Authors: Lars Kepler
“Right now?”
“If you can spare the time.”
Daniel blinks behind his glasses and says, “It’s just that two of the girls have taken off into the forest.”
“They’ve been found,” Joona says.
“Yes, I know, but I have to talk seriously with them first.” He smiles suddenly. “They’re demanding piggyback rides from one of the officers before they’ll come back.”
“Gunnarsson will make sure they get their rides,” Joona says, then continues on his way to the smaller house.
He knows he will have to watch carefully how the girls interact with each other to catch all the undercurrents swirling among them. If someone’s seen something, the others will turn toward her like a compass needle. Joona knows he has no authority to question the girls, but he has to find out if anyone was a witness. He bends down to pass under the low doorframe.
17
The floorboard creaks under his weight as Joona steps into the cramped room. There are three girls there. The youngest is no more than twelve. She has pink skin and copper hair and sits on the floor, leaning against the wall, while she watches television. She is whispering to herself, then she suddenly bangs the back of her head against the wall. A second later, she’s watching the show again.
The other two girls pay no attention to her. They’re lounging together on a brown corduroy sofa and flipping through a fashion magazine.
A psychologist from the district hospital in Sundsvall enters the room behind Joona and sits down on the floor next to the little red-haired girl.
“My name is Lisa,” she says. “What’s your name?”
The girl does not take her eyes off the television. It’s showing a rerun of an episode from
Blue Water High
. The volume is loud and the cool glow from the screen washes over their faces.
“Have you heard the fairy tale of Thumbelina?” asks Lisa. “I sometimes feel the way she does, as small as a thumb. How do you feel?”
“Like Jack the Ripper,” the girl answers, her eyes on the show.
Joona sits down in an armchair in front of the television. One of the girls on the sofa looks at him with wide eyes, but returns to her magazine with a smile when he greets her. She’s a big girl. She’s bitten her nails to the quick. She wears jeans and a black sweater that has “Razors pain you less than life” written on it. She’s wearing blue eye shadow and there’s a glittering hair band around her neck. The other girl looks older and is wearing a cutoff T-shirt with a picture of a horse, a choker with white beads around her neck, and is using a rolled-up military jacket as a pillow. There are injection scars on the insides of her elbows.
The older one says, “Indie? Did you get a look before the cops got here?”
“I don’t want nightmares,” the hefty girl says lazily.
“Poor little Indie,” the older one teases.
“And?”
“Afraid of nightmares!”
“So what?”
“You’re such an egomaniac.”
“Shut up, Caroline!” yells the little red-haired girl.
“Miranda’s been murdered,” Caroline says, “and all you care about is your nightmares.”
“Oh, shit on Miranda. Thank God I don’t have to deal with her anymore,” Indie says.
“You’re sick.” Caroline smiles.
“She’s the one who was sick, always burning me with her cigarette butts—”
“Stop your bitching,” the red-haired girl says.
“—and hitting me with the jump rope,” Indie says.
“You’re the real bitch,” says Caroline with a sigh.
“Okay, I’m the bitch, if that makes you feel better,” Indie retorts. “Too bad the idiot is dead, but I for one—”
The little red-haired girl bangs her head against the wall again and then closes her eyes. The front door opens and Gunnarsson escorts the two runaways inside.
18
Joona leans back calmly in the chair. His dark jacket has fallen open. His muscular body is relaxed, but his eyes are as gray as ice as he watches the girls walk in.
Almira enters first, followed by Lu Chu, who sashays in with an exaggerated swing of her hips and makes the V sign with her fingers. The two girls on the sofa laugh and boo.
“You lesbian loser,” Indie yells.
“Let’s go take a shower together,” says Lu Chu.
Daniel Grim comes in behind the girls, pleading with Gunnarsson to listen to him.
“I just want you to take it easy with these girls,” he says. He lowers his voice. “Just your presence scares them.”
“Don’t worry,” Gunnarsson says.
“But I
do
worry.”
“What?”
“I am actually very worried about them,” he says.
“Well,” Gunnarsson says sighing, “then, sorry, but I can’t help you out here. You’re going to have to keep out of my hair and let me do my job.”
“I
must
explain to you that … that for these girls police officers don’t exactly mean safety and security.”
Joona notices that Daniel’s T-shirt is inside out.
“Yes, they do,” Caroline jokes.
“Well, that’s nice to hear.” Daniel turns to her with a smile and then looks back at Gunnarsson. “But, seriously, for these girls, the police usually show up in their lives only when things are very bad.”
Joona understands that Daniel knows he’s being a pain but is determined to make his point. “I was just talking to the coordinator outside about finding—”
“One thing at a time,” Gunnarsson brushes him off.
“It’s really important because—”
“Cunt,” Indie says to Lu Chu.
“Go piss yourself,” Lu Chu says.
“—because it would be harmful for the girls to stay here tonight.”
“Can we put them in a hotel?” asks Gunnarsson.
“You should have been the one that got killed!” Almira screams and throws a glass at Indie.
The glass breaks against the wall and shards scatter across the floor. Daniel rushes toward them. Almira ducks away, but not before Indie manages to land a few good blows on her back. Daniel separates them.
“Stop all this! Pull yourselves together, damn it!” he yells.
“Almira is a fucking cunt.”
“Calm down, Indie,” Daniel says. He grabs her hand, waits a second, and then in a soft voice says, “We’ve talked about this before, haven’t we?”
“Yes,” Indie says, slightly calmer.
“You’re a good girl. You really are,” Daniel says, smiling.
Indie nods and begins to pick up the glass pieces from the floor. Almira helps her.
“I’ll get the vacuum cleaner,” Daniel says and walks out, closing the door behind him. It swings open again and he bangs it shut so hard that a Carl Larsson picture on the wall rattles.
“Did Miranda have any enemies?” says Gunnarsson to no one in particular.
“No,” Almira says and giggles.
Indie casts a sidelong look at Joona.
“Listen up!” Gunnarsson says loudly. “Just answer the questions without all this fuss and noise. That can’t be too hard, can it?”
“Depends on the question,” Caroline says.
“I’m going to scream no matter what,” says Lu Chu.
“Truth or dare,” Indie says and points at Joona.
“Truth,” replies Joona. Gunnarsson swings toward him.
“I’m the one in charge of this investigation!” he protests.
Joona ignores him.
“Tell me what this means,” Joona says to the girls, and he puts his hands over his face.
“That? I don’t know,” Indie says. “It’s a game Miranda and Vicky played.”
“I can’t take this!” Caroline shrieks. “You’re not the one who saw Miranda, Indie. She looked just like that and there was blood all over, there was so much blood all over the whole room!”
Caroline’s voice breaks and she starts to cry. The hospital psychologist crouches beside her and in a low, calm voice tries to soothe the girl.
“Which one of you is Vicky?” asks Joona, getting up from the armchair.
“She’s the newest one.”
“But where the fuck
is
she?” demands Lu Chu.
“Which room is hers?” asks Joona.
“I bet she’s snuck off to the guy she likes to fuck,” Tuula says.
“We like to collect Stesolid and sleep like—”
“Who are you talking about now?” asks Gunnarsson loudly.
“Vicky Bennet,” Caroline says. “I haven’t seen her all—”
“Where the fuck is she?”
“Vicky’s name has too many letters,” Lu Chu says.
“Turn off that television!” Gunnarsson roars. “I want everyone to calm down!”
“Don’t yell!” Tuula yells as she turns the volume up even higher.
Joona bends low and looks Caroline in the eyes. He is serious and calm.
“Which one is Vicky’s room?”
“The one farthest down the hall.”
19
Joona crosses the yard again, meeting Daniel going in the opposite direction, lugging the vacuum. He nods at the technicians and heads up the steps back into the main house. It’s dark now. The floodlights have been switched off. The protective mats glisten like wet stones.
One girl is missing
, Joona thinks.
Nobody’s seen her. Maybe she ran away in all the chaos. But maybe the other girls are letting her hide.
Joona shudders at the thought that the missing girl might have seen something. Perhaps she sought refuge in her room and is too frightened to come out.
He walks down the hall toward the girls’ bedrooms. The crime scene investigation has just begun so the rooms have not yet been searched. The entire area will be gone over with a fine-tooth comb, but there hasn’t yet been time for that with all the commotion. The girls are frightened and stressed. The Emergency Services for Victims of Violent Crime has still not arrived. The police need more officers, more technicians, more resources.
The timber walls creak, but otherwise the house is silent. In the alcove, the door that’s missing its handle is slightly open. Inside, the dead girl is still lying on the bed, her hands over her eyes.
Joona remembers noting earlier three horizontal lines of blood on the corner of the alcove, the bloody marks of three fingers but no fingerprints. The first time he saw them, he had been concentrating on signs that led away from the crime scene. He hadn’t realized that the streaks lead in the other direction, not toward the front door but farther down the hall. The person with blood on his or her hands was headed for one of the other bedrooms.
No more dead
, Joona whispers to himself.
He pulls on latex gloves as he walks toward the last room in the hall. He hears a rustling sound as he opens the door. He stops and tries to see what’s inside the dim room. The sound stops. Joona carefully feels for the light switch.
He hears rustling again as well as the clank of metal.
“Vicky?” he calls gently.
He flips the switch and light fills the small cell-like room with a yellow glow. There’s another bang, and a moment later the window swings open toward the trees and Lake Himmelsjö. The rustling noises are coming from the corner. Joona sees a birdcage on its side on the floor. Inside, a yellow canary flaps its wings and climbs around.
There’s a strong smell of blood in the room: iron and sweetness mixed together.
Joona fetches some protective mats for the floor before he enters.
There are flecks of blood next to the window fasteners. Bloody handprints mark how someone climbed on the windowsill, held onto the frame for a moment, and then jumped out, landing on the lawn below.
Joona walks over to the bed. He feels ice-cold as he pulls away the blanket. The sheets are smeared with dried blood, but the person who was sleeping here was not the one who bled. Whoever was in the bed was covered with someone else’s blood.
Joona stands still and reads the traces of movement left by the bloodstains.
She was actually sleeping here
, he thinks.
He tries to lift the pillow, but it feels stuck. Joona pulls it loose. Beneath the pillow is a hammer covered in blood. He can also see strands of brown hair. Most of the blood has been absorbed by the pillow and sheets, but the head of the hammer still gleams, shining wet.
20
Birgittagården is bathed in a beautiful soft light and Lake Himmelsjö is shimmering magically between the tall, ancient trees. Just a few hours ago, Nina Molander got up in the middle of the night to pee and found Miranda dead. The girls panicked. They could not find the night nurse. Frantic, they called the therapist, Daniel Grim. When the police arrived, Nina was in such severe shock that she was taken by ambulance to the provincial hospital in Sundsvall.
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.