Sun and Shadow by Åke Edwardson Read Free Book Online Page A

sleep? It was a long journey.”
    “I’ll get some rest here, on the chair.”
    He could hear the patter of rain on the window, gentle at first but growing louder.
    “It’s raining,” his father mumbled. “That’ll please a lot of people.”
    Bartram was daydreaming when the door to the basement stairs was flung open and two youths came racing out and ran off to the left.
    Bartram leaped out of the car, shot over the flowerbed, and tackled one of them with a kick on the shin.
    The other boy disappeared down the next flight of stairs. Bartram looked down at his captive squirming on the ground, glanced around, then slammed his foot down on the youth’s back.
    “Ouch! You bast—”
    “Shut up.”
    “Take your foot off—”
    “Shut up, I said.”
    Vejehag and Morelius emerged from the basement and ran over to Bartram and the boy.
    “What happened down there?” Bartram asked.
    “We caught ‘em red-handed,” Vejehag said.
    “That’s bullshit! I caught ‘em red-handed,” said Bartram, pressing his foot down harder on the kid’s back.
    “That’s enough of that,” Vejehag said. “Where’s the other one?”
    “Ran down the basement stairs over there,” Bartram said, pointing.
    “Get up,” Vejehag said to the boy, gesturing to Bartram to take his foot away.
    A patrol car was approaching.
    “This bunch is from the emergency call-out squad,” Morelius said.
    “Have you been yakking over the radio?” asked Vejehag, glaring at Bartram.
    “Of course I haven‘t, goddam it!”
    The car drew up alongside them. The driver’s window was wound down and a very young face appeared—the officer looked about twenty-five.
    “What’s going on, Granddad?”
    “We’ve lost a nightshirt and a nightcap and thought we might find them in the basement here.”
    “Ha, ha.”
    “And what are you lot doing here?” Vejehag said.
    “Who’s that?” asked the constable in the patrol car, nodding toward the youth slumped between Bartram and Morelius.
    “It’s my young brother,” Vejehag said, and at that very moment the door behind them flew open and out charged the other youth. Bartram let go and raced after the second kid and tackled him after only ten yards. The constable’s jaw dropped. Somebody said something inside the car, but it was impossible to see anything through the tinted windows. There was some faint applause.
    The young constable looked at Vejehag.
    “Another brother of yours?”
    “We’re gathering the family together for a party. It’ll soon be Christmas.”
    “Ha, ha.”
    Bartram strolled up with the boy in handcuffs.
    “Nice bit of work,” the constable said.
    “Look and learn,” Vejehag said.
    “Are there any more?”
    “Eh?”
    “If there are any more assembling for your party, you might need a bit of backup. I mean, all that violent resistance.”
    “We’re not expecting any more violent resistance.”
    “Oh no?”
    “We normally capture the villains verbally.”
    “Eh?”
    “We try to talk to people. Even villains. We don’t expect violent resistance when we’re at work.”
    “I can see that.”
    Vejehag pretended not to hear. “If anybody thinks that violent resistance plays a significant part in our work, maybe they ought to think again about their choice of profession.”
    “Be seeing you, Granddad,” said the young constable, and the car moved off. The buildings that comprise Rickertsgatan were reflected in its windows.
    “What a bunch,” Vejehag said. “Six officers who can’t bear the thought of being parted from the other. Hiding behind tinted glass.” He looked at Morelius. “There’s something perverse about that, don’t you think?”
    “Could be.”
    “There’s something perverse about the whole idea of special call-out units,” Vejehag said. “They should be sent on Swedish-language courses instead of all that goddam macho nonsense. We talk every day, but it’s pretty rare that the Gothenburg police force gets to storm a Boeing 757. Even so,