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Authors: Åke Edwardson
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you when we get there,' said Halders. 'We'll
make it one of these fine days.'
'It's a fine day today,' said Djanali.
She was right. The sun had returned after a prolonged
exile. The light outside made your eyes hurt, and Djanali
had turned up at the police station in black sunglasses
that made her look like a soul queen on tour in
Scandinavia. At least that's what Halders had told her
when they met outside the entrance.
They were in Winter's office now. Winter was sitting
on his desk chair, and Ringmar was perched on the edge
of his desk.
'Shall we consult the farmers' union – what do they
call themselves, the Federation of Swedish Farmers, is
it? FSF?'
Winter wasn't quite sure if Halders was joking.
'Good idea, Fredrik,' he said. 'You can start with the
whole of Götaland.'
'Certainly not,' said Halders, looking at the others.
'I was only joking.' He turned to Winter again. 'What
if it is a bumpkin, then? What do we do? How will we
be able to pinpoint every clodhopper in the area?'
'PC Plod in search of a clod,' said Winter.
'They're a dying breed,' said Ringmar.
'PC Plods?' said Djanali.
'Farmers,' said Ringmar. 'Soon there won't be any
Swedish farmers left. The EU will see to that.'
'There'll always be tough little Portuguese olivegrowers,
though,' said Halders. 'The Swedish national
dish will become olives, whether you want the bloody
things or not.'
'Olives are good for you,' said Djanali. 'Unlike baked
pig's trotters.'
'For Christ's sake!' screamed Halders. 'Why did you
mention pig's trotters? You've made my feet hurt.'
At last the banter is getting back to normal, Winter
thought. About time too.
'Perhaps he wants to brand pigs,' said Halders. He
sounded serious now. 'Our attacker. Branding people he
regards as swine.'
' If it is a marking iron, or whatever it's called,' said
Winter.
'We'd better start making comparisons,' Ringmar
said. 'We'll have to get hold of a branding iron.'
'Who's going to volunteer to have their head bashed
in so that we can make comparisons?' Halders wondered.
Everybody stared at him.
'Oh no, no, not me. I've already had a bash on the
head, that's enough for this life.'
'Maybe it wasn't enough, though?' said Djanali.
Have I gone too far? she thought. But Fredrik asks
for it.
Halders turned to Winter.
'The answer could be in the victims. Maybe there is
a link between them after all. They don't have to be
random choices.'
'Hmm.'
'If we can find a common denominator we'll have
made a start. We haven't checked up on the first two in
detail yet. Not enough detail, at least,' Halders continued.
'Well . . .' said Ringmar.
'Well what? I can think of ten questions they weren't
asked. But I must say I think this last bloke's story is a
bit odd. Gustav. The farmer's boy.'
'What do you mean, odd?' asked Djanali.
'Confused, muddled.'
'Perhaps that makes it more credible,' said Winter.
'Or incredible,' said Halders. 'How can you fail to
notice somebody creeping up on you in the middle of
a football pitch?'
'But the same thing applies to the others as well,'
said Djanali. 'Are you seriously suggesting that they're
all in it together? That the victims allowed themselves
to be injured? Or at least knew what was going to
happen to them?'
'Maybe there's something important he's trying to tell
us but doesn't dare,' said Ringmar.
Everybody understood what Ringmar was getting at.
People often told lies, and usually because they were
scared.
'We'll have to ask him again,' said Djanali.
'Nothing surprises me any more,' said Halders. 'OK,
maybe they weren't all aware of what was going to
happen to them. But maybe they were, to some extent
at least. This Gustav, though, he might have other
reasons for telling us this story.'
Nobody spoke. Winter contemplated the sunlight
blazing in through the window. We need some light,
he'd thought as he raised the blinds shortly before the
others arrived. Let there be light.
The trees in the park outside had been pointing at
him, black fingers
make it one of these fine days.'
'It's a fine day today,' said Djanali.
She was right. The sun had returned after a prolonged
exile. The light outside made your eyes hurt, and Djanali
had turned up at the police station in black sunglasses
that made her look like a soul queen on tour in
Scandinavia. At least that's what Halders had told her
when they met outside the entrance.
They were in Winter's office now. Winter was sitting
on his desk chair, and Ringmar was perched on the edge
of his desk.
'Shall we consult the farmers' union – what do they
call themselves, the Federation of Swedish Farmers, is
it? FSF?'
Winter wasn't quite sure if Halders was joking.
'Good idea, Fredrik,' he said. 'You can start with the
whole of Götaland.'
'Certainly not,' said Halders, looking at the others.
'I was only joking.' He turned to Winter again. 'What
if it is a bumpkin, then? What do we do? How will we
be able to pinpoint every clodhopper in the area?'
'PC Plod in search of a clod,' said Winter.
'They're a dying breed,' said Ringmar.
'PC Plods?' said Djanali.
'Farmers,' said Ringmar. 'Soon there won't be any
Swedish farmers left. The EU will see to that.'
'There'll always be tough little Portuguese olivegrowers,
though,' said Halders. 'The Swedish national
dish will become olives, whether you want the bloody
things or not.'
'Olives are good for you,' said Djanali. 'Unlike baked
pig's trotters.'
'For Christ's sake!' screamed Halders. 'Why did you
mention pig's trotters? You've made my feet hurt.'
At last the banter is getting back to normal, Winter
thought. About time too.
'Perhaps he wants to brand pigs,' said Halders. He
sounded serious now. 'Our attacker. Branding people he
regards as swine.'
' If it is a marking iron, or whatever it's called,' said
Winter.
'We'd better start making comparisons,' Ringmar
said. 'We'll have to get hold of a branding iron.'
'Who's going to volunteer to have their head bashed
in so that we can make comparisons?' Halders wondered.
Everybody stared at him.
'Oh no, no, not me. I've already had a bash on the
head, that's enough for this life.'
'Maybe it wasn't enough, though?' said Djanali.
Have I gone too far? she thought. But Fredrik asks
for it.
Halders turned to Winter.
'The answer could be in the victims. Maybe there is
a link between them after all. They don't have to be
random choices.'
'Hmm.'
'If we can find a common denominator we'll have
made a start. We haven't checked up on the first two in
detail yet. Not enough detail, at least,' Halders continued.
'Well . . .' said Ringmar.
'Well what? I can think of ten questions they weren't
asked. But I must say I think this last bloke's story is a
bit odd. Gustav. The farmer's boy.'
'What do you mean, odd?' asked Djanali.
'Confused, muddled.'
'Perhaps that makes it more credible,' said Winter.
'Or incredible,' said Halders. 'How can you fail to
notice somebody creeping up on you in the middle of
a football pitch?'
'But the same thing applies to the others as well,'
said Djanali. 'Are you seriously suggesting that they're
all in it together? That the victims allowed themselves
to be injured? Or at least knew what was going to
happen to them?'
'Maybe there's something important he's trying to tell
us but doesn't dare,' said Ringmar.
Everybody understood what Ringmar was getting at.
People often told lies, and usually because they were
scared.
'We'll have to ask him again,' said Djanali.
'Nothing surprises me any more,' said Halders. 'OK,
maybe they weren't all aware of what was going to
happen to them. But maybe they were, to some extent
at least. This Gustav, though, he might have other
reasons for telling us this story.'
Nobody spoke. Winter contemplated the sunlight
blazing in through the window. We need some light,
he'd thought as he raised the blinds shortly before the
others arrived. Let there be light.
The trees in the park outside had been pointing at
him, black fingers
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