The Falling Detective Read Free Page A

question makes the boy laugh — a deep, clucking laugh, a pleasant sound that gives me a feeling of wellbeing. The laugh gives way to a cough, and John’s face goes red again.
    â€˜Drink some water, love,’ Amanda says.
    I hold up the glass towards him. He takes a gulp. He grimaces, as though it hurts.
    â€˜No,’ he says. ‘You don’t have hats like that.’
    â€˜When you came back, there was somebody next to the guy down there, looking in his rucksack. Is that right?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Did he find anything?’
    â€˜I didn’t see what it was.’
    â€˜But he found something?’
    â€˜Yes. Then he went.’
    â€˜Which way did he go?’ I point out through the window, and get the boy to follow my finger with his eyes. ‘That way, or this way?’
    â€˜The first one.’
    Back towards town.
    â€˜And then,’ the boy continued, ‘the other one disappeared, too.’
    â€˜The other one? The guy lying down there?’
    â€˜No. The one who was hiding.’
    â€˜Was there another person there, hiding?’ I raise my hand and stick my thumb out. ‘First there was the guy who’s lying down there …’
    The boy nods. I extend my index finger.
    â€˜Then there was the one standing by the rucksack.’
    John nods, again. I stretch out my middle finger.
    â€˜And then there was one more.’
    â€˜Yes.’ John looks pleased with himself, as though he’s just completed the none-too-straightforward task of getting an adult to understand something. ‘Exactly.’
    â€˜Was it a boy or a girl, this last one?’
    â€˜I don’t know.’
    â€˜What about their hair — was it long or short?’
    â€˜I didn’t see.’
    â€˜Where was this person hiding?’
    â€˜Behind one of the green bins. When the one who was looking in the rucksack had gone, the other one came out and then disappeared.’
    â€˜How did this person move? Slowly or quickly?’
    â€˜Quite quickly.’
    â€˜Nimbly? I mean …’ I say to the boy, who obviously doesn’t understand, ‘did he seem clumsy? Was he walking straight or wonky — did he trip up or fall over?’
    John shakes his head.
    â€˜He just walked.’
    â€˜So maybe it was a guy after all?’
    â€˜No, I don’t know. You’re the one saying “he”.’
    The boy is right, and I don’t say any more. I head over to the window instead. The floodlights illuminating the body are blinding. Mauritzon is giving him something resembling a pedicure.
    â€˜Were you alone the whole time?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜You never got up?’ I ask Amanda.
    â€˜No.’ She looks as though I’ve insulted her.
    â€˜That’s not what I meant.’ She doesn’t say anything, and I turn to the boy. ‘That’s good, John. Thanks for your help. You’ve told me some important things that might help us.’
    â€˜He’s dead,’ the boy says again. ‘The one lying down there.’
    â€˜That’s right. That much we can be sure of.’
    The Christmas star causes the backdrop to melt away, makes the snow falling outside a blurred, dark-grey sludge.
    â€˜Are you going now?’ the boy asks.
    â€˜I think so.’
    â€˜Happy Saint Lucia, then.’ His gaze falls away, towards the hall. ‘Don’t forget your shoes.’

Down by the body, a lot has changed, yet nothing has changed. He’s no longer wearing shoes, and someone has taken off his overcoat. From a distance, the body is scarcely visible, obscured by everyone moving around it. Outside, far away near the edge of the cordoned-off area, what could be an undercover police car is waiting. In fact, it belongs to Aftonbladet or Expressen . The constables are nowhere to be seen. They might be composing themselves after calling Gabriel Birck. It’s even colder now, at least it feels like it,