Never End by Åke Edwardson Read Free Book Online Page B

nineteen . . . no . . . yes, nineteen. He’d been like the girls he and Winter had been talking about only half an hour ago.
    Then he was twenty-two, soon to be a fully qualified cop.
    He stroked her cheek again.
    The divorce hadn’t meant anything. Not in that way. It didn’t come between them in that way.
    Somebody spoke. He wasn’t listening and kneeled by the side of the stretcher, intended doing so for a long time. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Winter.
     
     
    It was as light as day when Winter got home that evening. Light shone into the flat. There was the smell of food in the hall, but he wasn’t hungry anymore.
    He’d called Angela some hours earlier.
    He went in to Elsa and wondered about waking her up, but contented himself with smelling her, and listening.
    Angela was waiting in the kitchen with a glass of wine.
    “I’ll have a whiskey,” said Winter, and went over to the countertop, took one of the bottles, and poured several inches into a chubby glass. This wasn’t the time for a delicate malt whiskey glass.
    “Oh, dear.”
    “You can have the rest if I can’t drink it all.”
    “Just because I’ve finished breast-feeding doesn’t mean I’m ready to become an alcoholic.”
    “Cheers,” said Winter, taking a swig. Angela raised her wineglass.
    “Are you hungry?”
    Winter shook his head, felt the punch of the whiskey reverberate through his body, sat down at the table, and looked at Angela, who was a little flushed. It was hot in the kitchen.
    “How’s Fredrik?” she asked.
    Winter absently waved his hand: Halders is still with us. He hasn’t broken down altogether.
    “What’ll happen to the children?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “What I said. How are the children?”
    “You said, ‘What’ll happen to the children?’ That’s obvious, surely. They’re with Halders.”
    Angela said nothing.
    “Don’t you think he can handle it?”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “That’s what it sounded like.”
    Angela didn’t reply. Winter took another swig.
    “They’re in the house in Lunden,” he said. “Halders thought that was best. For the time being.”
    “I agree.”
    “He was resolute, I suppose you could say.” Winter said. “When we left the hospital. Drove to their school.”
    Angela took a sip of wine, thought about the children.
    “It was horrific,” Winter said. “A horrific experience. A teacher stayed with them in the school until we got there.” He took another slug of whiskey. It didn’t taste of anything anymore, apart from alcohol. “It happened while they were still in class and so . . . well, they were still there.”
    “Did you drive them home?”
    “Yes.” Winter looked at the clock. “It took a few hours.”
    “Of course.” She stood up, went to the stove, and switched off the fan. There was a different kind of silence in the kitchen. Winter could hear sounds from the courtyard. Glasses. Voices. “But they’re not alone there now, I take it?”
    “Hanne’s there,” Winter said. He’d called the police chaplain, Hanne Östergaard. She was good at talking to people. Consoling them, perhaps. He didn’t know. Yes. Consolation. “Halders didn’t object when I suggested it.” He could hear the voices again, a bit louder, but no words that he could make out. “Hanne was going to call for a psychologist, I think. They talked about it, in any case.”
    “Good.”
    “And Aneta came.”
    “Aneta? Aneta Djanali?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why?”
    “Halders phoned her. She came right over.”
    “Do they work together a lot?”
    “Nearly all the time.”
    “Don’t they have kind of a strained relationship?”
    “Where do you get that idea from?”
    “Come on, Erik! We’ve spent some time with them. You’ve said the occasional thing . . .”
    “Oh . . . that was just the kind of thing you say.” He raised his glass and saw to his surprise that it was empty. He stood up and went over to the bottle. “He evidently needs her