Free The Hand that Trembles by Kjell Eriksson Page B

was threatening to take the upper hand.
    ‘Maybe they have taken something from me, I mean …’
    Lindell knew what he was talking about. She wanted to say something comforting, but refrained.
    ‘Do you want to be left alone?’
    ‘Maybe we should have a cup of coffee. Like the old days. Do you remember when you started in the Crime division?’
    Lindell nodded, glad at the turn in the conversation. When she had been new in the division, she had quickly appointed Berglund her mentor and confidant. They would withdraw over a cup of coffee, sometimes in his office, sometimes at the café, sometimes at the Savoy, the bakery that he had started patronising already in the sixties and that had come to be Lindell’s retreat when she wanted to be alone to think.
    ‘Let’s do that,’ she said.
    She walked over to him, standing quite close, and leant her head on his shoulder. Suddenly it was as if he was the stronger of the two.
    ‘Maybe he did the right thing in taking off to India,’ Berglund said. ‘Do you know how much I’ve come to hate snow and cold? I used to love winter, we would go cross-country skating, long before it became popular. We would pack our backpacks and set out, to Tämnaren or Funbo Lake, or to the coast during frigid winters. We would park the car on Blid Island or Yxlan and then we could skate all the way to Rödlöga, once even all the way to Fredlarna. We could just make out the Swedish Högar. It feels so long ago. Now I hate winter.’
    ‘You’ve never told me. I thought you were a snow man.’
    Berglund put his arm around her. They stood quietly, watching the snow.
    ‘At this time of year in Ödeshög there’s just a lot of wind,’ Lindell went on. ‘I don’t remember any good snow winters. My father never ventured out to do more than brush off the front steps.’
    ‘Was he sick?’
    ‘No, superfluous maybe. He drove a beverage lorry and became superfluous. He missed the boxes, the clatter of glass, and talking with the shop owners and the kiosk keepers.’
    ‘Superfluous,’ Berglund said.
    ‘That’s how he felt. My mother was the one who suffered. Dad got more quiet over the years. And now he is getting senile and you know …’
    Lindell felt Berglund stiffen. He let go of her and leant his head against the windowpane.
    ‘I used to believe in God,’ he blurted out with such sharpness in his voice that Lindell jumped.
    ‘And you don’t anymore?’
    Berglund shook his head. It looked like he was rubbing his head against the glass.
    ‘What do you believe in?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ Berglund said. ‘Maybe I just need some fresh air. Yesterday a fellow from my congregation stopped by. We’ve been friends since childhood. He is a good man, a good person, but listening to him I felt wrapped in a haze of indifference. I felt nothing, no joy, you know that sweet feeling of friendship.’
    ‘And then I barge in.’
    Berglund turned his head and looked at her.
    ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I am happy you’re the one who’s here. I wouldn’t be able to take Ottosson. He would just get chipper. Allan would look sad, Sammy nervous, and Haver even shakier.’
    ‘Do you want to be left in peace?’
    ‘I guess death is breathing down my neck.’
    ‘Did these thoughts start with your health problems?’
    ‘You’re an investigator,’ Berglund said, but did not answer the question.
    Lindell started to sense that his misgivings had their root farther back and that the discovery of the brain tumour had forced everything to the surface.
    ‘Do you want to take a peek at the file?’
    ‘Which file?’
    ‘The one on the county commissioner who disappeared?’
    ‘You want to put me to work? Yes, maybe it would …’
    ‘Can I do anything?’
    Berglund left the window and sat down on the bed. His cheeks were sunken and the dark circles under his eyes made him look somewhat demonic.
    ‘You could talk to the widow, well, if there is a widow.’
    ‘Want to go get a cup