what she’s going to say,” said Winter.
Halders and Aneta were on the afternoon shift together. Halders rubbed his eyes as they stood in the elevator.
“Are you tired, Fredrik?”
“I stayed up after you left,” he said.
She didn’t answer, just nodded at his image in the mirror.
They were on their way down. Something in the elevator stank.
“The jail was allowed to use this elevator,” said Halders, who saw Aneta’s expression. “Theirs is striking.”
“I can understand why it would,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“Are there elevators in Africa?” asked Halders as they walked through the reception area.
“Only at the hotel.”
30
Halders and Aneta drove over Fattighusan. The water was black. It seemed to stand still, unable to decide which way it should flow. They passed SKF. There was a dull shine to the factory facades. Halders stared at the large windows. He could have been in there now, wandering in and out day in and day out. Maybe he was actually made for a different life, that life. He could have been a renowned union chairman, or a notorious one. He could have been the director of the whole thing. He could have been all of that, but he couldn’t be a chief inspector. Why?
Why, Aneta had once asked when he was complaining, and she had meant why in the sense of why do you want to strive for that? It’s not that much more money. There’s not more independence, or whatever you call it. You wouldn’t actually have more power. Yes, I would, he had said. Power to use how? she had said. He didn’t know, he couldn’t answer that.
There was also a dull sheen to Fastlagsgatan. Aneta guessed there were places on the street that were never touched by the sun.
A pickup from Statoil stood outside the fifth entrance. They could make out furniture under the cover but they couldn’t see people to carry it.
“Coming or going?” said Halders.
A man of about twenty-five came out through the front door and hopped up into the pickup and pulled some sort of wicker chair to the edge and hopped down again and carried it in.
“Coming,” said Halders.
The guy came back quickly and took another piece of furniture and carried it in again.
“He’s filling the elevator,” said Halders.
“Which apartment in that stairwell is empty, do you think?”
“The same one you’re thinking,” said Halders, opening the car door.
“There’s nothing we can do,” said Aneta. “Take it easy.”
“We’re just UN observers,” said Halders.
In the stairwell, the elevator doors were closed and the elevator was on its way up. Aneta hesitated.
“Should we stomp in there and tell them that this apartment they’re moving into has recently been the scene of several crimes?” said Aneta.
“It’s not as though someone has been murdered,” said Halders.
“Could have been,” said Aneta.