Lisa went back to the kitchen, needing the coffee she had made this morning. One of the policemen, who had been ordered to stay behind in the ward, had given in to her pleading and, in the end, told her more than he should. She had learnt more about the visitor with the shaved skull who had killed her brother, the man she had recognised in police identification photograph thirty-two. His name was Lang; he was a professional hitman, someone who was paid to threaten and use violence. He had been charged with crimes of violence quite a few times, and in many more cases had been suspected and arrested but gone free because the witnesses had changed their minds about testifying. That was how these people worked, using threats to instil fear, because frightened people dont talk.
Jochum stayed in the car outside the hospital entrance, but didnt bother to look round after Slobodan. The guy was no doubt running around trying to be boss, getting a hard-on because it was him who was tidying up after Jochum this time.
I shouldnt have been seen, he said to himself, but thats what happens, sooner or later you take your eye off the ball, and risk your position. The little guys are after you in a flash, they forget quickly and need to be reminded.
He turned the ignition key to check the time. The figures lit up. Twenty minutes. More than enough. Slobodan shouldve had time to tell her a thing or two.
Lisa was leaning against the kitchen sink. The coffee was stronger than it should be but she drank some all the same. It felt good to be able to swallow. She wasnt even halfway through her list of patients. A long day ahead, as if the morning hadnt been enough.
She was just about to put the cup down when the ward sister came in, flushed and agitated.
Dr Öhrström! Shouldnt you go home?
Not alone. I couldnt bear it, Ann-Marie. Ill stay here.
The sister shook her head slowly. She still looked flushed.
A patient has been murdered and you saw it. Shouldnt you get in touch with the staff counsellor? At the very least?
Patients often die.
It was your brother.
Ann-Marie, my brother died a long time ago.
The ward sister looked at Lisa and gently touched her cheek.
Theres someone here to see you.
Lisa caught the other womans eye, as she drained the remains of the coffee.
Who?
I dont know. But I dont like the look of him.
A patient?
No.
Ann-Marie sat down at the table with its red-and-white-checked tablecloth.
And what does he want?
No idea. But he wouldnt go away. Needed to talk to you, he said.
As Lisa pulled a chair up to the table, she felt the floor under her feet move and heard the cups in the cupboards rattle.
It felt like the whole place was shaking.
She knew that parts of the hospital had been evacuated, but did not know why. The kitchen was shuddering and she had the distinct impression that a bomb had gone off. Not that she had ever experienced a bomb blast, but that was her only thought in the after-shock of the explosion.
Jochum Lang turned the key again, checked the time, started the windscreen wipers so he could see out while he waited. What a day. The rain was set to carry on until after dark.
Then it happened.
He heard it clearly, a dull thud from somewhere inside the hospital. He turned around, tried to peer through the wet glass of the automatic doors. Explosives. He had no doubt. It was that kind of noise.
He prepared himself for more, but that was it. Just the one bang and then silence.
The room was too brightly lit. The bloody overhead light had irritated Ewert ever since he came into the Casualty operating theatre and started to move things that were in the way. He had just heard the noise of a human body exploding, followed by Svens desperate shouts over the radio.
Bloody lights, he thought. Cant stand it for a moment longer. How can anyone live with all this light? He sat down, then stood up again and almost ran across the room, past the trolley where Edvardson and Hermansson were standing, threw himself at the switch and turned off the light.
A quiet moment. No exploding bodies. No prostitutes taking charge of other peoples lives. A quiet moment. The light, his irritation, the dark, the light switch were all tangible things he could understand. And he needed to understand if he was to fathom what had happened. Just a quiet moment.
It was still light enough for them to see each other. Ewert started pacing again; he needed his circling and forgot the darkened lamps. Concentrated on his breathing, felt the blood return to his face. He stopped when he reached the corner where Bengt was sitting with the earphones still on, and put his hand on his friends shoulder.
Call her.
The shaking stopped as abruptly as it had started. Lisa Öhrström was still at the table. She leaned forward and put her hand on top of the ward sisters.
Ann-Marie.
Yes?
Where is he?
Outside your office. He frightens me. I cant think why, but what with Mr Oldéus being murdered and the police snooping about all morning . . .I dont know, its too much.
Lisa was silently looking at the red-and-white-checked pattern on the tablecloth when there was a knock on the door. She turned. A man, dark hair and moustache, slightly overweight. She caught a glimpse of Ann-Marie nodding. It was him.
Sorry to trouble you.
His voice was soft, his tone friendly.
Was it you who wanted to see me?
Thats right.
What is it about?
A private matter. Is there somewhere we could talk?
Lisas stomach churned. One part of her wanted to scream and run away, the other was suddenly furious. Her attacks of fear had nothing to do with her own life and everything to do with Hilding and his damned addiction. Her whole life had been dictated by his attempts to escape and he controlled her still; even after his death, he was draining her strength.
She shook her head, didnt reply straight away. Her stomach was burning, fear tugging at her mind.
Id prefer to stay here.
Ewert wanted him to call her. Bengt reached out for the receiver; he would have preferred to wait a little longer, a few more moments of peace. He had disliked that shuddering movement under his feet.
His mouth felt so dry, he swallowed, but that wasnt enough. Nothing could rid him of the fear that crawled all over him, the persistent unease. He kept wondering if he should speak up, admit that he knew who she was.
Not yet.
It wasnt necessary yet.
He had better do as Ewert asked. When he leaned forward to dial the number of the mortuary, the phone rang.
He turned, caught Ewerts eye and saw that he was putting in his earpiece. Two rings and then Bengt replied.
Yes?
Nordwall?
Yes.
You heard that, didnt you?
Of course.
And you all know what it means?
Yes, we do.
Shame that it took another dead hostage to make you understand.
What do you want?
Let me make two points clear. One, I dont negotiate. Two, you cant get in here without blowing the whole place up.
We have understood that too.
The hostages are fused and so is the mortuary.
Lydia, if you keep calm Im sure we can come to an agreement. But we have to know why youre doing all this.
I will tell you.
When?
Later.
What do you want now?
You
. I want you down here.
Now he knew why she had taken hostages. Somehow, he had known all along. The sense of vague dread now turned into something else, a feeling he had never experienced before. The anguished fear of death.
He closed his eyes and spoke. What do you mean?
Its hard to keep watching the hostages at the same time as Im running about playing games with telephones. I want you here. You and I will speak Russian together. You can make the phone calls when its time to contact your colleagues.
Bengts breaths came in bursts. Ewert was listening in but didnt understand. John had left the room to update his boss.
Bengt explained briefly what she had demanded. Ewert shook his head vigorously.
No, no. Not that.
Not ever.
The two police officers patrolling the Söder Hospital precinct noticed the car at once, as soon as they approached the main entrance. It was brand new, expensive and illegally parked, with two wheels up on the narrow pavement. It was hard to see inside because of the pouring rain, but there seemed to be a man sitting in the passenger seat. The drivers seat was empty. They went to either side of the car and tapped lightly on the front windows.
You cant park here.
The man was heavily built and bald. His tan looked unreal. He wound the window down, smiled, but didnt answer.
This whole area is cordoned off. No cars are allowed.
The guy just sat there smiling.
The officer on his side lost patience and glanced quickly at his colleague to see if he was ready to go for it.
Your identity card, sir.
The man in the passenger seat didnt move, as if he hadnt heard or hadnt made up his mind to obey.
We need proof of your identity. Now, if you dont mind.
The man sighed exaggeratedly. Sure.
His wallet was in his back pocket. The police officer took the ID card and leaned against the car door while he radioed.
Check this. Hans Jochum Lang. ID number 570725-0350.
A minute or so, then they could all hear the answer.
Hans Jochum Lang. ID number 570725-0350. On the wanted list since this morning.
Jochum laughed as they manhandled him out of the car.
When they had him belly-down on the wet tarmac, he asked them who their witness might be. He laughed even louder as they searched and cuffed him, then shoved him into the back seat of the patrol car they had called and drove off.
Bengt watched Ewert as he shook his head vigorously. The negative was obvious.
Lighter, that was how he felt. Stronger.
Ewert had decided. He had said no.
Bengt spoke into the receiver again. Im sorry, but thats not possible. Wont happen.
No?
If I was to come down to the mortuary . . . its against our policy in hostage negotiations.
Killing people is against policy, but Ive done it all the same. And Ill kill another one if you dont come down here.
There must be alternatives. Lets talk about it.
The police get the hostages, the ones that are alive, only when
you
come down here. Three hostages against one. So far.
He was convinced now. He knew where they were going now.
Nope. Sorry.
I want you. You speak Russian. Youve got thirty minutes. Then Ill kill another hostage.
The tearing, haunting anguish. He was so very afraid.
Lydia, I
Twenty-nine minutes and fifty seconds.
Ewert pulled out his earpiece, walked across to the switch and turned on the overhead light.
They looked at the clock on the wall. It was eleven minutes past three.
The man who was standing in the doorway to the medical ward kitchen addressed the ward sister.
Youd better go.
Ann-Marie got up, looked at Lisa, who nodded. A nod in return and then the sister left, her eyes fixed on the floor, hurrying out through the door into the empty corridor.
Slobodan watched her as she vanished and then turned to Lisa with a smile. She was about to smile too when he moved quickly close to the table.
Let me explain.
He paused.
All you need to know is, you havent seen a frigging thing. You havent got a clue who visited Hilding Oldéus today.
She closed her eyes. Not more of this. Not now.
A stomach spasm. She vomited into her lap and on the tablecloth. Bloody Hilding. She kept her eyes closed, didnt want to see, not again, not any more. Hilding, Hilding. Fuck him.
Hey.
Her eyes were still shut. Her body was still racked by pain, more spasms; she wanted to throw up again.
Lisa. Look at me!
Slowly she opened her eyes.
All you have to do is keep your mouth shut. Simple, isnt it? One word, and youre dead.
Ewert Grens had expected to feel something more when he got the message that Jochum Lang had been arrested. He had waited for so long and this time had a reliable pair of eyes that had seen Lang in action, someone who could testify to the murder all the way to a life sentence.
But he felt nothing.
It was as if he were anaesthetised. Thinking about Grajauskas, who was holed up in that basement hellhole, playing games with hostages lives, stole all his energy. Later, when Grajauskas had been dealt with, then he could take the good news on board.
But he did leave the room so he could find a place where he could phone that prosecutor prat in peace. Ĺgestam had to know that they had a witness this time, a hospital doctor who had seen Lang come along to beat up Hilding Oldéus. They also had a motive. A recent report from two regional detective constables indicated that Lang was acting on behalf of his Yugoslav bosses, who had taken a strong aversion to Oldéuss trick of cutting their speed with washing powder.
Ewert promised himself that under no circumstances would he end the call before Ĺgestam had understood and had agreed to charge Lang on the grounds of a reasonable suspicion of murder and then ordered a complete body search, mainly for traces of the victims DNA and possibly some blood. The beating must have caused a fair amount of splashing.
