thing, Martinsson said to herself.
Von Post sighed, and scrutinised his iPhone.
“We’d better get started,” he said. “What did the pathologist have to say? In a nutshell.”
“I don’t have time,” Martinsson said. “I have to go and fetch the dogs.”
But she made no move. Simply stood there.
“He said nothing,” Mella said. “He hadn’t even started.”
Both women crossed their arms. They stood there without moving for a while. Then Martinsson dropped her arms, turned on her heel and left.
Von Post watched her get into her car and drive away. So that’s that, he thought.
One little nigger boy less, he thought.
He found it hard to suppress his smile.
Only one little nigger boy left now. And that bitch Mella had better not get it into her head that she can stir things up.
“I’m not prepared to put up with any crap from you, Mella,” he said. “Either you can tell me what he said, or you’re off this case.”
Mella stared at him in disbelief.
“I mean what I say,” he said, continuing to look her in the eye. “A police officer who doesn’t keep the person in charge of the preliminary investigation informed has serious problems when it comes to cooperation. And I can assure you that if you behave in that way, I shall have you transferred to traffic duties at the drop of a hat. The chief constable of the province is a mate of mine – he rents my summer cottage at Riksgränsen.”
He eyed her with raised eyebrows: how would she react?
“But he didn’t have much to say,” Mella said.
Her cheeks were bright pink.
“She had probably been attacked with a hayfork. She died more or less straight away. There were an astonishing number of stabs. Or blows, or whatever you want to call them.”
“Good,” von Post said, tapping her on the shoulder. “Let’s get going. It’s time for the press conference.”
“Is there always as much snow here as this?”
Fröken Elina Pettersson is gazing out over Kiruna from the elevated driver’s seat. She is alone up there, because the young driver has jumped down from the sleigh and is leading the horses, which are panting and steaming after their exertions.
“No,” he said. “There’s always a lot, I suppose, but we’ve had a snowstorm lasting for three days. And then this morning there was a sudden change, and it’s been fine and warm. That’s a lesson you can learn straight away – you’re in the mountains now. The weather can change at a moment’s notice. Last Midsummer’s Eve we youngsters were at a dance out at Jukkas. It was warm and very pleasant. The leaves had just begun to come out. And at about eight o’clock in the evening it started snowing.”
The memory of it makes him laugh.
The whole town seems to be covered by a feather duvet. All the buildings have long white skirts. The snow has drifted up high against the walls. Young boys are shovelling away on the roofs for all they’re worth. They are naked from the waist up, but they’re wearing heavy winter boots.
“If they don’t do that, the roofs will collapse when the thaw comes,” the young driver said.
The street lights are wearing Cossack hats, the mountain with all the mine shafts is covered in snow and could be any old mountain. The birch branches are sagging down under the weight of the snow,forming fairytale doorways that glisten in the sunlight flowing through them. She is dazzled by the intense light, and finds it hard even to screw up her eyes and peep through the narrow slits. She has heard that one can become snowblind – is this what that means?
“You’re supposed to wait in the school,” the driver said. “Somebody will come and fetch you. I’ll leave all your belongings on the sleigh, and take them down to where you’ll be living later.”
So she sits waiting on her own in the school. It is Sunday, and the place is deserted. Strangely quiet. A thin veil of dust dances upwards in the beams of the sun shining in through the windows.
There
Von Post sighed, and scrutinised his iPhone.
“We’d better get started,” he said. “What did the pathologist have to say? In a nutshell.”
“I don’t have time,” Martinsson said. “I have to go and fetch the dogs.”
But she made no move. Simply stood there.
“He said nothing,” Mella said. “He hadn’t even started.”
Both women crossed their arms. They stood there without moving for a while. Then Martinsson dropped her arms, turned on her heel and left.
Von Post watched her get into her car and drive away. So that’s that, he thought.
One little nigger boy less, he thought.
He found it hard to suppress his smile.
Only one little nigger boy left now. And that bitch Mella had better not get it into her head that she can stir things up.
“I’m not prepared to put up with any crap from you, Mella,” he said. “Either you can tell me what he said, or you’re off this case.”
Mella stared at him in disbelief.
“I mean what I say,” he said, continuing to look her in the eye. “A police officer who doesn’t keep the person in charge of the preliminary investigation informed has serious problems when it comes to cooperation. And I can assure you that if you behave in that way, I shall have you transferred to traffic duties at the drop of a hat. The chief constable of the province is a mate of mine – he rents my summer cottage at Riksgränsen.”
He eyed her with raised eyebrows: how would she react?
“But he didn’t have much to say,” Mella said.
Her cheeks were bright pink.
“She had probably been attacked with a hayfork. She died more or less straight away. There were an astonishing number of stabs. Or blows, or whatever you want to call them.”
“Good,” von Post said, tapping her on the shoulder. “Let’s get going. It’s time for the press conference.”
“Is there always as much snow here as this?”
Fröken Elina Pettersson is gazing out over Kiruna from the elevated driver’s seat. She is alone up there, because the young driver has jumped down from the sleigh and is leading the horses, which are panting and steaming after their exertions.
“No,” he said. “There’s always a lot, I suppose, but we’ve had a snowstorm lasting for three days. And then this morning there was a sudden change, and it’s been fine and warm. That’s a lesson you can learn straight away – you’re in the mountains now. The weather can change at a moment’s notice. Last Midsummer’s Eve we youngsters were at a dance out at Jukkas. It was warm and very pleasant. The leaves had just begun to come out. And at about eight o’clock in the evening it started snowing.”
The memory of it makes him laugh.
The whole town seems to be covered by a feather duvet. All the buildings have long white skirts. The snow has drifted up high against the walls. Young boys are shovelling away on the roofs for all they’re worth. They are naked from the waist up, but they’re wearing heavy winter boots.
“If they don’t do that, the roofs will collapse when the thaw comes,” the young driver said.
The street lights are wearing Cossack hats, the mountain with all the mine shafts is covered in snow and could be any old mountain. The birch branches are sagging down under the weight of the snow,forming fairytale doorways that glisten in the sunlight flowing through them. She is dazzled by the intense light, and finds it hard even to screw up her eyes and peep through the narrow slits. She has heard that one can become snowblind – is this what that means?
“You’re supposed to wait in the school,” the driver said. “Somebody will come and fetch you. I’ll leave all your belongings on the sleigh, and take them down to where you’ll be living later.”
So she sits waiting on her own in the school. It is Sunday, and the place is deserted. Strangely quiet. A thin veil of dust dances upwards in the beams of the sun shining in through the windows.
There
Similar Books
