remember. With the rest of their lives ahead of them. Sometimes I feel like a motherless child, he suddenly thought. Then he thought of Margareta.
He took another swig and looked directly over the patio at his colleague. And friend.
“Shouldn’t you go home now, Aneta?” He could make out her silhouette, but no more. At any other time he’d have joked about it, as he usually did; her black skin was not much of a contrast to the night. Not now.
“I don’t mind staying.”
“I’ll manage.”
“I know that.”
“So, why not go home and rest? You’re on duty tomorrow morning, aren’t you?”
He couldn’t see if she’d nodded.
“Will you have to get up early?” he asked.
“Yes. But I’ve never needed much sleep.”
“Me neither.” He emptied the bottle and put it down on the table. “In that case, we can sit here a little bit longer.”
“Yes.”
She saw that he’d put a hand over his face. She heard a muffled sound. She went and sat on the bench beside him, and she put her arm around him, or as far around as she could. He was shaking ever so slightly.
“I need to work.”
They were still sitting on the bench. It was morning now, a few minutes past three. The light had come back. The shadows in Halders’s face were like bays of a sea, formed in the last few hours. Djanali could hear the shrieks of seagulls. A car passed by on the road behind the hedge. Some small birds flew up out of a bush, perhaps disturbed by the car. She didn’t feel tired. That would come later, that afternoon, in the car patrolling up and down in the heat.
“Do you understand what I mean?” Halders turned to look at her. A blood vessel had burst in his left eye. “It’s not because I want . . . to get away. Not in that sense.” He rubbed his face, under the base of his nose. “But I think it’s best . . . for everybody . . . if I go to work.”
“If you feel up to it, OK.”
“Why shouldn’t I feel up to it?
She shrugged.
“Do you think I don’t understand myself?”
“No.”
“Do you think I’m not taking the children into consideration?”
“Certainly not.”
Halders stroked his face again. He could hear the rasping from his stubble, which now seemed longer and thicker than his crew cut.
“We have to get back to normal just as soon as possible,” he said, looking as if he were seeking support in the far distance. “The important thing is that we all try to get back to normal as soon as we possibly can.”
But first have a breakdown, thought Aneta Djanali. It’s imminent.
Winter was still searching through the two sets of case notes, one thick, the other thin.
He’d asked Bergenhem to read them as well. Lars Bergenhem was a young and talented detective who’d just come back to work after being off sick with severe headaches and listlessness, but Winter knew what was really wrong. Even police officers were affected by depression at times.
I sometimes wonder if I am at risk myself. It could be the heat, or this case that is so difficult to wash off with a dip in the sea after work.
They drove to the park. The air conditioning was on in Winter’s Mercedes. The streets were almost deserted.
“I sometimes come here,” Winter said when they’d walked to the spot. The trees were still. You could hardly see the rock. The area was still cordoned off. Anybody who didn’t look closely might think there was some new gardening project underway, thought Bergenhem. There is a new project, but not of that kind.
He could see children swimming in the pond. The flamingos were standing on one leg, studying the splashing.
“I’ve come here several times over the past few years,” Winter said. He looked around. “Do you understand what I mean?”
“Yes.”
“What do I mean?”
“They always return to the scene of the crime.”
Winter nodded, and watched two young girls walk past, who glanced at him and Bergenhem as they stood in front of the police
He took another swig and looked directly over the patio at his colleague. And friend.
“Shouldn’t you go home now, Aneta?” He could make out her silhouette, but no more. At any other time he’d have joked about it, as he usually did; her black skin was not much of a contrast to the night. Not now.
“I don’t mind staying.”
“I’ll manage.”
“I know that.”
“So, why not go home and rest? You’re on duty tomorrow morning, aren’t you?”
He couldn’t see if she’d nodded.
“Will you have to get up early?” he asked.
“Yes. But I’ve never needed much sleep.”
“Me neither.” He emptied the bottle and put it down on the table. “In that case, we can sit here a little bit longer.”
“Yes.”
She saw that he’d put a hand over his face. She heard a muffled sound. She went and sat on the bench beside him, and she put her arm around him, or as far around as she could. He was shaking ever so slightly.
“I need to work.”
They were still sitting on the bench. It was morning now, a few minutes past three. The light had come back. The shadows in Halders’s face were like bays of a sea, formed in the last few hours. Djanali could hear the shrieks of seagulls. A car passed by on the road behind the hedge. Some small birds flew up out of a bush, perhaps disturbed by the car. She didn’t feel tired. That would come later, that afternoon, in the car patrolling up and down in the heat.
“Do you understand what I mean?” Halders turned to look at her. A blood vessel had burst in his left eye. “It’s not because I want . . . to get away. Not in that sense.” He rubbed his face, under the base of his nose. “But I think it’s best . . . for everybody . . . if I go to work.”
“If you feel up to it, OK.”
“Why shouldn’t I feel up to it?
She shrugged.
“Do you think I don’t understand myself?”
“No.”
“Do you think I’m not taking the children into consideration?”
“Certainly not.”
Halders stroked his face again. He could hear the rasping from his stubble, which now seemed longer and thicker than his crew cut.
“We have to get back to normal just as soon as possible,” he said, looking as if he were seeking support in the far distance. “The important thing is that we all try to get back to normal as soon as we possibly can.”
But first have a breakdown, thought Aneta Djanali. It’s imminent.
Winter was still searching through the two sets of case notes, one thick, the other thin.
He’d asked Bergenhem to read them as well. Lars Bergenhem was a young and talented detective who’d just come back to work after being off sick with severe headaches and listlessness, but Winter knew what was really wrong. Even police officers were affected by depression at times.
I sometimes wonder if I am at risk myself. It could be the heat, or this case that is so difficult to wash off with a dip in the sea after work.
They drove to the park. The air conditioning was on in Winter’s Mercedes. The streets were almost deserted.
“I sometimes come here,” Winter said when they’d walked to the spot. The trees were still. You could hardly see the rock. The area was still cordoned off. Anybody who didn’t look closely might think there was some new gardening project underway, thought Bergenhem. There is a new project, but not of that kind.
He could see children swimming in the pond. The flamingos were standing on one leg, studying the splashing.
“I’ve come here several times over the past few years,” Winter said. He looked around. “Do you understand what I mean?”
“Yes.”
“What do I mean?”
“They always return to the scene of the crime.”
Winter nodded, and watched two young girls walk past, who glanced at him and Bergenhem as they stood in front of the police
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