as they were by their own journeys.
She stepped inside and pressed the lowermost button. Standing there, she didn’t think of anything in particular. She knew what she had to do.
All the way down. And when the lift stopped, she stepped out and walked along the bright white corridor towards the mortuary.
Jochum Lang was sitting on one of the seats by the entrance to Soder Hospital when Alena Sljusareva walked past him. He didn’t see her, because he didn’t know her. And she didn’t see him, because she didn’t know him either.
Jochum felt uneasy and was trying to shake it off. It was a long time since he had beaten up someone he knew.
He just needed a few minutes alone, that was all, just a sit-down, to think things through and try to get a grip on why he felt so tense.
Hilding had clung on to the lift doors. All the time he was weeping and pleading and calling Jochum by his first name.
Sure, Hilding was a fucking addict, at it all the time. And he would keep at it until his emaciated body couldn’t take any more. He had his kit and he would do anything, grass on anyone, to get another hit. On the other hand, he had no enemies, there was no real hate, and no purpose in life whatsoever, except messing up his blood with Class A substances in order to shut off all the feelings he didn’t want to have.
Jochum sighed.
This time had been unlike any other, somehow. Before, it had made no difference whether he knew who they were or not, or if they had wept and pleaded for their lives.
None of it mattered a shit, not really.
The hospital entrance hall was a strange place. Jochum looked around. People were moving about all the time, some sentenced to stay, others relieved to get out. No one laughed here, it wasn’t that kind of place. He didn’t like hospitals at all. They made him feel naked and vulnerable, powerless, unable to control other people’s lives.
He got up. The doors opened automatically for him. It was still raining; small lakes had formed on the tarmac, floods of water trying to find somewhere to go.
Slobodan was waiting in the car, a few metres away from the bus stop. He was parked in the taxi zone, two wheels up on the kerb. He didn’t turn round when Jochum opened the car door, he had seen him coming out.
‘Took your bloody time.’
Slobodan looked ahead, turned the key and revved the engine. Jochum grabbed his wrist.
‘Hold it.’
Slobodan stopped the engine and turned to Jochum for the first time.
‘What?’
‘Five fingers. A kneecap. As per the tariff.’
‘That’s what you pay for messing with our goods.’
Slobodan was acting the boss. He was picking up bad habits, like his loud sighs and the way he waved his hands about to show how little he cared.
‘And?’
Jochum had been doing the rounds with Slobodan since way back, before the little shit even got his driving licence. His bossiness was hard to take and Jochum considered telling him so.
Not now. He’d make himself clear some other time.
‘The guy struggled, hung on to things. I couldn’t push him into the lift. Suddenly he got hold of one of the wheels on the chair and off he went. Down the stairs and into the wall.’
Slobodan shrugged, started the engine again, revving it, turned the windscreen wipers on. Jochum’s rage was gnawing at his insides and he grabbed Slobodan’s arm, forced his hand off the wheel, pulled out the car key and pocketed it. He grasped the other man’s face with his hand, pressing his fingers into the cheeks, turning his head so that they were face to face, forcing Slobodan to pay attention.
‘Someone saw me.’
Sven drove into Soder Hospital via the Casualty entrance, the way he often came on professional business. They were known here. Plenty of parking space too.
They didn’t say anything. They hadn’t spoken since the alert, when Sven changed direction and headed for Vдster Bridge, away from his birthday celebrations that he had promised to be home in time for. Ewert understood how important it was to Sven, even though he didn’t understand why; he had rejected all that from his life. Or maybe it was actually the other way round. He found it hard to think of anything suitable to say, something comforting, and though he tested out several phrases in his head, they all sounded awkward and pointless. What did he know about missing a woman and a child?
Everything.
He knew everything about it.
They got out and hurried up the ramp into Casualty. Side by side they marched towards the lifts. General Medicine, sixth floor.
When they emerged, a woman was waiting for them, a doctor called Lisa Ohrstrom. She was quite young, quite tall and quite good-looking. Ewert’s eyes rested on her too intently and he held her hand for a fraction too long. She noticed and looked quickly at him. He felt embarrassed.
‘I let the visitor in,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t see them leave the ward together.’
She pointed at the stairs, just next to the lift. A body was lying face down on the first landing. The blood had flowed out into a large reddish pool around it.
He was still now, blood congealing around his mouth, his hand didn’t scratch his nose, his eyes didn’t flicker, his arms didn’t flap. This bodily peace was new. It was as if his damned twitchy fearfulness had leached away with his blood. They walked down to him, twelve steps. Ewert knelt and examined the dead body as if hoping to find something, anything. He knew of course that he wouldn’t. Lang was an experienced hitman who knew all about precautions like wearing gloves and he left absolutely nothing behind.
They were waiting for Ludwig Errfors. Ewert had phoned him immediately. That decision had been easy. With someone like Lang, you had to get your side of it right. Errfors was not one for making mistakes. He was simply the best.
A few minutes more, just enough time for Ewert to sit down on a step and think about the dead man. He wondered if Oldйus was the sort who had thought about dying. If he knew the speed with which his drug-taking hurried him on towards death? If he had been afraid? Or did he want to die? Bloody fool. It was easy to work out that with his lifestyle he’d end up like this, cluttering up an ugly staircase, before he was thirty years old. Ewert sighed, snorted at the unresponsive corpse.
I’d like to know where I’ll end up, he thought as he got up and went over to Hilding again. Will I be in the way too? Will someone snort at me? There’s always some sod who snorts.
Ludwig Errfors was a tall, dark man, about fifty years old. He arrived wearing his civilian outfit, jeans and a jacket, just as he always did in his office at the forensic medicine headquarters in Solna.
He said hello and pointed at the body that until recently had been Hilding Oldйus.
‘I’m afraid I’m in a hurry. Can we get started right away?’
Ewert made a small gesture.
‘Ready when you are.’
Errfors knelt down to examine the body. He started to talk, with his face still at floor level.
‘Who is this?’ he asked.
‘Dealer, small time, heroin addict. His name was Hilding Oldйus.’
‘Why call me in?’
‘We’re after the butcher who did this. We’ve been chasing him for a while and need a proper examination of the corpse.’
Errfors moved his black bag closer. After pulling on a pair of surgical gloves, he waved his white hands irritably at Ewert to make him go away. At least up to the top step.
