"Sure he was .. . well, he died last spring. But that wasn't anything to do with that. No. He got better real fast."

"Good."

"And we'll have to hope the same goes for this boy, too."

"Yes."

The voice on the radio kept reciting names of various sea regions: Bottenviken and all the rest. A couple of times he had sat at his dad's place with an atlas in front of him and followed all the lighthouses as they were named. For a while he knew all the places by heart, in order, but he had since forgotten them. His dad cleared his throat.

"Yes, your mom and I were talking about it... if you wanted to come out and see me this weekend."

"Mmmm."

"So we could talk more about this and about... everything."

"This weekend?"

"Yes, if you feel like it."

"I guess so. But I have a little . . . what about Sat.u.r.day?"

"Or Friday night."

"No, but... Sat.u.r.day. Morning."

"That sounds good. I'll take an eider duck out of the freezer." Oskar pressed the mouthpiece closer and whispered: "Preferably without shot."

His dad laughed.

Last fall when Oskar had been out at his place he had broken a tooth on some shot left in a sea bird that they had eaten. He had told his mom it was a stone in a potato. Sea bird was Oskar's favorite food, but his mom thought it was "terribly cruel" to shoot such defenceless birds. If she knew he had broken a tooth on the instrument of murder itself it might lead to a moratorium on eating that kind of food altogether.

"I'll check extra carefully," his dad said.

"Is the moped running?"

"Yes, why?"

"No, I was just thinking."

"I see. Well, there's a fair amount of snow so we can probably make a round."

"Good."

"OK, I'll see you on Sat.u.r.day. You'll take the ten o'clock bus."

"Yes."

"I'll come meet you. With the moped. The car is not completely functional."

"OK, great. Are you going to talk more to Mom?"

"Uh ... no ... you can tell her our plans, right?"

"Uh-huh. See you."

"That you will. Bye."

Oskar put the phone down. Sat there for a little while and imagined how it was going to be. Taking the moped out for a ride. That was fun. Oskar would strap on the mini-skis and they attached a rope to the moped carrier with a stick at the other end. Oskar held the tow rope with both hands and then he motored around the village like a s...o...b..rne waterskier. This as well as duck with rowanberry jelly. And only one one night away from Eli. night away from Eli.

He went to his room and packed up his workout gear, plus his knife, since he wasn't coming home before meeting Eli. He had a plan. When he was standing in the hall putting his coat on his mom came out of the kitchen and dried her floury hands on the ap.r.o.n. "So? What did he say?"

"I'm going to his place on Sat.u.r.day."

"Fine, but what about the other thing?"

"I have to go work out now."

"He didn't say anything else?"

"Ye-es, but I have to go now."

"Where?"

"The pool."

"What pool?"

"The one next to our school. The little one."

"What are you doing there?"

"Working out. I'll be back around half past eight. Or nine. I'm meeting Johan afterwards."

His mom looked dismayed, didn't know what to do with her floury hands and stuck them both in the big pocket on the front of the ap.r.o.n.

"Yes, I see. Be careful. Don't trip on the side of the pool or anything. Do you have your hat with you?" Yes, yes.

"Well, put it on. When you've been in the water, because it's cold out and when your hair is wet and . .."

Oskar took a step forward, kissed her lightly on the cheek and said: "good-bye," and left. When he came out of the front door to the building he glanced up at his window. His mom was standing there, with her hands still pushed into the big ap.r.o.n pocket. Oskar waved. His mom slowly lifted up a hand and waved back.

He cried half the way to the pool.

The gang stood a.s.sembled in the stairwell outside Gosta's door. Lacke, Virginia, Morgan, Larry, Karlsson. No one wanted to be the one to ring the doorbell, since this seemed to give the person who rang the responsibility to declare the reason for their visit. Even out in the stairwell you got a whiff of Gosta. Urine. Morgan poked Karlsson in the side and mumbled something. Karlsson lifted the earm.u.f.fs he wore instead of a hat and asked: "What?"

"I said, don't you think you can take those off for once? Makes you look like an idiot."

"That's your opinion."

But he removed the earm.u.f.fs, put them in the coat pocket and said: "It'll have to be you, Larry. You're the one who saw it." Larry sighed and rang the doorbell. An angry yowl from inside and then a soft thud as something landed on the floor. Larry cleared his throat. He didn't like this. Felt like a cop with the whole gang behind him; the only thing missing was the c.o.c.ked pistols. Shuffled steps came from inside the apartment, then a voice.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?"

The door opened. A wave of urine-stench washed over Larry's face and he struggled for breath. Gosta was standing in the doorway, dressed in a worn shirt, vest, and tie. An orange-and white-striped cat was curled up under one arm.

"Yes?"

"Hi, Gosta. How's it going?"

Gosta's eyes roamed over their faces. He was pretty drunk. Fine.

"So, we're all here because ... do you know what's happened?"

"No."

"Well, you see, they've found Jocke. Today."

"I see. Oh. Yes."

"And then ... you know..."

Larry turned his head, seeking support from his delegation. The only thing he got was an encouraging gesture from Morgan. Larry couldn't handle standing out here like some official representative, presenting his ultimatum. There was only one way, however much he didn't like it. He asked: "Can we come in?"

He had antic.i.p.ated some kind of resistance. Gosta was hardly used to five people dropping by to see him like this. But Gosta simply nodded and backed up a few steps in the hall to let them in.

Larry hesitated for a moment; the smell emanating from inside the apartment was unbelievable. It hovered in the air like viscous matter. During this moment of hesitation Lacke took a step inside, followed by Virginia. Lacke scratched the cat-still in Gosta's arms-behind the ears.

"Nice cat. What's its name?"

"It's a she. Thisbe."

"Nice name. Do you have a Pyramus as well?"

"No."

One by one they glided in through the door, tried to breathe through their mouths. After a minute everyone gave up the attempt to keep the stench at bay, relaxed, and got used to it. Cats were shooed out of the couch and armchair, a few chairs were carried out from the kitchen, vodka, grape tonic, and gla.s.ses appeared on the table, and after a few minutes of chitchat about cats and the weather Gosta said: "So, they found Jocke."

Larry downed the last of his drink. His task felt easier with the warmth of the alcohol in his stomach. He poured himself a new gla.s.s and said, "Yes, down by the hospital. His body was frozen into the ice."

"In the ice?"

"Yes. d.a.m.ned circus down there today. I was down there to see Herbert, don't know if you know him, anyway... when I came out there were cops everywhere and an ambulance and after a while the fire truck came."

"There was a fire?"

"No, but they had to hack him out of the ice. Well, at that point I didn't know it was him but then when they got him up on land I recognized the clothes, because the face ... there had been ice all around it, so you couldn't... but the clothes ..."

Gosta waved his hand in the air as if he was petting a big, invisible dog.

"Wait a minute now... so he drowned?... I mean, I don't understand ..." Larry sipped his drink, wiped his hand over his mouth.

"No, that was what the cops thought at first too. At first. From what I understand. They were mostly standing around up there with their arms folded and the ambulance guys were all busy with some kid who turned up bleeding from his head, so there was ..."

Gosta petted the invisible dog even more energetically, or he was trying to push it away. A little of his drink splashed out of his gla.s.s and landed on the rug.

"Hang on a minute . . . now I can't. . . bleeding from his head?" Morgan put down the cat he had been holding on his lap, and brushed off his pants.

"That had nothing to do with it. Come on now, Larry."

"Yes, but then when they got him up on land. And I saw that it was him. And then you also saw that there was a rope like this, see. Tied up. And there were some kind of stones wrapped up in the rope like that. That got the cops going. Started talking into their radios and cordoning off the area with tape and shooing people away and all that. Got really interested all of a sudden. So that... well, turns out someone must have tried to dump his body there, pure and simple."

Gosta leaned back in the couch, holding his hand over his eyes. Virginia, who was sitting between him and Lacke, patted his knee. Morgan filled his gla.s.s and said: "The thing is they found Jocke, right? Want some tonic with that? Here. They found Jocke and now they know he was murdered. And that kind of changes things, don't you think?" Karlsson cleared his throat, and said in a commanding tone: "In the Swedish judicial system there's something called .. ."

"You shut up," Morgan interrupted. "Is it alright if I smoke?" Gosta nodded feebly. While Morgan was taking out his cigarette and lighter Lacke leaned over in the sofa so he could look Gosta in the eye.

"Gosta. You saw what happened. That story should be told."

"Be told. How?"

"By going to the police and telling them what you saw. That's all."

"No . . . No.' No.'

The room got quiet.

Lacke sighed, poured himself half a gla.s.s of vodka and a little dash of tonic, took a big gulp, and closed his eyes as the burning cloud filled his stomach. He didn't want to force him.

Back at the Chinese restaurant Karlsson had ranted about the duty of a witness and legal responsibility but however much Lacke wanted the person who had done this to be caught he had no intention of sending the cops to a friend like some squealer.

A gray-speckled cat pushed its head against his shins. He picked it up into his lap and stroked it absently. What does it matter? What does it matter? Jocke was dead, he knew that now for sure. What did the rest matter, anyway? Jocke was dead, he knew that now for sure. What did the rest matter, anyway?

Morgan got up, walked over to the window with the gla.s.s in his hand.

"Was this where you were standing? When you saw it?" ... yes. Morgan nodded, sipped the drink.

"Yes, I get it. You can see everything from here. Great place, actually. Nice view. Yes, I mean apart from ... great view."

A tear ran quietly down Lacke's cheek. Virginia took his hand and squeezed it. Lacke took another big gulp to burn away the pain that was tearing at his chest.

Larry, who for a time had been watching the cats moving around the room in senseless patterns, drummed his fingers against his gla.s.s and said: "What if we simply tipped them off? About the location, I mean. Maybe they can find some fingerprints and .. . whatever else it is they find." Karlsson smiled.

"And how do we say we got this information? That we just know it?

They're going to be pretty interested in how ... in who we got this infor-mation from."

"We could make an anonymous call. Just to get the information out there."