The Beast (40 page)

    It
was raining outside. He was standing by the window, peering out between the
bars in an attempt to find the cause of the rapping sound which had irritated
him for too long now. It was a loose piece of metal guttering. He watched the
dull-coloured, jagged strip of metal, watched the raindrops hitting it,
registering each tap as pain, winced with each grinding noise as the wind
tugged at it.

    He
went to lie down on the bed, staring up into the grimy ceiling and at the bare
walls and the locked door, with its locked observation panel. Maybe he could
escape by closing his eyes. But he had spent too much time asleep these last
few weeks, and he could no longer immerse himself in unconsciousness.

    It
had been three weeks since they put him here.

    The
warders laughed when he said he thought it was a long time. Sweden, they told
him, kept people in remand prison for longer than most other countries. Fuck's
sake, he was lucky to have his case in court so soon. Some people waited for
months, even years.

    You
see, they told him more than once, he was that lucky because he had shot the
nation's top-ranking paedophile and the media were chasing the story night and
day. You don't have a clue, they added, about the time others had to endure, a strange
waiting time without an end anywhere in sight, a time for suicide after evening
bang-up.

    He
heard steps approaching.

    Someone
was coming to see him.

    He
made a quick calculation; lunch was still at least an hour away.

    He
glanced at the door. There was someone there. Eyes looking in through the
opened flap.

    'Fredrik?'

    'Yes?'

    'Visitors
for you.'

    He
sat up in bed, drew his fingers through his hair. This was the first time for
days that he had given a thought to his hair.

    The
door opened. In stepped the chaplain and his lawyer. Rebecca and Kristina. And
they were beaming at him.

    'Hi
there. Ghastly weather, it's raining.'

    He
couldn't be bothered saying anything. These two were people he liked and he
should open up, speak to them, but he didn't have the strength. Conversation
was misplaced in here, where even the source of light was ugly and lifeless.

    'What
do you want?'

    'It's
a good day!'

    'What?
I'm tired. It's that bloody tapping noise.' He pointed vaguely towards the
window. 'Listen. Can't you hear it?'

    They
did listen. Then they both nodded, yes, what an annoying sound that was.
Rebecca fiddled with her dog-collar for a moment and then she put her hand on
his shoulder.

    'Fredrik,
it's your turn to listen. Please. Kristina is bringing you good news.'

    She
turned to the lawyer, who went to sit on the bed next to him. A comforting
presence, a plump body and a calm voice.

    'And
this is what I've got to tell you. Fredrik, you're a free man.'

    He
heard what she said, but did not speak.

    'Do
you understand what I'm saying? You are no longer in detention. The magistrates
didn't agree, but a majority came down in favour of "an act of reasonable
force". That's final.'

    So
that was what she was on about. So what?

    'Fredrik,
listen. You can walk out of this cell. You can take off the bin-bags they've
dressed you in. And tonight, only you decide if a door is to be locked or not.'

    He
got up and went over to the window. The noise was louder than ever. It was
raining heavily now; there might be a thunderstorm during the night.

    'Oh,
I don't know.'

    'What
do you mean? What don't you know?'

    'I
don't know if this means anything. What's the point? I might as well stay
here.'

    His time
as a National Service conscript came back to him. How he had hated soldiering,
counting every minute until they'd let him go home, and then, one day, when he
finally stepped outside the barrack door and left through the open gate, what
should've been a dream-come-true only made him feel deflated and empty. It was
like that again.

    'I
don't think you understand at all. You see, I'm finished.'

    The
two women glanced at each other. They didn't grasp what he felt and they
deserved an explanation.

    'I
am… I don't exist. I don't have anything that I value. I did have a child. She
does not exist. She suffered at the hands of someone who'd made others suffer,
and now he doesn't exist either. I thought life was inviolable. And then I went
and shot someone to death. If you lose who you are and what you have… I'm at a
loss. I don't fucking know.'

    They
stayed. Eventually he changed into his own clothes, readied himself to change
into another world.

    He
was not banged up any more.

    Walking
away from his cell, he nodded to the officer, the guy with the eyes. He bought
a coffee from the squeaky machine in the corridor.

    Then
he marched straight past the twenty-odd journalists who were perched on the
stairs, wanting to get at him, at his face. He said nothing. He knew nothing.

    Rebecca
and Kristina had ordered a taxi for him. He hugged them and left.

    Bengt
Söderlund ran as fast as he could through Tallbacka. He had been running all
the way from home, a taste of blood in his mouth, his hip hurting like when he
was a schoolboy running the cross-country competition and winning, not because
he was the strongest or the best trained or anything like that, but because he
was the most determined.

    He
was running as if he couldn't get ahead fast enough, as if every second was
precious. He could see from a distance that the lights were on in Ove and
Helena's house, and their car was there. He kept running, waving a piece of
paper as he went, up the steps, through the door and into the sitting room.

    'Now
we'll fucking go for it!' he shouted.

    Helena
looked up, startled. She had been reading a book, curled up naked in an
armchair.

    He
had never seen her naked before. If he had, he would have realised that she was
beautiful, but he couldn't stop for a proper look now, he was walking round
her, holding up his paper, casting eager glances through the window. Was Ove in
the garden? Where was he?

    'Bengt,
what's the matter? What's up? Ove is in the basement bathroom, showering.'

    'I'll
fetch him.'

    'Hang
on. He'll be here soon.' 'I'll go.'

    He went
down the basement steps clumsily, hurriedly. No problem about finding the way;
he and Elisabeth had been using that shower during the time when he was
rebuilding their bathroom. She had wanted a larger one, and he had pulled all
the stops out, ruined a cupboard, but she got her effing bathroom.

    He
pulled back the shower-curtain, big birds against a blue background. Ove turned
round so quickly he almost fell, crouching, until he took in who it was.

    'Here!
See this! Now we'll fucking go for it!'

    Ove
dried himself quickly, wrapped the towel round his hips and followed Bengt back
upstairs. Bengt was still waving his paper, his trophy held up for the
admiration of the audience. Back in the sitting room, Helena was waiting for
them. She had put on a dressing gown.

    'You
have no idea! This is it!'

    He
spread out the paper on the table and they bent forward to read.

    'I
pulled it from the TV site on the web, the news page. Just twenty minutes ago.
Actually, nineteen minutes. Look at the time, eleven a.m.'

    While
they read, Bengt paced about impatiently.

    'Are
you done? Do you get it? They let him out. On grounds of reasonable force! He
shot that monster and saved the lives of two little girls. And the verdict was
"reasonable force"! He'll be back home tonight knocking back a drink,
I'd say! Four votes against one, you know, only the judge didn't go along with
it, but the other lot didn't hesitate!'

    Ove
started reading the whole thing again from the beginning. Helena relaxed back
in her armchair, holding her hands in the air in a gesture of amazement.

    Bengt
leaned over her and hugged her. Then he slapped Ove on the back.

    'Now's
the time! We'll do him now! It's our fucking right. Now we'll get him!
Reasonable force, of course! No more, no less! Reasonable force!'

    They
waited until darkness had fallen. All five of them spent the afternoon in
Bengt's house, sitting around, chatting at times and drinking cups of coffee.
Darkness, when it came around half past ten, was not pitch-black, just dark
enough to make people faceless.

    They
went out into the garden to acclimatise their eyes to the blurred outlines. It
was very quiet. Tallbacka was always quiet at that time of night and many
windows had already gone dark, because it was a place where the day began and
ended early. Bengt went inside for a moment, snapped his fingers and felt
Baxter's tongue licking his hand.

    Then
they went together to the shed, unlocked the padlock, lifted out the boxes,
first the heavy one with the petrol-filled bottles, then the small box with the
cigarette lighters. Ove and Klas minded the bottle-box. Ola distributed the
lighters, two each.

    They
walked far enough to be able to see into the house next door. All the lights
were on, and from were they stood they could follow him wandering about, from
the kitchen to the sitting room and then towards the bathroom. When the
bathroom light went on, Bengt ordered Baxter to sit and walked the few steps to
a telephone pole. He climbed up far enough to reach the wire. He was
surprisingly agile and got there quickly. From one of the many pockets in his
jeans, he produced a pair of pliers and cut the wire.

    The
bathroom lamp still glowed when Bengt slid down and moved to the next pole,
which had a locked box halfway up. He opened it with the key to his own,
identical box and located the mains switch.

    The
house next door went dark.

    They
waited. It took longer than they had expected.

    But
Flasher-Göran finally got a couple of candles going.