reported a sighting outside a nursery school in Strangnas, just a few hours ago. The father of one of the children had called on his mobile; he had sounded sane and articulate, but very frightened, after realising that he had recognised the man wearing a baseball cap who had been sitting on a bench outside the school gate. He had seen this man when he delivered his daughter to the school, and now the girl had disappeared.
Ewert scrunched up the plastic mug, threw it in the bin.
'Christ bloody fucking almighty.'
Those interrogations came back to him. The worst ever, the ugliest.
The man in front of him, there was something about him that wasn't human. Those eyes that evaded his own.
Grens, you must fucking listen to me.
Lund, I want you to look at me.
Grensie, they're sluts, you should know that.
I'm interrogating you, Lund. And I want you to look at me.
Sluts. Little ones, really small horny sluts, needing it.
Look at me now. Or else I'll suspend the interrogation immediately.
You want to know this. About their tight tiny cunts. I knew you would.
Why not look at me? Don't you dare?
The cunts want cock inside. Hard cock.
Good. Now we're looking at each other.
Small, very small cunts. They want plenty of seeing to.
How do you feel now, when you're looking me in the eye?
And you've got to teach them, you know. They mustn't think of fucking all the time.
You can't stand it much longer now. Your eyes look shifty. Cowardly.
The smallest cunts are the worst, they're the horniest. That's why you've got to be firm, teach them a lesson.
You want me to switch the tape recorder off and have a go at you. You want me to lose control.
Grens, have you ever tasted cunt on a nine-year-old?
He turned the music off. Removed the cassette gently, put it away in the proper plastic box.
'So he's allowed himself to be seen before he's got hold of a kid. If he's that desperate the risk is that all his inhibitions have gone west.'
He took his jacket from its hook by the door.
'I was in charge of interrogating Lund. I know how his mind works. And I've read the forensic psychiatrist's report. It just confirmed what I knew already. Lund has got pronounced sadistic tendencies.'
Actually, he had not only read the psych report, he had gone through it word by word because he was determined to understand any fucking ghastly thing there was to be understood. Nobody and nothing had affected him like the sessions with Lund; during the interrogations and afterwards, the man evoked hatred and fear and more.
Ewert would willingly admit that his years in the police had made him rather cold, even hard and difficult; allowing himself to have feelings would have made most days pretty hellish. But Lund's crimes and total alienation had made him want to give up, crawl away, sensing for the first time that his job might be of no use. He had talked to the psychiatrist who wrote the report, discussed Lund and his sadistic rapes and the anger that drove his sexuality, fusing lust with inflicting pain, pleasure with forcing submission. Ewert had asked if Lund had some kind of insight into what he was doing; did he have any understanding of the feelings and reactions of the child and its parents and others who got involved? Cautiously, the psychiatrist had shaken his head and gone on to speak about Lund's childhood, how he'd been abused from an early age and how, in order to stand it, he had shut out other people.
Still holding the jacket, Ewert turned and pointed at Sven, then at Agestam.
'But what was the final conclusion? Minor psychological disorder. Do you get that? He rapes little girls, but the diagnosis is minor psychological disorder.'
'I remember, I was a law student at the time.' Agestam sighed. 'We were amazed and furious.'
Ewert pulled on his jacket and commanded Sven to get the car.
'Off we go. Strangnas. And keep your foot down.'
Agestam had stayed where he was, obstructing the doorway.
'I'll join you.'
Ewert disapproved of the young prosecutor; he had shown it before and did so again.
'What's your angle exactly? Chief interrogator?'
'Of course not.'
'Then you'd better move over.'
The sun was sinking slowly, but it was still as hot as ever. The strong light stung their eyes as they drove south-westwards along the E4. They left the centre behind, then the inner suburbs, then the commuter towns. At last, the E20 to Strangnas. Sven relaxed a little and breathed more easily. Ewert stopped urging him to go faster and moaning about the sun-visors. The quieter road and change of direction, away from the sun, meant that Sven could increase his speed.
They didn't talk much. There wasn't much to say, apart from the fact that Lund had been seen outside a nursery school and that a five-year-old girl was missing. In their minds, they mulled over what was known and what events might have followed, every scenario ending with the hope that the child had been found in a forgotten play- room and that the father who raised the alarm had allowed his terror to fuel his imagination, as so often was the case.
They made it in record time. The moment they were within sight of the school it became obvious that nothing had sorted itself out. It had not been a false alarm. Something had happened, and it could be the worst. People were milling around; some must be teachers and nursery nurses, some parents of the children who were running, jumping, playing everywhere. There were uniformed men and impatient dogs standing near two patrol cars, and seen from a distance everything about the people round the playground fence told them of confusion, of questions and fears and perhaps, because of all this, a sense of community.
Sven stopped the car a little way away, to give Ewert and himself another minute, a moment of stillness before pandemonium broke loose, a little silence before the bombardment of questions started up. From inside their metal shell, he observed the restless crowd. Worried people keep on the move. He watched them; they kept tramping about and, framed by the car window, they looked like extras in a play. He glanced at Ewert, realising that he too was watching and analysing, trying to become part of the talk out there without having to leave the car.
'What do you think has happened?'
'What I can see has happened.'
'What's that, then?'
'Things couldn't be worse. Up shit creek.'
They got out and two of the policemen immediately came towards them to shake hands. First was a large young man with crew-cut dark hair. Like others of his age, maybe just over thirty, his bearing had a self-aware confidence, a kind of brittle invulnerability.
'Hi. Leo Lauritzen. From Eskilstuna, the nearest station. We got here twenty minutes ago.'
'I see. Sven Sundkvist. And this is Ewert Grens.'
Lauritzen smiled, surprised, and held Ewert's hand a fraction too long.
'Great! I've heard of you.'
'Is that so?'
'It's like, you know, meeting a celebrity. But you're shorter than I imagined. No offence.'
'People imagine too much. Have you got anything sensible on your mind as well? What's the situation here, for instance? Or are you as thick as you look?'
Lauritzen's colleague, who'd been hanging back a little, now took a few steps forward. She didn't bother with any greetings. Her blonde hair was glued to her temples; she was sweating copiously after working hard in the oppressive heat.
'We got the first message about an hour ago. The Stockholm duty officer rang to say that one of the kids in this nursery had gone missing. A few minutes later more info came through. Bernt Lund had been seen in connection
