window. Out there, Ewert. In the real world. It’s a different time.”
“You don’t understand. You’re so young, Hermansson. Memories. The only thing that’s left when you’ve lived.”
She shook her head.
“You’re right. I don’t understand. I don’t think it has to be like that. But you’re a good dancer.”
Grens nearly laughed. And that didn’t happen often.
“I used to dance quite a bit. Before.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Twenty-five years. At least.”
“Twenty-five years?”
“You can see how I look. With a limp and a neck that won’t move.”
They sat in silence for a while. Until Ewert leaned forward and pulled the telephone toward him.
“Do you mind waiting outside? Until the others come. There’s a phone call I have to make.”
She left the room and closed the door behind her. Grens dialed the number to the nursing home, asked to speak to the matron. He explained that he was going to take Anni on a boat trip and that he’d like one of the staff to go with them. The young woman, Susann, the one who was studying to become a doctor. He knew that she did extra shifts and so insisted on paying her himself, because it was important that it was her, and only her. Some protest, but he got what he wanted, and he was a happy man when he opened the door again and let in the three people who were standing waiting in the corridor by the coffee machine.
Sven was drinking some with that artificial milk substitute, Hermansson had something that looked like tea, Ågestam’s smelled like hot chocolate. Grens asked them to sit down and then went out to get himself a cup of black coffee, nothing else.
He drank half of it, felt the warmth moving around his body.
“Schwarz.”
He looked at them, they no doubt felt the same. Who could be bothered with this?
“Klövje has sent out an Interpol blue notice to search for the bastard. Every English-speaking country now has everything we have on him. If he’s in any of the criminal records, we’ll know about it in a few hours.”
They were all sitting on the old sofa, the one he usually slept on. All in a row, Hermansson in the middle with Sven and Ågestam on either side.
“Have you got anything to say?”
Hermansson blew on her tea before speaking.
“There are twenty-two people called John Schwarz in Canada. I asked the official at the embassy in Tegelbacken to check them all, the same guy who helped us yesterday.”
“And?”
“None of them matches the man who is now sitting locked up in Kronoberg detention center.”
Ågestam had hot chocolate on his upper lip.
“We don’t know who he is. Or where he comes from. What we do know, on the other hand, is that he’s capable of kicking someone in the face, and yet is terrified of us connecting the dots. Yesterday in court it was horrible—he lay down on the floor shaking when it was announced that he’d continue to be held in custody. I’ve never experienced anything like it.”
Ewert Grens snorted.
“I don’t fucking doubt it. Chocolate on your face, like a child. What exactly have you experienced?”
Lars Ågestam stood up and strode around the room on his skinny legs, hand through his hair several times to check that his fringe was in the right place, as always when he was agitated.
“I have not experienced ongoing investigations being put to one side to prioritize a comparatively insignificant one. I have not experienced an investigating officer attempting to influence the prosecutor’s choice of crime designation.”
He ran his hand through his hair again.
“Grens, are your priorities being guided by personal issues in this case?”
Ewert Grens slammed his hand down hard on one of two desk drawers that were open.
“You can bet your ass they are! And if you knew as much as I do about extreme violence to the head, you might give it the same priority, my friend.”
As he spoke, he grabbed hold of the open drawer, pulled himself toward it to gather momentum, and
“You don’t understand. You’re so young, Hermansson. Memories. The only thing that’s left when you’ve lived.”
She shook her head.
“You’re right. I don’t understand. I don’t think it has to be like that. But you’re a good dancer.”
Grens nearly laughed. And that didn’t happen often.
“I used to dance quite a bit. Before.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Twenty-five years. At least.”
“Twenty-five years?”
“You can see how I look. With a limp and a neck that won’t move.”
They sat in silence for a while. Until Ewert leaned forward and pulled the telephone toward him.
“Do you mind waiting outside? Until the others come. There’s a phone call I have to make.”
She left the room and closed the door behind her. Grens dialed the number to the nursing home, asked to speak to the matron. He explained that he was going to take Anni on a boat trip and that he’d like one of the staff to go with them. The young woman, Susann, the one who was studying to become a doctor. He knew that she did extra shifts and so insisted on paying her himself, because it was important that it was her, and only her. Some protest, but he got what he wanted, and he was a happy man when he opened the door again and let in the three people who were standing waiting in the corridor by the coffee machine.
Sven was drinking some with that artificial milk substitute, Hermansson had something that looked like tea, Ågestam’s smelled like hot chocolate. Grens asked them to sit down and then went out to get himself a cup of black coffee, nothing else.
He drank half of it, felt the warmth moving around his body.
“Schwarz.”
He looked at them, they no doubt felt the same. Who could be bothered with this?
“Klövje has sent out an Interpol blue notice to search for the bastard. Every English-speaking country now has everything we have on him. If he’s in any of the criminal records, we’ll know about it in a few hours.”
They were all sitting on the old sofa, the one he usually slept on. All in a row, Hermansson in the middle with Sven and Ågestam on either side.
“Have you got anything to say?”
Hermansson blew on her tea before speaking.
“There are twenty-two people called John Schwarz in Canada. I asked the official at the embassy in Tegelbacken to check them all, the same guy who helped us yesterday.”
“And?”
“None of them matches the man who is now sitting locked up in Kronoberg detention center.”
Ågestam had hot chocolate on his upper lip.
“We don’t know who he is. Or where he comes from. What we do know, on the other hand, is that he’s capable of kicking someone in the face, and yet is terrified of us connecting the dots. Yesterday in court it was horrible—he lay down on the floor shaking when it was announced that he’d continue to be held in custody. I’ve never experienced anything like it.”
Ewert Grens snorted.
“I don’t fucking doubt it. Chocolate on your face, like a child. What exactly have you experienced?”
Lars Ågestam stood up and strode around the room on his skinny legs, hand through his hair several times to check that his fringe was in the right place, as always when he was agitated.
“I have not experienced ongoing investigations being put to one side to prioritize a comparatively insignificant one. I have not experienced an investigating officer attempting to influence the prosecutor’s choice of crime designation.”
He ran his hand through his hair again.
“Grens, are your priorities being guided by personal issues in this case?”
Ewert Grens slammed his hand down hard on one of two desk drawers that were open.
“You can bet your ass they are! And if you knew as much as I do about extreme violence to the head, you might give it the same priority, my friend.”
As he spoke, he grabbed hold of the open drawer, pulled himself toward it to gather momentum, and
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