Room No. 10 (51 page)

Winter had seen Paula’s suitcase to the right of the large stain up there. He hadn’t opened it.

His cell phone rang while he was still standing with his face turned up toward the black sky. He was surprised that he could hear it ringing over the roar of the wind.

“Yes?”
he shouted into the handset as he backed into the front door for shelter.

He heard a voice but no words.

“I can’t hear you,”
he shouted.

Suddenly he heard, in the middle of a sentence. The line became clear, as though it had ended up in some part of the eye of the storm.

“Say that again.”

“It wasn’t to scare her!”

“Jonas!”

He got no answer.

“Where are you?”

“I’m . . .”

The words disappeared out into the night again. Or the morning. The morning was coming closer now. Maybe there would be light on this day, too.

“Listen to me, Jonas! Can you hear me?”

Winter heard mumbling, but he didn’t know whether Jonas could hear him. They were like two people standing there talking to themselves on the same telephone line.

Suddenly he heard Sandler’s voice, strong and clear:

“I wanted to warn her about him! About Börge! I tried to do it before! I wasn’t brave enough.”

“I’m standing outside his house,” Winter said. “I was in there.”

The storm took off with their conversation again. Winter thought he heard the name Börge mentioned again, but he wasn’t sure. The voice became weaker, as though the person on the other end were being lifted by the storm and swept away. Winter himself could feel it tearing at his clothes. For a few seconds, it felt as though he would lose his balance.

“Jonas?” he shouted.
“Jonas?”

No answer now.

What should he say? Could Sandler hear him? Did he understand that he was in danger? Should he ask him to stay where he was? But Winter didn’t know where he was. It sounded like he was outside. That was dangerous. But it might also be dangerous for him to be inside. The phone beeped in Winter’s ear. The call had definitely been dropped. Winter stared at his car. It was still withstanding the wind. He turned around and saw the black windows of Börge’s apartment. Perhaps he could see the light that was still on in the innermost room, but only because he knew it was there. He thought of his conversation with Sandler. It had been cut off, just like his conversation with Richard Salko. Salko had never tried to get hold of him unless it was important, life or death. Winter knew that. He kept the phone in his hand and dialed Salko’s home number. No one answered this time, either.

There was one place Salko could be. It was the only place Winter could think of now. It was the place where it all began.

•   •   •

Hotel Revy looked as if it were swaying in the wind. The narrow streets in the neighborhood around the building seemed to have disappeared. But they were there; Winter had driven on one of them
until he couldn’t get any farther because of two downed birch trees. There were more trees in this city than anyone had realized. Downtown looked like a jungle, like a sudden northern wilderness. That couldn’t be on purpose.

He stood on the stairs that led up to the closed, dark hotel. The sign was still there; in the storm it looked even more like a giant spider on its way up the wall. The early dawn colored the sky behind the cracked facade with black and with a dull shade of red that began to rise up out of nowhere. Winter could see the window that belonged to room number ten. He walked up the stairs and pressed down on the large brass door handle. It swung open without a sound. Winter illuminated the lock with the flashlight he’d taken out of the glove compartment of his Mercedes. He didn’t see any damage to the lock. But the brass was just as ancient as everything else belonging to the hotel, and its even surface could just as easily be made up of ten thousand scrape marks.

The lobby was cold and raw. It felt colder in there than it did outside. When the heat had been turned off, the cold must have come creeping in, as though it finally had the chance to take over.

The stairs creaked with every step he took. The thick walls kept out most of the noise from the storm.

“Hello?” he called.
“Hello?”

He stopped on the stair second to the top and listened.

It was quiet in there, as though the silence had taken over for good, like the cold.

“Salko? Are you here?”

He stood up there in the hall and let his flashlight light up all the corners it could reach.

The corridor that led to room number ten was to his right. Winter turned his head and saw the farthest door. He aimed his flashlight in that direction, but the beam of light didn’t quite reach it.

As he walked closer, he saw that the door was half-open. The light from outside seemed to be wavering back and forth in there, like the beam of his flashlight had just done. Back and forth. He took a few more steps.

He saw the body swinging in the fiery glow.

He saw a back, a neck. The rope. It was black now, but he knew what color it would be in daylight. The body swung slowly toward him. Winter was two steps from the room. He suddenly heard a cell phone ringing; it must be his. He felt the vibrations across his chest, but they could just as easily have come from his heart.

He stepped over the threshold and saw the shadow of the blow before it hit him across the throat.

•   •   •

Djanali heard the ringing from deep within a dream that she would forget when she woke.

She woke up and reached across Halders, who always slept the sleep of the innocent, for the phone. It normally took more than a telephone to wake him up. The room was completely black; it was night. She fumbled for the receiver for a few seconds.

“Yes, hello? This is Aneta.”

“I’m sorry I’m calling so late . . . or early . . . this is Angela . . . Angela Hoffman. Erik Winter’s partn—”

“Angela,” Djanali interrupted her. She had heard the deep concern in Angela’s voice. “What’s going on?”

“I . . . don’t know. Erik took off . . . tonight. He was just going to check something, he said. And then he called. And . . . and he hasn’t called again since.”

“When did he last call?”

“It was probably . . . about an hour ago. Maybe a bit less. I tried to reach him a little while ago, but he didn’t answer his phone.”

“Where was he calling from?” Djanali asked.

“Vasagatan. It’s right nearby. I’m so worried. I didn’t know what I—”

“What was he going to do?” Djanali interrupted her.

She heard Halders sit up in bed behind her.

“What was he going to do there?” she repeated.

Halders leaned close to her so he could hear.

“He said he was on his way to . . . that . . . Börge guy’s place,” Angela said. “Christer Börge.”

“I’ll go,” Halders said, flying out of bed. “I’ll call people in.” He reached for the cell phone on the bedside table.

“What a fucking idiot,” he mumbled as he pulled on his pants.

•   •   •

Something scraped against Winter’s cheek, but he hoped it was just part of a dream. I don’t want to wake up from this dream, he thought.

He woke up. He didn’t know what he had dreamed, or whether he had already been awake.

He was lying in a semiprone position. He tried to move his arms, but they were tied behind his back. His feet were tied together tightly.

He felt a horrible pain across his throat, and now he could hear that he was breathing as though his windpipe had been broken in two.

A pair of feet came toward him across the floor. That was his perspective, the floor. A pair of shoes stopped right next to his face. Winter recognized the brand.

His face was lifted up. It was difficult to fix his gaze.

“You finally came, after all,” said Börge.

Winter could see Börge’s face. It was a face he’d never forgotten, and which he would remember as long as he lived. It might be the last thing he would see. Yes. No. Yes. That depended on what Börge had to say. How long he would take. I’ve got the car two blocks from here. Soon everyone will be here.

“I don’t have much to say,” Börge said, smiling. “I’m not much for explaining.”

Winter opened his mouth and tried to say what he’d planned to say, but no sound came out. He could hear the hiss through his throat, but it had been there long before he’d opened his mouth.

“I think your voice has had a shock,” Börge said, standing up. He
grabbed Winter’s collar and started to pull him up, against the wall. It felt as though Winter’s throat were breaking in two again.

The back of his neck was at a strange angle against the wall. His tendons were already starting to ache.

“But I can say this much: I didn’t like it that she left me,” Börge said.

He was still standing in the spot where he had stood up.

“Didn’t like it at all.” Börge appeared to lean forward. “I saw her, you know. Actually, I’ve seen her several times, but right now I mean that time, at the station.” Börge gestured with his hand, as though he was pointing in the direction of the station. It wasn’t far away. Nothing is far from here, Winter thought. You can almost reach out your hand and touch everything. But he couldn’t move his hand.

“She was going to help the girl leave,” Börge continued. “They were both going to leave.” He nodded twice. “She was going to leave again.” He nodded again. “But it was too late for that this time. I couldn’t let them do that. Not this time. Not for good.”

Börge crouched down, but he was still several meters from Winter.

“Well, of course you saw her, too. Or the traces of her, you could say. I presume you’ve been to my place.” He smiled again. It was a smile Winter had seen only a few times during his career. “She . . . well, she was sorry. But it was a bit late by then.” Börge gestured with his arm, some sort of circling motion. “And now they’ve left us, all of them. There you go. Call it revenge, call it whatever you want. She did bad things. It’s bad to do bad things. She lied. She did much worse things.” His eyes suddenly became small.

“They all lied! And who thought of me, huh? Who out of
all
of them thought of me?” Börge shifted position but remained crouching. “They didn’t deserve to be able to keep lying. I wanted them to beg for forgiveness for what they did to me. And in the end, they did. They all begged me for forgiveness. Maybe then they weren’t guilty anymore. Maybe the white paint helped them with that, too. And led you here at the same time.” He changed position again. “But I don’t care anymore, and I don’t think you do either, right now, do you?”

He smiled again. Winter tried to move his head, but it was stuck where Börge had placed it. He felt as though his throat were about to burst, as though he were being strangled.

They didn’t beg you for forgiveness, he thought. Paula didn’t beg you for forgiveness, you bastard. She begged for some kind of hope that you couldn’t give her. She begged for all the lies to disappear.

“And of course you’re going to follow them, Erik Winter. You’re going to go away, too, like they did. Call it . . . logic. It will be a one-way trip this time.”

Börge got up again and took a few steps closer to Winter.

“Are you uncomfortable? Shall I help you?” He leaned over him and tried to drag his upper body up again, pressing Winter’s head to the side at the same time. “Is that better?”

I have to say something, Winter thought. I have to try to say something.

He saw Salko’s hanging figure. It was still now. Börge must have set it in motion before Winter stepped in.

Börge followed his gaze.

“You’re wondering about that old bellhop?” He looked down at Winter again. “There’s nothing to wonder about. He just got scared. He knew a thing or two, and apparently he didn’t tell you. Maybe he should have. Maybe he tried, what do I know? But he wanted to see me, and this was the best place, wasn’t it? There’s peace and quiet here.” Börge turned his head again and looked up at Salko. “He wanted some money, but I had no desire to give him any. He thought I had something for him, but it wasn’t what he thought it was.”

Börge looked down at Winter again. “That’s actually how it started. Salko wanted something. You could say that he put something in motion. Maybe you’re wondering why it took so long for me to . . . react. Well . . .” Börge shrugged. “It was like the old joker out on Hisingen, Metzer. You’ve met him, too. Maybe he didn’t want money, but he didn’t want to keep his mouth shut either. He didn’t
think it was fun anymore. It was like he only wanted to have fun.” Börge’s eyes became small again. His voice became that of another. “But everything isn’t fun, is it? And when it’s not fun, maybe a person should think carefully. Not threaten to rush off and talk to just anyone. He wanted to talk to you, for example. About me! He threatened to do it.”

Börge’s eyes became larger, and they seemed to turn to another direction, another time. “And in one way he already had. Do you remember the Martinsson couple?” Börge smiled. “Of course you remember them! You and your colleague went out to that place on Hisingen when someone called about a fight.” Börge smiled again. “It was Metzer who called, but you know that. And I was the one who was fighting! Although it wasn’t really me. I was only in that apartment because it was close to Ellen’s. I had gotten to know the Martinssons. But that idiot Martinsson thought I was interested in his ugly wife.” Börge wasn’t smiling now. He looked wronged, misunderstood. “How could he think that? How could he think I was interested in anyone but Ellen? She lived out there then, Ellen and her fucking bastard child. I kept an eye on them. It was my right. Martinsson didn’t get that. Not just anyone would get that.” He nodded at Winter. “People like you, for example. Just anyone. You are just anyone, aren’t you?”

Börge smiled. He looked as though he was going to say something else, but his gaze moved away from Winter’s face.

“But that’s enough talking,” he said after a few seconds.

I have to say something, Winter thought. It’s life or death.

Abruptly Börge walked over to a plastic bag that was behind the door. Winter could see it out of the corner of his right eye. Börge bent over the bag and stuck in one arm. He suddenly looked up.