The Andalucian Friend (39 page)

Lars sailed down the stairs, then floated in the car to Brahegatan, where he slid through the police station, up the stairs, and into the office.

He nodded to everyone there, trying to read the mood of the room. He saw Hasse and Anders sitting and waiting on their chairs. Erik over at his desk looked tired, he had his eyes closed as he massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, possibly trying to ease a headache. Hasse and Anders … Lars looked at them again, they looked tired as well, but in a different way. Hasse looked utterly shattered, empty and vacant … His head was low. Anders was sitting with his arms folded, legs straight out, staring at some indeterminate point in front of him.

Lars sat down on a chair, the padding was soft. Eva Castroneves came over to him with a cup of coffee in her hand.

“I didn’t know if you wanted milk?”

He looked at her uncomprehendingly and she couldn’t be bothered getting into any sort of misunderstanding so just held the cup out to him.

“Here.”

He took it without saying thank you.

“You’re welcome,” she said quietly.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

She sat down on the chair next to him.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

He looked at her. Was she different? Happier? Why was she sitting next to him?

“Fine, I think. It’s going slowly, but well … It feels like we’re making progress now.”

She nodded.

“That’s what I think too.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She shuffled on her seat.

“I’ve changed my mind, I will have some milk,” he said, getting up and going to the kitchen.

Lars opened the fridge, took the little plastic bag out of his pocket, put the microphone between his thumb and index finger of the hand holding the coffee cup, added some milk and walked back out again. He looked around the room: Erik had found an evening paper that he was idly leafing through, Eva was looking in front of her, Anders and Hasse hadn’t moved, arms folded, looking pensive.

Lars went over to the moveable investigation notice board and pretended to read some documents as he let the threadlike microphone slip into the soft felt that covered the board. He turned and meandered around the room, looking at things, drinking his coffee — as if he wanted to stretch his legs before the meeting began.

Outside in Brahegatan, a few buildings farther down, Lars had parked a rental car. A Renault. Under a blanket in the baggage compartment lay the surveillance equipment.

The door opened, Gunilla came into the room looking stressed, and apologized for being late. Eva Castroneves stood up, picked up her handbag, and went up to Gunilla. Lars watched them as they whispered to each other over by the door. He saw the smiles and then heard a laugh between the two women. He was surprised to see Eva lean forward and kiss Gunilla on both cheeks. Then she went over to Erik, smiled at him, patted him on the cheek. Erik said “bon voyage” in a hoarse voice, and Eva left the office.

Gunilla gathered her thoughts.

“I’m going to split you into two teams. Anders and Hasse number one, Lars and Erik number two.”

Gunilla read from a sheet of paper.

“Erik and Lars, go and pay Carlos Fuentes a visit, you can set off at once. Anders, you and Hasse stay here.”

Erik got up with a groan and left, and Lars followed him, not quite sure what was going on.

Once Lars and Erik were out of the room Gunilla turned to the whiteboard and wrote
Albert Brinkmann
and
Lars Vinge
.

“Two topics for discussion.”

End of the school year. Sun, birch trees,
no wind, warm tarmac.

Thirty or so of his schoolmates had met up early that morning in a park by the water. They had some sparkling wine. Everyone got a bit drunk, someone started crying, someone threw up.

They walked to school in a group. He had been walking with Anna. They split up before going into the hall. Now he felt like turning around and looking for her in the crowd of people, but didn’t. Instead he sat there on his bench listening to the singing and bad flute playing. The headmaster made a speech. He told them bullying, drugs, and racism were bad, then it was all over.

Albert and his friend Ludvig were crossing the schoolyard. The big, rust-red school building behind him with its two wings was beautiful, more so today seeing as it was the first day of summer vacation. He could see her a short way off in a group of girls, smiled at her, she smiled back.

There was a buzz from his pocket as he and Ludvig were unlocking their bicycles. He read the message.
Tonight we can be together. xxx
.

Albert looked around, Anna was gone. He put his cell back in his pocket, couldn’t stop smiling.
Damn, life was good
.

Albert and Ludvig cycled down the slope with the wind in their hair and summer everywhere. They lined up alongside each other, pedaling hard. Ludvig swung off in a wide arc, away from Albert and onto another road. He shouted something that Albert couldn’t hear properly, then something about Gustav providing food but not drink.

Albert waved and carried on straight ahead. He struggled to get up a hill, then slid into a narrow lane to get home faster. He heard the car behind him, and pulled over to the right to let it drive past. But it stayed behind him at the same low speed. Albert glanced over his shoulder. A Volvo, Hasse behind the wheel.

A mass of thoughts ran through his head. That he would miss the best evening of his life, and all that had happened the last time he encountered the man behind the wheel, that he should try to escape …

And he did, he fled. He swung into the middle of the road and pedaled as fast as he could down the narrow slope. The cycle accelerated, the wind whistling in his ears together with the sound of the Volvo accelerating somewhere behind him.

He tried to figure out an escape route and realized the cycle wasn’t going to be any help. Halfway down the hill he slid sharply into someone’s garden. He let the bike carry him as far as possible over the lawn, leaped off it at speed, and started running, quickly looking back to see the car reversing back up the hill again. Albert took his chance and started running down the hill instead, as far away from the car as he could. The Volvo stopped reversing and headed back down the road at full speed.

Albert had gotten a head start. He ran for a while before swinging to the right. The whole time he was trying to fool the car. The Volvo seemed to hesitate. He heard it stop abruptly. A door opened, Albert glanced back, a man had jumped out of the passenger seat and started running after him. He didn’t recognize the man, but he was fast. Albert put his body into overdrive and ran for all he was worth. He could hear the Volvo again, parallel to him, somewhere below him. It was driving fast, in a high gear.

“Stop! Police!” the man behind him shouted as his swift steps got closer.

Albert took a leap and jumped over a fence into another garden. The lawn sloped downward. He let the gradient increase his speed. He ran past two children who were playing on a swing. A boy and girl of about five or so. They waved cheerily at him. He turned sharply. Ran back the way he had come, then right, carrying on along another road, across another garden, across another road, then swerved left and ran off along a meadow. He kept going even though his lungs, legs, and heart were screaming for oxygen. He looked back, the man was gone. Albert saw a clump of trees in a garden and aimed for it. Lactic acid was pumping through him. He reached out with one arm to a fence and vaulted over it, and landed in something that looked like an arbor, then lay still, concentrating on not breathing too loudly.

The throbbing of his heartbeat in his ears and his heavy breathing shut out all other sounds. Albert closed his eyes, pressed his face against the soil. He tried to get back to normal by getting his breathing under control. A car passed. He looked up cautiously. A Cherokee, a blond mom driving, she looked tired, a child was crying in the backseat. His breathing was getting back to normal. He listened for steps, the other man’s steps. He must have lost him somewhere. Albert was just about to get up when another car approached from the left. He raised his head slowly. The Volvo passed him out in the road. Hasse behind the wheel … then footsteps running down the road.

“He’s somewhere around here,” the other man shouted.

The Volvo disappeared with a roar. Albert kept his face down. What was he thinking? That he could run away from them?

The footsteps out on the tarmac were close. Steps that didn’t seem to be able to make up their mind. Steps that hesitated, walked a little way, ran back, stopped, walked on again, stopped.

Albert was focusing intently with his ears, heard steps again, if only lightly, as the man walked up and down on the tarmac in his rubber-soled cop shoes.

“Albert?”

A calm, low voice, nearby. Albert tried not to breathe.

“Albert, you’re here somewhere … You can come out now. Your mom’s had an accident … We’re here to pick you up. Don’t be scared. Just come out. You mom wants you with her. She needs you.”

Albert had his face to the ground. The man’s steps moved away slightly. The Volvo came back, stopped.

“Albert!” the man shouted.

“Come on, Anders …” Hasse’s voice.

“He can’t have had time to run across the meadow before I got here, that’s not possible, he’s here somewhere.”

“Get in!” Hasse was impatient.

A car door closed, the car disappeared. Albert lay still, they might come back. He was debating with himself whether to stay where he was or get up and find a new hiding place. Where had they gone? Just around the corner, ready to pick him up when he showed himself again? Or had they driven off, given up?

He decided to stay where he was. An eternity passed. There was no sound of the car. He looked up and checked his limited field of vision, then carefully pulled his cell phone out of his trouser pocket, pressing to put it on silent. He wrote a text message to Sophie with trembling fingers:

Police chasing me, hiding, same policeman as before.

And he sent it off, then felt like crying. He hadn’t been frightened during the chase itself, or while he was lying hidden, he’d just been driven by some sort of self-preservation impulse, a survival instinct. But now came the fear, the terror, and the sense of being all alone.

A car again. He tried to listen to the sound of the engine in case it was the Volvo, but he couldn’t tell. The car came closer. Albert looked at his cell: no message.

Erik had said they should stop for a hot dog
before going to see Carlos. Which they did on Valhallavägen, near Eastern Station. Just the two of them, Erik and Lars. They had never been on their own together before, and certainly not while each of them was holding a hot dog.

Erik had asked a great deal of questions. The questions were about Lars. If he liked working with them, how he thought the investigation was going. Even camouflaged questions and a concealed attempt to find out how much Lars really knew about what they were doing. Lars could tell where Erik was going. He hated the bastard for it, hated them all for the way they’d treated him. Because he didn’t know anything for certain, he had no problem answering truthfully. But Erik didn’t seem happy with that. He wanted clear answers. Answers that could help him pin Lars down.