ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ke Edwardson has won the Swedish Crime Writers Academy award three times. His eleven Erik Winter novels have been published in twenty-one countries. He lives in Gothenburg, Sweden.
ERIK WINTER WOKE UP LATE. HED GOTTEN WRAPPED UP IN HIS sheets and had to wriggle around to disentangle his body from the bedclothes. The sun was hanging in place off the balcony. The apartment was already hot.
He sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hand over the stubble on his face, his head heavy from something between sleeping and waking. Then he walked across the wooden floor to the shower and stood there, waiting for the water to warm. Wuss, he thought to himself.
He lathered up, feeling his testicles tighten. Two nights before, Angela had come home from a double shift at the hospital. In the morning hours theyd played the beast with two backs, and hed felt young again and strong; the orgasm had surged through him for so long that hed cried out.
But when he moved afterward, it was with the relaxed motion of an old man. She lay on her side and looked at him. Yet again he gazed in awe at the contours of her hips, at her hair, which partially concealed her face. The ends were wet, of a darker hue.
You think youre using me, but its the other way around, she said, and twirled her finger slowly in the thick hair on his chest.
Surely nobody heres using anyone.
But Ive come to the conclusion that we need something more than just sex.
What kind of nonsense is that?
The fact that we need more than just sex?
The suggestion that all we do is have sex.
Well, what else do we do, then? She took her finger away from his chest.
Well, right now, for example, were having a conversation. A conversation about our relationship.
It might be the first time ever. She sat up in bed. One conversation for ten couplings.
Youre kidding me now.
Maybe, but just a little. I want something...
Like what?
Erik.
Maturity?
Yes.
That I should take responsibility for the family I havent got yet?
This just isnt enough for me anymore.
Not even when you get to use me?
Not even then.
He was thirty-seven and an inspector at the district CID, in homicide. Hed made inspector at the age of thirty-five, a record in Gothenburg and the whole of Sweden, but it meant nothing to him other than that he didnt have to take orders as often as he used to.
Now he sat alone at the kitchen table, with two slices of toast and a cup of tea, the sweat returning to his hairline as the heat seeped in through the blinds. The thermometer on the shady side of the balcony read eighty-five degrees and it was just eleven oclock. He had four days left of his second round of vacation. He was going to continue relaxing.
The telephone rang on the hall table, so he left the kitchen and said his name into the receiver.
This is Steve, if you remember. The voice was Scottish.
How could anyone forget the knight from Croydon?
Steve Macdonald was a detective chief inspector in South London, and they had worked together on a difficult case earlier in the year. They had become friendsat least Winter saw it that way.
If anyones a knight here, its you, Macdonald said. Shining armor and all that.
I think thats history now.
What?
Im unshaven. And I havent had a haircut for months.
Did I make such a powerful impression on you? As for me, Ive been over on Jermyn Street, looking for a Baldessarini suit. Thought it might command more respect. If youd stayed at the station much longer, they would have started taking orders from you.
Howd it work out?
What?
Did you find a suit?
No. Mere mortals cant afford the stuff you wear. I have to ask you again, by the wayis it true that you dont pine for your monthly paycheck like the rest of us?
Where did you get that idea?
Something you said last spring.
Clearly, I didnt listen carefully enough to what I was saying.
So you do depend on your paycheck?
What do you think? Ive got a little money in the bank, but no great sum.
Glad to hear it.
What difference does it make?
I dont know. I just wondered.
So thats why you called?
Actually, I called to hear how youre doing. It was tough going last spring.
Yes.
Well?
What?
Hows it going?
Its hot. Summers supposed to be over. Im still on vacation.
Winter heard the static breaking up the signal as it crossed the heated waters, then Macdonald clearing his throat softly.
Give us a call sometime.
I might come over before Christmas to do a bit of shopping, Winter said.
Cigarettes? Shirts?
Jeans, I was thinking.
Careful that you dont end up like me.
I could say the same.
They said good-bye, and Winter hung up. Suddenly he felt dizzy and grabbed hold of the tabletop. After a few seconds everything around him settled down, and he went back to the kitchen and took a sip of his tea, which had gone cold. He considered brewing a fresh pot but instead took the cup and saucer to the sink.
He put on a pair of shorts and a cotton shirt and slipped his feet into a pair of sandals. Just when he grabbed the door handle, he heard the postmans trudge outside and the mail crashed down onto his feet.
Included in the pile, along with the latest issue of Police and a couple of envelopes from the bank, was a notice for a heavy envelope, weighing over a kilo, which could be picked up at the post office on the Avenyn.
The heat was so thick that the square at Vasaplatsen rippled before him like the dazzle of glass filament. A handful of people were standing in the shade of the streetcar shelter, their bodies black silhouettes from across the park.
He fetched his bicycle from the basement and rode along Vasagatan, up past Skanstorget. His shirt was wet before he reached Linnplatsen, and that was a nice feeling. He decided to keep heading south instead of biking to Lngedrag and pedaled in the stark light all the way out to the beach at Askimsbadet. There he took a break and drank a can of soda water and after that continued past the golf course at Hovs and down past Jrkholmen, parking among the other bicycles along the path. Then he climbed down to the little beach and plunged into the water as quickly as he could.
He lay in the sun and read, and when it got to be too hot, he went back into the water. It was his vacation.
ANETA DJANALI HAD HER JAW SMASHED IN THE MINUTES JUST after midnight. Shed been walking southward on stra Hamngatan, and there were people all around her. She wasnt on duty, but even if she had been it wouldnt have made any difference, since homicide detectives didnt wear a uniform on the job.
