Halders wondered once again why Svensk was playing dumber than he was.
“You might want to check out the Arabs.”
“The Arabs?” Halders said.
“Check out the Islamists,” Svensk said. “I think they’re the ones who were shooting at each other. They’ve been a bit restless this summer. You know that too. And just look at what’s happening in Algeria now.”
29
“I have a feeling we’ve driven this way before,” he said.
“It wasn’t that long ago,” Winter said. He was tense with thought about what might be awaiting them in a little while. He needed a cigarillo and stuck a Corps in his mouth without lighting it.
They approached Varvaderstorget. The fields alongside Rambergsvallen Stadium appeared to be floating above the ground like an extension of the Lundbybadet swimming complex. Everything Winter saw was enclosed and fenced off, as if enormous walls of water had been lowered from the sky and surrounded his field of vision, held in place by clouds.
Varvaderstorget was barely visible.
“It feels like years ago,” Ringmar said, and nodded to the left. “Like another age. Or another country.”
“It very nearly is,” Winter said. “Or was.”
“It’s a weak lead.”
“They’ve behaved themselves for a long time. Maybe the pressure has to get released somehow.”
“Maybe it was because of the heat.”
“Leather jackets are hot when it’s ninety degrees out.”
“Hells Angels show up in suits these days.” Ringmar glanced out of the corner of his eye at Winter’s graphite- colored Corneliani suit and the Oscar Jacobson coat that lay in his lap.
“If they show up at all,” Winter said. “They’re like British football hooligans.”
“How so?”
“You never see them anymore. But they’re still there.”
“We’ve got a close eye on our Angels,” Ringmar said. “At least we thought we did.”
They turned up onto Flygvadersgatan and found their bearings from a sign that said “North Biskopsgarden.” Off to the right, Winter could see the enormous tenement blocks, the top floors of which disappeared into the low sky. The buildings were so tall they seemed to move away from him.
The satellite dishes on the building sides were like uncovered eyes looking toward outer space, or ears that had been turned into steel to home in on voices and movements in countries that the people here dreamed their dreams about, or open mouths that called out for answers, thought Winter.
Karin Sohlberg was waiting outside the office in a raincoat. Winter was surprised by her Asian features, since on the phone she sounded like she’d grown up in Graberget or Lindholmen. And maybe she had. He thought briefly about Aneta and why he’d been surprised just now.
Inside, she invited them to sit, but Ringmar remained standing. She did too, with her raincoat unbuttoned. Winter had sat down in a chair in front of the desk but stood up again when no one else sat down.
“So the September rent for this woman’s apartment has been paid,” he said. One might well ask what we’re doing here, then, he thought. “That was on the first, you said?”
“Yes. Right after the weekend.”
“So no reminder was sent out?”
“No, but that’s not my depart-No, it takes longer than that. First they check the account. The reminder gets sent out after five or six days.”
“And you haven’t seen Helene Andersen and her daughter for a while?”
“No. But I’m honestly not sure if I remember them. I haven’t been here for very long.”
“What was the daughter’s name?” Ringmar asked.
“Jennie.”
“How do you know that?”
Sohlberg mentioned the tenant lists she had, and indicated with her hand that they were lying on her desk.
“And this old lady lives there too?” Winter asked.
“Yes. Ester Bergman.”
“Then let’s go,” Winter said. “Is there a locksmith nearby?”
Sohlberg nodded.
The entrance was longer than Winter had expected, which must mean the apartments were long and narrow.
It was a large courtyard-impossible to see across to the other side in the fog. Maybe this is how it always is for Ester, Karin Sohlberg thought. Right now I’m seeing what she sees.
A few children were playing on a tangle of monkey bars in the middle of the courtyard. A child shouted something, but Winter couldn’t hear what. The shout didn’t reach very far, perhaps because of all the buildings.
They turned left into a second doorway. Winter read the names on the board just inside: Sabror, Ali, Khajavi, Gulmer, Sanchez, and Bergman. Two apartments per floor. They walked up the first half flight, and Karin Sohlberg pressed the bell. Winter noticed Ringmar’s grave expression. We feel the same way, he thought. Damn it! I said I’d come alone. But then the old lady opened the door as if she’d been standing just inside waiting for the ringer to sound.
They drank a cup of boiled coffee that clutched at the gut. Winter accepted the offer of a refill and caught a look from Karin Sohlberg. It smelled dusty and sweet in the apartment, as it did in old people’s homes.
“So you haven’t seen Helene and her daughter for some time, Mrs. Bergman?” He was trying to sound gentle.
“I didn’t know what her name was.”
“The girl’s name is Jennie,” Winter said.
“She had red hair,” Ester Bergman said.
“Yes.”
“What’s happened to them?”
“We don’t know,” Winter said, leaning forward. “That’s why we’re here.”
“Well, surely something must have happened-otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”
“We received your letter, Mrs. Bergman, and that’s why we’re here.”
“Are you really a police officer?” Ester Bergman squinted her eyes at Winter.
Winter set down his cup. “Yes.”
“You’re so young,” Ester Bergman said. Still wet behind the ears, not that you can see them. He could do with a haircut. Aren’t policemen supposed to have short hair? The other one has short hair and he’s older. But he’s not saying anything. “You can’t be much older than her.”
“Than whom?” Winter asked.
“Than her. The mother with the fair hair.”
“So they haven’t been here since it turned… Since the weather changed? Since the hot weather ended?”
“They weren’t here then either,” Ester Bergman said. “It was hot and I sat here at this window and didn’t see them.”
The stairwell smelled of liquid cleanser. Like in the other entrances, the walls at the bottom were of rough-
