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Chapters (65)
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  65. Acknowledgements

‘Ragnar Falk, my friend.’ He moves his eyepiece. ‘Well, what have we here then.’

‘This is Tuva Moodyson. She’s taking over my beat.’

The two men shake hands but there’s a warmth here. A slap on the shoulder. The tall man turns to me.

‘Hans Wimmer. A pleasure to meet you, Ms Moodyson.’

He offers me his hand. Each fingertip has a latex covering. Like a row of tiny condoms.

‘I have an appointment at the golf club, I’m afraid,’ says Ragnar. ‘I’ll leave you two to chat. See you again soon, Tuva. Thanks for the pizza.’

Ragnar leaves and the same baroque tune plays as the door closes.

‘I have never seen him more excited,’ says Hans Wimmer, looking down on me. ‘Ragnar’s like a schoolboy. It’s not about the golf course, though that is a particularly fine example I’m told. It’s about the acceptance, you see.’ He looks out the shop window as Ragnar crosses the town square. ‘Very few non-Edlunds ever get membership. He’s moving from outside the circle to inside. He’s about to become a true hill person.’

‘And you’re not?’

‘Goodness, no.’

He looks at the clocks on the wall.

‘You’re using hearing aids, I see. Just a polite warning: in a few moments the clocks will strike the hour and you may wish to adjust your volume settings.’

I’m taken aback by this. What a kind thing to say.

‘Thank you.’

‘So, you will be writing about Visbergians. How interesting.’

‘I cover Gavrik as well. The whole area.’

‘And now you have an important story. A story that requires a delicate touch with the local population.’

I think back to that gaping neck wound. Flesh exposed. The red earth all around. The woman’s coat, soaked.

‘Do you have any theories, Mr Wimmer? Any help you can offer?’

He smiles and I notice how perfect his teeth are. They must be veneers: the uniformity of them, the squareness, the glint.

‘Please call me Hans. This is usually a quiet town in my experience. That’s what attracted me to it.’

‘Where are you from?’ He sounds German. As he’s being polite I’ll try to reciprocate.

‘Austria,’ he says. ‘Central Vienna. Via Geneva and Moscow and Estonia. I never seem to stay in the same place for too long. At the moment this hill is where I call home.’

He checks the time on the nearest clock face.

‘Is there anyone you think I should interview about the body? Anyone you find suspicious?’

He smiles but this time he shows no teeth.

‘Well, you just ate his pizza.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Mr Kodro, our friendly, local war criminal. There’s only one person in this town who’s killed before, multiple confirmed kills, decapitations, torture, killings in cold blood, in hand-to-hand combat, slaughtering his own neighbours. And you just ate his pizza.’

8

Silence between us.