about where he might be staying in London?” Winter asked.
“I think he mentioned Kensington,” Lasse said. “He went with us a few times, and we always stayed at the same little hotel in that part of the city, but he didn’t want me to call and make a reservation. I did it anyway and he was mad, but I never canceled it because I figured he’d end up staying there after all.”
In his suit, white shirt and tie, Lasse formed an odd contrast to his wife. We all grieve in our own way, Winter thought. Lasse will go to the office for another day or two, and late one afternoon, or maybe early one morning, he’s going to collapse over his desk, or into the arms of an unsuspecting client, and after that he won’t be putting on any more ties for a long time.
“But he never made it there,” Winter said.
Clouds swept by outside, erasing the rectangle of light that Karin had fixed her eyes on, and Winter saw them turn inward again as her head sank. I don’t think she’s listening anymore, he thought. “Were you ever south of the river?” he asked Lasse.
“What?”
“The south side of London. Did you ever go there? With Per, I mean.”
“No.”
“Did you ever talk about that part of the city?”
“No. Why would we?”
“Did he mention that he might want to go there?”
“Not as far as I know. Karin?”
She had raised her head again once the clouds were gone.
“Karin?”
“What?” She continued to stare straight ahead.
“Did Per ever say what part of London he was going to?” Lasse asked.
“What?”
Lasse turned to Winter. “Why the hell did he have to go there in the first place?”
“Did he have any acquaintances there?”
“Not that I know of. He would have told us, I’m sure of it. Do you think he met somebody?”
“It seems that way.”
“I mean ahead of time, someone who lured him into that goddam jungle.”
“We have no way of knowing at this point.”
“I’m asking what you believe, for God’s sake,” Lasse said, his voice rising.
Karin still hadn’t budged except to raise and lower her head with the passing shadows.
Winter started to take a sip of coffee but put his cup back down. When you’ve been a detective even as short a time as I have, he thought, you stop believing in much of anything. The worst mistake you can make during a murder investigation is to go around believing something that turns out to be wrong. But Karin and Lasse need something to put their faith in, an explanation of circumstances that can’t be explained. “I don’t think anyone lured him to that particular hotel,” he said, “but he may have met somebody when he was in that part of the city.”
“Thank you.”
“You don’t know of any other reason that he might have gone to London?” Winter’s question echoed through the silent house.
Voices drifted in through the window. The school around the bend had just let out, and the children were on their way home. Their winter break was about to start. Karin stood and left the room.
Back in the car, Winter wondered why he hadn’t asked Karin and Lasse the most obvious questions. Two or three of them were so important that the investigation depended on the answers. Even if they don’t know, he thought, the questions have to be asked, and it’s best to do it now. Take a few minutes to mellow out and then go back.
There are occasional moments in early February when spring whispers a message and then hastily retreats. This was one of those afternoons. As Winter drove down Eklandagatan Street, the city roared around him. The sun grabbed hold of Hotel Gothia Towers and jabbed at his eyes with its spiraling light as he came to the Korsvägen roundabout. Suddenly he knew where he was going.
The car behind him honked and he moved over to the right lane, heading west past the drowsy Liseberg amusement park. He hit all the green lights on the way to St. Sigfrid’s Square and turned into the parking lot at the Television Building.
He coaxed
“I think he mentioned Kensington,” Lasse said. “He went with us a few times, and we always stayed at the same little hotel in that part of the city, but he didn’t want me to call and make a reservation. I did it anyway and he was mad, but I never canceled it because I figured he’d end up staying there after all.”
In his suit, white shirt and tie, Lasse formed an odd contrast to his wife. We all grieve in our own way, Winter thought. Lasse will go to the office for another day or two, and late one afternoon, or maybe early one morning, he’s going to collapse over his desk, or into the arms of an unsuspecting client, and after that he won’t be putting on any more ties for a long time.
“But he never made it there,” Winter said.
Clouds swept by outside, erasing the rectangle of light that Karin had fixed her eyes on, and Winter saw them turn inward again as her head sank. I don’t think she’s listening anymore, he thought. “Were you ever south of the river?” he asked Lasse.
“What?”
“The south side of London. Did you ever go there? With Per, I mean.”
“No.”
“Did you ever talk about that part of the city?”
“No. Why would we?”
“Did he mention that he might want to go there?”
“Not as far as I know. Karin?”
She had raised her head again once the clouds were gone.
“Karin?”
“What?” She continued to stare straight ahead.
“Did Per ever say what part of London he was going to?” Lasse asked.
“What?”
Lasse turned to Winter. “Why the hell did he have to go there in the first place?”
“Did he have any acquaintances there?”
“Not that I know of. He would have told us, I’m sure of it. Do you think he met somebody?”
“It seems that way.”
“I mean ahead of time, someone who lured him into that goddam jungle.”
“We have no way of knowing at this point.”
“I’m asking what you believe, for God’s sake,” Lasse said, his voice rising.
Karin still hadn’t budged except to raise and lower her head with the passing shadows.
Winter started to take a sip of coffee but put his cup back down. When you’ve been a detective even as short a time as I have, he thought, you stop believing in much of anything. The worst mistake you can make during a murder investigation is to go around believing something that turns out to be wrong. But Karin and Lasse need something to put their faith in, an explanation of circumstances that can’t be explained. “I don’t think anyone lured him to that particular hotel,” he said, “but he may have met somebody when he was in that part of the city.”
“Thank you.”
“You don’t know of any other reason that he might have gone to London?” Winter’s question echoed through the silent house.
Voices drifted in through the window. The school around the bend had just let out, and the children were on their way home. Their winter break was about to start. Karin stood and left the room.
Back in the car, Winter wondered why he hadn’t asked Karin and Lasse the most obvious questions. Two or three of them were so important that the investigation depended on the answers. Even if they don’t know, he thought, the questions have to be asked, and it’s best to do it now. Take a few minutes to mellow out and then go back.
There are occasional moments in early February when spring whispers a message and then hastily retreats. This was one of those afternoons. As Winter drove down Eklandagatan Street, the city roared around him. The sun grabbed hold of Hotel Gothia Towers and jabbed at his eyes with its spiraling light as he came to the Korsvägen roundabout. Suddenly he knew where he was going.
The car behind him honked and he moved over to the right lane, heading west past the drowsy Liseberg amusement park. He hit all the green lights on the way to St. Sigfrid’s Square and turned into the parking lot at the Television Building.
He coaxed
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