“Him who came.”
“Who came?”
“Him.”
“Who’s him?”
“Dunno.”
“Who was driving when they left?”
“Eh?”
“Who was driving?”
Bielke looked as if he were thinking again. Looked as if he were making up his mind.
“Johan,” he said.
Johan Samic, Winter thought. Samic, Samic, Samic.
“He was the one who did it,” said Bielke, in a louder voice, as if he was breathing out forcefully. “Samic did it.”
“Did what?”
“My little girl.”
Bielke burst into tears.
Winter waited. The tape recorder spun around silently. Cohen looked at Bielke, who now looked back. He dried his eyes with the back of his right hand.
“Hurt my little girl.”
“Jeanette?”
Bielke nodded.
“Can you repeat what you just said?”
“He hurt my Jeanette.”
“Why?”
Bielke sobbed, wiped his eyes again.
“He knew.”
“What did he know?”
Winter could feel something cold in the back of his head, like a chilly draft.
“He exploited it,” said Bielke. “Me. And . . . us.”
“What did he exploit?” asked Winter. “What did Johan Samic exploit about you?”
Bielke seemed to drift away again, disappear into another world.
“What did Johan Samic know about you?” asked Winter.
“What I did.”
Bielke looked at Winter, his eyes a mixture of alertness and fog.
“He said he could do whatever he liked,” said Bielke.
“Why?” asked Winter.
Bielke muttered again.
“Why?” Winter repeated the question.
“Because I killed her.”
Bielke said that with his head bowed. His hair was the same pale color as the walls of the room.
“Can you repeat what you just said?”
“I killed her.” He looked at Winter and Cohen. “I didn’t mean to. I just followed her. I didn’t mean to. You know that. Everybody understands that.”
“Did you kill Angelika Hansson?” asked Cohen.
“Who?”
“Did you kill Angelika Hansson?”
“No, no. That wasn’t me.”
“Did you kill Anne Nöjd?”
“Not me.”
Another snuffle from Bielke.
“Pardon?”
“He . . . away. He was there later. Ask him.”
“I didn’t get what you said just now,” Winter said.
“When they drove away. Ask Samic.”
“Ask what?”
“And Benny,” said Bielke. “He was driving.”
“Be . . . Benny?”
“Benny.”
“Benny who?”
“Benny. Benny boy.”
Winter was standing outside the interrogation room. His face was burning. He’d gotten to his feet immediately and left the room. Cohen stayed with Bielke.
Winter took the elevator up to the room where Setter and Bergenhem were sifting through documentation of Samic’s business transactions, past and present.
Bergenhem was there.
“I need a name,” said Winter. “Benny. Benny Vennerhag.”
“Vennerhag?”
“Has Samic had any dealings with Benny Vennerhag?”
“I don’t recognize the name.”
“Then look,
for fuck’s sake!
” Winter yelled.
“Hey, calm down, calm down.”
Winter grabbed at the keyboard in front of Bergenhem.
“What the
hell
are you doing, Erik? Give me a chance.” Bergenhem was tapping into the register of all the names they had so far.
“Yes,” he said. “We’ve got the name here. I can’t say if—”
“That’s good enough,” said Winter, and strode to his office. He met Ringmar. “Come with me,” shouted Winter over his shoulder.
Ringmar followed Winter into his office and saw him picking through a pile of photographs.
“What’s going on, Erik?”
Winter was holding the photograph taken at Angelika Hansson’s graduation party. Lars-Olof Hansson behind the camera. In front of it: the woman in profile. He knew he would never meet her. Unless she came here now that Mattias was here.
The boy next to her.
A dark face that might be Johan Samic, might not.
For Christ’s sake, it was Samic all right.
A fair-haired man, almost alongside him, with a beard and dark glasses. Lars-Olof Hansson hadn’t recognized him either. There was something familiar about him. The beard looked a bit odd, the glasses . . .
Winter looked at the other photograph, taken at about the same time by Cecilia, Angelika’s friend, who knew nothing about the house on the other side of the river. Couldn’t have known about it, wouldn’t have been able to cover it up unless she was out of her mind. They’d have another chat with her.
The woman, taken from directly in front. The boy wasn’t in Cecilia’s picture, he might have taken a step forward. That would explain it. The dark man was no longer there, but there were more people in this picture, more faces. He’d noticed that before.
He scrutinized the picture. Took out his magnifying glass again. Turned to the enlargements they’d made. Examined the first of them through the magnifying glass. Now he knew what he was looking for. That was the key difference. The photograph opened itself up as he looked and as he focused further into the mass of people, in the back, he could see a fair-haired head in profile, only the upper part of his face, a forehead, eyes, nose, and nothing more, but he didn’t need a magnifying glass to see who it was in the background, under a cloud of balloons. Benny.
He was wearing a false beard. Samic had a wig. An arrogant joke, or something much worse.
Samic. The woman. Vennerhag. They hadn’t been at the party for Angelika’s sake, not in the first place. She was graduating, but so was Mattias. He’d gone to the same school, but hadn’t been in the same class. Winter was certain now.
They’d been there for Mattias’s sake.
The woman was Mattias’s mother. Benny and Samic knew that Angelika would recognize them from the club.
Ringmar drove, up the hills. Winter directed him through the deserted streets. Somebody was having a midnight barbecue in his garden. Winter could see a flame leaping up.
The crack in his elbow was burning like fire.
“Shouldn’t you have that bandaged?” Ringmar asked.
Winter didn’t reply, merely smoked, gazing out into the night.
“Isn’t Fredrik’s house up here somewhere?” Ringmar asked.
“On the other side. Over there.”
They drove past it. No lights in any of the windows.
“Down here, then turn left,” said Winter. He was rocking backward and forward, holding his elbow.
“Calm down now, Erik.”
“Are we going to find Halders or not?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“Step on it, then.” He inhaled deeply, and released his safety belt as Ringmar pulled up outside Vennerhag’s house. There were lights in all the windows.
“He’ll be out back,” said Winter. “I’ll find him.”
Ringmar followed and came to the lawn behind the house. A man in swimming trunks was holding a glass. A naked woman glided smoothly up to the edge of the pool.
The man saw who it was approaching and put his glass down on the table under the umbrella. The woman had clambered out of the pool and had crossed her arms over her body, which was slick from the water. Ringmar saw how Winter accelerated. The man in the swimming trunks started speaking.
“Erik, it was—”
Winter’s skull crashed Vennerhag at chest height. The woman screamed. Vennerhag emitted a sound like air escaping from an air mattress. He staggered backward. Winter held his right arm as if it were still in the sling lying on the lawn at the side of Ringmar, who seemed to be screwed down. The woman screamed again. Vennerhag staggered forward, and Winter kicked him in the crotch. Vennerhag spluttered. Winter kicked both his knee caps. Vennerhag collapsed to the accompaniment of sounds like the cracking of dry twigs, and slid backward and into the water. Winter jumped in after him and forced his head under the surface with his good arm, then pulled it up again. Ringmar registered Vennerhag’s gaping eyes, reflecting the lights over the pool.
“Where is he?”
Winter yelled. He forced Vennerhag’s head under the water again, pulled it up once more.
“Where is he, you bastard? Where is Fredrik Halders?”
Ringmar saw Winter head butt Vennerhag over the bridge of his nose. Vennerhag gave vent to a rattling sound. He’ll kill him, Ringmar thought. I’ll have to dive in.
Vennerhag’s head was dipped under again, then pulled up. Blood was pouring from his nose. The water hadn’t managed to wash it away.
“I’ll kill you, Benny, you know I will,” said Winter, aiming a kick at Ringmar, who had dived in. “Fuck off, Bertil. Keep your distance.”
“Take it easy, Erik.”
“Stay where you are,”
Winter yelled. Ringmar did as he was told, and wondered what to do next.
Winter pulled Vennerhag’s face up to his own. “This is your last chance before I drown you. Where is he? Where is Halders?”
Another rattling noise from Vennerhag.
“Well? Well?”
Winter thrust his head under water again. “Aaagh” came from Vennerhag. Winter raised his head. Benny’s face was disfigured by the blows and the blood and the light that seemed to be drilling its way through his head from underneath.
“Well, what do you say?”
Ringmar saw Vennerhag’s lips move, saw Winter lean forward to listen, saw Vennerhag’s lips again, saw Winter stand up straight, and cast Vennerhag’s body aside and wade away with water up to his waist.
Ringmar pulled Vennerhag out of the pool. He looked dead. The woman had her face in her hands, shuddering violently. Ringmar felt Vennerhag’s pulse and after a few seconds registered a faint beat. He could hear a voice from inside the house. Winter was calling for an ambulance and for the police.
Winter came back outside.
“God only knows where my mobile is,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Ringmar looked at the woman and at Vennerhag’s body. She looked up, then hid her face in her hands again. She was a stranger.
“
Come on,
Bertil. You’ll have to drive.”
“Where to?” asked Ringmar, but Winter was already on his way.
39
RINGMAR DROVE WEST, PAST THE FAIRGROUNDS. IT LOOKED TO
Winter as if the roundabout was spinning, a circle of false light.
Another light started to appear over the horizon behind them, a new day. Winter could feel the pain like sledgehammers pounding away at the right-hand side of his body, from the top down. He had Vennerhag’s blood on his knuckles, and could smell his own wild animal-like scent. He was shivering in his wet clothes as Ringmar accelerated on the highway, and the wind rushed in through the open windows.
Have I gone out of my mind? Is this what being crazy is like?
Ringmar was talking over the radio.
“They’ll have to wait,” Winter said. “We can’t go storming in with a whole battalion.”
Ringmar kept on talking to Bergenhem and whoever else was there. Winter ran his hands over his shirt.
“There’s a sweater in the backseat,” said Ringmar, turning to look at him. “How many of them are there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Didn’t he say anything about that?”
“No.”
“What did he say?”
“What we needed to know. Where Fredrik is. Turn right at the next exit,” said Winter, staring straight ahead. “It’ll be quicker.”
He watched an airplane climbing into the morning sky, like a dark bird. The flashing lights on its tail sent a message down to earth. Now he could hear the engines, a muffled rumbling.
They crossed the bridge. The sea looked like a field.
It was darker again on the other side. The light was behind them, over the open water. There were no cars on the road, which was narrower when they came to the island.
“This must be it,” said Ringmar. He turned off, and it grew even darker in among the trees. Ringmar glanced at Winter, who was making sure his SigSauer had survived the dip in the pool. “How are you feeling, Erik?”
“Be patient with me,” said Winter.
“We have to stay calm when we get there,” said Ringmar.
“We’ll see.”
Winter leaned back in his seat and pictured the boy’s face.
Cohen had called while he was examining the photographs earlier in the day, a day that seemed like it would never end.
“He wants to say something. Mattias,” Cohen had said.
“What?” Winter had asked, holding up a photograph that seemed to be mostly filled with brightly colored balloons.
“I think he wants to tell us the whole story.”
Mattias ignored him when he came into the room. He was sitting quietly on the chair in front of them.
“You wanted to tell us something, Mattias?”
He didn’t answer.
“Do you want to tell us something?”
“I might.”
Winter could see the similarities to his father, now that he knew. The eyes were the same, had that same inner darkness.
“What do you want to tell us, Mattias?”
“Where’s my mom?”
Winter had expected the boy to look at him, but he continued staring down at the table.
“I want her to come here,” he said.
“What’s your mom’s name, Mattias?”
“Eh?”
“What’s her name?”
He said nothing.
Have I made a mistake? Winter wondered.
Mattias looked at Cohen now, then at Winter.
“Where is my mom?”
“We don’t know,” said Winter. “We’re looking for her too.” He leaned forward. “Why can’t we find her, Mattias?”
“How should I know?