October 18. He wasn’t sure whether she’d be having a party when the big day came around.
“Would you like a glass of wine? Cold. White.”
“I’d love one. And some water.”
“I didn’t hear the car.”
“That’s because I biked.”
“Uh-huh.”
“The city is completely clogged.”
“The party?”
“Yes. Have you been down?”
“Have you?”
“Not for the purposes of pleasure,” Winter said, and smiled.
His sister poured him a glass of wine and left him to fetch some water and two tumblers.
“I bumped into Angela last week,” she said once she had returned and sat down next to him. “In a corridor, after the rounds. She was up from radiology.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I hadn’t seen her in ages. It’s as if she’s taking after you. Some kind of silence or something. Her not saying anything, I mean.”
“About what?”
“About you and her, for example.”
Winter waited for her to continue. His sister worked as a staff doctor at Sahlgrenska, and Angela had recently transferred there from a position at Molndal Hospital.
“The two most important women in my life are doctors,” Winter said. “I wonder what that means.”
“It means that you’re a basket case,” his sister said. “But then you’re forgetting our mother.”
“Oh right.”
“When did you last speak to her?”
“The last time she called. Two and a half weeks ago maybe. How about you?”
“Yesterday.”
“How is she?”
“I think she’s cut back to two martinis before lunch,” she said, and they laughed together. “No, seriously. I think Dad’s been on her case about it.”
“Dad? You gotta be kidding.”
“When did you last speak to him, Erik?”
Winter emptied his glass. He saw his hand tremble slightly, and he saw that she caught it.
“When they moved-escaped to Spain.”
“I know.”
“Now you’ve had it confirmed a second time.”
“Two years. That’s a long time.”
“He had a choice. He could have done something with his money, for others. And by that I don’t mean me or us. It’s his money. I have my own.”
“Isn’t it a heavy burden to always sit in judgment?”
“I’m not a judge. I’m a policeman.”
“You know what I mean.”
“It was his choice.”
“Mom went with him.”
“She’s not responsible for her actions.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” his sister said, straightening up in her chair.
He reached for the bottle of wine as if he couldn’t hear. “Would you like another glass?”
She held hers out, almost reluctantly.
“They have a choice. They could actually return home and face the music.”
“And what would that change?”
“It’s not about-look, do we have to talk about this now?” Winter said. “Can’t we just sit here for a while and drink some wine?”
13
“How long have you been on your feet today anyway?” his sister asked.
“Well, since four this morning.”
“My God.”
“Those crucial first hours.”
“And now they’re over,” she said. “Those crucial first hours.”
“Just about.”
“But the hunt continues.”
“If you can call it a hunt.”
“Want to talk about it?”
He reached for the glass again but then pulled his arm back, sensing that he wouldn’t be able to get another word out if he took another sip of wine. Instead he stood and walked the few steps to the terrace railing and leaned against it. Over by the hedge a playhouse was peeking out from behind a maple tree. Winter had spent endless nights of adventure in there when he was nine and ten, maybe eleven.
Despite a sudden urge to go over there, he stayed where he was. The fatigue was causing him to think of his childhood and its loss. You can have an awareness of a previous life but no more than that, he thought. Soon everything will be plowed into the present.
He turned to his sister. She had pulled a shawl over her shoulders, and it gave her a foreign appearance. A wind from the garden swept through the coarse hairs of his bare legs, but he didn’t feel cold.
“There’s a child,” he said. “This woman who’s been murdered, whose name we don’t know yet-she’s had a child, and that child must be out there somewhere.”
“Does that worry you?”
“Wouldn’t it you?”
“Sure.”
“It bothers me. I’ve had trouble concentrating because I’ve been thinking about the fact that Helene has had a child.”
“I thought you just said you didn’t know her name?”
“What?”
“The murdered woman hasn’t been identified. But you just called her Helene.”
“I did? I better be careful. I’ve given her that name in order to-to get closer to her. When I’m thinking.”
“Why that particular name?”
“She was found at Delsjo Lake, near Helenevik.”
“Helenevik? I’ve never heard of it.”
“A handful of nice-looking houses across the highway, looking out over Lake Radasjon.”
“Helene?”
“Yes. I think of her as Helene. And I think about her child.”
He saw Lotta give a shiver, as if more from his words than from the approaching night. “Then you have to find out who she is quickly,” she said.
“Of course, but I feel despondent. It’s like another descent into hell. Maybe it’s just tonight. Maybe we’ll have
