The Cruel Stars of the Night - Kjell Eriksson [0]
Also by Kjell Eriksson
The Princess of Burundi
The CRUEL STARS of the NIGHT
Kjell Eriksson
Translated from the Swedish
by Ebba Segerberg
THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS
ST. MARTIN’S MINOTAUR NEW YORK
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin’s Press.
THE CRUEL STARS OF THE NIGHT. Copyright © 2007 by Kjell Eriksson. Translation © 2007 by Ebba Segerberg. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.thomasdunnebooks.com
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Eriksson, Kjell, 1953–
(Nattens grymma stjärnor. English)
The cruel stars of the night / Kjell Eriksson ; translated by Ebba Segerberg.—1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-0-312-36667-4
ISBN-10: 0-312-36667-1
I. Segerberg, Ebba. II. Title.
PT9876.15.R5155 N3813 2007
839.73’8—dc22
2007008353
First published in Sweden under the title Nattens grymma stjärnor by Ordfront
First U.S. Edition: May 2007
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
The CRUEL STARS of the NIGHT
Police Headquarters, Uppsala, September 2003
Has your father shown any signs of depression lately?”
Detective Sergeant Åsa Lantz-Andersson dropped her gaze as soon as she uttered the question. The woman sitting across from her had such a fierce expression on her face that it was hard to look at her. It was as if Laura Hindersten’s eyes nailed her to the wall, saying, I don’t think you will find my father and for this reason: you are a bunch of incompetent bunglers dressed up in uniform.
“No,” she said with determination.
Åsa Lantz-Andersson unconsciously let out a deep sigh. The desk in front of her was overrun with folders and files.
“No signs of anxiety?”
“No, as I said, he was like he always was.”
“And how is that?”
Laura Hindersten gave a short laugh. It was a quick, dry salvo that reminded the officer of a teacher she had had in elementary school, someone who had poisoned the children’s existence. She had emanated pride mixed with embittered exasperation at having to put up with such thickheaded pupils.
“My father is a professor and researcher and devotes all his time to his life’s work.”
“Which is?”
“It would take us too far off track to explain it in detail, but I can summarize it by saying that he is one of the nation’s leading experts on Petrarch.”
Åsa Lantz-Andersson nodded.
“I see,” she said.
Another dry cackle.
“So he left the house on Friday. Had he said anything about his plans for the day?”
“Nothing. As I said, when I came home from work he was gone. No note on the kitchen table, nothing in his calendar. I’ve checked.”
“Are there signs that he has packed, brought things with him?”
“No, not that I can see.”
“His passport?”
“Still there in his desk drawer.”
“Your father is seventy years old. Is he showing any signs of confusion, that he . . . ?”
“If you’re asking if he is senile or crazy, you’re wrong. His intellect is completely intact.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Åsa Lantz-Andersson said. “Is he in the habit of taking walks, and if so, where? The City Forest isn’t so far from your house.”
“He never takes walks.”
“Was there any conflict in the family? Had you had a fight?”
Laura Hindersten sat completely silent, lowered her gaze for a moment, and Åsa Lantz-Andersson thought she muttered something before looking up again. Her voice was ice-cold, free of any attempt to sound agreeable.
“We had a very good relationship, if you can imagine such a thing.”
“And why wouldn’t I be able to do that?”
“Your work can hardly be very inspiring.”
“No, you’re right about that,” Åsa Lantz-Andersson said with a smile. “It’s depressing, banal work, but