By Håkan Nesser, Laurie Thompson (translator)
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Extra info for Borkmann's Point
He asked. ” “That’s the one. Roman emperor, 218–222. Killed people because he liked to see red against green. An uncompromising aesthete, no doubt about it. Although blood doesn’t keep its color all that well, it has to be said—” “No,” said Bausen. “Not really the right motive in this case, anyway. It must have been pitch-black here last Tuesday night. ” “Hmm,” said Van Veeteren. “We’ll eliminate Heliogabalus, then. ” Some would-be detectives from the general public were approaching from the Rikken direction.
The lifeless bodies and the blood bubbling out . . That blood. b o r k m a n n’s p o i n t If only that blood would ﬂow over those dream images. Cover them in stains, make them incomprehensible, unrecognizable. Destroy them. Settle the bill once and for all, reduce all debts to zero . . But even so, it was not about his torture. It wasn’t about the images, it was about what the images were based on. The reality behind them. The reality. Her revenge, not his. That ten-year-old running toward him, whose life had come to a sudden stop.
Van Veeteren took another Danish pastry. ” he asked. “Of some kind,” said Bausen. “I think we’ll move on to Simmel now. ” Beate Moerk cleared her throat and leafed through her notebook. “Well, we haven’t got very far yet. It was only the day b o r k m a n n’s p o i n t before yesterday, at eight in the morning, that a jogger found him in the municipal woods. He ﬁrst noticed blood on the path; and when he stopped to investigate, he saw the body just a few yards away. The murderer doesn’t seem to have made much of an effort to hide it.