He had insisted on being present because he wanted to be in complete control until the man he hated was locked away. Ewert commandeered a patrol car, with blue light flashing. When he arrived at Berg Street, the building looked empty. He thanked the driver and took the lift to the cells. The surgery was at the end of the corridor and Ewert hurried past the rows of thick metal doors leading on to tiny cells; his limping footsteps echoed in the ugly, bleak place, where even the light seemed tired.
He had been to the surgery before to attend informal interrogations and meetings. It was properly equipped with a few impressive-looking pieces of electronic machinery, an examination bench pushed up against a wall, steel instruments lined up on a mobile table and a couple of electronic instruments; Grens had no idea what they were used for.
He scanned the room slowly.
All these people. He counted them. Ten.
Lang stood in the middle of the floor, his body lit by a powerful lamp. He was naked and handcuffed. Bulging muscles, shaved skull, oddly staring eyes. He looked up when Ewert entered the room.
You as well.
Whats that, Lang?
You want to see my dick too?
Ewert just smiled. Trying to provoke me, are you? Cant hear you. Not this time. My best friend just died.
He exchanged silent nods with the others. Four uniformed men, three guards and two technicians. All familiar faces.
He took note of the stuff on the bench, a pile of paper bags, one for each item of Langs clothing. One of the technicians, wearing transparent rubber gloves, was just putting a black sock in the last bag. His colleague was holding what looked like a tube-shaped lamp.
The forensic technician looked up. No more waiting about, Grens was here at last.
He turned on the lamp and directed it at Lang. Its blue light started a slow sweep from face to feet, but soon stopped at a possible spot of blood on the skin. The other technician picked up a sample on a cotton swab for later analysis. Carefully they went over the naked mans big body, one part after another, looking for evidence that could make or break the case against him.
Hey, Grens. What do you think?
Lang stuck his tongue out and thrust his pelvis backwards and forwards.
What dyou reckon? Every bloody time. Same thing. You all come over for a look.
More action, faster now. Lang moaned and stuck his tongue out at the two nearest officers.
I mean, look at them. Not real policemen, are they? Grens, admit it. More like fucking Village People be proud, boys. Be gay. Sing with me now,
Its fun to stay at the YMCA
.
Lang took a step forward, legs apart, still thrusting with his crotch. One of the two young policemen was thoroughly fed up by now. His breath came more quickly and he moved closer to Lang.
You there. Step back.
Ewert stared angrily at the officer and didnt look away until the man was back in his original position.
Then he turned to Lang.
Youre going down. For life this time. The sentence you should have had twenty-five years ago. Weve got a witness.
Life? For GBH? Youre kidding.
One last pelvic thrust, another Be proud, be gay and a smacking kiss.
Look, Grens. Fucking identity parades get you nowhere. You know that.
And threatening behaviour.
Ive been cleared of that as well. Six times.
Perverting the course of justice. Thats what we call it.
Jochum Lang stood still again. The technicians glanced at Ewert, who nodded. Carry on. The bluish light started and stopped. Cotton swabs delicately mopping up DNA fragments in one of Langs armpits.
Ewert had seen what he came for. The lab report would be ready in another day or two.
He sighed.
What a bloody awful day.
He knew what he had to do next. He had to go, go to her, to Lena, bringing death to her home. For her, Bengt was still alive.
Hey, Grens.
He turned. Jochum Lang was still standing there, stark naked in the middle of the room, while a technician prodded under his toenails.
Yes?
Langs mouth pursed for a kiss.
So-o sad, Grens, about your old mate. I heard about the
shoot-out in the mortuary. He isnt with us any more, is he? Out cold on the floor? What a shame. You two got on so well. Just like you used to with that uniformed chick of yours. Life is tough, dont you think? Eh, Grens?
More smacking noises, little kisses in the air.
Ewert Grens stood very still, controlled his breathing, then turned on his heel and left.
It took them less than twenty-five minutes to reach Eriksberg, the suburb where Ewert had been only two days earlier. They were silent for the whole journey. Sven was sitting beside him, driving. He had phoned Anita and Jonas first to say hed be even later than he had thought, so maybe they should have the birthday cake tomorrow instead. Ludwig Errfors was sitting in the back, as Ewert had asked him to bring tranquillisers and to be there, just in case. People react so differently when death knocks on their door.
Mentally, Ewert had still not left the police surgery. Lang had stood there naked and scornful, his mocking movements and all the rest taking him one step closer to a life sentence than before. Lang didnt realise that if he continued behaving like all the other bloody thugs, that as long as he remained silent, and played the predictable interrogation game denying everything or saying nothing whatsoever, lying as long as he didnt admit that he had at least roughed up Oldéus, he would be up for a murder as well. The bastard didnt know that there was a witness who dared to speak up, threats or no threats. Ewert Grens was struck by how ironic it was that, right now, when they had finally found someone who was courageous enough to stand witness against Lang in connection with his violent crimes, he was on his way to tell Bengts wife about the death of her husband; another meaningless killing in the same building where Lang had been careless enough to be seen by the wrong person.
Anything. He would give anything not to be on his way to this person, who still didnt know.
Ewert wasnt really that close to her.
He had sat in their garden and their sitting room, talked and drunk coffee in their company once a week since they moved in, ever since Lena married his best friend. She had always been warm and friendly and he had responded in his way, as best he could, but they had never become close. It could be the age difference, or that they were simply too unlike one another. But they had both cared for Bengt, and shared love was perhaps enough.
When they pulled up outside Ewert sat in the car for a while and looked at the front of the house. Lights on in the kitchen and the hall, but the upstairs rooms were dark. She was probably downstairs then, waiting for her husband. Ewert knew that they usually had a late supper.
I cant bear this.
Lena is in there and she knows nothing.
He is alive and well as far as shes concerned.
As long as she doesnt know, hes still alive. He dies only when I tell her.
He knocked on the door. There were young children in the house and they might be asleep; with any luck they would be. When did children go to sleep? He waited on the gravel path, with Sven and Ludwig close behind him. She was slow in answering. He knocked again, a little harder, more persistently, heard her quick footsteps, saw her take a look through the kitchen window before coming to unlock the front door. He had been a messenger of death many times before, but never to someone he actually cared about.
I shouldnt have to stand here.
If you were alive, I wouldnt be standing here at your door, with your death in my hands
.
He didnt have to say anything. He just stood there and held her in his arms, on the steps, with the door wide open. He had no idea for how long. Until she stopped crying.
Then they all went to the kitchen and she made some
coffee while he told her everything he thought she might want to know. She didnt say a word, nothing at all, until the first cup of coffee, when she asked him to repeat everything in detail. Who the woman was, how Bengts execution had been set up, what he had looked like and what the woman had really wanted.
Ewert did as she asked, describing the events blow by blow until she couldnt take any more. He knew it was the only thing he could do, talk to her, tell her again and again, until she finally started to understand.
Lena wept for a long time, now and then looking up at him, Sven and Errfors.
Later she edged close to him, grabbed his arm and asked him how he thought she should tell the children. Ewert, what do you want me to tell the children?
Ewerts cheek was burning.
They were back in the car, going along the almost empty E4 towards the city centre. The street lamps would come on soon.
She had hit him hard.
He hadnt expected it. They were just about to leave, out in the long hall, when she rushed over to him, shouting,
You cant say things like that
and slapped him. He was baffled at first, but had had time to think that she had the right to hit out before she raised her arm again, screaming,
You cant say things like that
. He stopped. What else could he do? He couldnt do any of the usual things he did when people threatened to hit him. When her voice rose to a shriek, Sven grabbed her arm and led her firmly to the kitchen.
He looked at Sven now, sitting beside him. He was driving back to town a little too slowly in the middle lane, lost in thought.
Ewert rubbed his cheek. It felt numb; her hand had hit the bone.
He didnt blame her.
He was the bringer of death.
It was past ten oclock, but a light summers night, quite beautiful now that the incessant rain had actually stopped. Sven had dropped him off at the police headquarters. They had been just as silent on the way back, as they had on the way there. Lenas despair had lingered, more powerful than words.
Ewert Grens went into his office. His desk was laden with yellow and green Post-it notes, informing him about journalists who had tried to contact him and would call again. He binned all the messages. He would arrange more press conferences as far away from here as possible and get the PR pros to field the questions he didnt want to hear. Sitting at his desk, he spun on his chair a couple of times, stopped and listened to the silence, spun round again, stopped. He couldnt really think, tried to go through the events of the last hours in his mind. Bengts death and Grajauskass death. The unharmed hostages. Bengt, unseeing, on the floor. Lena holding his arm and wanting him to tell her every detail, one at a time. It was hopeless. He couldnt do it. They werent his thoughts, so he sat there, spinning around and around, without pursuing anything.
One and a half hours alone, spinning on his chair without a single thought.
The cleaner, a smiling young man who spoke decent Swedish, knocked and Ewert let him in. His presence broke the monotony. For a few minutes there was someone who emptied the waste-paper basket and pushed a mop around. Better than the thoughts he could not think.
Anni, help me
.
Sometimes he missed having people, sometimes loneliness was just ugly.
He dialled the number he knew by heart. It was late, but he knew she would be awake. When life is one long half-sleep, maybe rest matters less.
One of the young care assistants answered. He knew who she was. She had worked extra in the evenings for a few years now, to top up her student loan, to make life a little easier.
Good evening. Ewert Grens speaking.
Hello, Mr Grens.
Id like to talk to her.
A pause. She was probably looking at the clock in reception.
Its a little late.
I know. Sorry to trouble you, but this is important.
He heard the young care assistant get up and walk down the corridor. A few minutes later her voice came back.
Shes awake. I told her that youre waiting to talk to her on the phone and asked someone to help her with the receiver. Connecting you now.
He heard Anni breathe, between the gurgling and mumbling she usually made on the phone. He hoped someone was around to wipe away the dribbles.
Hello, Anni. Its me.
Her shrill laughter. His body grew warm, almost relaxed.
You have to help me. I dont understand whats going on.
He spoke to her for nearly quarter of an hour. She panted and laughed now and then, mostly staying silent. He missed her the moment the call ended.
Getting up from the chair his body felt heavy, but not tired. He walked along the corridor to the far too large meeting room. The door was never locked.
He fumbled about in the dark, looking for the switch on the wall and found it higher up than he remembered. It was for not only the lamps, but also the TV and the video and the whirring overhead projector. He had never got a grip on how these bloody things worked and swore a great deal before he managed to find a channel that worked with the video.
Wearing plastic gloves, he extracted the cassette from the bag he had been given at the mortuary, which he had kept hidden in the inner pocket of his jacket.
The first images were drowning in bright bluish light. Two women were sitting on a sofa in a kitchen with sunlight pouring in through a window behind them. Obviously whoever was holding the camera wasnt sure how to balance brightness and focus properly.
The women were easy to recognise all the same.
Lydia Grajauskas and Alena Sljusareva. They were in the flat with the electronic locks, where he had seen them for the first time.
