The Cruel Stars of the Night - Kjell Eriksson [144]
But above all he was worried about Ann. Berglund’s expression had illustrated what could be thought to have happened. The unthinkable was thinkable and now perhaps even likely.
He snapped up his jacket and left the room.
When Sammy Nilsson reached the flaming house he spotted “Tiny” Wahlquist, who was waving for him to come over. Next to “Tiny” there was a man of about sixty.
“This guy has a little info,” Tiny said. “He’s a neighbor and he saw a woman, about forty, who was with Laura Hindersten—the woman who lives in this residence.” He pointed to it.
“She said she was a police officer but she sure didn’t look like one and she behaved more like a thug,” the neighbor said.
“Is this the one?” Sammy held up a picture of Lindell. He had been carrying it around in his pocket ever since the report on her disappearance was disseminated.
The man nodded.
“Is she wanted?”
“Shut up,” Sammy Nilsson snarled. “Ann is the best officer we have. When did you see them?”
“This afternoon,” the neighbor said meekly. “She went into the house with Laura Hindersten.”
“Have you seen her leave the house?”
The neighbor shook his head. Now he was pale, suddenly aware of the seriousness of the situation.
“Jesus Christ,” Tiny said.
Sammy drew a deep breath and looked around. A fire commander was stationed a little ways up the street and Sammy ran up to him. They vaguely knew each other from before. Sammy thought his name was Eddie Wallin.
“Hi there,” Sammy said. “It turns out we may have a fellow officer in the building.”
He was near tears but did everything to sound collected.
“What the hell are you saying? You see what this looks like. We don’t have a chance of going in yet,” the fire commander said and gestured with his arm to some smoke divers who were standing at the ready.
Forty-nine
Ann Lindell leaned forward with her healthy hand on one knee and rested for a few seconds. The fire thundered overhead. It occurred to her there might be water in the basement. She had seen an old washing machine and stainless steel rinsing tubs in one of the areas but realized it was too late to make her way there. And what could a thin stream of water do against a raging inferno?
She took out another bottle of wine and did the same thing as before. This time it was red wine. It helped for the moment but the heat was starting to get so unbearable that soon no wine in the world would help her. She would be poached in wine.
She drew farther back into the wine cellar. The floor, walls, and ceiling were lined with brick. She guessed that Ulrik Hindersten had had the area reinforced in order to maintain the right temperature for the wine. This played to her advantage in the short term but she knew it was only a matter of time before the bricks started to rain down.
She turned the bathtub upside down and put some bottles of wine on the floor. She wet a rag with wine and draped it around her face, lifted the side of the tub, and crawled in under it. Now it was dark again. If she had felt the basement was bad the tub was a veritable prison cell by comparison. She lay on her left side with her legs pulled up. There was hardly enough room for her. Her arm ached and the effort of moving the tub had brought her close to fainting. Even so Ann experienced a measure of calm. When they found her they would know she had done what she could. She had not given up. Ottosson, Sammy, or perhaps Bea would tell this to Erik one day when he was old enough to understand.
She sucked a little on the rag. The taste of wine reminded her of all the evenings she had spent at home on the couch. Would she have been able to live differently? The thoughts hooked one into the other, memories from her childhood in Ödeshög mingled with love nights with Edvard in Gräsö.
“Water,” she mumbled and thought about the late nights they had rowed out into the bay. Edvard loved to fish and became childishly happy every time he