But before I submit to this destructive avalanche taking place so suddenly and so unexpectedly inside me, I am raised up out of the darkness. I regain control of myself, terror loosens its grip, everything is repeated and retreats in the opposite direction, I am transported from the fear of death to a state of happiness and trust by the fastest lift in the world — or perhaps it’s that angel after all — and when I turn the door handle that I have finally succeeded in coming to, the whole of my being is possessed by a sense of almost childish curiosity: who is it standing outside the door?
The fact is that until you have investigated, until you have lifted the lid, you can’t possibly know anything about what is inside. Until we reach that very last second, everything is still possible.
Expectation, there is no sweeter sweetness in this life.
Who’s ringing the doorbell?
58
There is a man in his sixties standing there. Slightly hunched, slightly overweight.
‘Yes?. .’
‘Fru Holinek?’
‘Yes. . Yes, of course. What’s it all about?’
He produces something from his inside pocket and holds it up. I don’t understand what it is.
‘Chief Inspector Simonsson. May I come in?’
I see that there is a dark blue car parked outside the gate. The engine is running, and another man behind the wheel is talking into a mobile phone.
‘Yes, of course. This way. . Forgive me, but I’m busy making dinner.’
He steps into the hall and sniffs the air. ‘Yes, I can smell that.’
He hangs up his jacket. ‘Is there somewhere where we can sit and talk? I have a few questions.’
‘Is it about. .?’
‘Yes, it’s about your husband, fru Holinek.’
I show him into the living room and we each sit down in an armchair.
‘Would you like anything?’
‘No thank you.’
He takes out a small notebook and leafs through it for a moment.
‘So your husband, Martin Holinek, disappeared from the ferry between Puttgarden and Rødby on the evening of the thirtieth of January, is that correct?’
‘Yes. . Yes, that’s true. Why are you asking about that? I’ve already spoken several times to both the Danish and the Swedish police-’
He holds up his hand and I break off.
‘The fact is that we might have found his body, fru Holinek.’
‘You might have. .?’
For a brief moment my brain blows a fuse. I stare at him and try to remember what he said his name was.
‘It’s a possibility at least,’ he adds. ‘There are quite a lot of bewildering circumstances.’
‘I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?’
‘Simonsson. Chief Inspector Simonsson.’
‘Thank you. I don’t really understand. . Bewildering circumstances?’
He clears his throat and looks at his notebook.
‘I can’t think of a better way of putting it. But maybe you can put us on the right track. Your husband is supposed to have jumped overboard from the ferry more or less halfway between Puttgarden and Rødby about. . well, just over two weeks ago. And now a body has been found that might possibly be his.’
‘What do you mean by “possibly”?’
He nods a few times and looks around the room before saying anything more. As if he were looking for an answer in the bookcase or up near the ceiling.
‘In the first place we are wondering about the spot where he was found. It’s quite a long way from where he is supposed to have jumped overboard.’
‘I. . I’ve been told that there are strong sea currents down there. That’s what the Danish police said, at least.’
He nodded. ‘That’s true. But this body was found rather a long way to the east of Fehmarn. . In Poland, in fact.’
‘Poland?’
‘Yes. That’s one of the circumstances. The other one is the time aspect. The human body they’ve found has evidently been dead for several months. . It’s been very badly mauled, and to complicate matters further was discovered inside a bunker.’
‘A bunker?’
‘Yes. An old abandoned remnant from the last war. .’
‘But then it can’t possibly be my husband. How. . how on earth could he have ended up inside a bunker?’
I don’t know where I got my neutral, almost slightly irritated tone of voice from.
Chief Inspector Simonsson sits up a little straighter in the armchair and leans towards me. ‘That’s a question we are also asking ourselves, fru Holinek. This body has been with the Polish police for quite some time, but they haven’t managed to identify it because it is so badly mauled. As far as they can see the man must have died inside that bunker, but before he did so he might possibly have written something on the wall.’
‘Written something. . Now you said “possibly” again.’
‘Yes. There are quite a lot of scribbles on those walls, it seems. Names and suchlike. But when the Polish police failed to get anywhere with identifying the body they sent out a list to police forces in other countries. That was about a month ago. . Eleven names in all, and one of them might have been scratched in by this man before he died — that’s what they are suggesting in any case.’
‘Really? I don’t think I. .’
‘Anyway, one of the names is Holinek. One of my younger colleagues happened to notice it and recognized it from that Rødby report. He’s the one sitting out there in the car, incidentally. Stensson — a promising young detective officer.’
I swallow and try to think of something to say, but I can’t find any words. Instead I look at the police officer with a calm and tolerant television smile.
‘It’s a pretty long shot, of course,’ he says, closing his notebook. ‘But we need to turn over every stone — that’s the way we work. .’
‘I still don’t understand. Of course it’s not him. How could it possibly be?’
He raises his hand again. ‘I agree that it sounds out of the question. But we thought we ought to look into it even so. After all, there are not many people around called Holinek. So we thought we’d investigate so that we could exclude the possibility — can I assume that’s all right with you?’
‘Of course. Naturally there’s nothing I’d like more than Martin’s body being found, so that. . well, so that we know for certain. Are you intending. .?’
‘Intending what?’
‘Are you intending to test DNA and that kind of thing?’
He puts his notebook back in his jacket pocket and nods. ‘That would be one method, of course. But maybe there’s a shortcut in this case.’
‘A shortcut?’
He stands up. Looks thoughtfully around the room again. ‘Apparently there’s not much left of that corpse in the bunker. Neither the body itself nor the clothes he was wearing. But there’s one little thing that has survived intact. I had it delivered to my desk a couple of hours ago.’
‘What’s that?’
‘A car key. He had a car key with him, and it seems the rats didn’t find it edible. Forgive me. . That’s probably what he used to scratch things on the wall with. I take it that’s your Audi parked out there on the drive?’
He has walked over to the window and I can see that he is giving some sort of signal to his colleague. Stensson.
‘Come here, let’s see what happens.’
I walk to the window and stand beside him. I watch as Stensson — a tall, well-built young man of about thirty — has got out of the car he’s been sitting in while Chief Inspector Simonsson and I have been talking.