floor bleeding. They knew enough about what the blade of a sharp knife could do to a man's insides, realised this one was a goner and that there'd be trouble.
Jochum hovered at the far end of the corridor. He was sweating. His shaven skull was glistening. He had just welcomed the new inmate, shaken the guy's hand and said that he had followed the whole thing on TV, felt bad about it and would willingly help with whatever. And now there was the brave dad, dead on the floor.
He walked quickly past the officers and across to the card-players. With his face centimetres away from Dickybird's he hissed out the words.
'What was that in aid of?'
Dickybird licked his lips.
'Mind your own fucking business.'
'You stupid bastard… do you know who that was? The guy you did in?' Jochum had raised his voice.
Dickybird was smiling now, and turned to face the other man.
'Course I fucking know. Another peddo. A beast. But now he won't fuck about with little kids no more.'
The unit door was pulled open. Fifteen officers in full riot gear. Helmets with visors down, shields, black overalls. The emergency squad almost encircled the unit inmates.
'You all know the score!'
Jochum pushed Dickybird to the side and looked at the screw, who was shouting at the top of his voice and banging on the table with his truncheon.
'We want no hassle! You know what to do. Bugger off into your cells! One at a time!'
The prisoners in the furthest cells filed away first, followed by two officers. Each cell door was locked. Next, two men who had been in the kitchen were sent off. Everyone left quietly. The whole unit was silent.
The officer in charge pointed to one of the card-players on the sofa.
'You next.'
Skane rose, glaring at the screws. He hated them, always, and gave them the finger before he moved off.
It was Dickybird's turn.
'You.'
He stayed where he was.
'Forget it.'
'Move!'
Dickybird stood up, but instead of walking towards the cell corridor he bent over, grabbed the table and tipped it so that it fell against the line-up of guards, showering their black-booted feet with cards. Then he turned, leapt over the back of the sofa and, in a few strides, got to a large aquarium along the wall.
'Fucking fascist pigs! No peace for a game of cards! Now you're gonna get it!'
As he howled this he placed his hands on either side of the aquarium and pushed. The panes of glass gave. The entire glass box disintegrated and four hundred litres of water gushed towards the emergency squad.
As the helmeted men ran to get him, he had already managed to grab one of the pool cues and waved it about crazily, hitting out and striking the first officer to get near him hard on his neck. Then he made a dash to the duty guards' cubicle, locked the door and set about wrecking it. Everything was kicked and beaten to pieces, the TV set, the communication mikes, the fridge. Lamp, flowerpot, mirror. When they managed to break the door open, his long weapon forced them to attack behind raised shields. They formed a circle, walling him in.
The senior officer had stayed in the corridor.
'Bag him there. Off to solitary,' he commanded.
The four prisoners who had not been marched off to their cells were watching Dickybird's attack of manic rage and its inevitable end. Jochum checked out the situation wearily, the unbreakable glass cubicle walls, the scattered screws. He mumbled something in Dragan's ear.
Dragan got the message and suddenly ran towards one of the officers outside the cubicle and kicked him hard between the legs. The man fell with a scream and his nearby colleagues turned to see. The momentary confusion was all Jochum needed. He crashed his fist into the temple of a man blocking his way, broke through the ring outside the cubicle and strode in to stand by Dickybird's side.
'Now, Jochum,
Dickybird felt strong again with the big man at his side, and started waving the cue towards the hated uniforms. He didn't notice Jochum's arm moving, only felt the fist that struck his face, then his midriff.
'What the fuck…?' He was bending over, whimpering.
Jochum grabbed the crouching body next to him and ran it into the wall, head first. By the time the officers got to him, Dickybird was unconscious.
Ewert Grens slammed the car door shut and turned to Sven.
'No end to it. All fucking summer, and they're still at it.'
Sven stared at the ground. A stone. He wanted to kick it.
'I told Jonas my case was over. Done with. The dad had been locked up. Do you know what Jonas said? He said it was brill. Totally brill that the dad was in prison, because it was only fair. But it was fair that he would get out sometime soon, too. His girl had been murdered first, after all. Now I don't know what I tell him. Not that he doesn't know; the telly news people won't stop broadcasting this.'
They had reached the small door next to the main gate. Ewert rang the bell.
'Yes?'
'Grens and Sundkvist. City police.'
'I recognise you by now.'
They crossed the parking lot for Aspsas staff; Bergh just waved them on.
They stopped in the large entrance hall. The door to the visitors' room they had booked stood open. It wasn't exactly welcoming. Ewert gestured vaguely towards the plastic-covered mattress on the bed and the roll of kitchen paper. He was sickened by being in the place where the inmates were allowed to entertain their women once a month, shagging until some of their wretchedness was forgotten for a while.
They shifted the table to the centre of the room, put two chairs along one side and went out to fetch a third chair, then set up the tape recorder and two microphones.
He was escorted by two officers. Ewert greeted them, and then turned to the escort. 'Wait outside, please.'
A man wearing a pair of odd, blue-framed spectacles objected noisily to the order. 'We should stay in here.'
'No. If we need you we'll let you know. This interrogation is no spectator sport.'
Ewert Grens (EG): I'm turning on the recorder now.
Jochum Lang (JL): Fine.
EG: Please state your full name.
JL: Jochum Hans Lang.
EG: Good. And do you know why we are here?
JL: No.
Ewert glanced at Sven, feeling tired already. He would need help, and soon. This bugger didn't want to cooperate. He knew, but didn't want to.
EG: You must answer the questions. For instance, tell us why Fredrik Steffansson fell forward when he managed to open the shower-room door. And next, why Steffansson was alive one minute and dead the next.
For a minute or so the room was silent. Ewert's eyes were fixed on Jochum, and the big man's were on the barred window.
EG: Enjoying the view?
JL: Yes.
EG: Fuck's sake, Jochum! We know Dickybird knifed Steffansson.
JL: Good for you.
EG: It's not news. We know.
JL: I said, good for you. Why question me?
