Slobodan was waiting in the car, a few metres away from the bus stop. He was parked in the taxi zone, two wheels up on the kerb. He didn’t turn round when Jochum opened the car door, he had seen him coming out.
‘Took your bloody time.’
Slobodan looked ahead, turned the key and revved the engine. Jochum grabbed his wrist.
‘Hold it.’
Slobodan stopped the engine and turned to Jochum for the first time.
‘What?’
‘Five fingers. A kneecap. As per the tariff.’
‘That’s what you pay for messing with our goods.’
Slobodan was acting the boss. He was picking up bad habits, like his loud sighs and the way he waved his hands about to show how little he cared.
‘And?’
Jochum had been doing the rounds with Slobodan since way back, before the little shit even got his driving licence. His bossiness was hard to take and Jochum considered telling him so.
Not now. He’d make himself clear some other time.
‘The guy struggled, hung on to things. I couldn’t push him into the lift. Suddenly he got hold of one of the wheels on the chair and off he went. Down the stairs and into the wall.’
Slobodan shrugged, started the engine again, revving it, turned the windscreen wipers on. Jochum’s rage was gnawing at his insides and he grabbed Slobodan’s arm, forced his hand off the wheel, pulled out the car key and pocketed it. He grasped the other man’s face with his hand, pressing his fingers into the cheeks, turning his head so that they were face to face, forcing Slobodan to pay attention.
‘Someone saw me.’
Sven drove into Söder Hospital via the Casualty entrance, the way he often came on professional business. They were known here. Plenty of parking space too.
They didn’t say anything. They hadn’t spoken since the alert, when Sven changed direction and headed for Vдster Bridge, away from his birthday celebrations that he had promised to be home in time for. Ewert understood how important it was to Sven, even though he didn’t understand why; he had rejected all that from his life. Or maybe it was actually the other way round. He found it hard to think of anything suitable to say, something comforting, and though he tested out several phrases in his head, they all sounded awkward and pointless. What did he know about missing a woman and a child?
Everything.
He knew everything about it.
They got out and hurried up the ramp into Casualty. Side by side they marched towards the lifts. General Medicine, sixth floor.
When they emerged, a woman was waiting for them, a doctor called Lisa Öhrström. She was quite young, quite tall and quite good-looking. Ewert’s eyes rested on her too intently and he held her hand for a fraction too long. She noticed and looked quickly at him. He felt embarrassed.
‘I let the visitor in,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t see them leave the ward together.’
She pointed at the stairs, just next to the lift. A body was lying face down on the first landing. The blood had flowed out into a large reddish pool around it.
He was still now, blood congealing around his mouth, his hand didn’t scratch his nose, his eyes didn’t flicker, his arms didn’t flap. This bodily peace was new. It was as if his damned twitchy fearfulness had leached away with his blood. They walked down to him, twelve steps. Ewert knelt and examined the dead body as if hoping to find something, anything. He knew of course that he wouldn’t. Lang was an experienced hitman who knew all about precautions like wearing gloves and he left absolutely nothing behind.
They were waiting for Ludwig Errfors. Ewert had phoned him immediately. That decision had been easy. With someone like Lang, you had to get your side of it right. Errfors was not one for making mistakes. He was simply the best.
A few minutes more, just enough time for Ewert to sit down on a step and think about the dead man. He wondered if Oldйus was the sort who had thought about dying. If he knew the speed with which his drug-taking hurried him on towards death? If he had been afraid? Or did he want to die? Bloody fool. It was easy to work out that with his lifestyle he’d end up like this, cluttering up an ugly staircase, before he was thirty years old. Ewert sighed, snorted at the unresponsive corpse.
I’d like to know where I’ll end up, he thought as he got up and went over to Hilding again. Will I be in the way too? Will someone snort at me? There’s always some sod who snorts.
Ludwig Errfors was a tall, dark man, about fifty years old. He arrived wearing his civilian outfit, jeans and a jacket, just as he always did in his office at the forensic medicine headquarters in Solna.
He said hello and pointed at the body that until recently had been Hilding Oldйus.
‘I’m afraid I’m in a hurry. Can we get started right away?’
Ewert made a small gesture.
‘Ready when you are.’
Errfors knelt down to examine the body. He started to talk, with his face still at floor level.
‘Who is this?’ he asked.
‘Dealer, small time, heroin addict. His name was Hilding Oldйus.’
‘Why call me in?’
‘We’re after the butcher who did this. We’ve been chasing him for a while and need a proper examination of the corpse.’
Errfors moved his black bag closer. After pulling on a pair of surgical gloves, he waved his white hands irritably at Ewert to make him go away. At least up to the top step.
He felt for the pulse. Not there.
Next, the heartbeat. Nothing.
He shone a light into both eyes, recorded the rectal temperature, palpated the abdomen.
His routine examination did not take very long, ten or fifteen minutes. Opening the body up, the real work, came later and took longer.
Sven had escaped from the stairwell long ago and stood looking down the eternity of blue corridor that ran from the lift area to the ward doors. He remembered the last time he had seen Errfors at work. He had left the room in tears. It was just as tough for him now. He couldn’t cope with death, not like this, not at all.
Errfors changed position, looking quickly from Ewert to Sven and back to Ewert again.
‘He can’t handle it,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Remember last time.’
Ewert called to his colleague.
‘Hey, Sven.’
‘Yes?’
‘The witness statements. I want you to take them now.’
‘We’ve only got Öhrström.’
‘That’s fine.’
‘And we’ve already talked to her.’
‘Talk to her again.’
Sven cursed his inability to handle death, but was grateful to Ewert for understanding how he felt. He got up, walked away from the stairs and towards the end of the corridor and opened the door to the ward that Hilding Oldйus had left in terror just hours ago.
Ludwig Errfors watched him go and then concentrated on the corpse lying at his feet; a human life turned into nothing much and soon reduced to a few notes on a form. He cleared his throat and started speaking into a Dictaphone.
‘External examination of a dead male.’
He kept it brief, one set of observations at a time.
‘Pupils dilated.’
Pause.
‘Four fingers broken on left hand. The haematomas indicate that the fractures occurred prior to death.’
A couple of breaths.
‘The left knee appears to be crushed. Oedema indicates that the injury was sustained prior to death.’
He was precise. Considered every word. Grens had asked for an unassailable report and he would get what he wanted.
‘The abdomen is contused in several places and distended. Palpation and percussion indicate the presence of free fluid, possibly due to an intra-abdominal haemorrhage.
‘Several injection punctures of varying age, some infected. Drug addiction is the likely cause.
‘Time of death estimated to be approximately thirty and no more than forty minutes prior to inspection of body. This is supported by a witness statement.’