Frozen Moment (22 page)

    
'Not for the past four years, not really.'

    'When
was the last time you saw your ex-husband?' asked Tell from the archway between
the kitchen and dining room.

    She
jumped as if she'd forgotten he was there.

    'It
was… I don't remember.
Quite a long time ago.
Two or three years, maybe.
We had a meeting at my
solicitor's office, after selling the house.'

    Tell
moved back to the table and sat down, trapping Maria Waltz in her seat by the
wall. He ran a hand over his hair, his expression thoughtful.

    'I
hope you won't think I'm being insensitive, but I believe you were a little…
unstable… for a period after the divorce. How are you feeling now?'

    He
met Maria's startled gaze. She got up abruptly and virtually shoved him aside
so that she could get to the tap. She filled a glass and managed to spill half
the water before taking a couple of gulps.

    'I'm
fine, thank you. And I've been fine for the majority of my adult life. Don't
you understand? Everything was snatched away from me: my family, my home, my
security. I was abandoned, betrayed, cast aside like a rag. So yes, I lost it
for a while - does that surprise you, Inspector?'

    Tell
didn't reply.

    'I'm
fine now. I've been seeing a good doctor for many years. I didn't murder my
ex-husband, Inspector.'

    'It
wasn't our intention to make you feel we were accusing you of anything. If that
is the case, then please accept our apologies. But if you don't mind, I would
like the name of your doctor and your permission to speak to him.'

    She
nodded,
her face whitening around the jawline as she
searched for the doctor's card in one of the kitchen cupboards. A muscle was
working frenetically in her temple.

    'I'd
like you both to leave now,' she said, positioning herself in the hallway.

    'We're
on our way. Once again our apologies for any distress we may have caused you,
and our condolences on your loss,' said Tell.

    
She double-locked the door behind them.

    They
didn't speak during the short trip back to the station. Just as they turned
into Skånegatan, Tell's mobile buzzed with an incoming text message.

    'You're
popular today,' said Gonzales.
'Bärneflod again?'

    Tell
shook his head as he opened the message: 'Last chance.
Dinner
at mine.
18.00.'

    His
watch told him he had exactly forty-five minutes to get there. He had just put
the handbrake on, but released it immediately and turned to Gonzales.

    'Out
you get, I have to be somewhere. When you go upstairs, could you check out Seja
Lundberg's address - she was one of the first two witnesses. Then give me a
call on my mobile.'

    'OK.'

    When
Gonzales rang twenty minutes later, Tell was just passing the turn-off to the
scene of the murder. The fog from the river lay like candy floss in the
hollows. He shook a cigarette out of the half-full packet he had found in the
glove compartment, much to his delight, and wound down the window a little way
to let the smoke out. It was almost completely dark. The mist quickly found its
way into the car, covering the headrest like a damp film.

    Tell
flipped open the ashtray. He shouldn't have asked Gonzales to find out the
address. Seja Lundberg was a witness, so there wasn't really anything odd about
the fact that he was going to see her in her own home, but he should have
called the information desk instead.

    She
had tried to get hold of him three times. Every time he had been too much of a
coward to take the call. The first time he wasn't prepared but a warm happiness
had flooded his body. However, the feeling was quickly replaced by unease when
he remembered what he had done and what the consequences would be if someone
like Ostergren found out.

    He
quickly worked out that the most intelligent thing he could do at this stage
was to break off the relationship and hope nobody found out it had existed.
This would mean explaining the situation to Seja: he would need to get her to
understand his position, why they couldn't see each other again.

    He
hated the thought of upsetting her, but the thought of never seeing her again
was even worse. He didn't know what to do. Because every time she called the
fear grew stronger. He convinced himself that the only humane thing to do was
talk to her face to face. He simply had no other choice but to see her again.

    After
a steep tarmac slope and an even narrower gravel track he thought the road was
petering out, and that he had taken a wrong turning. A NO THROUGH ROAD sign
seemed to confirm his fears until he caught sight of a row of mailboxes on a
wooden fence by the side of the road. At least this was a sign that there was
some kind of life further up the hill. With the help of the miniature torch he
carried on his key ring, he made out LUNDBERG on one of the boxes.

    It
took Tell twenty minutes of wandering around other people's property before he
finally found his way over the bog via the footbridge. Where the forest opened
out, he spotted the house; he had been able to smell the smoke all the way back
on the road. He pulled his coat more tightly around his shoulders. It was
colder this high up; the grass in the glade was already covered in frost, and
crunched beneath his shoes.

    He
couldn't help peeping in as he passed the kitchen window. The table was laid,
and Seja was inside, wearing a red and white checked apron over a long skirt.
He was just about to knock on the door when he trod on a metal bowl he hadn't
spotted in the darkness. The clatter made her look up at the window. Tell
raised a hand, somewhat embarrassed, and opened the door.

    The
hallway was tiny, and cluttered with shoes and jackets. And then she was
standing there in front of him, taking his coat and nodding to him to come in.

    'You
found your way then.'

    'You
don't exactly make it easy for admirers. Nobody but a top detective would have
found his way out here.'

    Tell
had to duck to avoid banging his head on the low door frame leading into the
kitchen. Apart from two upholstered armchairs by the wood-burning stove, there
was a sofa in front of the window, a folding table and two chairs. The walls
were hung with wide shelves that held everything from books to pictures,
kitchen equipment and china. On the worn wooden floor lay a long narrow rag
rug.

    'Take
a seat,' she said. 'The food will be ready in five minutes.'

    A
fire crackled in the stove. Tell sat down in front of it and took out a
cigarette.

    Seja
came and stood in front of him with her arms folded and an unreadable
expression on her face. He was getting ready to explain why he hadn't returned
her calls, but then she handed him a glass of red wine. He couldn't help
interpreting the gesture as an invitation to stay the night and did his best to
suppress a broad smile. The purpose of his visit, to end the relationship face
to face, suddenly seemed irrelevant.

    'Is
there an upstairs too?' he asked, mainly because he couldn't see a bed
anywhere. She nodded, smiled, and he was embarrassed to realise that his
thoughts were all too obvious.

    'Come
on, I'll show you.'

    She
opened a narrow door hidden in the panelling. A ladder led up to a tiny loft,
where a mattress covered in wine-red velvet bedspreads lay on the floor. She
was right behind him and touched his hand. He had the sudden feeling that he
had never been more vulnerable.

    The
walls and ceiling were covered with old film posters: the classic one from
Casablanca, Les Amants du Pont
Neuf
with Juliette Binoche,
Time
of the Gypsies.
A round window was
adorned with an Advent star, and when the wind blew the branches of a tall
birch tree scratched against it.

    Tell
sank down on the edge of the mattress. She took hold of his wrists and gently
forced his body to lie back before unbuttoning his shirt, undoing his belt.

    The
bedclothes smelled faintly of woodsmoke and soap. The light from the hallway
seeped through the opening in the floor, along with Tom Waits' rasping whisky
voice. Tell thought distractedly that it was years since he had heard 'I Hope
That I Don't Fall in Love with You'. He closed his eyes.

    In
the morning Tell was woken by the tapping of the tree on the window and
realised at once that he had overslept for the first time in many years. It was
already light outside, and there was an empty space beside him. He could hear
the sound of running water in the kitchen. He climbed down the ladder and saw
Seja with her back to him, wearing a dressing gown and sheepskin slippers.

    She
realised he was there when he loudly inhaled the aroma of the coffee.

    'Good
morning. Are you hungry?' She gestured in the direction of the pans on the
stove. 'We could always have dinner now - we forgot about it last night. If you
don't fancy stew I can offer you a simple cup of coffee.'

    She
dried her hands and slipped self-consciously into his arms. 'I'll just go and
get dressed.'

    'Why
don't you get undressed
instead.
'

    She
laughed,
her mouth level with the hollow at the base
of his throat.

    'Someone's
very keen to get hold of you; your phone has rung several times.'

    
Three messages from the office.
Just as he was about to
listen to them the phone rang again. It was Bärneflod's number. Tell left the
room.

    'Tell.'

    'Where
the
fuck are
you? I've been calling since eight.'

    
'Something new?'

    'Yes,
Stromberg has narrowed the time of death down to some point between seven and
nine in the evening.'

    Tell
went through the hallway and clambered up into the loft to find his clothes.
'So he'd been lying there overnight.'

    'That's
right. And presumably he could have ended up lying there for a lot longer,
since nobody passing would have seen him from the road. But you remember that
old gossip Beckman and Gonzales talked to, fru Rappe? She did say there was an
open evening at a house nearby.'

    'I
remember. Do you mean the open evening was between seven and nine?'

    
'Exactly.'

    'Find
out which estate agent-'

    'Beckman's
already done that. A firm called Swedish Properties was showing the house. The
agent's name is Helena Friman. And even better: apparently everyone who was
interested in seeing the house registered on the net. She's already faxed us
the list.

    'You
mean everybody who was at the open evening, and therefore passed the scene of
the murder, is on this list?' It was almost too good to be true.

    
'With addresses and phone numbers.'

    'How
many are we talking about?'

    
'Fifteen or so.
Of course, people can just turn up, so the
agent couldn't swear that absolutely everybody at the house was on the list.
Apparently most came around seven, so there has to be a good chance that at
least one of them saw or heard something significant.'

    'OK.
We'll get the local force to go through the list.
Anything
else?'

    There
was a rattling sound on the other end of the line.

    'Hello?
Bad reception on the stairs.
It's fine now. Well,
speaking of the local boys, it turns out they've come up with a possible
candidate among the missing psychos. Nothing from Lillhagen and St Jorgen -
only one matched and he had an alibi for that evening - however, someone did
escape from a secure unit at the Langtuna youth remand centre a couple of days
before the murder, and it's only about ten kilometres away as the crow flies.
He's still on the run, but they're looking for him right now.'

    'Is
that it?'

    
'For now, yes.
Are you coming in?'

    Tell
ended the call and went down to the kitchen. Seja was holding up a coffee pot,
and Tell nodded. She was wearing her jeans and a sweater, and had put up her
hair.