Frozen Moment (8 page)

    Tell
was smoking impatiently at the bottom of the steps when he got back. Karlberg
was glad he hadn't spent too much time with the neighbour.

    'The
woman has gone off on holiday on her own,' he informed Tell. 'Lars, the
husband, runs the workshop, but as far as I understand, Lise- Lott Edell owns
the firm; she inherited it from her late husband.'

    'Thanks,
we already knew that.'

    'Anyway,
the neighbours seem to have a fair amount of information. It's probably worth
having a chat with them again later.'

    Karlberg
walked past Tell towards the front door, aware that with the mood his boss was
in, it was best not to get involved in any kind of discussion.
Best just to get on with the job.

    An
hour later they had gone through some of the mess contained in the kitchen
drawers and the small office on the ground floor without finding anything that
might help them get in touch with the woman who was supposed to be on holiday.

    It
was obvious that a woman lived in the house. The outside might have been in
need of a coat of paint and the workshop wasn't exactly a statement in style,
but the rooms of the house itself were pleasant and tidy.

    'You
might think the mouse would play while the cat's away, but that doesn't seem to
be the case here,' said Tell thoughtfully.

    Karlberg
shot him a questioning look.

    'It's
tidy. I mean, the husband has been looking after himself here, so you might
expect to see a load of pizza boxes and empty beer cans on the coffee table.
Or socks on the floor.
Or maybe that's just the way I
imagine these country mechanics live.'

    'Mmm.
Either that or the wife has only just left. Perhaps he hasn't had time to make
a mess yet.'

    At
this point Karlberg realised he ought to have asked the neighbours when
Lise-Lott Edell had gone away, and when she was expected back.

    Tell
didn't waste any time, of course.

    'Did
the old woman next door say when she left?'

    'I
forgot to ask,' Karlberg admitted, but to his great relief a sigh was the only
response. He liked working with Tell, he really did, but at this stage of the
investigation, before he found a clear line to follow, a gallery of characters
to start mapping, a motive, a suspicion, he could definitely be a pain in the
arse.

    'She
might have run off,' said Tell, 'got tired of her husband and the whole thing.'

    'Somebody
certainly got tired of him,' said Karlberg with a wry smile. 'Maybe it was her.
Who murdered him, I mean. It wouldn't be the first time a woman has lashed out
at a useless unfaithful husband who beats her up every time he's had a drink.'

    'Statistically
it's the men who do the beating up who tend to kill the women,' muttered Tell.

    'OK,
but it's the husband who's lying out there. Or who was lying out there. And the
fact that the murderer ran over him below the waist… doesn't that suggest something
sexual? Symbolically, I mean.
Something to do with him being
unfaithful?
He's been screwing around and she's had enough and she runs
over his lower body.
Gets herself an alibi by booking a trip
and pretending to go away.
But in fact she doesn't go anywhere.'

    Karlberg
was getting excited, and he noticed a spark in Tell's eyes.

    Most
murders were more or less straightforward. In a surprisingly large number of
cases the perpetrator was still at the scene of the crime, ready to be arrested
or sent to a psychiatric ward or a detox cell, in no condition even to think
about getting rid of any clues or running away.

    Tell
wasn't buying Karlberg's hastily cobbled-together theory, that was obvious, but
it clearly put him in a better mood.

    'I
think we'd better meet this woman and have a chat with her before we put her
down as a murder suspect.'

    'The
relatives are always suspects to start with,' Karlberg persisted, but his words
fell on deaf ears. Tell seemed to be communicating with a higher power as a
pair of headlights appeared around the bend in the road.

    From
travelling at a comparatively high speed, the vehicle slowed and finally
stopped ten metres from the entrance to the yard. For a minute or so Tell and
Karlberg gazed across at the stationary car, painfully aware of what must be
going through the mind of the person behind the wheel.

    It
was a woman who finally opened the door and stepped out on to the road, her
movements endlessly slow: Lise-Lott Edell. Afterwards Karlberg would marvel at
the fact that those close to someone who has died always know what's going on,
long before the police have informed them and expressed their condolences.
Lise-Lott Edell knew immediately that this was not a case of a break-in or
criminal damage. Karlberg closed his eyes as the first scream echoed against
the wall of the barn. It was going to be a long night.

    1993

    She
would think back to her room at Stensjö Folk High School as other people think back
to their first apartment. In a way that was when she left home, even if she had
spent weeks on end staying in town with older friends since she was fifteen.
From now on she discounted the option of crashing out at her mother's when
everything was spinning too fast, when life kicked her in the teeth. She wanted
a new start, and the room beneath the sloping loft with the little handbasin
next to the window represented it.

    There
was a faint smell of damp in the autumn and winter, but the first time she
stepped in through the creaking door and gazed across the room and out through
the window - you could see nothing but the sky and the tops of the trees -
there was an aroma of summer dust and warm wood rising from the floor. There
was a little cupboard tucked under the handbasin, and on the opposite wall was
an ungainly linen cupboard with jade-green fabric fixed inside the glass doors.
The cupboard was empty, but its smell resembled her grandmother's ointment and
tiger balm. The only other furniture was a bed; she made it up with the
bedclothes she'd brought from home. The bedspread was made up of crocheted
stars.

    Her
early days at the school were terrible. In the evenings she would creep down to
the little room on the ground floor and close the door silently, like a
burglar. The walls of the telephone room were burgundy, and apart from the
phone the room contained only a battered velvet armchair and a small wicker
table with a large ashtray made of stone. Maya clutched the receiver and
wondered who she could ring back home. She couldn't come up with anyone.

    Above
all the doors in the building was a sign with the name of the room. Perfectly
adequate and perfectly understandable on the ground floor: CAFE, COMMON ROOM,
OFFICE
. On the first floor were the teaching rooms,
dedicated to famous names, a daring mixture of film stars, authors, politicians
and philosophers. The residential rooms had names taken from space: the narrow
corridor was THE MILKY WAY and she slept in GALILEO. The loft was closest to
the sky, after all.

    Sometimes
she would talk to Caroline, but not because she sought her out. On the
contrary, Caroline made her nervous with her intense gaze, and Maya was
relieved when she went away for a couple of days. At the same time she wondered
where Caroline went.
If she had a boyfriend to go home to.

    The
fact that they had any conversations at all was down to Caroline. She was
stubborn, refusing to leave Maya in peace with her homesickness. She could see
it and would mention it without a trace of embarrassment.

    'You
haven't settled in yet, have you?'

    They
were sitting at the back, on the steps leading into the garden. Maya didn't
want to be a stroppy teenager; she wanted to answer. She longed for intimacy,
but suddenly all she could focus on was the ant crawling boldly across her bare
foot instead of choosing the longer way round. It was really too cold to go
barefoot. The autumn had seized the garden in a firm grip after a few cold and
rainy days, and her feet suddenly felt chilled to the bone.

    'I
didn't settle at first either. I absolutely hated it, thought I'd made
completely the wrong choice. And I was scared as well.'

    Their
conversations often followed this pattern. Caroline talked. Maya reacted
silently in her mind to what Caroline said but never managed to think of
answers quickly enough to come out with them.

    'Now
I'm celebrating my eighth year here. Hopefully I won't make the decade. You can
get stuck in a little lost corner of the world because in the end you don't
know what's waiting outside. So it's easier to stay.'

    'I
think it's much
more scary
here. I mean, in town I
knew my way around. I ran away from the whole shitty mess.'

    Maya
said this without looking up. For a moment there was complete silence. Caroline
threw back her head and stretched her legs out in front of her. She hummed
thoughtfully but didn't speak. A light breeze rustled through the leaves.

    'I
ran away from the whole shitty mess too, eight years ago,' she said finally. 'I
could see things were the same for you.'

    A
wave of heat flooded up through Maya's chest, staining her throat with patches
of red. She cursed her tendency to blush. In order to hide her face she rested
her forehead on her knees and wrapped her arms around her shins.

    'So
do you live here?'

    Caroline
laughed and pointed to one of the little cottages on the edge of the forest.

    'I've
lived in that house over there for a couple of years now. Before that it was a
studio for the painting and ceramics courses but they're held on the first
floor now. For the first few years I lived in one of the attic rooms, but it's
nice to have something of your own, a kitchen of your own and so on. It's good
to be able to close the door when you don't want company and have a bit of
peace and quiet.'

    'But
don't you have an apartment to go to when you have time off?'

    'Not
any more. I got a place when I finished studying, but it was just standing
empty during term time.'

    Caroline
hesitated and seemed to be evaluating Maya with her gaze.

    'I…
I had a few problems before I ended up here. Such a lot happened. I don't
really want to talk about it but let's just say that coming here was my
salvation in many ways. So in the summer, when I realised that the idea of
going away from here made me anxious, I was afraid that… Anyway, I got rid of
the apartment.'

    Maya
didn't let on that this confidence filled her with joy. She looked

    
at
the group of pupils standing outside the former studio,
chatting loudly.

    'You
can't get that much peace and quiet!' she exclaimed.

    Now
Caroline was hiding her face in her hands. Close by, a squirrel was scampering
up and down a tree trunk. Every time it reached the ground it seemed to
come
a little nearer, as if it were getting more used to the
presence of people.

    'You
see, the idea of sitting by myself in an apartment trying to do something
sensible with my life makes me go to pieces. I just haven't got the nerve to do
it. Being alone is an art, and I'm no good at it.'

    Caroline
picked up her shirt and her coffee cup.

    'Hanging
out with other people is an art too,' said Maya by way of consolation.

    Caroline
got up. 'Thank you for your kind words; they've warmed the poor heart of an
inveterate navel-gazer! Next time it's your turn to lie on the couch.'

    'No
thanks.'

    Maya
rubbed at her frozen arms and shoulders. Cautiously, as if she were approaching
a timid animal, Caroline leaned over her and placed her hands on Maya's
shoulders, gently at first, as Maya held her breath.

    Caroline
smelled of smoke and sugar.

    2006

    Lise-Lott
Edell's slightly sunburned nose and cheekbones glowed in ridiculous red
blotches against the pallor around her eyes.

    'Breathe,'
mumbled Tell, gently but firmly bending the shocked woman's head down between
her knees. She struggled against him, whimpering as if he were hurting her.