Authors: Camilla Ceder
They
hadn't found anything in the apartment that could have caused the injury. The
doctor suggested it might be something rough and blunt, possibly a baseball
bat. Seja couldn't remember, and despite gentle pressure from Tell, didn't want
to talk about what had happened.
'I
saw the shadow of a person,
then
I felt my head
explode. That's all I can say. And that's all I want to say right now. I'm
grateful that you came with me, Christian, but you can go now. I'm tired and I
know you've got a lot of work on.'
'Wrong
time for pride,' he said, mildly reproachful. 'Besides, they can manage
perfectly well without me for a couple of hours.'
He
didn't have time to say anything else before a sweaty boy dressed as a nursing
assistant stuck his head around the door.
'Christian
Tell? I have a message…' He leaned forward gasping, his hands on his knees.
'I'm sorry… I've run across the hospital looking for you… You're to ring Karin
Beckman. It's obviously important and, I quote, "bloody urgent".'
Tell
ducked out into the corridor, opened his phone and keyed in Beckman's direct
line. A nurse walked past, frowning. She pointed meaningfully at a sign on the
wall showing a mobile phone with a cross through it. Tell mimed a vague
apology.
'Beckman?
What's going on?'
'What
do you mean, what's going on?'
He
realised from the tension in her voice that something must have happened.
'Where
are you? Bärneflod said you went to the hospital with Seja Lundberg?'
'Never mind.
Carry on,' he said.
An
agitated man in a white coat was approaching, and he turned towards the wall
with the telephone partly hidden by his lapel.
'Caroline
Selander has been arrested in Ystad, at the ferry terminal for Poland, and…'
Beckman's voice broke up.'…
the
police down there have
searched the camper van and found…' Her voice disappeared in a rushing noise.
'For fuck's sake!'
'…
a
knife which could well have been the one she used to
kill Molin… It's been washed, but according to forensics they ought to be able
to find traces because the handle is made of wood.'
'Good,'
said Tell. 'I'll take over when they bring her in. What did they say about the
arrest? Did she-'
'Christian,'
Beckman broke in, 'Ostergren collapsed in her office two hours ago. They had to
send for an ambulance, and she's been taken to hospital.'
Tell
stumbled back and leaned against the wall. He felt dizzy and became aware of a
bitter dryness in his mouth. When did I last eat properly?
he
thought vaguely. Was it yesterday I bought that pizza?
'Hello,
Christian? Are you still there?'
He
pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead. 'I'm still here. How is
she?'
'I
don't know. The hospital only gives out information to next of kin. Renée had a
mobile number for Ann-Christine's husband, but he hasn't picked up since he got
the news and took a taxi to the hospital. Oh God. I don't know if I can cope
with this.'
It
sounded as if she was crying, which surprised Tell. He had never thought
Beckman had a close relationship with Ostergren.
'I'm
going outside, Karin. Don't go away.'
Tell
took the lift downstairs and rang Beckman back from outside the hospital. It
seemed as though she had regained her composure.
'Sorry.
I don't know
what's the matter with me
. There's just
been so much going on recently. I've left Goran.
For good
this time.
At least I think it's for good.'
Tell
realised that he was holding his breath as he waited for her to continue. 'You
don't have to apologise,' he said when nothing further was forthcoming. There
was a silence between them, a pleasant healing silence.
'Well,'
she said eventually, 'sometimes you do have to apologise. I can be too bloody
honest sometimes. It takes it out of all of us, this business of dealing with
death all the time. Not just you.
Me as well.'
She
blew her nose noisily. 'I just want to say that I value our conversations. I
know that I can sometimes make it seem as if they're just to help you, but I
need them as well.'
'
It's
fine, Karin,' he said.
Snowflakes
began falling hesitantly on the car park.
'It's
good for us to be there for each other.' Under normal circumstances he would
have reproached himself for sounding inane, but he realised he really meant
what he said. 'And listen,' he went on. 'You said Ostergren only went in a
couple of hours ago?
In which case it's hardly surprising if
you can't get hold of anyone.
It's terrible, Karin, but there's nothing
you can do at the moment. You're going to have to wait until tomorrow, whatever
happens.'
'But
what if she doesn't make it?'
'You
still won't be able to do anything other than wait.'
She
laughed and sobbed at the same time.
'You
mean, "Karin, you can't be in control right now.
Not of
death, anyway.'"
'Something
like
that, yes.'
For
a moment he thought she'd hung up, but she continued in a brighter tone: 'By
the way, Björkman called about something they found in Bart's house.
Hidden letters from his sister.
Apparently she was trying to
blackmail him.'
'With what?
No, let me guess: she was threatening to reveal
what she knew about him and the bikers' club?'
'Exactly.
It seems she thought he'd got his hands on money
that was hers at some point, and this was her way of trying to get it back.'
'Shit.
Well, there you go.'
He
searched his pockets for the slip of paper with Seja's room number. It was
probably best to leave now, before it started snowing properly, to avoid
getting stuck on the motorway. But he didn't want to hang up before he was sure
Beckman was all right. It was very rare for her to lower her guard. If she
could understand that it was possible, that it might even do her good, she
would do it more readily the next time.
Instead,
she was the one who ended the call.
'Go
back to Seja,' she said. 'I'm sure she's waiting for you.'
Tell
couldn't think of a reply. He stood there in confusion, holding his car keys a
centimetre from the lock. He was tired. His head was whirring with so many
thoughts, so many questions, but he realised that these were unlikely to be
resolved here in the snow that was falling more and more resolutely, covering
the tarmac like a soft blanket. He turned uncertainly and surveyed the
half-full car park.
Almost
every window of the hospital was lit up, with the odd forgotten Advent
candlesticks dotted here and there. People inside those walls are fighting for
their lives.
Dropping
the keys in his pocket, he went back through the revolving doors. He didn't
take off his coat because he wasn't intending to stay long. But he would at
least tell Seja that he was going. And that he would be coming back.
Christian
Tell looked around the glassed-in veranda, typical of the single-storey
brown-brick house to which it was attached. There were plants everywhere, some
of which he recognised from his childhood. The rosary vine, for example -
perhaps because its name and appearance were so well matched.
Pelargoniums, of course.
Just below the ceiling dark green
tendrils twisted and twined, so overgrown that it was difficult to see which
came from which pot.
It
can't possibly be Ostergren who has such green fingers, thought Tell; he could
picture her office with its empty windowsills.
He
could see that the back garden wasn't as neatly kept. The grass had been cut,
but the trees hadn't been pruned. The shrubs had been allowed to go wild, and
the cypresses grew unchecked. Beyond the lawn he could see the beginning of a
grove or a small wood, with Askimsviken somewhere below it.
From
the kitchen he could hear Gustav Ostergren mildly reproaching his wife for
doing too much. She dismissed his concerns with some irritation, only to
apologise a second later. Tell smiled sadly. Relationships weren't easy when
life was suddenly turned upside down.
She
had seemed pleased to see him. They hadn't talked for a while, not since she
had been signed off work indefinitely. And not for a while before that either.
Tell still felt uncomfortable; his first impulse on seeing the house had been
to drive straight past. He hadn't phoned to say that he was coming. It was
early. She might still be asleep.
'I
can't stay long,' had been his ridiculous greeting as a surprised Ostergren
opened the door. He had pointed at his watch with embarrassment. 'You know how
it is.'
She
had stood there motionless at first, looking as if she didn't recognise him in
such a different context. Then she said his name and burst into almost
exhilarated laughter. This made him happy.
'I
just wanted to see how things were.'
'If
you'd like to go and see how things are on the patio, I'll make us a cup of
coffee.'
He
was wearing a new suit, light grey instead of the usual dark shade. He picked a
thread distractedly from his trouser leg, got out a tin of snuff - which was
also new - and took a pinch with an unpractised hand.
Seja
had given him an incentive: one cigarette-free month and she would take him
away on holiday. She hadn't specified the destination, just 'somewhere hot'.
She had no idea how long a month could be. And it was ridiculous for her to
even consider paying for them both, given the state of her finances. But he did
want to go away with her, he really did. That alone would make this torture
worthwhile.
Gustav
Ostergren came out with a pot of coffee and set it on the table, brushing
fallen leaves off the cloth.
'Can
I do anything to help?' Tell asked, like a child visiting an • elderly
relative, and for the first time he was aware of the age gap. Ostergren wasn't
that much older, but the house betrayed that she was of his parents'
generation: the 6os hairstyle in her wedding photo, the imitation-grass
flooring in the veranda, the fluffy cushions,
the
pine
coasters.
The
whole thing made him feel confused, as if the person he had worked with on a
daily basis for so many years had suddenly become a stranger. He had never
thought of his boss as being any particular age, neither old nor young, neither
a woman nor a person with thoughts and emotions outside work.
He
suddenly wondered what it had been like for her to be so remote.
If she had deliberately created that facade or if he, like others,
had chosen to acknowledge only certain aspects of her.
'Anki,
can you bring the sugar?'
When
Ostergren had mentioned her husband in passing during their most recent
conversation, Tell had been surprised that she was married. He had immediately
created a picture of the man in question.
It
transpired that Gustav Ostergren was not the tall elegant retired lawyer or
businessman
Tell had imagined. It also transpired that Tell
had actually met him several years before, at a Horticultural Society Christmas
party. Tell remembered that Carina had been delighted with this unassuming man,
who resembled a friendly goblin with his wild hair and salt-and-pepper beard,
his sparkling friendly eyes, shirt hanging loose and jeans tucked inside his
socks. He perched his glasses on his nose to read the date on the milk carton
before pouring it into a jug.
Ann-Christine
came out with the sugar bowl. It occurred to
Tell
that
he had never seen her move slowly before and he wondered if she was in pain.
'I
hope you won't be offended if I go off into the garage for a while,' said
Gustav Ostergren. 'It's just I'm working on a little project. I'm making a
violin, although there's no guarantee it will ever be finished. You're welcome
to come and have a look later on, if you like.'