‘Is that how you see it, Ewert?’
‘It’s how you should see it too.’
‘I never will. You see, we talked for a long time, Alena Sljusareva and I. We went for a meal together. And when I asked, she told me about the three years she and Grajauskas spent in flats all over Scandinavia, being bought and sold as sex slaves. Made to perform twelve times a day. I thought that I was well informed, but she told me things about imprisonment and humiliation that I will never truly understand: about Rohypnol to endure it and vodka to deaden their senses, just to be able to live, to cope with the shame, in order to never let it get close.’
Ewert got up and walked towards the door, waving at Sven to come with him.
Sven delayed a little, looking at the photos of the two young people. Full of hope. The man’s eyes fascinated him especially, so alive and eager, different eyes which he hadn’t seen before. They didn’t fit in with this flat.
They had dreams, were full of life.
There was only emptiness here, as if life had ground to a halt.
He tore himself away from the eyes and the room, walked past two more rooms and into a third. It was a kitchen of the kind Anita dreamt about, large enough to cook in comfort and have space left for people to sit down together.
‘Hungry?’
‘No thanks.’
‘Coffee?’
‘No.’
‘I’m having a cup. Sure?’
The electric coil glowed bright neon red. Ewert filled a saucepan with water.
‘I don’t want your bloody coffee, Ewert.’
‘Sven, get off your high horse.’
Sven Sundkvist searched inside himself for the strength to carry on. He had to keep going with this.
‘Alena also told me about how they came here. About the journey here on the ferry. Who arranged it and came with them. Ewert, I know that you know who it was.’
The water boiled. Ewert made a mug of instant coffee. Turned the cooker off.
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘Am I not right?’
Grens took his mug and went to sit down at the kitchen table. It was round and there were six chairs to go with it. Ewert’s face was still flushed. Sven wondered if he was still angry or if it was fear.
‘Are you listening to me, Ewert? Of course they couldn’t shut out what was happening to them. Rohypnol and vodka weren’t enough. So they tried other ways of dealing with it. Lydia Grajauskas didn’t have a body. She couldn’t feel it when they penetrated her and abused her, it wasn’t her body.’
Ewert Grens scrutinised his mug of coffee, drank some, said nothing.
‘And Alena Sljusareva, she did the opposite. She was aware of her body, and how they exploited it. But she didn’t register any faces. They didn’t have any.’
Sven took a step forwards and pulled the mug away from Ewert, forcing him to look up.
‘But you knew that, didn’t you? Because they said it all in that video of theirs.’
Grens said nothing, only looked at his mug in Sven’s hand.
‘You see, I knew something wasn’t right. I went through the reports to chase up the videotape she had brought to the mortuary. The scene-of-crime photos showed it lying on the floor and I got on to Nils Krantz, who confirmed that he had given it to you.’
Ewert Grens reached out for his mug, and finished his coffee. Once more he asked if Sven wanted one and once more Sven said no. They stayed in the kitchen, facing each other across a large island unit set out with cooking kit and a full set of kitchen knives.
‘Where is your TV?’
‘TV? Why?’
Sven went into the hall to fetch his case.
‘Where did you say it was?’
‘In there.’
Ewert pointed at the room across from the kitchen. Sven crossed the hall and asked Ewert to follow.
‘We’re going to watch a video.’
‘I haven’t got a VCR.’
‘Thought not, which is why I’ve brought a portable one.’
He unpacked it and connected it to Ewert’s TV.
‘Right. Now we’re going to watch this together.’
They settled in opposite corners of the sofa. Sven had the remote control. He used it to start the video he had just loaded.
Blackish image, lots of white flicker. The War of the Ants.
Sven turned to Ewert.
‘This one appears to be empty.’
No answer.
‘And it’s probably supposed to be, because it isn’t the tape you were given by Krantz. Is it?’
The tape was crackling, an irritating noise, letting his thoughts turn over and over in his head.
‘I know it isn’t, because Krantz confirmed that the tape found in the mortuary was used, rather dusty and with two sets of female fingerprints. None of which fits this cassette. There will be prints all right, but only yours and mine.’
Ewert turned away. He couldn’t bear to look at the man whose boss he was.
‘Ewert, I’m curious. What was on the original tape?’
He flicked the remote at the TV, shutting off the invasive noise.
‘OK, let me put it another way. What was on the original tape that made it worth risking thirty-three years of service in the force?’
Sven bent down to get something out of his case.
Another videotape. He took out the first one and loaded the second.
Sven stubbornly stared straight ahead, waiting for Ewert’s reaction.
There was none, not until the women had reached the end of their account.
Then he burst into tears.
He covered his face with his hands and wept, letting thirty years of grief flow out of him as he had never dared before in case he drained away and disappeared.
Sven couldn’t bear to watch. Please, not this. He cringed with embarrassment at first, and then anger surged through his body. He got up, stopped the tape and put it on the table in front of them.
‘You see, you only replaced one of the copies.’
Sven prodded it lightly and began pushing it towards Ewert.
‘I reread the statements made by the hostages. Ejder mentioned that Grajauskas talked about two tapes. And a locker at the Central Station.’
Ewert took a deep breath, looked at Sven, but couldn’t talk, still crying.
‘I found it there.’
Sven pushed the tape past a vase with flowers until it was in front of Ewert. His anger, it had to be released.
‘How dare you take away that right? They had every fucking right in the world to tell their story. And what was
