hungry.’
‘Me too. Then there’s a concert in Vitaberg Park tonight. Eight o’clock.’
Vitaberg Park. Concert. Summer’s evening. Some folksy troubadour, if he wasn’t very much mistaken. Very nice if you were over seventy-five. Billy decided to pretend he hadn’t heard her.
‘We could go and see a film,’ he suggested instead.
‘It’s summer.’
‘That’s not an answer.’
‘It’s nicer to be outdoors.’
‘It’s cooler indoors.’
For a second Maya seemed to be weighing cooler against nicer; eventually she nodded. ‘Okay, but in that case I want to choose the film.’
‘You choose such boring films.’
‘I choose good films.’
‘You choose films that get good reviews. It’s not the same thing.’
She raised her head and looked at him. He had given in last week when Cinematek started its summer season of French new wave films. So this time it had better be spaceships or robots or whatever it was he wanted to see.
She shrugged. ‘Okay, you can choose the film, but in that case I’m picking the restaurant.’
‘Deal.’
‘Go on then, book the ticket with your new little toy.’ She tapped the iPad on his knee.
‘It’s not new and it’s not a toy.’
‘If you say so . . .’
She got up, bent down and kissed him on the mouth before going into his bedroom to get dressed. Billy watched her go with a smile on his face.
She was good for him.
That would do for today.
Thomas Haraldsson switched off the computer. A while ago one of the electricity companies had run an advertising campaign claiming that if everyone switched off their electrical appliances instead of merely leaving them on standby, it would be possible to heat the three largest cities in Sweden with the energy saved. Or maybe it was to do with providing lighting. And it might have been three houses. Three houses in the three largest cities, maybe that was it. No, that sounded a bit complicated. He couldn’t really remember, to tell the truth, but anyway it would save electricity, save resources. That was important; the earth’s resources were not inexhaustible. He had a child on the way. There had to be something left for him. Or her. So he switched off the computer.
He got up, pushed in his chair and was just getting ready to leave when he noticed the file on Edward Hinde, which was still lying on his desk. He stopped. Riksmord were interested, and they would be back. It wouldn’t do any harm to read up on Hinde, but he probably wouldn’t have time tonight. He glanced at the clock. Jenny would have dinner ready at eight. Rigatoni with minced lamb. Some celebrity chef had cooked it on TV, and it had been a regular feature at home ever since. The first time Jenny made it Haraldsson had said he liked it, and he didn’t have the heart to tell the truth now. Jenny had done the necessary shopping after work, but after she got home she had developed a craving for liquorice ice cream, and had asked Haraldsson to call in at Statoil on the way home. Perhaps he would rent a DVD; they would have time to watch a film before it got too late. But in that case he definitely wouldn’t have time to read up on Hinde.
Decisions, decisions.
He looked at the clock again. Forty-five minutes to get home. Fifty-five if he stopped to pick up the ice cream and a film. That gave him half an hour before he needed to set off. It certainly wouldn’t do any harm to have some personal knowledge of Hinde by the next time Riksmord turned up. Reports and psychological assessments were all very well, but after all he did know quite a lot about criminals, and would be able to make a valid contribution. Perhaps he could get Hinde to reveal something in a confidential, private conversation that he wouldn’t be prepared to give away in a standard interview with Riksmord. After all, Haraldsson wouldn’t be there as a police officer, but more as a fellow human being. After one more glance at the clock he decided to make a quick unscheduled visit to
‘Me too. Then there’s a concert in Vitaberg Park tonight. Eight o’clock.’
Vitaberg Park. Concert. Summer’s evening. Some folksy troubadour, if he wasn’t very much mistaken. Very nice if you were over seventy-five. Billy decided to pretend he hadn’t heard her.
‘We could go and see a film,’ he suggested instead.
‘It’s summer.’
‘That’s not an answer.’
‘It’s nicer to be outdoors.’
‘It’s cooler indoors.’
For a second Maya seemed to be weighing cooler against nicer; eventually she nodded. ‘Okay, but in that case I want to choose the film.’
‘You choose such boring films.’
‘I choose good films.’
‘You choose films that get good reviews. It’s not the same thing.’
She raised her head and looked at him. He had given in last week when Cinematek started its summer season of French new wave films. So this time it had better be spaceships or robots or whatever it was he wanted to see.
She shrugged. ‘Okay, you can choose the film, but in that case I’m picking the restaurant.’
‘Deal.’
‘Go on then, book the ticket with your new little toy.’ She tapped the iPad on his knee.
‘It’s not new and it’s not a toy.’
‘If you say so . . .’
She got up, bent down and kissed him on the mouth before going into his bedroom to get dressed. Billy watched her go with a smile on his face.
She was good for him.
That would do for today.
Thomas Haraldsson switched off the computer. A while ago one of the electricity companies had run an advertising campaign claiming that if everyone switched off their electrical appliances instead of merely leaving them on standby, it would be possible to heat the three largest cities in Sweden with the energy saved. Or maybe it was to do with providing lighting. And it might have been three houses. Three houses in the three largest cities, maybe that was it. No, that sounded a bit complicated. He couldn’t really remember, to tell the truth, but anyway it would save electricity, save resources. That was important; the earth’s resources were not inexhaustible. He had a child on the way. There had to be something left for him. Or her. So he switched off the computer.
He got up, pushed in his chair and was just getting ready to leave when he noticed the file on Edward Hinde, which was still lying on his desk. He stopped. Riksmord were interested, and they would be back. It wouldn’t do any harm to read up on Hinde, but he probably wouldn’t have time tonight. He glanced at the clock. Jenny would have dinner ready at eight. Rigatoni with minced lamb. Some celebrity chef had cooked it on TV, and it had been a regular feature at home ever since. The first time Jenny made it Haraldsson had said he liked it, and he didn’t have the heart to tell the truth now. Jenny had done the necessary shopping after work, but after she got home she had developed a craving for liquorice ice cream, and had asked Haraldsson to call in at Statoil on the way home. Perhaps he would rent a DVD; they would have time to watch a film before it got too late. But in that case he definitely wouldn’t have time to read up on Hinde.
Decisions, decisions.
He looked at the clock again. Forty-five minutes to get home. Fifty-five if he stopped to pick up the ice cream and a film. That gave him half an hour before he needed to set off. It certainly wouldn’t do any harm to have some personal knowledge of Hinde by the next time Riksmord turned up. Reports and psychological assessments were all very well, but after all he did know quite a lot about criminals, and would be able to make a valid contribution. Perhaps he could get Hinde to reveal something in a confidential, private conversation that he wouldn’t be prepared to give away in a standard interview with Riksmord. After all, Haraldsson wouldn’t be there as a police officer, but more as a fellow human being. After one more glance at the clock he decided to make a quick unscheduled visit to
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