The Sandman

by Kepler, Lars

  He remains in that position, without breathing.

  The frame of the bed creaks.

  Anders is staring at him open-mouthed. He’s having a protracted, unbearable cramp attack.

  Suddenly the tonic state ends and Jurek’s body begins to spasm instead. He’s jerking uncontrollably, biting his tongue and emitting guttural roars of pain.

  Anders tries to tighten the straps across his body. Jurek’s arms are flailing and pulling so hard that his wrists start to bleed.

  He sinks back, whimpering and panting, as all the blood drains from his face.

  Anders steps away, and can’t help smiling as he sees tears trickling down Jurek’s cheeks.

  ‘It’ll soon feel better,’ he lies softly.

  ‘Not for you,’ Jurek gasps.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘You’ll just look surprised when I chop your head off and throw it in—’

  Jurek is interrupted by a fresh attack of cramps. He screams as his head twists to one side; a fan of veins stand out on his throat as the bones in his neck crack, then his whole body starts to shake again, making the bed rattle.

  103

  Saga lets ice-cold water run over her hands. Her swollen knuckles are sore and she’s got three small wounds on them.

  Everything has gone wrong.

  She lost control, beat Bernie up, and Jurek got the blame.

  Through the door she heard the guards shouting about four ampoules of Stesolid before they dragged him into his cell.

  They thought he was the one who had attacked Bernie.

  Saga turns the tap off, lets her hands drip on the floor and sits down on the bed.

  The adrenalin has left a drowsiness, a quivering heaviness in her muscles.

  An emergency doctor was called in to take care of Bernie. She heard him chattering manically until the door closed.

  Saga is so frustrated she’s almost in tears. She has ruined everything with her wretched anger. Her complete inability to control her damn emotions. Why couldn’t she just keep out of the way? How could she possibly have let herself be provoked into fighting?

  She shudders and clenches her jaw. It’s quite possible that Jurek Walter will want to get his own back for the fact that he got blamed.

  The security doors clatter and she can hear rapid steps in the corridor, but no one comes to her cell.

  Silence.

  Saga sits on the bed with her eyes closed as the noises start to reverberate through the walls. Her heart is beating faster. Suddenly Jurek Walter lets out a guttural howl and screams with pain. She thinks she can hear someone kicking their bare heels against the reinforced steel. It sounds a bit like a fist hitting a punchbag.

  Saga stares at the door, thinking about electric shocks and lobotomies.

  Jurek is still screaming, his voice cracking, then she hears some heavy thuds.

  Then silence again.

  All she can hear now is the gentle clicking of the water pipes in the wall. Saga gets up and stares through the thick glass of the window in the door. The young doctor walks past. He stops and looks at her with a blank expression on his face.

  She sits on the bed until the light in the ceiling goes out.

  Life in the secure unit is much harder to bear than she had imagined. Instead of crying, she goes through her mission in her head, thinking about the rules for long-term infiltration and the purpose of the entire operation.

  Felicia Kohler-Frost is completely alone in a locked room. She could be starving, and may well have Legionnaires’ disease.

  Time is running out.

  Saga knows that Joona is looking for the girl, but without any information from Jurek Walter the chances of making any kind of breakthrough aren’t very high.

  Saga has to stick it out, she has to try to bear this for a while longer.

  As the light goes out she shuts her eyes and feels them pricking.

  She ponders the fact that the life she left behind had already left her first. Stefan is gone. She has no family.

  104

  Joona Linna is in one of the large offices in the headquarters of National Crime, along with part of the investigating team. The walls are covered with maps, photographs and printouts of the tip-offs that are currently being prioritised. On a large-scale map of Lill-Jan’s Forest, the sites of the various finds are clearly marked.

  With a yellow pen, Joona traces the railway line from the harbour through the forest, then turns to the group.

  ‘One of the things Jurek Walter used to work on was train gearboxes,’ he says. ‘It’s possible that the victims were buried in Lill-Jan’s Forest because of this railway line.’

  ‘Like Ángel Reséndiz,’ Benny Rubin says, smiling for no reason.

  ‘So why the hell don’t we just go in and interrogate Jurek Walter?’ Petter Näslund demands, far too loudly.

  ‘It wouldn’t work,’ Joona says patiently.

  ‘Petter, I presume you’ve read the psychiatric report?’ Magdalena Ronander says. ‘Is there really any point interrogating someone who’s both schizophrenic and psychotic, and who—’

  ‘We’ve got eighteen thousand kilometres of railway lines in Sweden,’ he interrupts. ‘We might as well get digging.’

  ‘Sit on my Facebook,’ Benny mutters.

  Joona can’t help thinking that Petter Näslund has a point. Jurek Walter is the only person who can lead them to Felicia before it’s too late. They’re checking every single line of inquiry from the old preliminary investigation, they are looking into all the tip-offs that have come in, but they’re still not making any progress. Saga Bauer is their only real hope. Yesterday she beat up another patient and Jurek Walter got the blame. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing, Joona thinks. It might even help bring them together.

  It’s getting dark outside, and sparse snowflakes hit Joona’s face as he gets out of the car and hurries in to Södermalm Hospital. He finds out from the reception desk that Irma Goodwin is doing an extra shift in the emergency room. He spots her as soon as he walks in. The door to one of the examination rooms is open. A woman with a split lip and bleeding wound on her chin is sitting quietly while Irma Goodwin talks to her.

  There’s a smell of damp wool and the floor is damp with slush. A construction worker is sitting on one of the benches with one foot in a steamed-up plastic bag.

  Joona waits until Irma Goodwin emerges from the room, then walks with her along the corridor towards another treatment room.

  ‘This is the third time she’s been here in as many months,’ Irma says.

  ‘You should refer her to a women’s refuge,’ Joona says.

  ‘I already have. But what good will that do?’

  ‘It does help,’ Joona insists.

  ‘What can I do for you, then?’ she asks, stopping outside the door.

  ‘I need to know about the progression of Legionnaires’ disease for—’

  ‘He’s going to be fine,’ she interrupts, opening the door.

  ‘Yes, but what if he hadn’t been treated?’ Joona says.

  ‘How do you mean?’ she asks, looking into his grey eyes.

  ‘We’re trying to find his sister,’ Joona says. ‘And it seems likely that she was infected at the same time as Mikael …’

  ‘In that case it’s serious,’ Irma says.

  ‘How serious?’

  ‘Without treatment … obviously it depends on her general condition, but she’s probably got a high fever by now.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘She’ll be coughing already, and having trouble breathing … it’s impossible to say with any degree of accuracy, but by the end of the week I’d say she’ll be at risk of brain damage and … well, you know that Legionnaires’ disease can be fatal.’

  105

  The following morning Saga is even more worried about what happened in the dayroom. She has no appetite, and just sits on her bed until lunchtime.

  Her mind won’t let go of her failure.

  Instead o
f building up trust she has once again managed to unleash conflict. She has beaten up another patient and Jurek Walter has been blamed.

  He must hate her now, and is bound to want revenge for what he’s been subjected to.

  She isn’t particularly scared, seeing as the security in the ward is so high.

  But she’ll have to be very careful.

  Prepared for anything, while never betraying any sign of fear.

  When the door whirrs and the lock clicks, she gets up and walks out into the dayroom without letting any other thoughts into her head. The television is already on, showing three people sitting in a cosy studio talking about winter gardens.

  She’s first into the dayroom, and gets up on the running machine at once.

  Her legs feel clumsy, her fingertips numb, and with every step she takes the plastic leaves of the palm shake.

  Bernie is shouting from inside his room, but soon falls silent.

  Someone’s cleared up the blood from the floor.

  Suddenly Jurek’s door opens. His entrance is preceded by a shadow. Saga forces herself not to look at him. With long strides he walks across the floor, heading straight for the running machine.

  Saga stops the machine, gets off and steps aside to let him pass. She manages to see that he has black scabs on his lips, and his face is ashen and grey. He climbs heavily onto the machine, then just stands there.

  ‘You got the blame for what I did,’ she says.

  ‘You think?’ he asks without looking at her.

  When he starts the machine she sees that his hands are shaking. The whining, swishing sound starts up once again. The whole machine moves with every step he takes. She can feel the vibrations through the floor. The palm containing the microphone is swaying and moving a tiny bit closer to the running machine with each step.

  ‘Why didn’t you kill him?’ he asks, glancing at her.

  ‘Because I didn’t want to,’ she replies honestly.

  She looks into his pale eyes and feels the blood pumping round her body as the realisation that she’s in direct contact with Jurek Walter catches up with her.

  ‘It would have been interesting to watch you do it,’ he says quietly.

  She can feel him looking at her with unfeigned curiosity. Maybe she should go and sit on the sofa, but she decides to stay a while longer.

  ‘You’re here, which means you’ve probably killed people,’ he says.

  ‘Yes, I have,’ she replies after a pause.

  He nods. ‘It’s inevitable.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Saga mumbles.

  ‘Killing is neither good nor bad,’ Jurek goes on calmly. ‘But it feels strange the first few times … like eating something you didn’t think was edible.’

  Saga suddenly remembers the time when she killed another person. His blood squirted up over the trunk of a birch tree with a sort of jerky rapidity. Even though there was no need, she fired a second shot and watched through the telescopic sight as the bullet struck within a centimetre or so above the first.

  ‘I did what I had to do,’ she whispers.

  ‘Just like yesterday.’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t mean for you to get the blame.’

  Jurek stops the machine and stands there looking at her.

  ‘I’ve been waiting for this … quite a long time, I have to say,’ he explains. ‘Stopping the door from closing again was nothing but a pleasure.’

  ‘I could hear your screams through the walls,’ Saga says quietly.

  ‘Yes, those screams,’ he replies gloomily. ‘They were the result of our new doctor giving me an overdose of Cisordinol … They’re nature’s reaction to pain … Something hurts, and the body screams, even though there’s no point … and in this instance it actually felt like an indulgence … Because I knew that the door would have closed again otherwise …’

  ‘What door?’

  ‘I doubt they’re ever going to let me see a lawyer, so that door is closed … but there might be others.’

  He looks her in the eye. His gaze is strangely pale; she’s reminded of metal.

  ‘You think I can help you,’ she whispers. ‘That’s why you took the blame for what I did.’

  ‘I can’t let the doctor become scared of you,’ he explains.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Anyone who ends up here is violent,’ Jurek says. ‘The staff know that you’re dangerous, it says so in your medical notes, and in the forensic psychiatrist’s report … But that’s not what anyone sees when they look at you.’

  ‘I’m not that dangerous.’

  Even though she hasn’t said anything she regrets – she’s only told the truth, and hasn’t revealed anything – she feels peculiarly exposed.

  ‘Why are you here? What have you done?’ he asks.

  ‘Nothing,’ she replies curtly.

  ‘What did they say you’d done … in court?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  A flash of a smile flickers in his eyes.

  ‘You’re a real siren …’

  106

  In the attic flat, the members of Athena Promacho are eavesdropping on the conversation in the dayroom as it happens.

  Joona is standing next to the large speaker listening once again to Jurek Walter’s voice, his choice of words, phrasing, the nuances in his voice, his breathing.

  Corinne Meilleroux is sitting at the desk, transcribing the conversation onto her laptop so they can all see the words on the big screen. The regular clicking sound of her long fingernails is soothing.

  Nathan Pollock’s silver-streaked ponytail is hanging down over the waistcoat of his suit. He’s making notes as Johan Jönson monitors the audio quality on his own computer.

  The group is completely silent while the conversation in the dayroom is going on. The sun is pouring through the balcony doors that look out onto glistening, snow-topped roofs.

  They hear Jurek Walter tell Saga she’s a real siren, then he leaves the room.

  After a few seconds of silence, Nathan leans back in his chair and claps his hands. Corinne is just shaking her head, impressed.

  ‘Saga’s brilliant,’ Pollock mutters.

  ‘Even if we haven’t found out anything that could lead us closer to Felicia,’ Joona says, turning to face the others, ‘contact has been established, which is seriously good work … and I think she’s made him curious.’

  ‘I have to admit, I was a bit worried when she let herself be provoked by the other patient,’ Corinne says, squeezing some lime into a glass of water and passing it to Pollock.

  ‘But Jurek deliberately assumed responsibility for the attack,’ Joona says slowly.

  ‘Yes, why did he do that? He must have heard her yesterday, when she told the guard she wanted to see a lawyer,’ Pollock says. ‘That’s why Jurek can’t allow the doctor to become scared of her, because then she wouldn’t be allowed any visits from—’

  ‘He’s new,’ Joona interrupts. ‘Jurek says the doctor’s new.’

  ‘So what?’ Johan Jönson asks, open-mouthed.

  ‘When I spoke to Brolin, the Senior Consultant … on Monday, he said there hadn’t been any changes in the secure unit.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Pollock says.

  ‘It might be nothing,’ Joona says. ‘But why did Brolin tell me they had the same staff they’d always had?’

  107

  Joona Linna is driving north up the E4 motorway. A gentle Max Bruch violin sonata is playing on the radio. The shadows and falling snow in front of the cars merge with the music. As he’s passing Norrviken, Corinne Meilleroux calls.

  She quickly informs him that out of all the doctors that have been added to the payroll of Löwenströmska Hospital over the past two years, only one of them works in the field of psychiatry.

  ‘His name’s Anders Rönn, fairly recently qualified, although he had a temporary post at a psychiatric unit in Växjö.’

  ‘Anders Rönn,’ Joona repeats.

  ‘Married to Petra Rönn, wo
rks in recreational administration for the council … they’ve got a daughter, mildly autistic, apparently. I’m not sure if that’s at all useful, but you might as well know,’ she laughs.

  ‘Thanks, Corinne,’ Joona says, turning off the motorway at Upplands Väsby. He drives past Solhagen, where his dad used to go for lunch when he was still alive.

  The old road to Uppsala is lined on one side by black oaks. The snow-covered fields beyond the trees slope down towards a lake.

  Joona parks the car outside the main entrance to the hospital and walks in, turning left and hurrying past the unmanned reception desk towards the department for general psychiatry.

  Joona passes the secretary and heads straight for the Senior Consultant’s closed door. He opens it and walks in. Roland Brolin looks up from his computer and takes off his bifocal glasses. Joona lowers his head slightly, but still manages to nudge the low ceiling lamp. He takes his time pulling out his police ID, holds it in front of Brolin for a minute or two, then starts to ask the same questions as before.

  ‘How is the patient?’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m busy right now, but—’

  ‘Has Jurek Walter done anything unusual recently?’ Joona interrupts in a harsh tone of voice.

  ‘I’ve already answered that,’ Brolin says, turning back towards his computer.

  ‘And the security routines haven’t changed?’

  The thickset doctor sighs through his nose and looks at him wearily.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Is he still getting intramuscular Risperdal?’ Joona asks.

  ‘Yes,’ Brolin sighs.

  ‘And the staffing in the secure unit remains unchanged?’

  ‘Yes, but I’ve already told—’

  ‘Is the staff in the secure unit unchanged?’ Joona interrupts.

  ‘Yes,’ Brolin says with a hesitant smile.

  ‘Is there a new doctor called Anders Rönn working in the secure unit?’ Joona asks in a voice hoarse with persistence.

  ‘Well, yes—’

  ‘So why are you saying the staff is unchanged?’