Åke Edwardson

Sun and Shadow

The first book in the Erik Winter series, 1999

Translation copyright © Laurie Thompson, 2005

GOTHENBURG (GÖTEBORG)

SEPTEMBER

1

It had started raining. Simon Morelius adjusted the radio. No instructions from HQ for five minutes. It was nearly ten, and everything was quiet. Two women crossed the road and one turned to look at the police car and smiled. Greger Bartram raised his hand in greeting.

“Twenty-seven and good-looking,” he said. “And she thinks the same about me.”

“She was smiling at me, not you,” Morelius said.

“She looked me straight in the eye,” Bartram said.

The lights changed and Bartram drove on to the roundabout at Korsvägen.

“Yeah, and found there was nobody home,” Morelius said.

“Ha, ha.”

“She looked you in the eye and found nobody home. Just a middle-aged cop at the wheel of a squad car and then-”

A woman’s voice on the radio. “Nine-one-twenty. Nine-one-twenty come.” A mumbled response from somewhere or other. Then the woman’s voice again. “There’s somebody lying outside Focus at the Liseberg amusement park, drunk or ill, with a crowd of kids standing around.”

They heard the patrol who’d responded to the call.

“Roger. We’re in Prinsgatan and will head for Focus.”

Morelius reached for the microphone:

“Eleven-ten here. We’re closer, we’re in Korsvägen and will deal with it.”

“Okay, eleven-ten.”

The patrol car from the Lorensberg police district left the roundabout and drove up to the shopping center. A group of youths were huddled together in the car park. As the police pulled up, one of them ran over to the door that Bartram had just opened.

“It was me who called,” said a girl who looked no more than sixteen. She was waving her mobile phone as if it might confirm what she’d just said. Her hair was straight and shiny, molded to her head by the rain. Big, scared eyes. She smelled of alcohol and tobacco. Arms flailing. “She’s lying over here. Maria’s lying over here, but she’s better now.”

“I’ll call an ambulance,” Bartram said.

Morelius went with the girl to the group of youngsters. They were gathered in a semicircle around a girl who was slowly getting to her feet. As Morelius came up to her she staggered and he reached out an. arm to grab hold of her. She weighed nothing. She looked like the twin of the girl they’d been talking to, but her eyes were miles away. Certainly nobody at home here, thought Morelius.

She stank of alcohol and vomit. Morelius could feel the sticky mess under his shoes. Be careful not to slip. Seconds later the girl was staring at the police officer, her eyes suddenly focused.

“I want to go home,” she said.

“What have you taken?” Morelius asked.

“No-nothing,” she said. “Just a couple of beers.”

‘A couple of beers, eh?“ Morelius eyed the group of friends. ”What has she got inside her? This is important. If you know, speak up now, and I mean RIGHT NOW, DAMMIT.“ They looked frightened.

“It’s like she said,” a boy in a woolly hat and a tracksuit top piped up. ‘A couple of beers… and some liquor.“

“Liquor? What liquor? Who’s got the bottle?”

They looked at one another.

“THE BOTTLE,” Morelius said.

The boy in the woolly hat put his hand inside his baggy top and produced a bottle. Bartram held it up in the glow from one of the streetlights.

“There’s no label,” he said.

“Er… no.”

“What is it?” asked Bartram, as they all heard the sirens from an approaching ambulance. “What kind of piss is this? Is it moonshine?”

“Yes… I think so,” said the boy. “I bought it off a friend.” He looked as if he were about to burst into tears. “He said it was completely okay.”

“Well, it’s not okay,” Morelius said. “He could feel the girl’s weight increase on his arm. She was about to pass out again. ”Where’s that damn ambulance?“

They were in the ER waiting room. The girl had been taken for treatment. Twenty minutes later a doctor appeared. Morelius could see from his face that she was all right.

A young boy was shuffling nervously in the waiting room. Morelius recognized him. Maybe he’d been one of those outside Focus. How had he got here?

“Alcohol in a young body, well… not a good combination.”

“How is she?”

“Not too bad, under the circumstances. She’ll have to stay here overnight, though.”

“So the stuff she drank was… okay?” Bartram asked.

The doctor gave him an odd look. “You mean the moonshine? Is that ever okay?”

“You know what I mean, for fuck’s sake.”

The doctor eyed him up and down.

“There’s no need to lose your temper,” he said. He stroked his hand over his white coat as if to brush off Bartram’s outburst. “No need at all.”

“I’m sorry” Bartram said. “It’s just that we care about the girl. Some of us police officers are like that.”

“We just want to know if she’s… done any other damage to herself, apart from the usual, whether the stuff was more dangerous than liquor normally is,” Morelius said.

The doctor looked at them doubtfully, as if he thought they were putting him on.

“Everything seems to be normal at the moment,” he said. “But we leave nothing to chance here. Has her family been contacted, by the way?”

“Yes,” Morelius said. “Her mom should be here any moment.”

“Well… in that case,” said the doctor, starting to leave.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Bartram said.

They watched the doctor disappear through the swinging doors.

“Arrogant bastard,” Bartram said.

“He no doubt thinks the same about you.”

Bartram muttered something inaudible and looked at his colleague. It was shortly after eleven and Morelius’s face seemed speckled in the bright light of the waiting room.

“So she’s the vicar’s daughter, is she? Are you sure? Hanne Östergaard, who heals our suffering souls.”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic.” Morelius had the girl’s purse in his hand. He’d examined her ID card. “Maria Ostergaard. An address in Orgryte. Our police chaplain is called Hanne Ostergaard and lives in Orgryte. And she has a daughter called Maria.”

“How do you know all that?”

“Does it matter?”

“No, no.”

“I’m not a hundred percent certain.” A woman hurried in through the door. “Now I’m certain,” said Morelius, and went over to Hanne.

“Where’s Maria?” she asked. “Where is she, Simon?”

“She’s still in the treatment room, or whatever it’s called,” Morelius said. “But everything seems to be all right.”

“All right? Everything seems to be all right?” Hanne looked as if she were close to hysterics. “Is there anybody here who can show me where to go?” A nurse had just come in through the swinging doors and the police officers watched as Hanne half-ran into the corridor leading to the treatment room.

The boy who’d been hovering in the background followed her. He glanced over his shoulder, then disappeared into the corridor.

“You were right, dammit,” Bartram said. “And you’re on first-name terms.”