Gunnarsson stands in the middle of the yard with Daniel Grim and Sonja Rask. He’s opened the hatchback of his white Mercedes and laid out the sketches, which the technicians have just finished, on the platform for baggage.
The dog, still fastened to the running line, has not yet stopped barking and pulling on its leash.
Joona Linna comes up to the back of the car.
“The girl’s run away. She climbed out the window,” he says.
“Run away?” asks Daniel Grim. “Vicky’s run away? Why would-”
“There is blood on the windowsill, blood on the bed, and-”
“That doesn’t mean-”
“-and a bloodstained hammer beneath her pillow,” Joona finishes.
“Can’t be right,” Gunnarsson says. “Can’t be right. This murder was committed with brutal force.”
Joona turns to look at Daniel Grim. Grim’s face is naked and fragile in the sunlight.
“What do you think?” Joona asks.
“About what? That Vicky would… That’s just sick,” Daniel says.
“How so?”
“Just a minute ago you policemen were saying that this had to be a grown man,” he says. “Vicky is a small girl who weighs not much more than a hundred pounds and her wrists are as thin as-”
“Is she violent?” asks Joona.
“Vicky did not do this,” Daniel says calmly. “I’ve been working with her for two months and I can tell you for a fact that she didn’t do this.”
“Was she violent when she arrived here?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t tell you. Patient confidentiality.”
“Your damned patient confidentiality is a waste of our time,” Gunnarsson says.
“All I can tell you is that I work with certain students to help them find alternatives to their aggressive reactions, for instance, disappointment or fear,” Daniel said, keeping his composure.
“Vicky wasn’t one of them,” Joona says.
“She was not.”
“So why was she here?” asks Sonja Rask.
“I am sorry, I cannot comment on specific students.”
“But you believe she is not violent?” Sonja insists.
“She’s nice,” he says simply.
“What do you think happened? Why is there a bloody hammer under her pillow?”
“I have no idea. It doesn’t add up. Maybe she helped someone. Wanted to hide it for someone else.”
“Which students here are violent?” snaps Gunnarsson.
“I can’t single out any one student. You must understand.”
“We understand,” Joona says.
Daniel turns toward Joona gratefully.
“You can try to talk to them yourself,” Daniel says to Joona. “You can tell which ones I indicated earlier fairly quickly.”
“Thanks.” Joona starts to leave.
“Keep in mind that they’ve just lost a friend,” Daniel calls after him.
Joona stops and turns to look at him. “Are you aware which room Miranda was found in?”
Daniel shakes his head. “No, but I assumed…”
“I find it hard to believe that the room she was found in was her own room,” Joona continues. “It is almost empty. On the right side of the hall, next to the bathrooms.”
“The isolation room,” Daniel says.
“Why are the girls put in that room?”
“Because…” Daniel falls silent and appears to think of something.
Joona asks, “What is on your mind?”
“The door should have been locked.”
“There is a key in the lock.”
“Which key?” Daniel asks. “Only Elisabet has the key to the isolation room.”
“Who is Elisabet?” asks Gunnarsson.
“My wife,” Daniel replies. “She was the one on call last night.”
“Where is she now?” asks Sonja.
“What do you mean?” Daniel asks.
“Your wife-is she at home?” Sonja asks.
Daniel appears surprised and unsure of himself.
“I assumed that Elisabet went with Nina in the ambulance,” he says slowly.
“No, Nina Molander was alone,” Sonja says.
“Of course Elisabet went with Nina! She would never let a student-”
“I was the first person on the scene,” Sonja says abruptly. Her exhaustion has made her voice hoarse and brusque. “There was no staff here. Just a group of terrified girls.”
“But my wife-”
“Call her now,” Sonja says.
“I’ve tried repeatedly. Her phone is off,” Daniel says softly. “I thought… I assumed-”
“This is a real goddamn mess,” Gunnarsson says.
“My wife, Elisabet… She has heart trouble,” Daniel Grim continued. His voice becomes even shakier. “Maybe she… she could have…”
“Try to speak calmly,” Joona says.
“My wife has an enlarged heart and she… she worked here last night… She should be here… Her phone is off…”
21
Daniel looks at the two officers in despair. He pulls at the zipper on his jacket and keeps repeating that his wife has heart trouble. The dog barks and pulls on its leash hard enough that it almost strangles. It wheezes and then starts barking again.
Joona walks up to the dog, murmuring in a soothing tone, and lets him off the leash. The second it’s released, the dog dashes across the yard. Joona sprints after it. The dog starts scratching at the door to an outbuilding, whining and panting.
Daniel stares at Joona and the dog for a moment and then starts to walk toward them. Gunnarsson yells at him to stay put, but he keeps walking. His body is stiff and his face contorts with fear. The gravel crunches beneath his feet.
Joona tries to calm the dog down. He grabs it by the collar and drags it away from the door, while Gunnarsson runs across the yard and grasps Daniel’s coat, but Daniel tugs loose. As he yanks free, he slips on the gravel and scrapes his hand. He gets back up. The dog keeps howling, straining at its collar, its body quivering. A uniformed police officer moves to block the door, but Daniel tries to push past him.
“Elisabet! Elisabet! I have to-”
The police officer grips Daniel by the shoulder and steers him away, while Gunnarsson reaches Joona and helps him get the dog under control.
“It could be my wife in there!” screams Daniel. “My wife-”
Joona feels a pang of pain behind his eyes as he pulls on a pair of latex gloves.
There’s a wooden sign hanging below the low roof. It says BREWERY.
Joona opens the door slowly and peers into the dark. A tiny window is cracked and hundreds of flies are buzzing in the air. There are bloody paw prints all over the glazed tile floor. Joona makes sure not to step on them as he moves to the side to look beyond the stone fireplace.
He sees the back panel of a cell phone next to a trail of smeared blood. The flies grow louder. A woman is lying on the ground with her head in a pool of blood. She looks about fifty years old. Her mouth is open. She is wearing jeans, rose-colored socks, and a gray cardigan. From her posture, it looks as if the woman had tried to slither away, but then her head and face were smashed in.
22
Pia Abrahamsson knows she’s driving over the speed limit. She’d hoped to get on the road a bit earlier, but the meeting in Östersund for pastors of the Church of Sweden dragged on later than usual. She glances at her son, Dante, in the rearview mirror. His head is leaning on the side of the child seat and his eyes are closed beneath his glasses. His little face is calm, and the car seems softly cloaked by the morning fog.
She reduces her speed to eighty kilometers an hour, even though the road heads straight through the spruce forest. The highway is hauntingly empty. Twenty minutes ago she passed a lumber truck filled with logs, but since then she hasn’t seen a single vehicle.