Fortified with this information, she decided to surrender. If only she could be left in peace! But it took several hours before she was allowed, exhausted, to sink into a light and restless slumber. She was constantly awakened by people who came in to check something or other.
Before this, Sven Andersson and Tommy Persson had been in to talk to her. Neither of them could hide his concern or relief. Tommy gave her a big hug. She shrieked, but excused herself, “Sorry, Tommy, but I’m black and blue all over. Look!”
Like a little kid she exhibited a bruised shoulder and hip, abraded hands and knees. She ended by saying, “The doctor thought that my rib down here is crushed but not broken. I have to take it easy for a while. How’s Jimmy doing?”
Tommy replied somberly, “He’s awake, but he took much harder blows to the skull than you did. How did that happen? Did they see that you were a girl, or what?”
“No, hardly! My baseball cap cushioned the blow. I had turned it backward so that the bill lay over my turned-up jacket collar. They probably didn’t see it in the dark. He also took a few kicks to the head when we were inside the barn,” Irene said glumly.
A busy time followed when she had to try to remember everything that happened and what was said. The superintendent was obviously interested when she told him that Bobo’s name had been mentioned.
“‘He split with the bread. Then he sets the cops on us while we sit here with our pants down!’ The fat guy said something like that.”
She had a feeling that Andersson was about to explode with secrets he was holding on to, but he was stopped by Tommy’s sharp look. Who cared? She’d find out soon enough. Sleep. To be allowed to go to sleep and not have to think. Then the twins and Krister came in, in a flurry of tears and hugs. The motherly nurse who was evidently her personal Guardian Angel had promised them ten minutes, even though the doctor had advised against all visits and strong emotions. Irene tried to sound tough. “Ha! Strong emotions! After what I’ve been through today, I’d consider anything under seven-point-five on the Richter scale peaceful!”
Andersson winked at Krister. “She’s getting better.”
Irene saw Tommy give Jenny’s head, clad in a cap, a long look. When Krister carefully hugged Irene and kissed her on the cheek, she whispered in his ear, “On Wednesday Tommy is coming to dinner. See that Jenny is home.”
Krister looked astonished, but just nodded. Katarina gave her parents a suspicious look.
“What are you whispering about?” she asked.
“About how happy I am to have you all here. And that I’m coming home tomorrow.”
Krister smiled, but the worried furrow in his brow was unusually deep.
“The nurse said that you probably can go home tomorrow. I’ll come and get you. I’m taking the whole day off. I’ve switched with Sverker. And by then they’ll probably have the car out of the ditch.”
“The ditch? The car?”
“It sank into the dune by the ditch where you parked it. But the tow truck will pull it out. Everything’s under control. Sammie sends plenty of licks. And we do too.”
There was more hugging and kissing, and then the Guardian Angel came and shooed them all out. Exhaustion flooded over Irene; she wanted only to sink down into the depths and rest. But her sleep was shallow and restless.
BEFORE IRENE left the hospital she had to see to Jimmy Olsson. Krister had brought her some clean clothes; she was greatly relieved that she wouldn’t have to pay a visit in her hospital gown. Jimmy was in the same ward. The Guardian Angel showed her to the right room.
She knocked softly and opened the door a crack. Jimmy looked like a cartoon character, but the situation was anything but funny, and Irene felt her throat tighten with sympathy. She limped into the room. Jimmy was awake, and his one visible eye lit up when he saw her. The other was hidden behind a compress. His head was wrapped in an elastic bandage, which held a plastic splint in place. There was an IV in his left arm. What she could see of his face was swollen and purple. But his voice sounded happy.
“Hello, Irene!”
“Hello yourself.”
She placed her hand over his uninjured left hand and patted it a little in awkward encouragement. She had a big lump in her throat that refused to be dislodged. She managed to say in a light voice, “Now you know what it’s like to go on a stakeout with someone from Violent Crimes. Talk about expanding your horizons and your contact network. A close contact with Hell’s Angels!”
He started to laugh, just as she had hoped. “Damn! It hurts when I laugh,” he said with a grimace.
Contritely, she patted his hand again and asked, “How’s the concussion?”
“It’s okay. Now I’ll have something to blame in the future. But seriously, I don’t feel too bad. Just a headache. I’ll probably have to stay here a few days. Do you know if anything happened out in Billdal?”
“No. All I know is they had to pull my car out of the ditch. But it went okay. If I can, I’ll go downtown and look at mug shots this afternoon.”
“Of Hell’s Angels?”
“Exactly. Can’t say that I’m looking forward to seeing their lovely mugs again, but I’ve got to bring them in!”
“Wait for me, because I’ve got some scores to settle too.”
Now a red flame glowed in the depths of his one visible eye. The effect was weird against the surrounding purple swelling. She understood him. There was a black depth within her from which voices whispered, Revenge! Murder! Retribution! Forbidden and meaningless thoughts. She straightened up and forced a smile.
“I’ll come back tomorrow and tell you what’s going on with the investigation. Take care of yourself.”
AT HOME there were wild scenes of joy with Sammie, and he was also given a brief stroll to pee while Krister fixed lunch. She was allowed to pick anything she wanted. It was pasta with Gorgonzola sauce and a tomato and basil salad. They spoke about everything except yesterday’s events. She couldn’t face it. The black hole was too big, the voices too insistent. Krister understood and talked about other things.
“What was that about Tommy having dinner here tomorrow?”
“He had such a strong reaction when I told him about Jenny. He wants to talk to her. He went on and on about it being everyone’s responsibility and that all skinheads are our children. Krister, I think we should let him take this up with Jenny! It can’t do any harm, anyway. He’s the only cop I know who works actively for Amnesty International. He’s so involved.”
He nodded, noticing that she was eating unusually little. He secretly scrutinized her. Normally she pulsated with energy, but now her vitality and power seemed diminished. They had known each other for sixteen years, but he had never seen her like this before.
The telephone rang. It was Sven Andersson. He wondered how she was feeling and whether she was able to come down to headquarters.
“I’ll drive you, dear. Then call me when you’re ready to come home and I’ll pick you up,” said Krister. It would be good for her to have something else to think about. Although sitting and looking at photos of the ones who had beat her up less than twenty-four hours earlier was probably not the best distraction, of course.
THE SUPERINTENDENT and Tommy were waiting for her. Before them on the table lay closed folders of criminal records. Andersson patted one and said, “We’ll talk first. A lot has happened in the past twenty-four hours. Especially for you. How are you doing?”
“Well, so-so,” Irene replied. “I was lucky. It’s worse for Jimmy.”