Frozen Moment (19 page)

    'We'd
better go into town. I shouldn't think there'll be anything open in Hjällbo by
now.'

    'We
could try the pub at the railway station,' she said. Her smile seemed familiar,
but he couldn't work out why.

    He
pulled himself together. She was a witness. He'd found her in an isolated
location where a man had recently been murdered. If she wanted to even out the
balance of power by pretending they were friends or flirting with him, he
wasn't going to be stupid enough to fall for it. He pushed her firmly towards
her own car.

    As
he drove behind her on to the empty main road, heading into town, he couldn't help
wondering about the sudden awkwardness Seja Lundberg had aroused in him.

    After
they had abandoned the idea of the pub at the central station, since the
clientele consisted largely of faces that were too well known to Tell, they
walked around for half an hour searching for a cafe or restaurant that was
still open on the night before Christmas Eve. The place they finally ended up
in was crowded, mostly with young people packed around tables in a huge space
covering three floors. The floor was painted pale grey, with a very high shine
slightly reminiscent of dirty ice. The walls were a deep red and covered with
photos inspired by the 1950s. He recognised the flicked up hair and big
sunglasses of Jackie Kennedy. Somehow the sea of young people rubbing up
against one another seemed even more alien since the smoking ban had made the
picture clearer. In Tell's day veils of smoke had lain thickly over bars and
pubs, smoothing rough edges and giving you something to do with your hands, as
well as a dreary but acceptable chat-up line.

    Seja
took the words out of his mouth.

    'This
isn't exactly the kind of place I usually go to.'

    'No.'

    The
music was far too loud for Tell's taste. They took a window table from a couple
who appeared to be on their way home so that they could concentrate on each
other undisturbed. It made the conversation Tell had intended to conduct with
Seja
seem
somewhat absurd.

    She
was rummaging in her rucksack, her head down.
That hair
again, covering her face in a great heavy swathe, like
a separate entity
in itself. She wasn't wearing a scrap of make-up, and was dressed in practical
clothes: jeans and a warm sweater.

    She
emerged with a tin of snuff. Tell discovered two things: her upper lip was
beaded with sweat, and although he was fighting against it, he couldn't help
finding this extremely sexy. The second thing was that she had a piercing in
her nose, which surprised him. It suggested a certain kind of self-awareness he
had thought Seja Lundberg lacked. She wasn't wearing anything in it, and at
first he had thought the black dot was a birthmark.

    She
leaned forward, her elbows on the table.

    'I
wasn't with Åke when he found the body,' she said, taking a sip of her beer.

    'No,
I know that,' said Tell. 'Anyway, it was perfectly obvious you were lying.' He
put his cup down on the saucer. 'The question is, why? That's what I want you
to explain to me.'

    She
sighed and chewed on a nail as she gazed out at the outdoor bar, which was
closed.

    'I
can't explain it. I know it seems insane, but I… I wanted to see the dead man.
Something drew me there, not just Åke. I'm a journalist - at least, I soon will
be. Maybe I thought that… well, it doesn't matter what I thought. Åke was
disturbed by the whole thing, and he didn't want to go back there on his own.
Besides, he did actually need a lift. His wife isn't very well and I think he
didn't want to worry her. I usually help them out.
With all
kinds of things.'
She kept her eyes fixed on Tell as she repeated, 'I
wanted to see the body. That's why I lied and said I was there when Åke found
it. Otherwise I would never have been allowed past the gate.'

    'And
what did you think?'

    His
expression was challenging as he held her gaze over his coffee cup, and he
noticed her hesitation. Enough interviews, if not exactly along these lines,
had taught him to see whenever a person was wondering just how truthful they
should be.
A range of possible versions flitting through
their mind, like lines that had to be followed to their conclusion so that they
could be dismissed.
In the end lies wound themselves together into one
big tangle that became impossible to sort out, under the implacable searching
gaze of the professional. Some people broke down and told the truth. The
difficulty lay in knowing whether the person in front of you was lying or
simply concealing part of the truth.

    'I
was fascinated.
And scared.'

    He
nodded. A fascination for crime scenes was something they had in common.

    'But
what were you doing there today?
In the dark.'

    Instead
of adopting a veiled expression, which Tell would have found appropriate, a wry
smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.

    
'And what about you?
Haven't you got anything better to do
than lurk about at the scene of a murder on a night like this? Shouldn't you be
decorating the tree? Cooking the Christmas ham?'

    'Answer
the question,' said Tell, feeling torn. In a different context he would have
interpreted the smile as a definite sign she was flirting with him. And he
couldn't help being turned on by her warmth; it seeped out of those grey-green
eyes, from the corners of her mouth and through her voice, which was deep and
sensual.

    She
leaned back in her chair.

    'Christmas
frightens me. I split up with my partner not long ago, and I get lonely
sometimes. Not always, but today.
Tonight.
I got the
heebie-jeebies and just took off. As I said before, I was scared.
And fascinated.
I'm often fascinated by fear and, for me,
checking things out is a way of controlling it.
Finding its
roots.
I drove to Björsared because somehow I already felt involved. I
was thinking about the woman, his wife, and I wanted to see if she was there.
Talk to her.'

    'As
part of your research, I suppose?'

    She
ignored his cynical undertone.

    'I
just wanted to talk to her, that's all. But she wasn't there. And then you
jumped on me.'

    A
techno version of'Jingle Bells' was turned up to full
volume,
and a gang of boys and girls at the long vermilion bar began to sing along.

    Tell
looked at Seja and risked a smile.

    'Let's
go. I think I know a better place, if you can cope with a stronger drink. But
Detective Inspector Tell won't be coming with us.' He hesitated for a moment
before throwing all reason overboard. 'Christian will have to do.'

    She
smiled back. As he thought about the fragile heart that had decorated the froth
on top of his coffee, he suddenly remembered an evening in the pub at the
central station. Seja had been sitting next to him on a bar stool, with her
coat on. Tell had thought that this woman seemed to exude the same kind of
loneliness as
himself
, a loneliness that was above all
spiritual, and incurable. Being surrounded by other people somehow increased
the sensation of standing all alone on a spiritual plane where everything else
has been flattened by a strong wind. Carina, the person with whom he had come
closest to creating a life together, had put it like this:
Christian,
according to your view of the world, you are all on your own there in the
middle. Everyone else is just a peripheral shadow.
Unreliable.
Unnecessary.

    'He'll
do fine.'

    Seja
Lundberg put on her anorak.

    She
could handle her beer better than he'd expected. This miscalculation cost him
the remains of the sense he had left behind, and his sobriety. The hole in the
wall underneath the Hotel Europa had countless brands of lager, and at some
point during the course of the evening they decided to try them all. When the
jovial Irish owner turned off the artificial candelabra at around midnight and
threw them out with a kindly word - '
Don't
forget
Christmas, kids' - they had to lean on one another.

    A
sharp frost had followed the rain. The canal, its bridges adorned with
sparkling ropes of light, was covered in a thin layer of ice, as were the broad
stone steps leading down to the water and the iron chains that were meant to
stop the public from falling in. As far as he could remember afterwards, they
had no qualms about ignoring this safety barrier. They just sat there on the
bottom step, the soles of their shoes resting lightly on the thin ice.

    Gradually
the frost found its way through their clothes. With numb frozen behinds and
feet, it seemed obvious he should invite her up to his flat.

    'I
don't live far away,' he said. 'We're going to freeze to death.'

    And
it was true. In any case, she wasn't exactly capable of driving.

    Ending
up in bed wasn't part of the plan. It was, he thought on the morning of
Christmas Eve as the pale sun stabbed him in the eye, the result of poor
judgement followed by severe intoxication. This could cost him dear and would
be difficult to explain to his colleagues.
And to Ostergren,
if the gossip got that far.
And it probably would, given that the police
station was like one big coffee morning.

    He
reached out and traced the contours of her body, careful not to wake her. The
bones of her spine lay defenceless beneath the thin skin, and the morning light
revealed downy hair at the back of her neck. Her calm even breathing reminded
him of a sleeping child.

    Memories
of the previous evening came back to him in disjointed chunks: he suddenly
remembered her face beneath him, her mouth and eyes open, telling him about
fear and trust.

    When
the breathing changed, he knew she was awake.

    'Christian?'

    'Yes.'

    'I
daren't turn over. I'm so afraid of being confronted by your regrets.'

    Her
voice was hoarse from the alcohol and outpourings of the previous evening. It
broke and became a whisper, more sensed than heard. He was filled with
a warmth
that began at his toes and spread like wildfire
through his limbs until it reached his aching head and exploded in the form of
a smile that he wanted to hide and show at the same time.

    He
had always found these unwritten rules difficult to understand: the game that
had to be played at the beginning of a relationship. The precisely measured
amount of give and take a man must master, in order to avoid being perceived as
an arrogant bastard with intimacy problems, or a suffocating control freak.

    She
turned over, and he clumsily stroked her tousled hair.

    'Merry
Christmas,' she said, pulling the duvet over her head with a muffled howl.

    All
day Seja kept saying that she would take a stroll over to the northern part of
town to pick up her car and go home. First of all they were just going to have
a traditional Christmas Eve breakfast. She rang Åke and asked if he could see
to Lukas, while Tell went out shopping for rice pudding, spiced wort bread and
Cheddar cheese; he also found some eau de toilette on the perfume counter, and
wrapped it in flowery paper.

    Then
they collapsed together in front of the TV, watching Donald Duck,
Karl-Bertil Jonssoris Christmas Eve,
and an old film before finishing off
the half-bottle of Jameson, which Tell had produced from the cupboard. And that
was how she ended up staying until Christmas morning, after ringing Åke once
again and pointing out that he still owed her a favour or two.

    In
the hallway they held hands for several minutes before Seja pulled away. Tell
stood in the doorway until the sound of her footsteps died away and the outside
door closed behind her. For the first time in almost two days he thought about
work. It gave him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

    1994

    Maya's
teacher was talking about the 'disturbing development in the level of her
ambitions'. He really wanted to discuss her relationship with Caroline, but it
was clear that he was unable to formulate the words to describe what was really
troubling him.