Lilly’s.
• • •
Winter woke up naked. His first thought was of the white wall that had turned red. He couldn’t see it in the darkness. He was freezing.He heard the sound of something being struck, and wind, and realized that he had fallen asleep with the window open and the wind had come up out there and the window had come loose and now it was striking the window frame with perfect regularity. It sounded like a cry.
He heaved himself up and placed his feet on the sheet, which had ended up on the floor. He looked at the clock. When he had turned out the light a few hours ago, it had been a warm and humid night, early night. He had had trouble falling asleep and had pulled the thin comforter out of the duvet cover. Now the weather had changed, with a wind from the north. From tropical to temperate, or northerly. He shivered again and pulled on his linen pants and walked through the darkness out into the kitchen and took a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge and drank. It was still black night outside the window, toward the courtyard. It had recently been like day at this time, only a few weeks ago. There was always the same surprise. The darkness couldn’t wait. It couldn’t contain itself. Just a few more months and it would be night at three in the afternoon. Welcome to Scandinavia.
He put down the bottle. He remembered the name he had heard in the dream. Ellen. A woman’s voice had shouted it, straight through the wind. Ellen. He had seen Paula but heard Ellen’s name. He hadn’t seen Paula’s face, but it must have been her. She had hidden her hand.
They were connected. Ellen and Paula were connected.
No.
He remembered what he’d said to Bertil the other day, when they were talking about the case of Ellen Börge: There was something there. Something I could have done. Something I could have seen. It was there, in front of me. I should have seen it.
What was it he should have seen? Did it have to do with Paula Ney’s case? Why had he started to think about Ellen Börge when Paula Ney’s death came into his life?
It was the room.
The hotel, he thought. Revy, they have it in common. And the room, and their age, twenty-nine years old.
But I’m not the same.
Winter freed himself from the sink counter; it felt as though he had become fastened to it.
He went into the living room and sat down on the sofa. Everything was still dark.
Where is Ellen?
Was she wearing sunglasses?
No, quit it now, Winter.
What did Paula’s hand mean? What was it for? Did the fingers point anywhere? Were they supposed to understand it? Go in the right direction?
No.
Yes.
No.
6
A much younger Erik Winter stepped in through the door and nodded at the guard behind the glass. The man smiled, as though they shared a secret joke.
Winter looked at the elevator doors. They gleamed with a dull sheen that threw his mirror image back like a silhouette. You could be anyone.
In the elevator he thought: This is like my first trip.
The doors opened into the hall and he walked out. He could see the lawn of Gamla Ullevi, the old stadium, through the window. It was green like in a painting. He walked across the hall and pressed the combination to the tempting corridor inside. It was the first time. He could tell it was a special day. The door didn’t open. He pressed the combination again, but nothing happened. It wasn’t the wrong code, as long as they hadn’t changed it since yesterday afternoon. He pressed it a third time.
“You must be lost, kid.”
He turned around. The man was smiling, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. Winter didn’t recognize him. He was dressed in civilian clothes, like Winter. But “civilian” was a definition with a wide scope. Maybe Winter looked like a snob. The other man definitely looked like a thug. Winter recognized most faces at the police station, but not this one. It wasn’t a pleasant face. It could scare people, and not always in the right way. The chin was square
• • •
Winter woke up naked. His first thought was of the white wall that had turned red. He couldn’t see it in the darkness. He was freezing.He heard the sound of something being struck, and wind, and realized that he had fallen asleep with the window open and the wind had come up out there and the window had come loose and now it was striking the window frame with perfect regularity. It sounded like a cry.
He heaved himself up and placed his feet on the sheet, which had ended up on the floor. He looked at the clock. When he had turned out the light a few hours ago, it had been a warm and humid night, early night. He had had trouble falling asleep and had pulled the thin comforter out of the duvet cover. Now the weather had changed, with a wind from the north. From tropical to temperate, or northerly. He shivered again and pulled on his linen pants and walked through the darkness out into the kitchen and took a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge and drank. It was still black night outside the window, toward the courtyard. It had recently been like day at this time, only a few weeks ago. There was always the same surprise. The darkness couldn’t wait. It couldn’t contain itself. Just a few more months and it would be night at three in the afternoon. Welcome to Scandinavia.
He put down the bottle. He remembered the name he had heard in the dream. Ellen. A woman’s voice had shouted it, straight through the wind. Ellen. He had seen Paula but heard Ellen’s name. He hadn’t seen Paula’s face, but it must have been her. She had hidden her hand.
They were connected. Ellen and Paula were connected.
No.
He remembered what he’d said to Bertil the other day, when they were talking about the case of Ellen Börge: There was something there. Something I could have done. Something I could have seen. It was there, in front of me. I should have seen it.
What was it he should have seen? Did it have to do with Paula Ney’s case? Why had he started to think about Ellen Börge when Paula Ney’s death came into his life?
It was the room.
The hotel, he thought. Revy, they have it in common. And the room, and their age, twenty-nine years old.
But I’m not the same.
Winter freed himself from the sink counter; it felt as though he had become fastened to it.
He went into the living room and sat down on the sofa. Everything was still dark.
Where is Ellen?
Was she wearing sunglasses?
No, quit it now, Winter.
What did Paula’s hand mean? What was it for? Did the fingers point anywhere? Were they supposed to understand it? Go in the right direction?
No.
Yes.
No.
6
A much younger Erik Winter stepped in through the door and nodded at the guard behind the glass. The man smiled, as though they shared a secret joke.
Winter looked at the elevator doors. They gleamed with a dull sheen that threw his mirror image back like a silhouette. You could be anyone.
In the elevator he thought: This is like my first trip.
The doors opened into the hall and he walked out. He could see the lawn of Gamla Ullevi, the old stadium, through the window. It was green like in a painting. He walked across the hall and pressed the combination to the tempting corridor inside. It was the first time. He could tell it was a special day. The door didn’t open. He pressed the combination again, but nothing happened. It wasn’t the wrong code, as long as they hadn’t changed it since yesterday afternoon. He pressed it a third time.
“You must be lost, kid.”
He turned around. The man was smiling, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. Winter didn’t recognize him. He was dressed in civilian clothes, like Winter. But “civilian” was a definition with a wide scope. Maybe Winter looked like a snob. The other man definitely looked like a thug. Winter recognized most faces at the police station, but not this one. It wasn’t a pleasant face. It could scare people, and not always in the right way. The chin was square
Similar Books
