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Back Bad Apples
Chapters (65)
  1. 1
  2. 2
  3. 3
  4. 4
  5. 5
  6. 6
  7. 7
  8. 8
  9. 9
  10. 10
  11. 11
  12. 12
  13. 13
  14. 14
  15. 15
  16. 16
  17. 17
  18. 18
  19. 19
  20. 20
  21. 21
  22. 22
  23. 23
  24. 24
  25. 25
  26. 26
  27. 27
  28. 28
  29. 29
  30. 30
  31. 31
  32. 32
  33. 33
  34. 34
  35. 35
  36. 36
  37. 37
  38. 38
  39. 39
  40. 40
  41. 41
  42. 42
  43. 43
  44. 44
  45. 45
  46. 46
  47. 47
  48. 48
  49. 49
  50. 50
  51. 51
  52. 52
  53. 53
  54. 54
  55. 55
  56. 56
  57. 57
  58. 58
  59. 59
  60. 60
  61. 61
  62. 62
  63. 63
  64. 64
  65. Acknowledgements

‘Not really,’ he says, pointing to the road leading between the Hive and Konsum on the sunny side of the street. ‘If you live down that street you’ll most likely own a large mortgage-free house and play golf at the club and be called Edlund. If you live down there,’ he points to the road passing from the square between the Hive and the dark side of the street, ‘then you’ll not be part of that team.’

‘You live over there?’ I ask, pointing to the cheaper, darker side.

‘I do.’

‘Interesting.’

‘It means there’s a constant divide here in Visberg. A tension between the Edlund clan, who don’t need to work, and the rest of us, who do. They keep their golf club extremely closed off.’

‘Just for Edlunds?

‘There are a lot of them, Tuva.’

A car drives by slowly. It’s an old American Chevy. From the ’80s, I think. Squared-off corners. It’s painted up like a sheriff’s car in a movie. Beige with stripes and rooflights. On the doors it says ‘Sheriff’ in large font, and then underneath, in much smaller font, is the word ‘Taxi’.

‘Is he a sheriff or is he a taxi driver? I ask Ragnar.

‘That, my dear, is a very good question.’

6

Ragnar Falk waves his hand and the car pulls over to us.

‘Morning, Sheriff,’ says Ragnar.

The man gets out of his taxi. He’s dressed like a state trooper in a movie.

‘Morning, Falk,’ he says, then turns to me. ‘Don’t believe we’ve met.’

‘We met last night in the forest,’ I say, holding out my hand. ‘Tuva Moodyson.’

He grimaces and shakes my hand vigorously and says, ‘Of course we did. I’m Harry Hansson, people round here call me Sheriff. Awful sad business last night. Even for us officers, but for you, a civilian. Horrendous scenes.’

‘Do you know the ID of the victim?’ Why am I asking this guy? He’s a taxi driver.

‘Anything official like that, it’s best to go through Chief Björn at the Gavrik police department.’

‘Do you work with them?’

‘You could say that, Tuva. I’m neighbourhood-watch community-liaison officer. Visberg is my district. Has been almost ten years, now. So finding that last night was a shock. On my watch, you see. My patch.’

Ragnar interjects, ‘Sheriff Hansson is very well respected in Visberg. Keeps order, even with us being so far away from the actual police force. He’ll be important for you to keep in touch with.’ He turns back to Hansson. ‘Tuva will be covering all Visberg stories for her paper now the Tidningen has closed its doors.’ He looks over mournfully at the office on the dark side of the town square. ‘Tuva, Sheriff. Sheriff, Tuva.’