Before the Frost
- Автор: Манкелль Хеннинг
- Серия: Linda Wallander #1
- Год: 2004
- Язык: английский
- Год: The Harvill Press
- ISBN: 978-1-84343-113-8
- Переводчик: Ebba Segerberg
- Жанр: Полицейские детективы
Электронная книга - «Before the Frost». Краткое содержание книги:
“She said you snuck into the house.”
“I walked in through the veranda doors, which hardly qualifies as sneaking in. She was as high as a kite, whatever she may have told you on the phone.”
“We’ll talk about this later.”
“Thanks.”
“What were you doing in Copenhagen?”
“I’ve already told you.”
Wallander shook his head.
“Can you explain why a man has been arrested for trying to rob you?”
“No. But I also can’t explain why you refuse to believe me.”
He leaned over.
“Do you understand what I went through when they called me? When they told me you had been admitted to a hospital in Copenhagen after an assault — do you know what that felt like?”
“I’m sorry that you had to worry about me.”
“Worry? I was scared out of my mind — more frightened than I’ve been in years.”
Maybe you haven’t been so scared since I tried to kill myself, she thought. She knew his greatest fear was that something should happen to her.
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
“I wonder what it will be like when you start working, of course,” he continued. “If that will turn me into a worried old man who can’t sleep when you’re working the night shift.”
She tried to tell her story again, slowly, with painstaking care, but he still didn’t seem to believe her.
She had just finished when Stefan Lindman walked into the room. He had a paper bag with sandwiches. He nodded happily at her when he saw she was awake.
“How are you doing?”
“Fine.”
Lindman handed the paper bag to Wallander, who immediately started to eat.
“What kind of car do you have? I’m going to get it for you,” Lindman said.
“A red VW Golf. It’s parked across the street from the apartment building on Nedergade. I think it’s in front of a smoke shop.”
He held up the key.
“I took this out of your coat pocket. You were lucky, you know. Desperate drug addicts are about the worst thing you can run into.”
“He wasn’t a drug addict.”
“Tell Lindman what you told me,” her father said in between bites.
She proceeded through her account again, calmly and methodically, just as she had been taught.
“This doesn’t exactly jibe with what our Danish colleagues reported,” Lindman said when she was done. “Nor with what the thug said either.”
“But I’m telling you what really happened.”
Wallander carefully wiped his hands with a paper napkin.
“Let me put this a different way,” he said. “It’s unusual for people to confess to crimes they haven’t committed. It does happen, admittedly, but not very often, and least of all by convicted drug offenders, since what they fear most is incarceration and the possibility that they will be cut off from their lifeline of drugs. Do you see what I’m saying?”
Linda didn’t answer. A physician walked into the room and asked her how she felt.
“You can go home,” he said. “But take it easy for a few days, and call a doctor if the headache doesn’t subside.”
Linda sat up. Something had just occurred to her.
“What does Ulrik Larsen look like?”
Neither Lindman nor her father had seen him.
“I’m not leaving until I know what he looks like.”
Her father lost his temper.
“Haven’t you caused enough trouble? We are going home — now.”
“Surely it can’t be hard to get a description of him. Can’t you ask one of these Danish colleagues you keep talking about?”
Linda realized she was shouting. A nurse popped her head in and gave them a stern look.
“We need this room for another patient,” she said.
There was a bleeding woman lying on a stretcher in the corridor, banging her fist against the wall. A waiting room was empty and they walked in.
“The man who hit me was about one hundred and eighty centimeters tall. I couldn’t see his face since he was wearing a sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. The sweatshirt was either black or dark blue. He had dark pants and brown shoes. He was thin. He spoke Danish and had a high-pitched voice. He also smelled of cinnamon.”
“Cinnamon?” Lindman said.
“Maybe he had been eating a cinnamon bun, how should I know? Anyway, call your colleagues and find out if the man they have in custody matches this description. If I can just find that out, I’ll keep my mouth shut for the time being.”
“No,” Wallander said. “We’re going home.”
Linda looked at Lindman. He nodded carefully after Wallander had already turned his back.
The doorbell rang. Linda sat up in a daze and looked at the alarm clock. It was a quarter past eleven. She climbed out of bed and put on her robe. Her head was sore, but the throbbing pain was gone. She opened the front door. It was Lindman.
“I’m sorry if I woke you up.”
She let him in.
“Wait in the living room. I’ll be right back.”
She ran into the bathroom, splashed water on her face, brushed her teeth, and combed her hair. When she returned he was standing in front of the balcony door. It was open.
“How are you feeling today?”
“I feel OK. Would you like some coffee?”
“I don’t have time. I just wanted to tell you about a phone call I made about an hour ago.”
Linda waited. He must have believed what she told him back at the hospital.
“What did they say?”
“It took a little while to get to the right officer. I had to wake somebody called Ole Hedtoft who had worked all night. He was one of the patrol officers who found you, and who arrested the guy who did it.”
Lindman took out a piece of paper from the pocket of his leather jacket and looked at her.
“Give me Ulrik Larsen’s description again.”
“I don’t know if his name really is Ulrik Larsen, but the man who attacked me was one hundred and eighty centimeters, thin, with a black or navy blue hooded sweatshirt, dark pants, and brown shoes.”
Lindman nodded and then rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.
“Ole Hedtoft described the same man. But you may have misunderstood the threat he made.”
Linda shook her head.
“That’s not possible. He talked about the man I was looking for, Torgeir Langaas.”
“Well, somebody must have misunderstood something.”
“Why do you keep going on about a misunderstanding? I know what happened, and I’m more afraid than ever that Anna is in danger.”
“Report it then. Talk to her mother. Why doesn’t she come report her missing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Shouldn’t she be worried?”
“I can’t explain why she isn’t worried, but I do know Anna may be in danger.”
Lindman started walking back to the front door.
“Report it to the police and let us take care of it.”
“You haven’t done much up to this point.”
Lindman stopped dead. He was angry when he answered her.
“We’re working around the clock,” he said. “We’re investigating something that has actually taken place: a homicide, and a repulsive, baffling one at that.”
“Then we’re in the same situation,” she said calmly. “My friend Anna isn’t there when I call or knock on her door. And I’m baffled by that too.”
She opened the door for him.
“Thanks for at least believing part of what I told you.”
“This is between the two of us. There’s no need to mention it to your dad.”
Lindman ran down the stairs. Linda ate a hasty breakfast, put her clothes on, then called Zeba. She didn’t pick up. Linda drove over to Anna’s apartment, but this time there were no signs that the place had been disturbed in any way. Where are you? Linda called out silently. You’ll have a lot to explain when you get back.