Frozen Moment (6 page)

    Bengt
Bärneflod joined the more or less admiring group surrounding the machine. For
once, Tell nodded appreciatively at his older colleague. They had worked
together since Tell joined the squad fourteen years ago. A sudden awareness of
the passage of time made him punch Bärneflod playfully on the shoulder.

    'Come
on, Bengt, for God's sake! Who wants to live in the past? Of course we need
cafe au lait in this place!' He took a large gulp and pulled a face at the
chemically sweetened drink.

    'Right,
I'm going to find our good old coffee maker. Where the hell has it gone,
anyway?' Bärneflod looked at Karlberg with a challenging expression as he stuck
his head out of his office, as if he were personally responsible for the
removal of the old machine.

    'OK,
we've got a murder on our hands, in case you haven't noticed,' Tell said.
'Conference room in five minutes, please.'

    He
clapped his hands impatiently like a PE teacher, and could just imagine them
all rolling their eyes behind his back as he walked away.
Tough.
It was part of his job to get people working.

    Ten
minutes later Karin Beckman drew Tells attention to his unconscious but
probably extremely irritating habit of clicking his ballpoint pen, by placing
her hand on his wrist. He
was
stressed, anxious inside, as he always was
at the outset of a murder investigation.

    He
looked around the room, examining his colleagues in what was inaccurately known
as the murder squad. They still hadn't finished joking about the finer points
of the coffee machine or the bag of buns in the shape of animals that Karlberg
had chucked down on the table with some embarrassment. He'd obviously been
baking with his niece.

    Bengt
Bärneflod, sitting to the left of Tell, looked increasingly tired with every
passing day, and Tell often caught him doing crosswords during working hours.
He was also increasingly prone to expressing less than sympathetic views on
immigrants. These days he constantly maintained that everything had been better
in the old days,
when you could sing the national anthem without the risk of
treading on someone's toes.
And he hardly ever took the initiative any
more. But he was good in a critical situation. The slowness that got on Tell's
nerves the rest of the time served him well then, for he could persuade any
lunatic at least to listen, if not to be entirely reasonable.

    Beside
him sat Andreas Karlberg, who in contrast to Bengt never expressed a single opinion
about anything. He was ambitious and well intentioned, but was often like a
weathervane in a strong breeze.

    Karin
Beckman was experienced and had been a promising investigator before she had
kids, Christian Tell thought bitterly - although naturally he would never dare
to be so politically incorrect as to say this out loud. Dead on five o'clock
she dropped whatever she was doing and went home, quoting some law and the
union. On top of that, both her daughters were still at nursery school, and she
was off almost every other day looking after one of them because they were ill.
At times he had completely given up counting on her as part of the team. But to
look on the bright side, things could only get better from now on. The kids
were growing up, after all, and she was hardly likely to have any more; she'd
already turned forty.

    She
was a good police officer, though, when she was working. He had to admit that.
And she was good in sensitive situations. She had a good knowledge of people, a
competence when it came to psychological issues. Sometimes that kind of insight
was lacking in the squad. And she had almost finished the basic psychotherapy
training she had been undertaking for the past two years. It would be good for
the squad to be able to rely on her full time again.

    As
far as Michael Gonzales was concerned, Tell hadn't really had time to form a
definite opinion. He had only been working with the squad for about a year, and
hadn't yet been involved in any major investigations. Gonzales was the only
officer who had actually grown up and still lived in an area that was
over-represented in the crime statistics - it was something he had mentioned in
his initial interview. Tell probably hadn't been the only one to think that the
squad might be able to make use of his contacts and experiences, even if this
was an idea somewhat coloured by prejudice. In fact, Gonzales' contacts with
the underworld would turn out to be negligible; on the contrary, he appeared to
be miraculously naive. Even though he had legally been of age for ten years, he
still lived at home and had no plans to move out, as far as Tell could discern.
The high-quality service provided by Mrs Gonzales wasn't something he intended
to swap for a bachelor pad with piles of dirty dishes and laundry. However, he
seemed to be sufficiently intelligent to understand that he couldn't count on
being treated like a little prince in any other context. With endearing self-
awareness he told them what had happened when he got into the police training
academy - Francesca Gonzales had wept for over a week out of sheer happiness,
until the neighbours had told her in no uncertain terms to pack it in.

    In
any case, Gonzales was a diligent officer, ready to learn. He was also a
textbook example of positive thinking, which was not to be sniffed at in a job
like this.

    Tell
turned his gaze back to Karlberg. Perhaps it wasn't fair to think of him as a
weathervane. It was more that he had a subtle ambition which, if Tell were to
make use of the self-awareness he had acquired during his forty-four years,
didn't threaten Tell's own ego. Karlberg worked quietly from his own
hypotheses, which were frequently well thought out, without making a fuss about
it. He sneezed loudly and wiped his nose with the back of his hand in some
embarrassment.

    Leaning
against the door frame stood Chief Inspector Ann- Christine Ostergren, dressed
as always in black: velvet trousers and a polo-neck sweater, contrasting
sharply with her instantly recognisable white frizzy hair, which stood out like
a curly halo around her lined face.

    She
was a good boss; the squad were in agreement on that, even if they all had
different views on what made a good boss. She knew what she was doing and had
plenty of experience after spending almost her entire working life as a female
police officer in a male-dominated world. During the six or seven years she had
been in her current post she had built up a strong sense of trust among her
colleagues, despite the fact that in the beginning there had been gossip that
she had moved because of irreconcilable differences in her previous job.

    What
Tell
appreciated most was her clear readiness to rely
on her team, the ability to delegate tasks and responsibilities without
constantly feeling the need to check up and make adjustments according to her
own views. There was an unspoken agreement between Tell and Ostergren: as long
as he did his job and made sound decisions, he didn't need to keep running to
her to check every step he took during an investigation. And that was just the
way he liked it.

    Ostergren
cleared her throat, and just before she began to speak Tell caught sight of
Beckman discreetly raising her eyebrows in the direction of Renée Gunnarsson.
Renée sat in on the initial meetings so that she would know the direction the
investigation was going to take; this was because part of her job involved
dealing with telephone calls from the press and anxious members of the public.
It would be Christian Tell's decision as to how much should be revealed and
which questions should be passed on to the investigating team.

    Gunnarsson
rolled her eyes at Beckman in return. Tell suspected that this silent exchange
of views was to do with the fact that Ostergren was standing in the doorway
rather than sitting down at the table like the rest of the group. Tell was
annoyed with Beckman and Gunnarsson's attitude. Instead of being so ready to
criticise her, surely they ought to be supporting their female colleague? But
wasn't it often the case that women were most critical of other women?

    'OK,
listen up. As you all know a man has been found dead, in all probability
murdered, on one of the minor roads between Olofstorp and Hjällbo, in Björsared
to be precise. I say in all probability because we're still waiting for the
report from the pathologist, but given the fact that he had been shot in the
head, we can assume that was the cause of death. He was also - probably after
death, but we're also waiting for confirmation on that - run over several times
by a vehicle.
Most likely a car.'

    Ostergren
took off her glasses and held them in front of her for a moment before rubbing
off a mark with the sleeve of her sweater.

    'The
location is under the jurisdiction of the Angered police force, and I have
already been in touch with their chief. He's promised to give us as much
support as he can in the form of
manpower
and local
knowledge. Unfortunately it's obvious they've got their hands full at the
moment - a whole load of arson attacks and some kind of burglary boom over the
past few weeks. We have therefore agreed that they will step in as and when
they are needed rather than giving us an officer on a permanent basis. To begin
with we will work together on the routine matters: door-to-door enquiries,
checking for any similar crimes, anyone on release from psychiatric care - I'm
sure you get the idea.'

    She
nodded in Tell's direction.

    'Christian
Tell will be coordinating the operation. The whole team will get together for a
follow-up meeting next Monday, or whenever Christian decides it's appropriate.
Anyway, you can talk to them about all that, Christian. Over to you.'

    She
put on her glasses and left with a tense smile. Although he couldn't quite put
his finger on it, Tell thought he perceived an uncharacteristic distance in
Ostergren. He wondered for a moment if something had happened in her private
life. But Ann-Christine Ostergren wasn't the kind of person you would tackle
about something like that. If she wanted to talk, she would.

    'OK,
so we have a dead man, executed and run over. According to the electoral
register one Lise-Lott Edell and one Lars Waltz live at that address. We
haven't been able to get in touch with her yet, but hopefully a more thorough
investigation will tell us where she is and how we can get hold of her.
Karlberg, you and I will head straight over there after this meeting. There are
actually two companies registered to Lise-Lott Edell: the main one is a fabric
shop in Grabo, and then there's Thomas Edell's vehicle repair workshop and
scrapyard. The latter operates from the scene of the crime.'

    Yet
another loud sneeze from Karlberg frightened the wits out of Bärneflod, who was
doodling psychedelic patterns on his notepad. Karlberg didn't look good at all.
Tell had managed not to notice that his colleague had been coming down with a
cold over the past few days, but now you couldn't miss it: Karlberg's nose was
glowing like a beacon, and his eyes were covered with a fine network of red
lines. Beckman wasn't slow to put Tell's thoughts into words, although
diplomacy wasn't her strong point.

    'Bloody
hell, Andreas, you look rough. Shouldn't you be at home in bed?'

    Karlberg
shrugged his shoulders. It was the best he could do to avoid a discussion that
often caused bad feeling. On the one hand there were those who came to work
whatever state they were in due to an ambitious attitude to work, but also to
police pay and benefits and a general shortage of money. And then there were
those who chose to stay at home to minimise the risk of puling on the infection
to their colleagues. Over the years these difference!
of
opinion had developed into a matter of principle.

    Karlberg
pulled his fleece more tightly around his shoulders and gratefully accepted the
packet of tissues Beckman pushed across the table. Tell took a sip of the
sweet, cloying coffee before he went on.

    'For
the time being we can proceed with the hypothesis that the man lying in the
yard is Lars Waltz. Please note that this is only a hypothesis. He had no form
of identification on him so he could also have been an employee. We've sent the
body off to Strömberg and will have a verbal report as soon as he knows
anything. I don't need to tell you that this investigation is our top
priority.'

    He
scratched his head.

    'We'll
make a start on door-to-door enquiries as soon as possible, working with the
Angered police. Beckman can take care of that, along with Gonzales. The gravel
track follows an arc, parallel to the main road. Call at every house in both
directions up as far as the road. It's possible we might have to go round again
once Stromberg has established the exact time of death, but it won't do any
harm to ask people twice. The first time they're too shaken up to think
clearly.'

    Barneflod
was drawing matchstick men in his diary when he felt Tell's eyes on him.