Never End

4

The girl’s name was Angelika Hansson. She could be identified from documents in her handbag. She had dark hair, and her clothes were a mess. There had been leaves and strands of grass in her hair. She had been lying with her head on a sort of pillow of grass. It was almost as if somebody had made a pillow for her. This was the image he had in his head when he got to the postmortem. Pia Froberg, the forensic pathologist, was busy with Angelika Hansson's body. He was pretty used to it by now. The body, under the spotlights. The doctor's white coat, picked out by the dazzling ceiling lights. Naked body parts. No sign of life.

How many times had he been in this situation? Not many, but still more than enough.

He knew she'd been strangled. Some kind of strap around her neck that she hadn't been able to remove, that couldn't be untied. Pia confirmed this: it could be some kind of collar, a dog leash, a noose. It might have been a rope. Not a shoelace.

It happened only a few hours before the alarm was raised. What had he being doing at that time? The thought came into his mind. What exactly had been doing then? What had she been doing during the hour before it happened? What had Angelika Hansson been doing? She'd been drinking, Perhaps too much. She might have been holding somebody's hand.

She was nineteen. He thought about what Halders had said regarding Jeanette Bielke. She too was nineteen; passed her final school exams just over a month ago. Halders said Jeanette Bielke had the white cap Swedish students wear at their graduation parties, singing songs about their happy schooldays. Used to be mandatory, but not anymore. Had Angelika had a student cap? Had she known Jeanette? Did they have any mutual friends?

"She was pregnant," said Pia Froberg, walking over to him.

Winter nodded without answering.

"Did you hear what I said, Erik?"

He nodded again.

"I must say you get quieter and quieter by the year."

By the month, he thought. Quieter by the month.

"How far along?" he asked.

"I can't say for certain," she said, "but not many weeks." She looked back at the girl's body. "I wonder if she even knew herself."

"But you're sure, about the pregnancy?"

"Of course."

Winter took two steps toward the dead body. They knew nothing about her as yet apart from what was in her handbag, and that was with Chief Inspector Beier in the forensics department.

He'd soon go to her home. He had the address. Her parents were in another harshly lit room only a few meters away. Two faces, pale with shock. He hadn't noticed a boyfriend with them, nobody who might be a boyfriend. Nobody with the parents, who could be no more than a few years younger than he was himself. People had kids when they were twenty-two. Angelika Hansson would have been one of those. A pregnant daughter. Did they know?

"What!" The man's face had turned ashen. Lars-Olof Hansson, Angelika's father. His wife was standing next to him, the girl's mother, Ann. Eyes shrunken with sorrow and desperation. "What the hell are you saying?"

Winter repeated what he had told them.

"She hasn't had a boyfriend for two years," the father said. He turned to his wife. "Have you heard anything about a boyfriend, Ann?"

She shook her head.

"It can't be true," he said, turning back to Winter. "It's not possible."

"She's never… spoken to me about that," the mother said. She looked at Winter, her eyes had grown bigger. "She would have said something about it." She was looking at her husband now. "We spoke about everything. We did, Lasse. You know we did."

"Yes."

"Absolutely everything," she repeated.

She didn't know, thought Winter. I don't think she knew. He hadn't had all the details from Pia yet. There was somebody else who might not have known. It didn't have to be a boyfriend. A casual partner, maybe. How many of those had she had? He looked at her parents. He'd be forced to ask all those questions, at the worst possible time. But then again, the best, when everything was… fresh. He pictured the girl's body on the metal table in the neighboring room.

"We need to know everything about her friends," he said. "Everything you can remember, about all of them."

"This business of her… pregnancy. Does that have anything to do with the murder?" asked the father, fixing Winter with piercing eyes.

"I don't know," he said.

"Then why the hell are you asking so much about it?"

"Lasse," his wife said.

He turned to look at her.

"He's only doing his job," she said, and Winter suddenly had the impression she looked stronger. "We want to know, after all."

I'm only doing my job, Winter thought.

Halders drove back to the Bielkes's house. He was on his own, and had called ahead. He parked the car and crunched over the gravel. Jeanette was on the verandah. Halders wondered what she was thinking about. She glanced up and saw him approaching. Looked as if she were about to throw up. Halders had reached her by then.

"Let's get out of here," he said.

She didn't move.

'Would you like to head over to Saltholmen?"

She shrugged. Irma Bielke came onto the verandah and looked at her daughter.

"We're going out for a little drive," said Halders, but she didn't seem to hear him. They're all still in shock, he thought. The idyll has been blown away and reality has taken its place, even in this posh neighborhood.

Jeanette got into the car, which had warmed up in the sun. Halders started the engine. As he changed gear he accidentally brushed her left knee, and she jerked away. He pretended not to notice, and headed down the drive and out into the road.

"Do you have a favorite spot out here?" he asked as they approached the rocks and jetties.

"Yes…"

"Shall we go and sit there?"

She shrugged.

There were cars everywhere. Halders parked illegally opposite the ice cream stall and stuck his police pass on the windshield. Lots of people were streaming past, either going down to the boats or coming back from them. A child was screaming, being dragged along by its parents. Two girls about the same age as Jeanette smiled, maybe at him, maybe at her.

"You'll have to show me the way," he said. "How about an ice cream, by the way?"

She shrugged.

"Every time you shrug I'll interpret it as a 'yes,'" Halders said.

She smiled.

"Old-fashioned vanilla," she said. "And tutti-frutti."

The ice cream had started running down Halders's fingers as they walked to the rocks. He licked at his cone as quickly as he could. She had gotten a cup.

They climbed up to the top of the slope and down the other side. There was a clear view of the sea. Sails everywhere. The wind carried a strong smell of hot salt. There were fewer people on the rocks than he'd expected. Nobody was lying in her favorite spot.

"Here it is," she said.

They sat down. She looked out over a narrow channel leading to the harbor. A boy was diving on the other side.

"I was here the same day," she said.

Halders nodded.

"It's unreal," she said, looking at Halders. "It's like… another time, sort of. A different country, or something." She turned back to look at the water. "It's as if it had never happened. Like a dream, you know?" She looked at Halders again. What is dream and what is reality, he wondered.

"I couldn't tell you what's a dream and what's reality," she said. "I wish T knew what was what… which of the two what happened to me is… but that's not the way things are, of course." Halders noticed her benumbed expression, full of worry. There was something closed in that face of hers. She's been extinguished, he thought. Something has been extinguished. I could kill that bastard. I really could. No. That's not the answer. They wouldn't be able to rehabilitate him into society if I did that.

"So you don't know Angelika Hansson?"

"No, I've already told you."

"Met her, maybe?"

She had seen photos of Angelika. Halders had one in his breast pocket, but he didn't get it out.

"She'd just passed her final exams as well," he said.

"Are you saying that means we must know each other?"

"Don't you have a communal party?"

"Are you serious? Do you know how many people in Gothenburg graduate every year?"

"No."

"Neither do I. But way too many for there to be just one party." She was looking at Halders now. "It's called a ball, incidentally. Graduation ball."

Somebody dived into the water on the other side of the channel again. Several people tramped past on the rocks above them.

"What happened between you and your boyfriend?"

"That has nothing to do with this."

"Tell me anyway."

"What if I don't want to?"

Halders shrugged. It was his turn now.

He watched a boat moving along the channel, toward the sea. A man onboard waved, but she didn't wave back. "We broke up, simple as that," she said.

Halders noticed that the man on the boat was still waving, and waved back to put an end to it.

He didn't think so, though, did he?" he asked.

"I don't follow."

"He wouldn't accept that it was all over, would he?"

"Who told you that?"

Halders didn't reply.

"Don't believe them," she said.

"Believe who?"

"Mom and Dad, of course. They're the ones who told you, aren't they? They said there was a fight, I bet. That was it, wasn't it?"

Halders said nothing.

"They never liked him," she said.

"But it's all over now?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"It's over, for Christ's sake. For Christ's sake!" She looked him straight in the eye. "Has it never happened to you?"

"Yes."

"Have you had to explain how? And why and where? And to a detective?"

"No."

"Well, then."

"You know why I'm asking," he said. He could feel the sun on his bald spot. He'd have to buy a hat, an ordinary hat. Not one of those damn baseball caps. "He showed up at your house a few times and wanted to come in, didn't he?"

"Maybe the odd time. The odd evening."

"He was a little… noisy. Wanted to come in and talk to you."

"He was drunk," she said.

"Why?"

"Oh, for God's sake!"

"Why?" Halders insisted.

She heaved a sigh.

"He was upset," she said.

"Because it was over?"

She shrugged. A yes.

"But you wanted it to be over?"

She nodded.

There's something she doesn't want to tell me. Something important. What is it?

"And he couldn't understand that," Halders said. "That you wanted to break up."

"Can't we stop talking about Mattias now? Why are we talking about him all the time?"

"Have you seen him… since?"

"Since I was raped?"

"Yes."

"Say it then. Raped. Raped!"

Halders could see a woman on the next rock stumble.

"Since you were raped," Halders said.

"No, I haven't. Have you?"

"No."

"You should. I mean, you talk about him all the time."

"I am going to meet Mattias. Tomorrow."

"A waste of time," she said. "It wasn't him, if that's what you think."

Winter read the files. Had it started again with Jeanette Bielke? Continued with Angelika Hansson? Would it keep on going?

He had the familiar feeling of impotence. Speculations about crimes that had been committed. About crimes waiting to be committed. Waiting to be committed.

But something was different. He thought the same person who had raped Jeanette Bielke had murdered Angelika Hansson. Sometimes it was more than just knowing.

Another crime was waiting to be committed, and on his desk in front of him was the result of what had happened so far. He'd dug out all the old material on Beatrice Wägner. The uncomfortable feeling of yet again coming up against an appalling crime. Like a meeting in the dark. The fresh memory of her father's voice, no more than a few months ago. They'd kept in touch over the years. Winter didn't know for whose sake.

As long as I keep talking to the family, the case hasn't been shelved. Now we have a new opportunity.

His mobile rang on his desk. He could see on the display that it was from his mother, direct from Nueva Andalucia in the mountains beyond Marbella. A white house with three palm trees in the garden. Balcony, and sun and shadow. He'd been there two years ago, when his father had been buried under the Sierra Blanca.

"How are you surviving the heat?"

"How are you surviving yours?" Winter replied.

"They say on TV here that it's hotter in Scandinavia than it is in the south of Spain," she said.

"The flow of tourists will go into reverse, then," he said. "Spaniards will be coming here to get some sun."

"I hope so." He could hear a clinking of ice in the background, and glanced at his watch. Past five. The cocktail hour. Happy hour. Time for a very dry and very cold martini. I wouldn't mind one myself.

"What are you up to?" he asked. "Lotta said you were hoping we could come and visit in September."

His sister had told him the previous day. A family get-together on the Costa del Sol.

"You really must come. I just have to cuddle Elsa. And all the rest of you, of course."

"You need only come home."

"The children think it's so much fun to come here," she said.

"What children? Besides Elsa?"

"What do you mean? Lotta's, of course."

"They're teenagers."

"Don't be like that, Erik."

He heard the clinking of ice again, and thought of water and a bath and a drink.

"How is Elsa?"

"She's talking, and getting into all kinds of mischief."

"Does she talk much?"

"All day long."

"That's fantastic. She'll go far."

"Well, just this minute she's not going anywhere at all."

More clinking of ice. Coolness spread through his body. He needed a drink.

"Soon she'll be running all over the apartment."

Winter didn't respond.

"But you really must start thinking about a house now, Erik."

"Mmm."

"If only for Angela's sake. Surely you can understand that? She can't be jugging children and carriages and God knows what else up and down all those stairs."

"There's an elevator."

"You know what I mean."

"There are two of us doing the lugging."

"Erik."

"We like living in the center of town."

"Angela too? Really?"

He didn't answer. This wasn't a problem. The thoughts came flooding back. He had other problems.

The door opened. Halders walked in without knocking.

"I've got a visitor." Winter said his good-byes and hung up.