by Lars Kepler
Vicky pulls at a loose thread on the bandage around her hand.
“Had you ever done it before?”
“Done what?”
“Left Birgittagården in the middle of the night?”
“No,” says Vicky. She sounds bored.
“Why did you do it this time?”
When the prosecutor doesn’t get an answer, she smiles and asks in a milder tone, “Why were you awake in the middle of the night?”
“Don’t remember.”
“And so let’s move back a few hours. Do you remember what was going on then? Everyone went to bed and you were awake. What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“You didn’t do anything until you left Birgittagården in the middle of the night. Don’t you think that’s strange?”
“No.”
Vicky is staring out the window. The sun is playing hide-and-seek in the clouds crossing the skies.
“I want you to tell me why you left Birgittagården,” Susanne says. Her tone turns serious. “I won’t stop asking until you tell me what happened. Do you understand?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Vicky replies quietly.
“I know it’s difficult but I want you to tell me anyway.”
The girl looks up at the ceiling and her mouth moves as if she’s searching for words. Then she says in amazement, “I killed …”
She stops and pulls at the IV tube.
“Keep going.” Susanne is tense.
Vicky shakes her head and moistens her lips.
“You might as well tell me,” Susanne said. “You just said you killed—”
“Right … There was an irritating fly in the room and I killed it and I—”
“What the hell? Excuse me, I’m sorry, but isn’t it strange that you remember killing a fly but not why you left Birgittagården in the middle of the night?”
132
Susanne Öst and Signe Ridelman have requested a break and have left the room for a moment. The gray morning light is reflected in the IV pole and the chrome bed railings. Vicky Bennet is sitting up in bed and cursing to herself.
“Isn’t that the truth,” Joona says. He has taken Susanne’s place on the chair beside the bed.
“All I can think about is Dante,” she says.
“Dante is going to be just fine.”
Vicky is going to say something else, but the two women return. Joona gets up and walks over to the window.
“So,” Susanne says, full of energy. “You have admitted that you left Birgittagården in the middle of the night and went straight into the forest. This is not something that people do for no reason. You did have a reason to run away, didn’t you?”
Vicky looks away, runs her tongue over her lips, and says nothing.
“Answer me,” says the prosecutor.
“Yes.”
“Why did you go on the run?”
The girl shrugs.
“You did something that’s hard to talk about, right?”
Vicky rubs her face.
“I have to ask you these questions,” Susanne says. “You think I’m being difficult, but I know that you’ll feel much better after you confess.”
“Will I?”
“You will.”
Vicky shrugs her shoulders and meets the prosecutor’s eyes.
“So what do you want me to confess?”
“Just tell me what you did that night.”
“I killed a fly.”
The prosecutor leaves the room abruptly without saying another word.
133
It’s eight fifteen in the morning as Saga Bauer opens the door to the appeals room at the offices for the Public Prosecutor for Police Cases. Mikael Båge, who’s responsible for internal investigations, rises from his armchair.
Saga is still damp from her shower and her long blond hair with its colorful bands winds over her narrow shoulders and down her back. She has a bandage on the bridge of her nose, but she’s still beautiful in a way that makes an observer feel unhappily in love.
Saga has run six kilometers this morning and, as usual, she’s wearing a hoodie from Narva Boxing Club, faded jeans, and sneakers.
“Are you Saga Bauer?” Mikael asks with an unusually large smile.
“That’s right,” Saga replies.
He wipes his hand on his jacket before he takes Saga’s.
“I’m sorry. Don’t mind me … It’s just … If only I were twenty years younger! You must have heard this before.”
Mikael Båge is blushing as he sits back down and loosens his tie. He can’t take his eyes off Saga.
The door opens and Sven Wiklund comes in. He greets them both and then stands in front of Saga at a loss for what to say. Finally he just nods then places a carafe of water and three glasses on the small table before he sits down.
“Saga Bauer is an inspector with Säpo,” Mikael Båge begins. Then he smiles that uncontrolled smile.
“I have to say this before I can continue. You look like one of those princesses in a John Bauer painting.” He waits a beat and then pours himself a glass of water.
“You have been called here as a witness,” Mikael continues, now in his role of internal investigator. He taps a folder. “You were present at the action in question.”
“What would you like to know?” Saga asks.
“The petition against Joona Linna … He is suspected of warning—”
“Göran Stone is my colleague, but he is a complete idiot,” she says. “He’s nothing but a climber.”
“You don’t have to get angry,” Mikael Båge says.
Saga Bauer remembers very well the time she and Joona had entered the secret headquarters of the Brigade, a far-left group. Daniel Marklund, the Brigade’s expert on hacking and eavesdropping, had given them the information they’d needed to save the life of Penelope Fernandez.
“So you don’t believe that the operation was unsuccessful?”
“Of course it was. I was the one who warned the Brigade.”
“The petition says—”
“Joona is the best officer in the country!”
“It’s always good to be loyal, but we are going to prosecute—”
“Then go to hell!”
Saga gets up and knocks Mikael Båge’s folder out of his hands, setting his papers flying. As she leaves, she stomps on them, then slams the door behind her so hard the window shade snaps up.
Saga Bauer may indeed look like a fairy-tale princess, but she feels like what she is: a detective with the security police. She is one of the best sharpshooters in the corps, and she’s a boxer at the highest level of the sport.
134
Saga is still swearing as she storms outside onto Kungsbro Bridge. She has to force herself to walk more slowly while she tries to calm down. Her cell phone in the pocket of her hoodie rings. She pulls it out and looks at the display. It’s her boss at Säpo.
“We have an inquiry from the National Police,” says Verner, his deep voice rumbling in her ear. “I’ve checked on Jimmy and Jan Petersson, but they can’t do it, and I’m not sure Göran Stone is up to it.”
“What’s it about?”
“The interrogation of a minor, a girl. She’s psychologically unstable, and the head of the preliminary investigation needs someone trained in questioning techniques and who also has some experience—”
“So that’s why you went to Jimmy first,” Saga says, not hiding her irritation. “But why Jan Petersson? Why would you ask him before you’d ask me? And why in the world would you ever think that Göran Stone …”
Saga forces herself to shut up.
“You want a fight?” asks Verner with a sigh.
“Who the hell went to Pullach and did the German National Defense training and—”
“Please—”
“I’m not finished! You know I was there when Muhammed al-Abdaly was interrogated.”
“But you weren’t the head of the investigation.”
“No
, but I was the one who made him spill. Whatever.”
She ends the call. She thinks she’ll resign tomorrow.
The cell phone rings again.
“Okay, Saga, we’ll put you on it.”
“Just shut up!” she yells, and turns off the phone.
Carlos spills fish food on his jacket when Anja flings his office door open. He starts to scrape the flakes into his palm but then his desk phone rings.
“Can you please put it on speaker?” he asks Anja.
“It’s Verner,” Anja says as she presses the button.
“What a surprise,” Carlos says cheerfully as he brushes his hands over the aquarium.
“It’s Verner here again. Sorry it took me a while to get back to you.”
“Not to worry.”
“Well, I’ve looked high and low but all my best guys are already on loan to Alex Allan at the Joint Intelligence Committee,” says the head of Säpo. He clears his throat. “We have one woman, though. You might have met her. Saga Bauer. She might be able to sit in.”
Anja leans toward the telephone and barks, “So, sit in and look pretty, is that what you mean?”
“Hello? Who’s that?” asks Verner.
“Shut up!” Anja hisses. “I know Saga Bauer and I can tell you that Säpo doesn’t deserve such a hardworking, diligent—”
“Anja,” Carlos says, wiping his hands on his trousers and placing himself between her and the phone on his desk.
“Sit down!” Anja roars.
Carlos sits down at the same time as Verner’s voice says, “I am sitting down.”
“You call Saga right up and beg her pardon,” Anja says to the speaker.
135
The policeman on duty blushes as he looks at Saga Bauer’s ID. He opens the door to room 703 for her and tells her that the patient will be back soon.
Saga walks inside and finds two women in an almost empty room. The bed is gone but the IV is still there, along with two chairs.
“Excuse me?” asks the woman in a gray dress suit.
“Yes?” asks Saga.
“Are you one of Vicky’s friends?”
Before Saga is able to answer, Joona Linna walks in.
“Joona,” she says in surprise. She smiles and shakes his hand. “I thought they’d cut you off from everything.”
“I am cut off,” he says.
“How wonderful for you,” she says.
“The internal investigation folks are doing a great job,” he says, smiling so broadly that dimples appear in his cheeks.
Susanne Öst looks more closely at Saga.
“Säpo?” she asks. “I thought … I mean … Excuse me for—”
“Where’s Vicky Bennet?” Saga asks Joona.
“The doctor is doing a new CT scan,” Joona says, and walks over to the window. He looks out.
“This morning I decided to take Vicky Bennet into custody,” the prosecutor says. “It would be nice if we had a confession before I do so.”
“You’re going to prosecute her?” asks Saga.
“You weren’t there,” Susanne says. “I was. I saw the bodies. And it does mean that she will go to jail. She’s fifteen years old and is beyond juvenile closed care.”
Saga smiles although she’s skeptical. “But to send her to prison—”
“Don’t get me wrong,” the prosecutor says. “But I was expecting a more experienced interrogator.”
“I understand,” Saga says.
“Still, you should have a try. You really should.”
“Thanks,” Saga says.
“I’ve already spent half a day here and I can tell you, this is not your average interrogation,” Susanne Öst says, taking a deep breath.
“How so?”
“Vicky Bennet is not afraid. She seems to enjoy the power struggle.”
“And you?” Saga asks. “Do you enjoy the power struggle?”
“I don’t have time for her games and not for yours, either. Tomorrow I will be in court to request an arrest order.”
“I listened to the recording of this morning’s questioning. I don’t believe that Vicky is playing a game with you,” Saga says.
“I am absolutely sure that she is,” the prosecutor says.
“Still, murder can be traumatizing for the murderer. Her mind may have created islands of floating memories with no clear borders.”
“Is that what they teach you at Säpo these days?”
“The interrogator must begin by assuming that everyone wants to confess and to be understood,” Saga says, ignoring Susanne’s provocation.
“Is that all?”
“Any confession is connected to feelings of power. The person who is confessing has power over the truth.” Saga keeps her tone friendly. “That’s why threats don’t work. But using a friendly attitude and respect—”
“Don’t forget that this girl is suspected of two brutal killings.”
They hear the sound of the bed being wheeled up to the door of room 703.
136
Two nursing assistants steer the bed through the door. Vicky’s face has swollen considerably since the morning. Her cheeks and forehead are covered in scabbed wounds. Her arms have been freshly bandaged and her thumb is in a cast. The assistants park the bed in place and move the drip bag to the freestanding IV pole. Vicky is lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. She doesn’t listen to the two women pushing the bed, who are trying to carry on a conversation with her. She looks grim.
The side bars of her bed are up, but all the belts used to tie her down have been loosened.
As they leave, Saga notices that there are now two officers posted outside the door.
Saga waits until the girl looks her way before she goes up to her side and sits down.
“My name is Saga Bauer, and I’m here to help you remember the past few days.”
“Are you a social worker or what?”
“I’m a detective.”
“From the police?”
“From Säpo,” Saga replies.
“You are the prettiest person I’ve ever seen in real life.”
“What a nice thing to say!”
“I’ve cut open pretty faces,” Vicky says, and smiles.
“I know,” Saga says calmly.
She takes out her cell phone and presses Record. She quickly mentions the date, time, place, and the names of everyone in the room. Then she looks at Vicky quietly for a while.
“You’ve been through some awful stuff,” she says.
“I saw a newspaper,” Vicky says. She swallows, continues. “My face and Dante’s. They wrote some terrible things about me.”
“Did you recognize yourself in their articles?”
“No.”
“Tell me what happened instead. Use your own words.”
“I ran and ran and I froze … was freezing.”
Vicky looks at Saga wondering what to say next. She’s trying to remember what she’s already said. Has she told them the truth? Has she lied? She doesn’t know.
“I know nothing about why you ran away, but if you would like to tell me, I’m listening,” Saga says.
“I don’t want to,” Vicky says.
“Okay. Then let’s start with the day before,” Saga continues. “I know that you had classes in the morning, but after that.”
Vicky closes her eyes. “The usual. Boring stuff. Routines.”
“Don’t you normally have activities in the afternoon?”
“Elisabet took everyone down to the lake. Lu Chu and Almira went swimming all naked. You’re not supposed to swim naked, it’s against the rules, but they do whatever they want.” Vicky suddenly smiles. “Elisabet got angry with them and then everyone took off all their clothes.”
“You, too?”
“No, not me. Not Miranda and not Tuula.”
“What did you do?”
“I paddled a little bit and watched the others play around.”
“What did Elisabet do?”
“She got al
l naked, too, and went swimming.” Vicky is still smiling.
“What did Tuula and Miranda do?”
“They sat and threw pinecones at each other.”
“While Elisabet was swimming with the other girls?”
“She swam like all the old ladies do.”
“And you? What did you do?”
“I was bored so I went back.”
“How did you feel that evening?”
“Fine.”
“Were you really feeling fine? Why did you cut yourself, then? You cut yourself on your arms and stomach, right?”
137
Saga is watching Vicky’s response to that last question. Her face is darkening and her expression hardening. The edges of her mouth turn down.
Saga explains, “There’s a note in the log about you cutting your arms.”
“Yes, but it wasn’t a big deal. We were watching TV and I was feeling a little bit sorry for myself, so I cut myself. I went to Elisabet and she patched me up. I like it when she takes care of me. She is calm and she knows I need a lot of bandages around my wrists … because it always turns my stomach later when I think about my veins being open.”
“Why were you feeling sorry for yourself?”
“It was my turn to talk to Elisabet, but she said she didn’t have time.”
“What did you want to talk to her about?”
“I don’t know. Nothing big. It was just my turn to have private time with her, but I couldn’t because Miranda and Tuula had a fight.”
“That doesn’t sound fair,” Saga says.
“So I was feeling sorry for myself. So I cut myself and then Elisabet patched me up.”
“You had your time with Elisabet after all, it seems.”
“Yeah.” Vicky smiles.
“Are you Elisabet’s favorite?”
“No.”
“Who is?”
All of a sudden, Vicky lashes her good hand at Saga’s face, but Saga rolls her head away in time. The rest of her body doesn’t move. Vicky doesn’t know how she missed and why Saga is now gently stroking her cheek.
“Are you tired?” asks Saga.
Vicky looks at her and reaches to stop Saga from taking her hand away. Then she turns her back to her.
