38
They landed at Inverness Airport at eleven thirty. The sun was out, but it was low and weak. In the taxi to the city Winter saw an open landscape and a glimpse of water to the north and the silhouettes of the big mountains south of the city. It was the Highlands.
“They’re higher than I thought,” said Angela. “It’s beautiful.”
Inverness was built of old and new. Loathsome concrete roundabouts spun their way in toward a medieval downtown. They could see the castle high above. The taxi slowly made its way through town and crept along the river Ness. They passed a bridge and continued on Ness Bank along the river for five hundred yards and stopped outside the little Glenmoriston Hotel, which Winter had booked on Macdonald’s recommendation. Cozy and well kept and expensive, as Macdonald had said.
The room was large and it was on the second floor, and they had a panorama view over the river and the park beyond it, as well as the three-hundred-year-old granite houses on either side of the cathedral. Winter opened the window. The wind was still warm. He could see people on park benches on the other side. It wasn’t far. Gulls circled over the benches. Pigeons hopped around them. People were eating their lunches on the benches, spread- out papers of fish and chips. Haddock that had been pulled up by Erik Osvald. Potatoes that had been delivered by Steve Macdonald’s dad. Vinegar from whatever distillery was available.
Winter could see two bridges over the river. It was still early October, but the sky above the river was very low and had a color like stone; the sun was gone now.
The sky brushed the bridges.
Angela stood beside him.
“The ceiling’s a little low here,” she said, looking out at the sky.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” said Winter.
“Haven’t you been here before?”
“That was in the summer. The sky was blue, if I remember correctly.”
“Don’t you always remember correctly?”
She smiled kindly.
“Not anymore,” said Winter, thinking of Arne Algotsson. No one knew what was in store, at least if you didn’t analyze your DNA. He didn’t intend to do that.
Angela hung up some clothes. He let his bag lie unopened. She sat on the bed, which was large and yet looked small in the room.
“I like this room,” she said.
Winter looked in the bathroom, which was tiled in a warm shade. It was the same color as the low sky outside.
“Nice hotel,” he heard Angela say behind him.
It was. The lobby was small but not too small. To the right there was an inviting bar with leather chairs and a counter and shelves well stocked with bottles. To the left was the restaurant.
“I’m going to call home,” said Angela.
He washed his hands and heard her voice and walked out into the room. She held out the phone: “Elsa.”
He took it and heard his daughter, who had already started telling him what had happened during the day. No day care while they were gone. Elsa was totally the center of attention, with Grandma Siv, Aunt Lotta, and her cousins Bim and Kristina in a circle around her. Total spoiling. But that was nothing new. He believed in spoiling young children. All the laws and rules and decrees and prohibitions would still be there, soon enough. Most people didn’t escape adult life, and there was no one to spoil you there. You were alone there. Out there you’re on your own, he thought.
“We’re making Christmas candy!” said Elsa.
Why not. There were only three months left until Christmas.
Or maybe his mother had lost her sense of the seasons after almost fifteen years under an eternal sun.
“Have you spoken English, Papa?” she asked in the impatient, half-stumbling way of children.
“Sure have. With the taxi driver and people here at the hotel,” he answered.
“Not with Mama?” she said, giggling.
“Not yet,” he said, laughing too.
“Is it a nice hotel?” said Elsa.
“Very nice,” he said.
“I want to stay at a hotel too,” she said, but he didn’t hear any disappointment in her voice. It was only a statement.
“You’ll get to stay at lots of hotels, sweetie.”
“Promise!” she yelled.
Of course he promised. Up to a certain age, you could promise things, and perhaps sometimes later too, but at some point she would have to keep her own promises. Out there. On her own.
He knew that it would go quickly; he had the proof around him. Look at Bertil and his Moa. Winter had started working with Ringmar when Moa was about the same age as Elsa was now, a little older. It went quickly, the days rushed by like wild horses across the hills. Winter had had a word with Ringmar about the circus in Kortedala before he left. Bergenhem had told some story about IKEA. The truck was still there in the morning. Smart guys. They must have seen Bergenhem. Or else someone had called them in the truck. Aneta had had her suspicions about who.
Their room phone rang. Winter had just ended his conversation with Elsa.
“Call for Mr. Winter,” the receptionist said.
He heard Macdonald’s voice. “The trip went well?”
“Excellent.”
“Is the hotel okay?”
“It’s excellent, too. Where are you?”
“We got into town just a little while ago. Have you eaten lunch?”
“No.”
“May I treat you then? Right now? I suggest the Royal Highland Hotel. It’s right next to the train station. Go straight into the lobby and we’ll be sitting on the right in the bar. Sarah’s hair is black as sin and I’m wearing a kilt in the Macdonald clan tartan.”
“How am I supposed to recognize that?” said Winter.
He heard Macdonald’s laugh.
“Red and black,” said Macdonald.
“Will we have time, then?” said Winter.
“We’re meeting Craig in two hours,” said Macdonald. “He’s out on some job now.”
“Have you spoken to the daughter?” asked Winter.
“Today, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Yes. She’s going to be there too.”
“Any news about the autopsy?”
“Yes. There’s no poison in the body. And preparations have been under way so she can fly home with her father as soon as tonight.”
“So soon?”
“No reason for the body to stay here. And there’s a late-afternoon plane from London to Gothenburg this evening.”
“Okay. Is the Royal Highland up the main street, as in the one that goes right at the bridge?” asked Winter.
“Yes. You remember, I see.”
“Wasn’t it called the Station Hotel before?”
“That’s exactly right, too. Go up Bridge Street a few hundred yards and then take a left on Inglis and then you’ll see the station. How is Angela, by the way?”
