Blaze Me a Sun by Christoffer Carlsson

Author:Christoffer Carlsson [Carlsson, Christoffer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-01-03T00:00:00+00:00

59

The composite sketch. It changed a lot of things. The Tiarp Man was a cashier at Åhléns, a plumber who lived in Åled, one of the agents at the real estate firm on Stora Torg. He stood at the meat counter at ICA, worked as a high school counselor, and sold Volkswagens at a recently opened dealership at Stenalyckan.

“As far as I can tell, it’s hopeless,” said Evy. “Everyone thinks they’ve seen him. The problem is, no one has seen him. I’m doing other stuff now.”

Evy had called Sven to see how he was doing at home in Marbäck. She was no longer working on the Tiarp Man cases. They’d been handed over to younger minds who could view the series of crimes through fresh eyes.

Sven didn’t understand. Fresh eyes? Ones that had no idea what they were looking at, because they hadn’t been there from the start? Idiocy.

“Do you remember Micke Håkansson?” Evy asked.

“Of course,” said Sven, as though any other answer was out of the question. “Old man Håkansson’s son. He claimed to have spotted the Tiarp Man once, and chased him.”

“Apparently he slept with Gisela Mellberg a few years ago.”

Sven perked up.

“He did?”

“One night together, at least. But it never turned into anything. Apparently Gisela wasn’t interested. He was, though, and I guess he felt pretty burned by her.”

“Are they looking at him?”

“I think so. He does look quite a bit like the man in the picture.”

Sven thought back. “As I recall, he was pretty puny and a timid kind of guy. I don’t think he would have had it in him. And anyway, didn’t we get an alibi for him?”

“No,” said Evy. “Turns out we never did. And,” she added emphatically, “it’s tough to know what other people do or do not have in them.”

Sven tried to picture the young man and closed his eyes as he combed through his memories. No, no way in hell it was him. Way too weak-minded, that one.

They spoke for a while, about everyday life and their plans for spring, and Sven mentioned the mold in the bathroom.

“Haven’t you gotten rid of that yet?”

“Haven’t gotten around to it,” Sven muttered.

“I miss when we used to go to the beach and look at the sea,” she said. “Do you remember that?”

“Yes.”

“Those were peaceful times for me.”

“Me too.”

“Now everything is all so…I don’t know, chaotic. It was more fun with you.”

“Yeah,” Sven said slowly, because that was all he could think of to say, and as he stood at the window in his beloved house it felt as if he were gazing out at all the free time he still had at his disposal and which he had no idea how to fill.

And he had reconsidered. Made a few calls and tried, one last time, to put it all together. He suspected he was close and that it was possible he would have a breakthrough. But in order to do that, to be certain of success, he needed help.

“I’ve got…” he began slowly, opening his notebook, which he had scribbled almost full in recent days.

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