Frozen Moment (21 page)

    Bärneflod
nodded thoughtfully.

    'OK.
This is what I think happened. You went to see him several times. On one
occasion you shoved him up against a wall and threatened him. What was it you
said? All that stuff about respect for other people's property?'

    'Yes.'

    'And
you also accused him of being gay.'

    'Maybe
I was right,' said Edell. 'He was a queer. He had a bloke down in
town,
I even know his name, Zachariasson. I did a little bit
of investigating too. He was being unfaithful to Lise-Lott, the cocky bastard.'
Edell cleared his throat. 'But I didn't murder him because of that, if that's
what you're thinking.'

    'I'm
not thinking
anything,
I'm just saying that a man was
murdered shortly after you threatened to kill him. I don't know. Perhaps you
wanted to frighten Lise-Lott away?'

    'Yes,
but killing somebody is a bloody extreme way of doing that,' Edell muttered. He
wiped his hands on his trousers and picked up two large pieces of sponge cake.

    'I've
got to get going. I only came home to pick up my dinner.'

    A
lunchbox was standing ready on the worktop; he grabbed it on his way out.

    Bärneflod
waved away Karlberg's move to stop him. 'Forget it. We'll keep an eye on him.
We can bring him in later if we need to.'

    Gertrud
Edell gave a hollow cough and squeezed the dishcloth between her hands.

    
I
never want to live like this,
thought Christian Tell, who had just found
the address he was looking for.

    The
semi-detached houses were arranged in horseshoes around a grassy area, with
swings and sandpits in the middle. It was a relatively attractive place,
serviced by the tram, and only quarter of an hour into town by car.

    Tell
was standing in front of a mailbox with a Dalarna County motif on the flap and
waltz in ornate writing. He turned around and waved to Gonzales, who was trying
to bring to an end a conversation with God knows who.

    A
straight line of paving stones split the garden in two, and there was a set of
garden chairs in dirty white plastic with puddles of rain on the seats.
Never like this.
He had lived in the city centre all his life, and was used
to its roar and pace. Without the noise he felt oddly naked, as if he and the
city were one and the same. In an odd moment of confusion he had thought about
moving, like others who had stopped making use of the wealth of bars and cafes
and whose only contribution to inner-city life was to cough up a ridiculous
amount in rent each month for a tiny two-room apartment. He could use his
ridiculously small savings to put a deposit on a little house somewhere on the
coast, or perhaps in the mountains with a view, rather than feeding it to the
greedy capitalist
landlords
. He might even be able to
get a transfer to some little police station out in the country. Investigate
one murder every ten years and have time to do other things.

    The
thought brought him some comfort, mainly because he knew it was never going to
happen. He would remain in his little apartment in Vasastan, not far from the
house where he was born. He would carry on renting instead of buying, because
the world looked the way it did and because a police officer's salary was a
joke. He would complain when the rent went up, but secretly he would be content
with the way things were. He had never really seen himself in any other
context, and definitely not in a place like this. Carina had called him
elitist, teased him about his phobia of the middle class and his fear of living
on some suburban estate - joking, but with a sting of pedagogical seriousness:
these
people are happy, and they are not inferior to you.

    He
would never contradict her, and yet he and Carina had never taken that step
from going out to moving in together, from a rented apartment to a house. It
was all down to him. And in the end Carina had packed the few belongings she
had in his apartment, an embarrassingly small carrier bag that she held up in
front of him, tears glistening in her eyes.
This, Christian, is why I'm
moving out. This!
And that was down to him as well, what entrenched habits
and an unwillingness to change had cost him.

    The
rusty framework of a hammock stood beneath the roof of the veranda. The blinds
of the house were partially closed, but shadowy movement was perceptible
between the slats. Just as Tell was about to knock, the door was pushed open so
suddenly that he had to take a quick step back to avoid being hit in the face.

    'Who
are you looking for?'

    Tell
flipped his wallet open to show his ID.

    'Detective
Inspector Tell.
My colleague Detective Constable Gonzales.'
He made a sweeping movement towards his colleague, who was striding up the
garden path. 'Maria Waltz? It's about your ex-husband.'

    If
the woman's face had been expressionless before, it became even more rigid now.

    'Lars?
What about him?'

    'May
we come in?'

    She
looked as if she were considering the possibility of saying no, but then moved
away from the door. She went ahead through the narrow hallway and into the
kitchen. They were invited to sit on a sofa, with a clear view of a room where
an oval dining table adorned with several showy Christmas ornaments was the
main attraction. Large steamed-up windows with red and green curtains looked on
to a conservatory.

    Maria
Waltz sat down opposite Tell, who cleared his throat.

    'I'm
very sorry to have to inform you that your ex-husband, Lars Waltz, has been
found dead. Unfortunately we are not talking about a death from natural
causes.'

    Maria
Waltz's lips stiffened into a grimace.

    'You're
not serious?' She shook her head as if trying to shake off the unpleasant
information. For a long minute there was silence,
then
suddenly her body shuddered with a sob. 'I didn't want him to die,' she
whispered.

    'We
know that,' said Tell calmly.

    She
had begun to tremble. If she was putting on an act, she was very good at it.
Suddenly she realised what Tell had said.

    'Not
from natural causes? You mean he was murdered?'

    'I'm
afraid so. That's why we're here.'

    'You
can't think I had anything to do with it? That's just crazy!'

    'But
we were hoping you might be able to give us some information about your
ex-husband. I believe it's been six or seven years since you split up?'

    Just
as she was about to reply, Tell's mobile rang. He apologised and dug it out of
his pocket.
Seja Lundberg.
There was a stab of pain under his left eye
as he cancelled the call and turned back to Maria Waltz.

    'I
mean, I have wished him dead, I'm not afraid to admit that, but…' She stared
vacantly at the overripe pears in a red glass fruit bowl. 'So I won't say that
I can't understand how someone could have done this. Have you ever been really
let down, Inspector?'

    Tell
met her gaze without speaking and waited for her to go on.

    'On
the other hand, I can't think of anyone else who had reason to feel that way
about Lars. He was a peaceful person.'

    She
gave a half-smile but her expression instantly became serious again.

    'He
was kind, responsible, all that sort of thing.
A good father.
Then everything was turned upside down. He met that woman and…'

    The
tears began to flow.

    'You
must think I'm being ridiculous. That was six years ago - I should have got
over it by now.'

    'We're
not here to make any judgement,' said Tell and paused for a moment. 'I get the
impression you didn't part on good terms?'

    She
shook her head.

    'He
left me from one day to the next. One night he told me he was moving out the
following day. He'd already booked a van to move his stuff. I got no
explanation, apart from the fact that he didn't love me any more. He'd had
someone else for a while.
But what about the boys?

    I
said. They were ten and twelve; they needed their dad.
And
the house?
We were living in Hovas at the time, and the house was far
too expensive for me to be able to afford on my own, to go on living there with
the kids. He knew that.'

    She
dashed away the tears from her cheeks, took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

    'He
wrecked my life and the children's in an instant. It was as if I was suddenly
seeing a darker side of him. As if all the suffering he was causing simply ran
off him, like water off a duck's back. He was ice cold.'

    She
fell silent. Tell nodded discreetly at his colleague to take over.

    'I
can understand how difficult it must have been for you.' Gonzales edged a
fraction closer to the table and sought eye contact. 'There were some financial
disputes after the divorce, according to what we've learned.'

    'Yes.'

    She
tore off a piece of kitchen roll and blew her nose.

    'I
suppose I thought it should have been worth something - eighteen years of
marriage and two sons.
If not emotionally, then at least
financially.
It's a classic situation: my career took the back seat in
favour of his. I stayed at home with our children and supported him in his
professional life. Maybe you're too young to understand this, but in somewhere
like the USA things never turn out the way they do here. Over there they value
traditional woman's work, they value the family. Here you just get a divorce.
Did you know that Sweden has the highest divorce rate in the world?'

    Gonzales
nodded despite the fact that he'd never heard any such thing.

    Tell's
mobile rang again. He checked the caller ID, excused himself and moved into the
living room.

    'Did
you know,' he heard Bärneflod's voice on the other end of the line, 'who made complaints
against Reino Edell for harassment on no fewer than three occasions over the
past two and a half years? Lars Waltz, that's
who
.
Karlberg and I have established that he's an ugly bastard.'

    'So
did you get anything out of him?'

    'Well,
Edell claims that Waltz was having an affair with some queer who-'

    'Is
that worth looking into?' Tell smothered a yawn. 'What are the others doing?'

    'Beckman's
going through Waltz's telephone records.'

    
'Landline or mobile?'

    'Both.'

    'Has
she found anything?'

    Bärneflod
took the phone away from his ear and some ghastly music piped up as he put Tell
on hold.

    After
a few seconds he was back.

    
'Bingo again.
There's one number that comes up over and over
again, both on the landline and on the mobile, apart from Lise-Lott's sister's
number. It's a Kristoffer Zachariasson in Västra Frölunda.'

    'OK.
But listen, Bengt.'

    'What?'

    'Just
take it easy.'

    Bärneflod
was already gone.

    Tell
went back to the kitchen, where Maria Waltz had calmed down and was taking a
packet of biscuits out of the cupboard.

    'To
begin with he did make an effort to keep his promise - I'll say that in his
defence. He would ring the boys from time to time, wanting to see them and so
on. But they… well. They were at a sensitive age. They both took it very badly,
especially Jocke. He's our eldest. I suppose Lars just gave up after a while.
But it can never be right to give up on your children, can it?'

    The
look she gave Gonzales was challenging, and obediently he shook his head.

    'Children
have the right to give up on their parents, but the reverse is never true. No,
his greatest betrayal was of our boys.'

    'So
you're saying that your sons have had no contact to speak of with their father
since you divorced?' Gonzales asked.