Death Angels by Åke Edwardson Read Free Book Online Page A

chief inspector in Sweden.”
    “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a little work to do, Mom.” He clicked past a report from Costa del Sol.
    “We’ll call again soon.”
    “I’m looking forward to it. Say hi to Dad.”
    “One more thing,” she said, but he was already putting down the phone.
    Winter got up and walked into the kitchen. He poured some water in the coffeepot, plugged it in and pushed the button. As the hissing sound grew louder, he filled a tea ball and dropped it in a china cup. He poured in a little milk and finally the water. When the brew was dark enough, he removed the tea ball, tossed it in the sink and took the cup into the living room. He put on a Coltrane CD and sipped his tea, watching the evening outside darken to night. A floor lamp by one of the bookcases bathed the room in a soft glow. He stood by the window to look out over the city but saw only his own reflection.

6
    IT WAS SATURDAY. KAREN AND WINSTON HILLIER LIVED SOUTH of the river. Macdonald kept a respectable distance from the cars in front of him as he drove west on A236. The rest of the world was in a hurry, and the driver in the Vauxhall behind him gave Macdonald the finger even before they’d left North Croydon.
    Make my day, Macdonald mumbled to himself, waiting. Go ahead and pass me, pal, so I can call in your license plate number. They were approaching a junction—he would have to take the left fork and watch his tormentor zoom by, honking his horn and screaming obscenities with his finger in the air.
    We’re a nation of hooligans, Macdonald thought. That asshole was no doubt on his way to Griffin Park—the place to be on a brisk day in early February, spending a few carefree hours with your buddies.
    When he reached the Tulse Hill district, he parked outside a house on Palace Road. It looked to be newly painted. The people in the neighborhood were from the old middle class and had remained there as the battle lines were drawn all around them. Getting out of the car, he heard what sounded like gunfire coming from Brockwell Park.
    The windows were dark, but he knew that the Hilliers were waiting for him inside. Thank God you’re not breaking the news, he thought, although your belated arrival might prove to be a disadvantage if the shock has worn off.
    Karen opened the door as soon as he knocked. Had she been standing there all morning long? She might have been mentally preparing herself, Macdonald thought, but she looks like you just broke into her house.
    “Mrs. Hillier?”
    “Yes. Inspector Macdonald, I assume?”
    He nodded and pulled out his badge. She ignored it and motioned toward the living room. “Come in.”
    I’m like one of those prowlers who stalk people’s nightmares, he thought.
    They walked through the hallway. Illuminated as if by a spotlight, Winston sat in a wide couch at the far end of the living room. Macdonald heard a distant squeaking. Looking out the window, he watched a British Rail train go by, a hundred yards below a bare hilltop.
    “We never take the train,” Winston said.
    Macdonald introduced himself, but Winston didn’t seem to hear. “The railroad and tracks have spoiled this part of London,” he said. “It’s even worse than highway construction.”
    Macdonald saw some bottles to Winston’s right and a glass in front of them. Winston picked it up and raised it unsteadily to his lips. He looked at Macdonald, who took a step closer. Macdonald couldn’t tell whether the pale inscrutability of his eyes was the result of blindness or booze.
    “I’m not blind,” Winston said, noticing Macdonald’s bafflement. “Just drunk. Since eleven o’clock this morning, to be exact.”
    “May I sit down?”
    “Welcome to our happy little home.” Winston’s laugh turned to a hiss. “I told Geoff the program was a good idea.” He got up to take a clean glass from the shelf behind him, then looked out the window. “It sounded exciting.” His eyes were on a second train making its way