The Invisible Man from Salem Read Free Page B

as though it had been placed there. I get my phone out, open the picture of the woman’s face, and stare at it, as if her eyes might open at any moment.
    â€˜I suppose everyone has to find something to keep themselves busy until they work out what it is they actually want to do,’ she eventually replies.
    â€˜Exactly.’ I drink from my glass, look at the picture on the phone, show it to Anna. ‘You don’t recognise her?’
    Anna studies the image.
    â€˜No. I don’t recognise her.’
    â€˜Her name might be Rebecca.’
    â€˜With a “ck” or a “cc”?’
    â€˜Why do you ask?’
    â€˜Just wondered.’
    â€˜Not sure, but right now I think it’s double-c.’
    She shakes her head.
    â€˜I don’t recognise her.’
    â€˜It was worth a try.’
    I LEAVE ANNA as she puts the first of the chairs up on a table. According to the ticking wall-clock, it’s now a few minutes to three; but, bearing in mind the state of everything else in BAR , there’s no reason to think that the clock is right.
    â€˜You can ring me, you know,’ she says, as I stand with my hand on the door and turn around.
    â€˜I haven’t got your number.’
    â€˜You’ll work it out.’ She lifts up a second chair, and the wood-on-wood makes a loud clunking noise. ‘Otherwise, I’m sure I’ll see you soon.’
    The lights pulse again, and I push down on the door handle, leaving BAR . My head is rocking gently, not unpleasantly.
    The Stockholm night is raw, in a way that it wasn’t earlier. If the clock behind Anna is right, it’s going to be dark for hours yet. Suddenly, a shadow flickers in the corner of my eye, making me freeze and turn around. Someone is following me, I’m sure of it, but when I survey the street there’s no one there — just a traffic light changing from red to green, a car turning a couple of junctions away, and the hum of a big city expanding in the darkness and devouring lonely souls.
    When I get back to Chapmansgatan there are several cars lined up along the incident tape: another police car; cars from the main news agency, from state television, one of the tabloid newspapers; and a shiny silver van, with tinted windows and AUDACIA LTD written in black on the silver paintwork. The street is cordoned off, and people are standing by the barriers, silhouetted by the light from the police car’s headlamps. The odd camera flash goes off. Someone hangs up a drape alongside the van, and the flashes accelerate to an intense, dazzling rattle. I catch a glimpse of a stretcher, a hand grasping its handle, but nothing more.
    The blue lights are no longer operating. The signals of death have been turned off, and only the photographers’ flashes continue; a sigh escapes from those lining the cordon, possibly one of disquiet, but more likely a sigh of disappointment. The drape being held up by two uniformed officers is obscuring everything they’ve come to see. The two men carrying the body get into the silver van and steer it carefully through the barrier.
    I go back into Chapmansgatan 6 via the rear entrance. As I pass the first floor the door is open, and I can hear Gabriel Birck’s voice coming from inside. The incident tape is still up; it will be there for days, maybe longer. I’m detached from it, from everything, and I go up to my apartment and get back into bed as if it’s been just minutes since I woke up.
    STRANGE , how a shudder goes through the room just before morning arrives.

III
    What was it like growing up in Salem?
    I remember this: the first policeman I ever saw hadn’t shaved in a long time. The second hadn’t slept for days. The third stood at one of Salem’s crossroads, diverting traffic after an accident. He had a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. The fourth policeman I saw pushed his baton between my friend’s legs, unprovoked and without