Room No. 10 (47 page)

“How’s it going, Jonas?”

The boy didn’t answer. His face was no longer that of a man, and it probably never would be. Too much had happened in the past.

“Tell me,” said Winter.

The boy looked up.

“What am I supposed to tell you?”

“The grove of trees. Why did you go out there?”

“I told you, I don’t know.”

“What were you thinking when you went there?”

“Nothing.”

“What made you get on the streetcar?”

“I . . . don’t know.”

“Who are you afraid of, Jonas?”

He didn’t answer. It was like he suddenly couldn’t hear.

“Tell me, Jonas.”

“I . . . that’s what I’m doing.”

“Did you talk to anyone before you went out to the grove?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Did you talk to anyone before you left?”

“No.”

“Your mom? Weren’t you going out there? To see her?”

“No. Not to see her. I didn’t go there.”

“Were you planning on going to her place after?”

“After? After what?”

“When you’d been to the grove?”

“No, no. I wasn’t thinking of anything.”

“You were thinking of Paula,” Winter said.

“Yes. Paula. Yes.”

“Why did you think she was buried there?”

The boy didn’t answer. Winter could tell that he was thinking about what he was going to say. But he had said all along that he knew. Something drew him there. Or someone. It hadn’t let him go.

“It was like that . . . hand I saw once,” Sandler said, looking up again. He didn’t search for Winter’s eyes. He looked at the window behind Winter, the storm, the wind, the rain. Freedom, maybe. No. He seemed to be looking for that in here. Or for protection.

“I really thought she was there this time,” the boy continued. “That Paula was there.” He rubbed his eyes. “I can’t explain it.”

“Someone was there,” said Winter.

“What?” Now Sandler sought Winter’s eyes. “What did you say?”

“There was someone under the ground, Jonas. Did you know that?”

“What? I don’t understand . . .”

“Did you know that there was someone in that grave, Jonas? When you went out there?”

“Grave? It was a grave?”

“There was a woman buried there, Jonas. Where you started to dig. About a foot down in the dirt.”

“Pa-Paula? Was it Paula?”

“No, not Paula,” Winter answered.

“Who was it, then?”

Winter didn’t answer.

“Who was it?” the boy asked again.

“Her mother.”

•   •   •

Winter and Ringmar were sitting in Winter’s office. Winter had a slight headache that might get worse. He had taken ibuprofen and was waiting for it to take effect.

Ringmar blew his nose loudly.

“I hope that isn’t contagious.”

“It’s too late for that,” said Ringmar.

Winter felt the wind through the window, which was open a few centimeters out onto the park. He had opened it as soon as they’d come into the office.

“The boy must have seen someone there in the grove,” said Ringmar. “Or outside it.”

“Why doesn’t he say so, then?”

“We haven’t asked him often enough,” said Ringmar.

“You’re welcome to go in there and continue,” Winter said.

“I don’t think it’ll help right now, Erik.”

“Why not?”

“He’s in some sort of shock.”

“It’s almost like I am, too,” said Winter.

“What’s actually up with this list from Revy?” Ringmar said, grabbing the paper that was on Winter’s desk.

“Well, the name Christer Börge isn’t on it, anyway.”

“What was his name, your desk clerk? Saldo? Salko? In any case, didn’t he say that it wasn’t complete?”

Winter didn’t answer.

“And Börge hasn’t gotten the question from us, has he?” Ringmar said. “Whether he worked there?”

“No, he has,” Winter said. “I remember it. Not whether he worked
there, but when I met him in connection with Ellen going missing, he said he’d never heard of the place. Of Revy.”

“Really,” Ringmar said.

“Why say something like that?” said Winter.

“He probably didn’t want you to know.”

“But he knew we could check.”

“And we have checked,” Ringmar said, waving the list, which he was still holding in his hand. “But it hasn’t helped, has it?”

“What a fucking mess,” Winter said, getting up and walking over to the window in order to close it.

“Have you talked to that desk clerk since all of this?” Ringmar asked. “What was his name?”

“Salko, Richard Salko. No, I haven’t talked to him. He’s not answering at home.”

“The hotel, then?”

“The hotel closed. For good, thank God.”

The phone on Winter’s desk jangled. Ringmar stretched out his hand and picked it up. Winter was over by the window.

“Yes? Yes, hi. No, this is Bertil. Oh? Really? Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. Oh, shit. Yes. Yes. Okay, bye.”

In the black mirror of his computer monitor, Winter could see Ringmar bang the receiver on the desk.

“That was Öberg,” said Ringmar.

“Well? Well?” Winter felt the draft from the window. It felt like he’d opened it up wide. “What did he say?”

“They’ve found a little saliva on the rope,” Ringmar said. “The rope that hanged Ellen Börge.”

“Well?”

“It’s a woman’s.”

“What?”

“Elisabeth Ney’s.”

“Elisabeth Ney’s?” Winter repeated. He felt the familiar shiver on the back of his head. “Elisabeth Ney’s?”

“Yes sir. That’s all they’ve found.”

“But . . .”

“As long as she hasn’t returned from the dead to carry out her deed, she’s come into contact with that rope before,” said Ringmar.

Three ropes, Winter thought. Identical ropes, blue, creased. Good instruments for murder. Nothing stuck. Except for something that Elisabeth Ney left behind.

Winter had placed the ropes beside one another, but it had mostly felt like a symbolic act. He understood neither the symbolism nor the act.

“I don’t think there were meant to be any traces on that rope,” said Ringmar.

“Especially not from the Ney family,” said Winter.

•   •   •

Mario Ney looked up when Winter stepped into the room. Ney got up slowly. He suddenly looked smaller than before, shorter. It was something about his shoulders. His back had usually been straight, but it wasn’t anymore. He was standing bent over himself, as though there was a great pain emanating from his stomach.

Maybe he’s prepared, Winter thought.

“What happened?” Ney asked.

“Why do you ask, Mario?”

“You look like something has happened.”

“And how does that look?”

“Like you, right now.”

“Please sit down,” Winter said, preparing himself for questioning.

•   •   •

“I have nothing more to say,” Ney said a few minutes into the interview.

“You haven’t told me anything yet,” said Winter.

“I’ve told you everything I know.”

“Tell me about the apartment on Hisingen.”

“I have nothing more to say about it.”

“Why did you rent it?”

“I’ve told you that. Do I have to repeat everything?”

“Did you live there yourself?”

“Never.”

“Did you live somewhere else in the area?”

“Why would I have done that?”

Winter didn’t say anything. Ney wasn’t waiting for an answer. He seemed to be studying something in the distance, beyond the walls.

Suddenly he stared Winter in the eyes.

“While we’re sitting in here, a murderer is walking around loose out there,” Ney said.

H
alders stroked his scalp. It looked newly shaven. Winter could see the ceiling lights gleaming on Halders’s bald head, as though he’d polished his skull.

“What does Molina say?” Halders said.

“He asked me if there’s really reasonable suspicion,” Winter answered.

“Well, is there?”

“I can usually get a reading on parts of the interrogation, but Ney is something of a mystery,” Winter said.

“Maybe that means something,” said Halders.

“The traces of his wife on the rope ought to count as a reason to detain him,” Bergenhem said. He had come into the room just after the others.

“Molina won’t detain him,” Winter said. “We have to have more to give him.”

“Like what?”

Winter didn’t answer.

“As far as we know, Mario Ney has never been in the vicinity of that rope. Any of the ropes,” said Ringmar.

“What has he been in the vicinity of, then?” Djanali asked.

Winter turned to her.

“What did you say?”

She repeated her question.

“He’s been in the vicinity of Paula’s apartment,” Winter said.

“Does he still have a key?” Halders asked.

Ringmar nodded.

“Has he been in the vicinity of Hotel Revy?” Halders asked.

“Have you talked to the desk clerk yet, Erik?” asked Ringmar.

Winter didn’t seem to be listening.

“Erik? Do you hear me?”

“Uh . . . what?”

“Have you talked to the desk clerk? Salko? At Revy?”

“No. I still haven’t gotten hold of him.”

“Has Ney been in the vicinity of that neighborhood on Hisingen?” Djanali asked.

“Are we finished with the door-to-door?” Halders asked.

“There’s only one name we haven’t caught yet,” Ringmar said, picking up the paper that was on the conference table.

“What one is that?” Halders asked.

“Metzer. Anton Metzer.”

•   •   •

The horizon was red and gray out over the sea. It was a mixture of colors that happened only in November. Winter could see the sky over the horizon, a hint of what was behind it, like blue smoke. Very soon, he would see what was hiding up there, in a country far south. At the moment, it felt unreal, like another life.

Halders cruised between the houses and parked in front of the door.

The police-line tape blew in the wind that whirled around the grove of trees. There were no people out in the yard; no children were playing on the playground. The wind was strong, as though the buildings were on a beach.

Winter rang the doorbell. The sound whirled around inside as the wind was doing outside, but with a more muted sound. Winter pressed the button again.

“He’s been gone for a long time,” Halders said.

Winter opened the mail slot with two fingers.

He could see only part of the doormat. There was a pile of newspapers on it. He could see white envelopes, brown envelopes. Halders could see, too.

“The guy didn’t stop his mail before he left,” he said.

“Maybe he didn’t have the chance to,” Winter said.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Halders said.

“Wasn’t there a property office at the end of the yard?” Winter said.

•   •   •

The caretaker opened the door without Winter having to call the prosecutor. Everyone in the area was shaken up after the discovery in the grove. The discovery. Winter still hadn’t asked Jonas Sandler about the skeleton of the dog in the grave. He hadn’t told the boy about it. He wanted to wait, but he wasn’t sure why. Maybe the boy knew.

The caretaker stepped aside. He was a man in his thirties. He had a clean uniform and an innocent face. We’ll let him hold on to that for a bit longer, Winter thought. He thanked the man and waited until he reluctantly went down the stairs and disappeared from sight.

Halders stared into the dim apartment. A faint light was coming from somewhere at the end of the hall. They had both been in there, separately. For Halders, it was a long time ago. Winter had been standing outside that time. Halders had gone in. Winter never saw Metzer; that came much later. It felt like yesterday. Metzer had a unique look. When he’d sat across from Winter on his sofa, Winter had seen the line—or rather, scar—on his face; it went from one temple down over his cheek. It looked like a scar from a sword. Perhaps Metzer was German nobility, Winter had thought.

I became concerned, Metzer had said to Winter. That was why I called the police.

But this time he hadn’t called the police.

They had walked carefully through the hall and into the living room. That was where the light was coming from. They had their weapons out.

They had smelled the odor even outside. It wasn’t strong, but it was enough.

The light from the yard outside shone over the body that lay stretched out on the couch. They didn’t see any blood anywhere. In another situation, they might have been looking at someone who was asleep.

Winter heard a clock ticking in there. He hadn’t heard it the last time he was here. But now it was no longer needed.

Metzer could have died in his sleep. He could have died from a sudden illness.

He could have died at someone else’s hand.

Halders was already leaning over the body. He had a handkerchief over his mouth.

“It’s not a pretty sight,” he said in a voice that sounded like it came from inside a tunnel.

“Do you recognize him?” Winter asked.

“No, but it’s been a few years.” Halders looked up. “And this latest development doesn’t help.”

“It’s Metzer,” said Winter.

“Yes, you were here recently.”

“That scar is still there,” Winter said.

“You mean the marks on his neck? They look a little suspicious to me.”

“No, I mean the scar.”

“Sorry?”

“The scar,” Winter repeated, pointing at Metzer’s scar, which was visible as a white line from temple to throat. It was more sharply outlined in death than it had been in life.

“He didn’t have a scar,” Halders said. “He didn’t have a scar when I was here.”

Halders looked at the body again, studied the face. He approached it, backed up quickly, looked up with a bewildered expression.

“Fuck, that’s not Metzer,” he said, looking up.

“What do you mean, Fredrik?”

“I’m just saying, that’s not the Metzer I talked to.”

•   •   •

It was a different medical examiner. Winter had never met him. He was older than Fröberg, much older. He looked like he was about the same age as Metzer, but his face was a natural color. His name was Sverker Berlinger. Must be an old, retired character who had to step in, Winter thought. He looks like he’s seen this all before.