Authors: Johan Theorin
So why does he keep on reading the books, over and over again?
Perhaps
he is searching for some kind of hidden message. If these are Rami’s books, she must have had some ulterior motive when she asked Josefine to hide them in the pre-school.
And perhaps he finds a message in the end, because as he leafs through
The Animal Lady
for perhaps the fiftieth time, he suddenly sees a little patch of ink right in the bottom right-hand corner of the first page, below the text. There’s nothing odd about that, but there is a similar mark on the next page, the same size and in almost exactly the same place. And on the next page.
Jan looks more closely; he has been concentrating on the pages with the pictures, and hasn’t noticed this mark in the margin before.
It looks like a little animal. A squirrel?
He flicks through the pages, and the squirrel begins to move. It’s an illusion created by the movement of the pages: the squirrel scampers along, all the way through the book.
He goes through the books over and over again, and eventually he gets them in the right order. The marks on the hundred or so pages of the four books form a short animated film. The black squirrel first appears in the bottom corner of the first page of
The Animal Lady
, then skitters up across the pages of
The Princess with a Hundred Hands
and
Viveca’s House of Stone
, before finally disappearing into space at the top of the penultimate page of
The Witch Who Was Poorly
.
Jan stares at the squirrel’s progress.
A sign. That’s what it feels like, a sign especially for him.
20
THE ROOM WHERE
the Bohemos rehearse smells of sweat and dreams. It’s not far from the harbour, just a few blocks away from Bill’s Bar. The room is as bare as a scruffy youth centre – apart from the egg boxes. Hundreds of egg boxes have been stuck to the walls in order to reduce the echo.
Jan is sitting behind the drum kit, establishing the rhythm and being swept along by it at the same time. The Bohemos started with the classic ‘Sweet Home Alabama’, with a steady four-stroke beat which Jan was able to follow with no problem. That got them going, and now they have been playing old rock songs for almost an hour.
From time to time Rettig has turned around from his place at the microphone and nodded to Jan; he seems pleased. ‘A bit softer on the snare, Jan!’
Jan nods and obliges. After all those years of sitting alone at home accompanying bands on his stereo, it’s a strange feeling to be playing with real live musicians. He was a bit shaky at first, but he’s getting better and better.
The drum kit he’s using is an old Tama, not quite as good as his own; the skin on the bass and snare is worn and almost split in places. But it means he can be a bit less careful as he provides the backing.
‘Good,’ says Rettig. ‘Tighter and tighter.’
Two other members of the Bohemos have turned up. The bass
guitarist
is called Anders, and the rhythm guitarist is Rasmus. They are both about the same age as Rettig, and play without speaking. Jan has no idea what they think of the fact that he has taken over from Carl, the usual drummer; they haven’t said a word to him all evening, just glanced over at the drums occasionally.
Jan wonders whether Carl, Anders or Rasmus are also care workers at the hospital.
At quarter past eight they stop and start packing away. The two other band members leave immediately with their guitar cases, but Rettig hangs around. Jan stays too; he knows that Rettig is waiting for an answer.
‘You play well,’ Rettig says. ‘A bit of an African vibe going on there.’
‘Thanks,’ says Jan, getting up from his seat. ‘I enjoyed it.’
‘You’ve played in bands before, I assume?’
‘Oh yes,’ Jan lies.
The room is silent among all the egg boxes. Rettig walks over and picks up his black case by the door. He looks at Jan. ‘Have you made a decision? About what we discussed yesterday?’
‘I have.’ He takes a moment. ‘It’s International Children’s Day today, October fourth,’ he says. ‘Did you know that, Lars?’
Rettig shakes his head and starts to dismantle the microphone stand. ‘Isn’t it cinnamon-bun day?’
‘That too,’ says Jan. After another brief pause he asks, ‘Have you got kids, Lars?’
‘Why?’
‘Spending time with children makes you wiser.’
‘Probably. But I haven’t got any kids, unfortunately,’ says Rettig. ‘I’ve got a girlfriend, but no kids. How about you?’
‘No. None of my own.’
‘Like I said … have you decided?’
‘One last question,’ says Jan. ‘What do you get out of this?’
Rettig hesitates. ‘Nothing, not directly.’
Jan looks at him. ‘And
indirectly?
’
Rettig shrugs his shoulders. ‘Not much. We charge a small
fee
… a handling fee for delivery. Forty kronor per letter. But that’s not going to make us rich.’
‘And it’s just letters?’
Jan has asked this same question several times, of course, but Rettig is a patient man.
‘Absolutely, Jan. Just ordinary letters.’
‘OK, I’ll do it. I’ll give it a try, anyway.’
‘Excellent.’ Rettig quickly leans forward. ‘This is how it works. You get a package from me, and the next time you’re on the night shift you take it into the hospital through the basement. At night, as close to midnight as possible.’ He takes a sheet of paper out of his bag. ‘But only on certain nights … This is the schedule; it shows you when one of us is working.’
‘One of you … You and who else?’
Rettig lowers his voice. ‘Carl, our drummer. He does the same job as me. OK, so between eleven and midnight you take the lift up to the visitors’ room. Check that no one is in there before you open the door … but there won’t be. You hide the envelope under the sofa cushions, then you go back to the children. They’ll be asleep, I presume?’
Jan nods, thinking about the electronic Angels he has bought.
‘Any questions?’
‘Not about the delivery … But I would like to know more about the patients, as I said before.’
Rettig smiles wearily and puts his guitar in its case. ‘The carers are not allowed to talk about those they care for. You know that, don’t you?’
‘What do they do up there?’
‘Not much. They’re waiting, just like the rest of us. We’re all just waiting.’
Jan remains silent for a few seconds, then eventually he asks, ‘I was just wondering … Is there anyone up there called Alice Rami?’
Rettig shakes his head; he doesn’t even have to think about it. ‘No,’ he says. ‘There’s Anna and Alide, but no Alice.’
‘Anyone called Blanker, then?’
Rettig considers for a moment before answering. ‘There is a
Blanker
… Maria Blanker.’
Jan leans closer. ‘How old is she?’
‘Not very old.’
‘Thirty?’
‘Maybe, between thirty and thirty-five … But she’s pretty shy. She’s on one of the women’s wards, and she keeps herself to herself.’
The women’s wards
, Jan thinks. So there’s more than one.
‘Does she have a child at the pre-school?’
Rettig is taking longer and longer to answer. ‘Maybe. I think she has the odd visit.’
‘From a child?’
Rettig nods. ‘A girl.’
‘Do you know her name?’
Rettig shrugs and looks at his watch. ‘I need to get home,’ he says, placing his bag on the table. ‘So, this business with the letters … When’s your next night shift, Jan?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Perfect.’
Rettig takes out a large white envelope, several centimetres thick. It is marked in red ink:
S.P
. ‘Can you deliver this?’
Jan takes the envelope and sees that it has been carefully sealed. He doesn’t try to open it, but weighs it in his hands.
It is soft. A bundle of letters – nothing else? It seems so; Jan can’t feel any hard objects or little bags of powder.
‘No problem.’ He smiles at Rettig, still trying to convince himself that this is a good idea.
21
HANNA ARONSSON IS
working at the Dell the day after Jan’s practice session with the Bohemos, and she is just coming out of the children’s room when he walks into the cloakroom. She looks very tired, and quickly puts her finger to her lips when she sees him.
‘
Ssh
…’
Jan realizes that she has only just got the children off to sleep. He waves to her and goes into the staffroom, quickly placing his rucksack in his locker. The rucksack containing the envelope; his secret mission as a postman.
Then he joins Hanna in the kitchen; she is busy unloading the dishwasher.
‘Are they all fast asleep?’
‘I hope so.’ She sighs. ‘They’ve been a real handful tonight. Bad-tempered and bickering non-stop.’
‘Oh? How many of them are there?’
‘Three … Leo, Matilda and Mira, as usual.’
There is an awkward silence; this always happens when Jan is alone at work with Hanna. It’s easy to talk to the other staff at the Dell, but Hanna doesn’t say anything beyond what is absolutely necessary.
Although of course there is something Jan wants to discuss with her, and after a moment he takes a deep breath. ‘Hanna, what I said to you last week, when we were walking home …’
‘What?’
‘That I used to work at a nursery … and I lost one of the boys in the forest.’
She nods; he can see that she remembers.
‘Did you … did you mention it to anyone else?’
Hanna’s expression is blank, as usual. ‘No.’
‘Good,’ Jan says.
It looks as if Hanna is about to say something else, or ask a question, but instead she puts away the last of the dishes and closes the cupboard doors. ‘That’s me done for today, then.’
‘Fine. Do you have any plans for this evening?’
‘I don’t know … I might go to the gym.’
Jan could have guessed that Hanna was a gym bunny. She is slender but looks toned and fit. Not skinny like Rami.
Ten minutes later Hanna has gone home, and Jan has locked the outside door. Now he is alone in the Dell, and of course he has no TV or stereo – just the sound of all the rock songs he played with the Bohemos the previous evening echoing in his head. It was good fun; he wonders if Lars Rettig will invite him to play with the band again.
Maybe, if he carries off his task this evening.
The children are fast asleep, and there is nothing for Jan to do. It’s going to be a long wait until eleven o’clock. He sits in the kitchen with a book, but often gazes out into the darkness, towards the hospital.
When it is quarter to eleven at long last, he fetches the thick envelope and both Angels from his locker.
He feels slightly foolish, but he still puts on his cycling gloves and wipes the whole envelope with a duster to make sure he hasn’t left any fingerprints or strands of hair on it. Just in case Dr Högsmed finds it.
At five to eleven he switches on the Angel transmitter and hangs it in the children’s bedroom, then he opens the basement door with the key card. The other Angel is attached to his belt and he is carrying the envelope in his left hand as he walks down the stairs and along the corridor, past the animal pictures.
The lift is waiting for him; he steps inside and presses the button. The metal chamber shudders and begins to move upwards.
Jan is not used to going up to the hospital without any children, and doing so in the middle of the night feels most peculiar.
The lift stops with a jolt. Jan checks through the window and sees that the visitors’ room is in darkness. There is no sign of life.
Slowly, carefully, he opens the door a fraction. He waits, he listens, but there isn’t a sound. Eventually he steps out on to the carpet. As always when he is inside St Patricia’s he feels an all-consuming curiosity, a nagging desire to find out more.
The furniture in the room is a collection of angular shadows, but there is a small amount of light cast by the lift behind him, and from the pane of glass in the door leading into the main hospital. Jan peers through it and sees a long, deserted corridor. And the door is locked, of course – he won’t be able to get any further this way.
All he can do is go over to the sofa, lift up the left-hand seat cushion, and tuck the envelope underneath as far as possible before rearranging the cushions. There. Job done.
With a final glance at the sofa, Jan gets in the lift and travels back down to the basement; he walks slowly up the stairs, then goes to the staffroom to make up his bed. But as usual he finds it difficult to get to sleep.
He’s involved now. He’s been working here for less than three weeks, and he’s already a part of some kind of smuggling operation.
It’s Rami’s fault
. If it is in fact Rami who is Josefine’s mother, using a new name: Maria Blanker.
He lies awake in the darkness, wishing he had opened the envelope Rettig gave him. Were any of the letters for her?
Lynx
The clock was ticking. Of course Jan couldn’t hear it as he ran through the forest, but he could feel the seconds racing by; time was passing quickly. He had so much to do in such a short period of time.
The high walls of the ravine rose above him, and he could see the second red arrow. There were no signs in the undergrowth to show that little William had passed this way – but then he couldn’t have gone any other way.
Jan carried on through the open iron gate, then slowed down. He was out of the ravine now, and he stopped and gazed up ahead.
He had placed the final red arrow under a couple of heavy stones on the ground, some twenty metres beyond the end of the ravine. It was pointing up the slope, towards the open door of the concrete bunker.
William was nowhere to be seen.
Jan could feel the blood pounding in his ears like a bass drum as he clambered up the slope. For the last two metres up to the steel door he became a cat, slinking along without making a sound.
He reached the entrance to the bunker, bent down and listened. Yes, there was someone in there. He could hear a child snuffling within the concrete walls. Jan hoped he wasn’t crying – and that he was just a little boy with a runny nose from being out in the cold.
Silently he reached out and slowly closed the door. Slowly, slowly … and when it was completely shut he shot both bolts across.
The previous evening he had hidden the robot’s remote control in a plastic bag under a stone next to the bunker. He took it out and pressed the button, bringing the toy to life. He couldn’t see it, of course, but he heard his own voice, distorted and metallic, echoing inside the bunker.
‘
Wait here, William
,’ said the robot’s loudspeaker. ‘
Everything is all right, just wait here
.’
Jan put back the remote control and turned away. He climbed down on to level ground and raced back towards the ravine, grabbing the red arrow on the way. He screwed it up and tucked it into his jacket pocket, then did the same with arrow number two. He slammed the iron gate shut, and when he emerged from the ravine he removed the final arrow.
He was out of breath, but didn’t slow down. Up the slope, the drums still pounding in his ears. When he reached the spot where the game of hide-and-seek had started, he looked at his watch. Three thirty-five. It felt as if it had taken much longer, but he and the boys had been playing for only ten minutes.
Suddenly he spotted a pale-green jacket between the fir trees. A little boy, crouching down in the undergrowth and trying to hide. Then he saw another of the boys slightly further away, then another.
He knew exactly where the boys were now. William was also in the right place. The plan was working; it was time for Jan to relax.
He smiled and cupped his hands around his mouth. ‘I’m coming to get you! I can see you!’