The Shadow Woman Read Free Page B

sergeant.
    Ringmar saw how he listened, brow furrowed and shoulders hunched forward, as he said a few short words and hung up.
    “A guy who followed them is on his way over,” Winter said.
    “No shit. Why hasn’t he been in touch before?”
    “Something about having to take his kid to the ER in the middle of the night.”
    “Where is he?”
    “Like I said, on his way. Speaking of which, I was up at Sahlgrenska Hospital to look in on Aneta. I met Fredrik on his way out of her room. His eyes were all red.”
    “Good,” Ringmar said.

3
    THE BACK OF THE CHAIR HAD LEFT A DAMP IMPRESSION ON Winter’s back, and he gave a shiver as he stood beneath the air conditioner at the window. The patches of cold inside made the summer look cold and gray through the windows that couldn’t be opened. Since the sky seemed undecided, the grass at Old Ullevi Stadium was under fire from water cannons.
    He thought about Aneta Djanali and clenched his right hand. Whenever he considered what had happened to her, he felt . . . violent. The violence became part of him, a sudden sensation. A primitive urge for revenge, perhaps, and a little beyond that. He had returned to his violent world abruptly.
    Ringmar was still seated, looking at him without speaking. He’s fifteen years older than I am, and he’s started waiting for a better world, Winter thought. When his last day here is finished, he may take the boat out to his cabin on Vrångö, never to return.
    “What’s that supposed to mean, the thing on your shirt?” Ringmar asked. “ ‘London Calling.’ ”
    “It’s the name of a record by a rock band. Macdonald sent it to me.”
    “Rock? You don’t know anything about rock, do you?”
    “I’ve listened to one rock band. The Clash. Macdonald sent me the album together with the T-shirt.”
    “The Clash? What is that?”
    “It’s an English word meaning violent confrontation.”
    “I mean the band. Can you tell the difference between hard rock and pop?”
    “No. But I like this.”
    “I don’t think so. Coltrane is your man.”
    “I like it,” Winter repeated. “It was recorded back when I was nineteen or something, and yet it’s timeless.”
    “Hard rock, you mean,” Ringmar said.
    The witness arrived.
     
    The man gave his account. The skin of his face was taut and looked brittle after a night without sleep. His little girl had suffered a severe allergic reaction that had nearly ended tragically.
    Winter said something.
    “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. My mind blanked out there for a second.”
    “You said that you were walking behind the men.”
    “Yes.”
    “How many were there?”
    “Three, like I said.”
    “Are you sure they were together?”
    “Two of them waited while the third—the guy who hit her—they waited for him before moving on together.” The witness ran his hand across his eyes. “I remember that the guy doing the hitting was smaller.”
    “He was shorter?”
    “It looked that way.”
    “And you followed them?”
    “As far as I could. Everything happened so damn fast—afterward. I sort of went into shock, couldn’t move. Then I thought, ‘This is heinous. ’ And I followed after them to see where they went, but there were so many people on the square, and then my cell phone rang and my wife started screaming that Astrid couldn’t breathe. That’s our little girl.”
    “Yes,” Winter said, and looked at Ringmar, who had children. Winter didn’t have children, but he had a woman who said she didn’t want to wait any longer for him to become mature enough to take responsibility for a child. Angela said that yesterday, before going home to her mother’s to fine-tune her biological clock. When she gets back, Winter had mused as she was leaving, I guess she’ll tell me what time it is.
    “It all turned out all right,” the man said, mostly to himself. “Astrid’s going to be okay.”
    Winter and Ringmar waited. The air in the room flowed back and forth, past a man dressed