Marked for Life (25 page)

CHAPTER
FORTY-SEVEN

Thursday, April 26

JANA BERZELIUS FOLLOWED
the instructions she had been given and directed her steps across the wide gravel path. Daffodils as well as lilac crocuses stood high in the borders. There was a smell of wet ground and soil. She turned off beside a large rock and followed the gravel path for about one hundred meters. When she saw the little hot-dog stall she slowed down, looked at her watch and saw she was on time.

At the stall she ordered a hot dog, paid twenty kronor and then continued along the gravel path until she came to the green park bench, which had seating facing both ways. She sat down on the right, next to an anarchist symbol that had been carved on the seat.

Jana took a bite of her hot dog and looked out across the park. Two park benches away sat four local dropouts with a bag of beer cans. Their worries seemed to have vanished as they exhibited their loud and shrill delight for passing families who were on their way to the playground. Two girls were competing to see who could swing the highest, and a little boy sat at the top of the slide hesitating as to whether he dared slide down.

She had just taken another bite of her hot dog when she heard a voice behind her.

“Don't turn round. Pick up your phone.”

She felt his presence.

His back was against hers.

She put the mobile up to her ear.

“Hold the phone all the time so it looks as if you're talking on it.”

“Why did you want to meet in Norrköping?” said Jana.

“I had some business here.”

“Why did you change your mind? Why do you want to help me?”

“That doesn't matter. Do you still want to do this?”

“Yes.”

“But you'll have to do the heavy work yourself.”

“Okay.”

“I can't give you everything.”

“Well, what can you give me?”

“He's called Anders Paulsson. You'll find him in Jonsberg. Ask him about the transports.”

“Which transports?”

“That's all I can give you.”

“But what sort of transports are they?”

“Ask him.”

“Is he the man behind it all?”

“No. But enough.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just know. Believe me. See you.”

“But...”

She turned round.

Danilo had gone.

* * *

Danilo hurried from the park. He knew Jana would seek out Anders Paulsson. He smiled to himself. He knew that she would go straight to him, knew too that that was the last thing she would do in her life.

He picked up his phone and texted:
Expect company.

* * *

Gunnar Öhrn stepped quickly out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his hips.

In the bedroom, Anneli had just finished fastening her bra and she was talking to her babysitter on the phone. She ended the conversation and threw the phone onto the bed.

Gunnar looked at the clock. He was late for the press conference which would start at 13:00 hours.

“Now how can I explain this?” he said to Anneli.

“Say that you were out on a call or something. You're a policeman, damn it!”

Gunnar threw himself onto the bed and moved across to Anneli, supporting himself on his elbows.

“If we've just separated we shouldn't have sex with each other. Especially after a month.”

“You're right.”

“This mustn't become a habit.”

“No.”

Anneli got up, pulled on her jeans and blouse and buttoned it.

Gunnar followed her to the hall. He lifted up the big cardboard box that stood next to the front door.

“Don't forget this,” he said. “Do you need help getting it to the car?”

“I'll take it this evening,” Anneli answered and closed the door behind her.

Gunnar was left alone with the box in his arms.

He smiled.

* * *

Anders Paulsson drove home a lot faster than the speed limit allowed. He cut corners and let the van go well over the middle of the road into the opposing lane.

When he reached the little locality in Jonsberg, he turned off from the 209 and saw a black BMW pulled off to the side of the road. He pressed the clutch down hard and struggled to engage third gear.

Four hundred meters further on, he suddenly braked and skidded to a halt outside his red house. The blinds were down in all the windows. Not to stop people from looking in—the nearest neighbors were quite some distance away—but because he generally didn't like the daylight. There was rubbish everywhere in the house. Cardboard boxes piled up high. Old newspapers in heaps, old paper plates with the remains of food on them, bottles, beer cans and cartons from various fast-food outlets. There was a rancid smell, shut-in and rotten, but that didn't bother Anders. He didn't really care about anything. Not about his home, not about himself. He had cared once about a woman but she died a long time ago from cancer. After it happened, he had not been capable of looking after the house. The years passed and it got harder and harder to deal with one thing and the other. It was simpler to give up. Not to care at all.

Anders unlocked the door and went straight into the kitchen with his shoes on, managing to avoid the hardened excrement that one of his cats had deposited a week or so ago. That had driven him to such a rage that instead of cleaning up the shit, he had decided to clean up what caused it. He didn't know which cat was guilty, so he punished them all. The damned creatures protested and clawed him, spitting and hissing, but he nevertheless managed to get them all into the big freezer in the cellar.

Now he stood and looked quizzically at the knife block. It was empty. Strange. He pulled out a kitchen drawer. No knife there either. The unease crept up on him. He opened a kitchen cupboard and felt with his hand on the top shelf.

Empty!

Then he immediately put his hand on his hip and felt the little sheath in his waistband. At least I've got that, he thought.

“Are you looking for something?”

Anders was frightened by the sudden voice behind him. He froze, his eyes like saucers.

Jana Berzelius stood in the doorway. She had a gun in her hand.

“Is this what you're looking for?” She flipped the safety catch, holding the gun in a firm grip with her gloved hands.

“Don't turn round!”

Anders started to laugh. A hollow and affected laugh. He shook his head and looked down at the kitchen worktop, still with his hand on his hip.

“How did you know where it was?” he said.

“I had time to check the house before you came home.”

“How did you get in?”

“I like windows.”

“Who are you?”

“I don't like questions.”

“So I can't even ask you what you are after.”

“I'm here to ask you about your container transports,” she said.

“Which container transports? I don't know what you mean.”

“I think you do.”

Anders sighed, he looked up at the pine-paneled ceiling and then down again.

“What are they?” she said again.

He straightened his back.

Jana noticed the slow tensing of the muscles on his forearm and just had time to lean her head to one side before she felt the whoosh of the sharp blade. Quick as a flash, he had turned round and the knife was now embedded in the wall a couple of centimeters from her head.

She pointed the gun at him.

“You missed,” she said.

Anders looked all around him trying to find an object to defend himself with. He glanced quickly at the black toaster.

“Please. Don't kill me.”

“I'm going to ask you again. What did you transport?”

He glanced at the toaster yet again and in a fraction of a second grabbed it and hurled it at Jana with such force that she dropped the gun. It landed on the floor.

She looked at him.

He looked at her.

They both had the same idea.

The gun!

They threw themselves to the floor the very same moment but she was a fraction quicker to get her hand on the magazine. He tried to pull it out of her grip. He hit her on her side with his elbow so that she'd release her hold. But she retained her clamp-like grasp on the gun. He hit her again, but she clenched her teeth and put all her force behind a single blow. The muscles in her back were tensed, in her shoulders too, and she hit back as hard as she could. Her hand found its way in between his ribs, and he suddenly dropped down onto his knees, gasping for breath.

She held the gun against him. He looked down at the floor. His breathing became all the heavier and then turned into sobbing. After a brief moment she realized he was crying.

“Don't kill me,” he said. “Don't kill me. Nobody was to know... I should never have done it.”

He looked up at her.

“I should never have done it.” He lowered his head again and sniffled loudly.

“Please, don't kill me. It wasn't me that hurt them. I just drove them to where they were going. They were ordinary transports. To their missions.”

Jana furrowed her brow.

“What did you transport?”

“The children.”

Anders hid his face in his hands. He sobbed loudly.

She lowered the pistol.

“Which children?”

“The children... I fetched them when they were...ready. And when they had carried out their missions then I...took them back again. Then I saw the grave. I saw...they stood there...”

She stared at him, thought she had heard wrong.

“I didn't do anything. I just transported them to where they were going. To the training and then back from there. But it wasn't me who killed them.”

Jana was speechless. She looked at the man kneeling in front of her. They looked at each other. His eyes were red. Saliva was dripping from the corners of his mouth onto his bleached sweater.

“I didn't kill them. Not me. It wasn't me, I didn't do anything. I promise, I just drove the van. Nothing happened, I just drove, and they didn't know anything anyway.”

“I don't understand,” she said.

“They must die. All of them. Him too...”

“Who? You mean...?”

“They've got their own names... Thanatos...” Anders whispered. “He was really special. He was really...”

Anders started to shake.

“It wasn't meant to be like that. I didn't know. He ran.”

“Was it you who killed the boy, was it you who killed Thanatos?”

“I had no choice. He tried to escape from the boat.”

“The boat?”

Anders became quiet.

He looked at a point far in front of him. Blinking.

“The boat...”

“Which boat?”

“The boat! He tried to escape! I had to stop him. He had to go back to the island, but he ran.”

“What's the island called?”

“He didn't want to die.”

“Tell me what the island's called!”

“It hasn't got a name.”

“Where is it? Tell me where it is!”

Anders went quiet, as if he suddenly became aware of the situation he was now in.

“Near Gränsö Island.”

“Are there children out there now?”

He shook his head slowly.

“Who are you working for?”

He looked up at Jana again.

“I've told you too much,” he said.

“Who are you working for? Give me a name!”

Anders opened his eyes wide.

Tensed himself.

And then he cast himself against Jana. Tried to knock the pistol out of her hands.

She was caught by surprise but kept her hold.

He put his hand on the pistol and pulled hard, put all his weight onto her arms and roared loudly.

Jana's index finger was pressed hard against the trigger guard. The pain was intense. She concentrated all her strength; she mustn't lose her grip. Her arm trembled. The adrenaline was pumping. She struggled as hard as she could. But she couldn't keep it up. Her finger was stuck. It felt as if it would break off.

He pushed up again and her index finger was forced up in a U-shaped arch.

She had to let go.

When the bone cracked she let go.

Anders got hold of the pistol and immediately pointed it at her. He took small, short steps backward. “It's all over now. I know it is.”

He was sweating, his hands trembled, his eyes were darting here and there.

“I'm already dead. It's over. He is going to come. I know he will. It's over.”

Anders raised the pistol.

Jana realized what was about to happen.

“It isn't over. Wait,” she said.

“It's over now. That's just as well,” said Anders and put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

* * *

Torsten Granath lay on a leather sofa outside his office at the Prosecution Department. He looked up when Jana Berzelius came walking along the corridor.

“What's happened to you?” he said and nodded toward the plaster on her forehead.

“It's nothing. Just a graze. I fell when I was out running,” she lied.

“You strained your finger too?”

She nodded and looked at her index finger. It wasn't very painful but it swelled a lot.

“It's still very slippery at some places.” Torsten sighed and stretched out at full length again.

“Yes.”

“Ice isn't good. You've got to think about your hip joints. Especially at my age. I'm thinking about buying those studs you can put on the soles of your shoes. You ought to get some. For when you're out running, I mean.”

“No.”

“No. I know. They are actually rather silly.”

“Why are you lying here?”

“My back, you know. It's only problems with old men. Time to take it a bit easy.”

“That's what you usually say.”

“I know.”

Torsten pushed himself up into a sitting position. He gave Jana a serious look.