I was the only customer. I could see myself at the empty tables, in different manifestations and at different ages. The loneliness is palpable when you are surrounded by empty tables and chairs.
The door opened and a woman with a wheeled walker manoeuvred her way in. I remembered Harriet’s slow progress across the ice a few years earlier. I couldn’t picture myself with a walker. The thought was terrifying, revolting. Would I really want to live if my legs wouldn’t carry me?
The woman bought a cinnamon bun and drank a glass of water. The waitress carried the tray for her as she groped her way along, feeling for the edge of the table and the chair before she sat down.
I wondered what she was thinking. In my eyes the earth was already dragging her down. She was slowly fading away, and eventually she would disappear completely.
I picked up my coffee, poured it into a paper cup and left the cafe. I had never had anything to do with the police before, apart from routine business such as renewing my passport or reporting some minor damage to my car when someone drove into it on one occasion. Now I was suspected of a serious crime. I knew I was innocent, but I had no idea what conclusions the police had reached.
I sat there and acknowledged my anxiety. The car had become a confessional.
The police station was newly built, of red brick. Behind what I assumed was bulletproof glass sat a receptionist in civilian clothing. I told her who I was and showed her the letter. She picked up the phone and said: ‘He’s here.’
After a few minutes a young police officer came through the door leading to the various departments. He wasn’t in uniform either. He held out his hand.
‘Månsson.’
His grip was firm, but once we had shaken hands he withdrew quickly, as if he were somehow afraid of getting stuck. I followed him into the depths of the building, where at last I caught a glimpse of a uniformed officer. It was reassuring; in my world policemen wore a uniform and carried a baton.
Månsson couldn’t have been more than thirty years old. I thought he was fashionably dressed, but what did I know. For some reason, perhaps a trend that had passed me by, he was wearing different-coloured socks.
We went into a small conference room. There was another plain-clothes officer over by the window, absent-mindedly feeling the compost around a potted plant. He was a little older, maybe thirty-five. He didn’t shake hands, merely nodded and informed me that his name was Brenne.
We sat down. The chairs were green, the table brown. There was a tape recorder. Brenne switched it on, but it was Månsson who took charge.
I wished I had brought my yo-yo with me. Not so that I could get it out, unsettle the two officers, but to calm myself. Feeling its weight in my hand would have helped more than a solicitor.
Månsson glanced down at a file on the table, then began to speak, directing his words at the microphone. I got the feeling he was already sick and tired of what was in front of him.
‘Interview with Fredrik Welin. The time is eleven forty-five. Detective Inspectors Brenne and Månsson are both present.’ He turned to me, then went on: ‘You have been called in for questioning about the fire which destroyed your house. You are aware that’s why you’re here?’
‘I’m not aware of anything. But yes, my house has burned down. Everything I owned is gone. I bought the clothes I’m wearing just a few days ago. Poor quality, made in China.’
Both Månsson and Brenne were looking at me curiously. Obviously my response wasn’t what they had been expecting.
‘Our investigation hasn’t revealed a natural explanation for the fire,’ Månsson continued. ‘We have, however, established that it started simultaneously in at least four different places at the corners of the house. We therefore have reasonable grounds to suspect that the fire was deliberate.’
‘I know that, but I didn’t do it.’
‘Have you any idea who might have done such a thing?’
‘I have no enemies. Nor is there anyone who stands to gain financially from my house burning down.’
‘You were fully insured?’
‘Yes.’
So far the interview had followed the pattern I had been expecting. Nothing I didn’t know, nothing to explain why the finger of suspicion was pointing at me apart from the fact that there was no alternative.
Brenne broke his silence by asking if I would like a coffee. I declined. He left the room and returned with mugs of coffee for himself and his colleague.
The tape recorder was switched back on. I was still missing my yo-yo. The interview seemed to be going round in circles: when exactly had I fallen asleep, when had I woken up and rushed outside, did I have any enemies who might have wanted me to burn to death. I gave them the times as best I could, and continued to deny that I had any idea who might have started the fire.
Eventually I got fed up of the constant repetition.
‘I know I’m here because you suspect me,’ I said. ‘I can only reiterate that you’re on the wrong track. I haven’t a clue how the fire started or who might have wanted to harm or kill me. I’ve told you everything I know.’
Månsson gazed at me in silence for a long time, then he spoke into the microphone, saying that the interview was terminated, and switched off the tape recorder.
‘I’m sure we’ll be in touch again,’ he said as he got to his feet and adjusted his pink tie.
Brenne said nothing. He had gone back to the potted plant on the windowsill.
Månsson showed me out. I felt a surge of relief as I walked away from the police station. I left the car and went into one of the big department stores nearby. There was a sale in one of the clothing concessions, and I bought several items after carefully checking that none of them were made in China. I had lunch at an Italian restaurant in the galleria; the food wasn’t good. It could have been made by Brenne or Månsson, I thought. It contained more fatigue and sorrow than nutrition.
I bought two bottles of vodka at the nearby state-run liquor store, then I went to collect my car. I saw two police officers dragging along a woman who had passed out from drink. One of the officers looked like Lisa Modin. The resemblance was so striking that I thought it was her at first, but then I realised that the officer’s face was thinner and covered in freckles.
Before I headed back towards the harbour and my island, I called Louise again. This time I was able to leave a message.
‘Where the hell did you go?’ I said. ‘I had to swim to the mainland to get to the police station on time.’
I didn’t ask her to pick me up. Instead I called her again.
‘I got beaten up,’ I said in my second message. ‘I’m probably going to lose the sight in my left eye.’
I drove through a landscape filled with beautiful autumn colours, but at the same time it filled me with uncertainty. In the past the seasons had never affected me, but over the last few years the cold and the darkness evoked a growing sense of unease.
I stopped when I reached the place where I had bought my Chinese shirts. The shoe shop was closed. There weren’t many customers in the grocery shop. I filled my basket with things that I didn’t necessarily need to cook; everything could be eaten cold. I carried my bag to the car, then wondered briefly whether I should try to find out Lisa Modin’s home address. The temptation was strong, but I resisted and set off for the harbour. It was three o’clock in the afternoon. The hilly road wound its way through dense forest, except in a few places where it was possible to glimpse the waters of a lake and eventually the sea, shining among the dark trees. If you didn’t know better, the forest could seem endless.
There were few side roads. In fact there was really only one, leading north. The sign, which I don’t think had ever been cleaned, bore the name of a place called Hörum. It was seven kilometres away. I had passed that sign for years, ever since I was a child, but I had never had any reason to go to Hörum. I had no reason now either, but I instinctively turned off, the decision made so quickly that I didn’t even have time to brake. The gravel sprayed up around my wheels, and I only just managed to avoid skidding off the road and driving straight into the trees.