54

Winter was reading the transcripts of the interviews with the film extras. They all had different motives for their exhibitionism. None seemed more interesting than any other. He was short a few.

Five of the addresses were in Mölndal. Three were within reasonable walking distance of Krokens Livs, which was a starting point for a line of thought.

He phoned Möllerström.

“Have you spoken to Bertil about the addresses in Mölndal?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t track him down at the moment. Do you know if anybody’s been there?”

“Hasn’t he mentioned it to you?”

“Mentioned what?”

“Two didn’t answer.”

“The first attempt?”

“Twice at one of the addresses.”

“I have them here,” Winter said, scanning them from the bottom up. “We’ll call around later tonight.”

“Perhaps they’ll be filming until late,” Möllerström said.

“I don’t know.”

“I suppose you know they’ll be finished next week, if they stick to the schedule?”

“So I heard.”

He concluded the call, glanced at his watch, then phoned home. No reply. He looked again at his watch.

Ringmar called just after he’d put the phone down.

“The boy seems to be a bit better.”

“Who’s that?”

“Patrik. The boy in the hospital.”

“Ah, yes.” His father had been released and was drifting around Skanstorget. That case was crawling along at a snail’s pace. Winter had driven past the apartment, thought about going in. “I’m pleased to hear it. I must have a word with him, if possible.”

“They rang a few minutes ago. Said you were on the phone.”

“What did they want?”

“He wanted to speak to you.”

Winter arranged a car to take him to the Sahlgren Hospital. He was spending more and more time there. He phoned home again on his mobile, but there was no reply and he left a brief message on the answering machine.

Patrik’s face was the same color as his surroundings. A chameleon. His eyes were black, sunken.

“I dreamed that I recognized him,” Patrik said.

“Recognized him? The man who went down in the elevator?”

“There was something about his face when he turned round.” Patrik looked up at Winter, then at something to the side of him. “If I saw him again, I’d recognize him.” Patrik closed his eyes and mumbled something.

“What did you say?” Winter asked.

The boy mumbled again.

“Patrik?” Winter bent down even closer, but couldn’t distinguish any words.

Winter phoned home again from outside the ward, but there was still no answer. He made his way to where Angela worked, but they said she’d left hours ago.

He requested a car to take him home.

The apartment was empty and silent. It was clear that she’d not been home. There were always things lying around if she’d come in before going off to do some shopping, or to take a walk. He took the elevator down to the basement garage, but the car wasn’t there.

He went out into the street and looked around. The Mercedes was on the other side of the street, one of three in a row. He walked quickly over to it and saw the parking ticket fixed to the windshield. He opened the envelope. Two hours ago. The ticket had been issued two hours ago. He checked his watch again. It was ages since she’d left work. Why had she driven here so late and left the car in the street instead of in the garage? Was she scared of going down there?

Bergenhem had stopped being her bodyguard without Angela ever having noticed him. He was now involved in the investigation again. Winter and Angela had looked at each other and laughed, perhaps shrugged at the thought of worrying about it. Over the top. So much was going on now.

One of the cars from Lorensberg checked up on her now and again, but that was more or less it. Waited outside sometimes when she finished work, but not every day.

He took the elevator back up. Didn’t know what to do next. He could feel something in his stomach, rising up like lava.

He phoned his sister. Lotta answered after the second ring.

“Is Angela with you?” Winter asked.

“No… why are you…”

“She’s not here, and her car has been in the street with a parking ‘ticket for a couple of hours.”

“Have you phoned the hospital?”

“I’ve even been there.”

Bartram kicked off his shoes and went in to his computer, which was glowing like a face looking forward to his arrival.

Only a couple of minutes, and he was in there. He explored, checked. Printed out. Spread the pages out on his kitchen table, then went to the kitchen to get some water. He wasn’t hungry. He hadn’t washed up for several days, but nobody would complain. Who will complain if I don’t? he asked himself.

He was back. The screen lit up the room softly, combined with the desk lamp that was pointed downward.

He used his finger to follow the column down.

He had his notebook at hand. It was the same one as then, shabbier now, but in decent condition even so. He was a man of few words. Concentration. Concentrate.

Coincidence or not? He’d forced his telephone number out of him, but nobody answered when he called. The shoplifter. His address was still there.

Bartram compared the name and address in his notebook with the film extras on the list. You didn’t need to be a genius to see that they were the same. It was enough to be able to read, and to be in the right place at the right time. If he’d been in charge of the investigation, he’d have been able to show them how an investigation ought to be conducted. He knew more than the others.

Winter had searched the car, but found nothing. He didn’t touch the wheel. Beier’s boys were on their way.

He phoned Ringmar, who answered with his mouth full.

“Hang on a minute. I was just having a bite of supper-”

“Angela’s disappeared,” Winter said.

“What the hell…?”

“Something’s happened.”

“Have you raised the alarm?”

“Yes.” Winter felt his body going cold, the flow of lava solidifying. He felt sick. “No point in holding back.”

Ringmar didn’t ask what Winter thought.

Right now he was thinking about the parent group. Him and Angela busy asking about how to minimize the pain. The smell of coffee.

“Where are you?” Ringmar asked.

“Here,” Winter said. “At home.”

“I’m on my way.”

MARCH

55

Ringmar had set off immediately. He was there within half an hour, they’d spoken, quickly and briefly. Winter was like a talking and thinking copy of his alter ego. He’d nodded, made notes, spoken. Ringmar had yelled into the telephone. They’d received a barrage of calls.

He had always been bad at putting work behind him. Going in an entirely different direction once he’d finished for the day, or the night. Always found it difficult to do. Difficult to become hardened. He’d avoided the coldness but not been able to become inured.

God. I’ve always believed in you. Give me the strength to think now, let me retain that strength. You can take it away from me later, but not now. Divide me up now. Two beings, one heart. No panic now.

“Erik?”

Ringmar was there. Had he been standing there all the time? He was in the doorway, but his voice seemed to be next to Winter’s ear.

Winter changed his position and tried to be there again, with his own strength and with God’s help.

“There’s one of your contacts on the phone.”

“Who?”

“Benny.”

Winter reached for the receiver.

“What the hell’s going on?” Vennerhag said.

“I’ve been trying to get hold of you.”