And then suddenly she had a gun in her hand.
He didn’t know how. All he knew was that she knew how to use it. He heard her cock the gun before holding it to his head. After a few moments, he realised that she was serious.
It was a bare, shabby room.
The guard had felt the back of his head gingerly, sighed and left. Ewert had stayed, sitting in the visitor’s chair and looking around.
A metal bed. Next to it a bedside locker on castors. By the window a small table and a chair, the one he was sitting in. It was a spacious room, meant for four patients, but it had been cleared to let one badly abused woman recover alone.
He sat in silence. His thoughts bouncing off the cold, white walls.
He was waiting, mustering his strength. He needed it more than he had realised when the call on the way back from Arlanda Airport made them switch lanes and drive over the Vдster Bridge towards the hospital. Then it had been all about a sad murdered junkie and the chance he had waited for, to tie a crime firmly to the man who had ruined his life together with Anni. Now the situation had spiralled into a hostage drama with enough Semtex to blow parts of this crowded building to smithereens.
Ewert Grens was a senior policeman and better than most at investigating murders. But big operations, that was different. It was a long time since he had stopped doing big operations, the mobilisation of cars and men while events were still taking place.
So he had just stood there, with a fresh eyewitness statement against Lang in his possession, one floor below the room where another drama had unfurled: a prostitute had knocked her guard down and escaped.
And seven floors above the mortuary, where the same woman had taken five people hostage, and slapped some light-beige death between their shoulders.
He had a patrol car bring his police uniform from the cupboard at Kronoberg where it was kept.
Soon he would be appointed Gold Command, in charge of both operations.
Two human dramas had landed on his desk.
On his way into the hospital, Slobodan glanced quickly back at the car. He could see Jochum Lang’s shaved, tanned skull and broad neck through the wet car window. Truth be told, he was fond of that fucking baldie, who had been like an older brother, someone you were maybe a bit scared of, but mostly admired. But it was about self-respect: at thirty-five a guy had to look after himself, get some respect even from those who didn’t expect it. Too bad if some folk had different ideas. Besides, this time it was Jochum who was up shit creek; he shouldn’t have let a witness see him when he was about to waste that screwball junkie.
Lisa Öhrström. Dialect from up north. Between thirty and thirty-five years old. One seventy-five, dark hair, narrow black-rimmed specs, usually kept in breast pocket.
Slobodan took the lift to the sixth floor, followed the empty corridor to the medical wards and stopped halfway along at a glass booth with a woman inside.
Her back was turned; he knocked lightly on the glass, and she turned round. Not her. At least twenty years too old.
‘I’m looking for Doctor Öhrström.’
‘She isn’t here.’
Slobodan smiled. ‘I can see that.’
She didn’t respond to his smile.
‘Doctor Öhrström is busy. Can I help you?’
This was the ward sister, or so her ID tag said. She seemed tense and her expression was worried.
‘The police have been here. They have just finished talking to Doctor Öhrström. Is that what it’s about?’
‘Yes, in a way. Where did you say I could find her?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Where is she?’
‘She’s with her patients. And there’s more waiting. It’s been quite a busy day and we’re running late.’
He stepped out into the corridor, pulled out a chair and settled down, a demonstration that he had no intention of going away.
‘I’d like you to fetch her, please.’
He was sitting at a small table by the window in the room that had until recently accommodated an abused victim and was now a crime scene, using his mobile to issue commands. When the battery ran out he replaced it with a newly charged one and carried on.
Ewert had called for all available patrol cars to come to the Casualty unit at Söder Hospital, a place he had judged to be a suitable distance from any potential explosion. He wanted all traffic from the ring road stopped. The hospital access route was already blocked and the chief executive had agreed to evacuate the area where the mortuary was situated. Everyone must leave.
He stood up, glanced at Sven Sundkvist, who was just entering the room, and pointed at the door. Without a word they both went out into the corridor. The last few minutes had been intense.
‘I want an explosives expert.’
‘Right.’
‘Can you sort that out?’
‘Sure.’
They were at the lifts and Sven turned to the one that had just arrived. ‘Going down? Or shall we use the stairs?’
Ewert waved a hand. ‘Not yet.’
He produced an envelope and handed it to his colleague.
‘I found this by her bed. The one thing in the entire room that didn’t belong to the hospital.’
Sven took the envelope, looked quickly at it and gave it back, before walking into the nearest ward. He found what he was looking for on a shelf above the wash basin and returned, pulling on a pair of disposable surgical gloves.
‘Right. Let me see it.’
He opened it. A notebook, blue covers. Nothing else. He glanced at Ewert, then started leafing through it. Some of the pages had been torn out, four were covered with tightly written script. A Slavic language of some sort, as far as he could see.
‘Hers, presumably?’
‘Presumably.’
‘I don’t understand a word of it.’
‘I want it translated. Sven, can you take care of it?’
Ewert watched Sven restore the blue notebook to the envelope and then held out his hand, taking charge of it. He pointed towards the stairwell.
‘We’ll use the stairs.’
‘Now?’
‘We don’t want to be stuck in a lift if something happens.’
They started to walk down the steep concrete stairs and passed the big red stain that until recently had been Hilding Oldйus. The green-uniformed lads had carried off the rest. Ewert shrugged as they passed.
‘We’ll have to deal with that later.’
After a few more steps, Sven stopped. He stood still for a second or two, turned and went back to the red stain.
‘Ewert, hang on.’
He stared at the stain, his eyes following its edges. The blood had splashed high up on the wall.
‘What drives us? Look, the remains of someone who was alive not so long ago. What drives people?’
‘Sven, we haven’t got time for this.’
‘I don’t understand. I know something about how human beings work, up to a point, but I don’t understand it.’
Sven crouched down; his body swayed a little and he almost lost his balance. He stood up again.
‘We know who Hilding Oldйus was. He had quite a lot going for him. He was bright, for instance, no question about it. But he hauled a burden of shame about on his back. Just like most of the rest of us fools. Shame, where does it come from?’
‘We’ve got to get moving. Bloody quick.’
‘You’re not listening to me, Ewert. Shame eats you up from inside. Shame drives a lot of people. We shouldn’t be chasing criminals, you know, we should go for the shame that make criminals commit crimes.’
‘I don’t have time, Sven. Come on.’
Sven didn’t move. Ewert’s irritation was only too obvious, but he ignored it.
‘Hilding thought he knew who he was, at heart. And decided he would have nothing to do with that person, didn’t want to know the real Hilding, not at any price, because he was ashamed of him. Why do you think that was?’
Ewert sighed. ‘No idea.’
‘He probably had no idea either. Heroin shut off that awareness. That much he did know. It shut the door on his shame.’