Read Online Frozen Tracks by Åke Edwardson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Åke Edwardson
Ads: Link
glinting in the sun. The sky was as
blue as it was possible to be in late November.
'He also said something about a newspaper delivery
boy. We'd better check up on that,' Winter said, still
staring into the heavens. 'Bergenhem can look into it
when he gets back from lunch. Somebody was working
there that morning and might have seen something.'
'Or done something,' said Ringmar.
'All the better if that's the case. We'll have solved it.'
'What about the other attacks?' asked Djanali. 'Were
there news paper boys around then as well?'
Winter looked at Ringmar.
'Er, we don't actually know yet,' Ringmar said.
'Is that code for we haven't looked into it yet?' asked
Halders.
'Now we have a time pattern that is becoming clearer,'
said Winter, getting to his feet. 'All the attacks took
place at about the same time – in the small hours before
dawn.'
'In the wee small hours of the morning,' said
Halders.
'We're trying to interview everybody who might have
been around the areas where the incidents took place,
and now it's the newspaper delivery boys' turn,' said
Winter.
'That's hard work,' said Halders.
'Interviewing newspaper boys?' said Djanali.
'I've worked as a newspaper boy,' said Halders,
ignoring her.
'Good,' said Winter. 'You can give Bergenhem a hand,
then.'
'I'll take another look at the locations first,' said
Halders.
7
He was at Kapellplatsen, standing on the edge of the
square. The high-rise buildings concealed the sun
that would remain up in the northern sky a bit longer
yet.
Halders turned his head, and felt how stiff it was.
He couldn't swivel his head round any more. The blow
to the vertebrae at the back of his neck had left behind
this physical reminder. He could just about manage to
turn his head to the right; to the left was worse. He'd
had to learn to turn his body instead.
Other memories were worse. He had once run all
the way across this very square with Margareta when
they were very young and very hard up and very happy.
The number seven tram had already set off and he had
stood in the way and nearly been mangled. But it had
stopped. And Margareta had nearly died laughing once
she'd got over the shock. And now she really had died,
not just nearly died – been mangled by a drunk driver,
and it was debatable whether or not he'd got over the
shock, or ever would do. God only knows. They'd
been divorced when it had happened, but that didn't
mean a thing. Their children were still there, as a
reminder of everything that life stood for. That's the
way it was. If there was a meaning at all, that was it.
Magda's face when lit up by the sun at the breakfast
table. The spontaneous joy in the little girl's eyes, which
turned into diamonds in that flash of light. The feeling
inside himself. At that moment. Happiness, just for
one second.
Still, despite everything, he was on the way back to
some kind of normality. The banter that morning had
been a positive sign. He was glad about that. Therapy?
Could be.
He was glad that Aneta had caught on, and played
along.
Perhaps the pair of them were going somewhere together.
No, not perhaps. We are going somewhere together. Very
slowly, very carefully.
He turned round, slowly, carefully. The student had
come up the steps from Karl Gustavsgatan. Maybe he'd
been tired out. Certainly a bit pissed. Beer. Aryan Kaite,
as black as could be, like Aneta; and what a name!
Aryan. Perhaps a plea from his parents, it had struck
Halders when he talked to the lad after he'd come round.
An Aryan black man. Weren't they the first humans?
Africans?
This one was reading medicine.
A horrible wound to the head. Could have killed him.
The same applied to the others. He thought about that
as he stood by the steps looking down at the paving
stones sparkling in the sunlight. All of them could have
been killed, but nobody had died. Why? Was it a coincidence,
a stroke of luck? Was it the intention? Was
that a possibility? Were they meant to survive?
This was where the blow had been
blue as it was possible to be in late November.
'He also said something about a newspaper delivery
boy. We'd better check up on that,' Winter said, still
staring into the heavens. 'Bergenhem can look into it
when he gets back from lunch. Somebody was working
there that morning and might have seen something.'
'Or done something,' said Ringmar.
'All the better if that's the case. We'll have solved it.'
'What about the other attacks?' asked Djanali. 'Were
there news paper boys around then as well?'
Winter looked at Ringmar.
'Er, we don't actually know yet,' Ringmar said.
'Is that code for we haven't looked into it yet?' asked
Halders.
'Now we have a time pattern that is becoming clearer,'
said Winter, getting to his feet. 'All the attacks took
place at about the same time – in the small hours before
dawn.'
'In the wee small hours of the morning,' said
Halders.
'We're trying to interview everybody who might have
been around the areas where the incidents took place,
and now it's the newspaper delivery boys' turn,' said
Winter.
'That's hard work,' said Halders.
'Interviewing newspaper boys?' said Djanali.
'I've worked as a newspaper boy,' said Halders,
ignoring her.
'Good,' said Winter. 'You can give Bergenhem a hand,
then.'
'I'll take another look at the locations first,' said
Halders.
7
He was at Kapellplatsen, standing on the edge of the
square. The high-rise buildings concealed the sun
that would remain up in the northern sky a bit longer
yet.
Halders turned his head, and felt how stiff it was.
He couldn't swivel his head round any more. The blow
to the vertebrae at the back of his neck had left behind
this physical reminder. He could just about manage to
turn his head to the right; to the left was worse. He'd
had to learn to turn his body instead.
Other memories were worse. He had once run all
the way across this very square with Margareta when
they were very young and very hard up and very happy.
The number seven tram had already set off and he had
stood in the way and nearly been mangled. But it had
stopped. And Margareta had nearly died laughing once
she'd got over the shock. And now she really had died,
not just nearly died – been mangled by a drunk driver,
and it was debatable whether or not he'd got over the
shock, or ever would do. God only knows. They'd
been divorced when it had happened, but that didn't
mean a thing. Their children were still there, as a
reminder of everything that life stood for. That's the
way it was. If there was a meaning at all, that was it.
Magda's face when lit up by the sun at the breakfast
table. The spontaneous joy in the little girl's eyes, which
turned into diamonds in that flash of light. The feeling
inside himself. At that moment. Happiness, just for
one second.
Still, despite everything, he was on the way back to
some kind of normality. The banter that morning had
been a positive sign. He was glad about that. Therapy?
Could be.
He was glad that Aneta had caught on, and played
along.
Perhaps the pair of them were going somewhere together.
No, not perhaps. We are going somewhere together. Very
slowly, very carefully.
He turned round, slowly, carefully. The student had
come up the steps from Karl Gustavsgatan. Maybe he'd
been tired out. Certainly a bit pissed. Beer. Aryan Kaite,
as black as could be, like Aneta; and what a name!
Aryan. Perhaps a plea from his parents, it had struck
Halders when he talked to the lad after he'd come round.
An Aryan black man. Weren't they the first humans?
Africans?
This one was reading medicine.
A horrible wound to the head. Could have killed him.
The same applied to the others. He thought about that
as he stood by the steps looking down at the paving
stones sparkling in the sunlight. All of them could have
been killed, but nobody had died. Why? Was it a coincidence,
a stroke of luck? Was it the intention? Was
that a possibility? Were they meant to survive?
This was where the blow had been
Similar Books
