Let the Old Dreams Die (4 page)

Drugs of some kind: two to one. Heroin: four to one. Amphetamines: eight to one. Something to do with spying: ten to one.

But the more she thought about it, the more the odds on spying shortened. He wasn’t the type to smuggle drugs.

Vore’s suitcase was still lying on the counter. She took out the two detective novels and flicked through them. No words were highlighted or underlined. She held the pages up to the light. Then she looked around and took out a lighter. Ran the small flame to and fro underneath a page to see if any invisible writing might appear. She
singed the edge of the paper, but no writing emerged. She quickly put the book back in the case, its blackened edge glistening.

This is ridiculous. Kalle Blomqvist.

But what
was
it, then?

She walked between the pinball machines and the panorama windows and back again. Her job, her ability was something she simply took for granted. This was something completely new. The man spoke with no accent whatsoever. But
Vore
? What kind of a name was that? She supposed it must be Russian, Slavonic.

At any rate, if the external physical examination didn’t produce any results, she would apply for a warrant allowing a doctor to carry out a proper search. Check every orifice.

Robert came out, made a comment to the occupant of the room, and closed the door behind him. Tina hurried over. Her heart sank when she was only halfway across the hall; Robert was shaking his head.

‘Nothing?’ she asked.

‘No,’ said Robert. ‘Well, nothing that concerns us, anyway.’

‘What do you mean?’

Robert drew her a little distance away from the door.

‘Let me put it this way: you can rest easy. He did have something to hide, but nothing punishable by law. The problem is that we’ve now stopped him twice without…’

‘Yes, yes. Do you think I don’t know that? So what is it, then?’

The thought had struck her, but she hadn’t seriously considered what Robert was suggesting: the fact that they might have been guilty of professional misconduct. Subjecting Vore to an examination on two separate occasions without any solid evidence for doing so. If Vore made a complaint, they would probably be reprimanded.

‘The thing is,’ said Robert, ‘he’s…he’s a woman.’

‘Come on, stop winding me up.’

Robert folded his arms and looked uncomfortable. With
exaggerated clarity he said, ‘He…or rather she, does not have a penis but a vagina, to use the technical term.
You
should have carried out that search, not me.’

Tina stared at him open-mouthed for a few seconds. ‘You’re not joking?’

‘No. And it was rather…embarrassing.’ Robert looked so miserable that Tina burst out laughing. He looked at her, his expression furious.

‘Sorry. Has he got…breasts as well?’

‘No. He must have had an operation or something. I didn’t actually ask. He’s got like a big scar just above his bum, by his tailbone. Whatever that might be. Now it’s
your
turn to talk to him and try to explain that—’

‘What did you say? A scar?’

‘Yes. A scar. Here.’ Robert pointed to the bottom of his back. ‘If you want to take this any further, you can do it yourself.’ He shook his head and headed off towards the cafeteria. Tina stayed where she was, looking at the closed door. When she had thought things through she opened it and went in.

Vore was standing by the window looking out. When she came in, he turned to face her. It was impossible to think of him as ‘her’. If you wanted to define the repellent aspect of his appearance in a few words you could perhaps say: exaggerated masculinity. He looked
too much
like a man. The coarse, broad face. The squat, muscular body. The beard and the powerful eyebrows.

‘So,’ he said, and now she noticed how unusually deep his voice was. Up to now she had taken it as a natural complement to his body. ‘Are we done here?’

‘Yes,’ said Tina, sitting down at the desk. ‘Could you spare a few moments?’

‘Of course.’

He showed not the slight sign of being angry or offended on this occasion either. He sat down opposite her.

‘First of all,’ said Tina, ‘I would like to offer my sincere apologies. Again. I must also inform you that you have every right to make a complaint against us. You can—’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘Because of the way we’ve treated you.’

‘We can forget about that. What else did you want to say?’

‘Well…’ Tina’s fingers began to twist themselves around each other under the desk, where he couldn’t see them. ‘…I was just wondering. Who you are. This is purely…private.’

The man looked at her for such a long time that she had to lower her gaze. She shouldn’t be doing this. To begin with, she was completely on the back foot after what had happened. A position she hated. In addition, it was against regulations to have any personal contact with those she was supposed to be investigating. She shook her head.

‘Forgive me. You’re free to go. We’re done.’

‘I’m in no hurry,’ said Vore. ‘Who am I? That’s something I’m not too sure about, like most people I suppose. I travel. I stay somewhere for a while. Then I continue my journey.’

‘And you study insects?’

‘Among other things, yes. Although perhaps your question is mostly concerned with my…physical attributes?’

Tina shook her head. ‘No. Not at all.’

‘And what about you? Do you live locally?’

‘Yes. In Gillberga.’

‘I don’t know it, unfortunately. But perhaps you know the ramblers’ hostel here in…Riddersholm, I think it’s called. Would you recommend it?’

‘Absolutely. It’s good. Beautiful surroundings. Are you thinking of staying there?’

‘Yes. For a while, anyway. So we might see one another.’ He stood up and held out his hand. ‘Goodbye for now.’

She took his hand. His fingers were thick, strong. But so were hers. A strange excitement was growing in her stomach. She led the way to the door. As she stood there resting her fingers on the handle, she said, ‘Otherwise I have a cottage that I rent out.’

‘In…Gillberga?’

‘Yes. There’s a sign by the side of the road.’

Vore nodded. ‘In that case I’ll call round one day and…have a look. That would be nice.’

She stayed where she was, looking at him. The moment was exactly the same as last time. Perhaps it was a desire to pre-empt him, to regain control. Perhaps it was something else altogether. It was impossible to say, it was beyond everything she was capable of knowing or determining. She quickly leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

This time it was her lips that were pricked by his sharp beard, and the moment they touched his skin a hammer of regret struck her on the forehead, making her jerk backwards.

She quickly opened the door, refusing to look him in the eye. He went out, picked up his suitcase and disappeared.

As soon as she was sure he had gone, she scurried off to the toilets, locked herself in a cubicle, sat down and hid her face in her hands.

Why did I do that how could I do that what’s the matter with me?

Something had fallen apart inside her head. The mistake had made her confused. The ground had been snatched away from beneath her feet, and she wasn’t responsible for her actions.

What’s the matter with me?

She rocked back and forth, whimpering to herself. What would he think of her? She! What would
she
think of her?

Why…why?

But somewhere she knew the answer. When she had calmed down and managed to stop her hands shaking, she got up and pulled down her trousers and her panties.

It was difficult to turn her head so far, it was just on the edge of her field of vision, but it was still clearly visible. It was years since she had last looked at it in a mirror: the big red scar just above her tailbone.

She rinsed her face and dried it with a paper towel.

There was a better reason why she had invited Vore to her home.

Robert could think what he liked, and the information about Vore’s body was certainly a surprise, but she was still sure that wasn’t
it
. She couldn’t put her finger on how she knew, but she definitely knew.

Whatever he was hiding, it wasn’t his own body. It was something else, and she
had
to find out what it was. Which meant that having him close by was the most sensible thing to do.

Wasn’t it?

As Tina drove home from the harbour the sky was a dark grey lid covering the world, and the treetops swayed alongside the motorway. It didn’t take an expert to realise that an autumn storm was on the way.

The first drops fell as she turned into the drive. During the short time it took her to walk up to the house they began to fall more heavily, and with a sudden squall the downpour was upon her. She ran the last few steps and pulled the door open.

The dog came racing towards her across the hall. She probably wouldn’t have had time to react if she hadn’t heard the patter of claws before she realised that the black mass of muscle was a dog.

Just as Roland yelled ‘Tara!’ from the kitchen she slammed the outside door and heard the dog crash into it with a thud that made
the handle vibrate. The dog barked and scrabbled at the door, eager to get at her.

Use the handle, you stupid bitch.

She backed away from the door and ended up beyond the plastic roof covering the porch. The rain ran down the back of her neck. The door opened a fraction. Inside stood Roland, hanging on to the furious, barking dog with some difficulty while at the same time trying to plaster on a conciliatory smile. Above the noise of the dog he yelled, ‘Sorry. Had to put some ointment on her, she’s got an attack of mange on her—’

Tina stepped forward and slammed the door shut. She didn’t need to know where the dog had mange. Through the door she could hear Tara being dragged across the floor, still barking.

The landscape beyond the porch was beginning to disappear. A grey veil covered everything and the noise of the rain was like a TV channel with nothing on it. White noise. The water splashed over the guttering, made a fan shape in the water butt.

Between the dog and the rain she had a strip about two metres wide in which she could move, and she was sharing the space with a box of old newspapers and a broken bilge pump. She picked up a copy of
Dagens Nyheter
, held it over her head and ran the hundred metres across to the cottage.

A thermostat ensured that the temperature in the cottage never dropped below twelve degrees. If a guest arrived it took no time at all to get the house pleasantly warm. As soon as she got inside she turned the radiator full on, took a towel out of the cupboard, dried her hair and sat down at the desk just in time to witness a scene she found remarkably upsetting.

The neighbours’ sheets were pegged out on the line. They were flapping wildly in the growing storm, tugging at their moorings like fettered ghosts. Just as Tina sat down, Elisabet and Göran came out of the house. Elisabet’s belly was so big by now that her
body was an appendage to it rather than vice versa.

They ran across the garden in the pouring rain. If you could call what Elisabet was doing running. It was more of a fast waddle. For some reason they were in a really good mood, laughing as they tried to grab hold of the flailing sheets. Elisabet was slow and only managed to take down two, while Göran seized the other four and rolled them up into a big ball, which he stuffed under his jumper. It was impossible to say whether this was a practical measure to protect the sheets or a joke right from the start, but as he waddled off with his false belly, Elisabet laughed so much that Tina could hear her inside the cottage.

She spun her chair around so that she was facing into the room.

How silly can some people be?

They were like something out of Astrid Lindgren’s
Life on Seacrow Island
, one of the scenes that was cut because even the director thought it was too nauseating.

Although this was real, of course. People can be this happy.

Tina made a conscious effort not to hate her neighbours because they were happy. For a moment she sat there at the desk staring out of the window and wishing that Elisabet’s child would be stillborn, just so that she could have a taste of the other things life serves up.

Then Tina excised the thought because she wasn’t that kind of person.

But Tina is exactly that kind of person.

No I’m not. Haven’t I promised to drive them to the hospital when the time comes, if I’m home?

You’re hoping you won’t be home. You don’t want to do it.

Because I don’t like hospitals, that’s all.

You saw it so clearly: Elisabet bent double by the washing line, clutching her belly. The sheet torn free, entangled in her flailing arms. Her screams, her—

Stop it, stop it, stop it!

Tina got up and pressed her hands to her temples. The wind, gaining strength, tore a flurry of leaves from the trees, set them whirling in the air outside the window. The small television aerial on the roof shook and swung like a tuning fork, sending a single long, mournful note through the house as if it were a sound box.

With her hands still pressed to her temples Tina fell to her knees and sank down until her forehead was resting on the floor.

Help me, God. I’m so unhappy.

No reply. Prayer requires humility, self abasement. That was what her mother had told her in front of a picture in the church.

The picture showed Jesus and three fishermen. They were out at sea in a small boat. There was a storm. The three fishermen, portrayed in the time-honoured way, with seamen’s caps and beards, had fallen to their knees in the boat and were gazing at the bright figure in the stern.

Her mother explained what the picture meant: the fishermen had placed their fate in the hands of the Lord. They had let go the oars and the rudder, abandoned all attempts to save themselves from mortal danger. Now only Jesus could save them. And that is exactly what man must do if his prayers are to have any power: let go of everything, hand it over to the Lord.