He was right. He got a lot of questions. Patrik replied as best he could, but there was still so much he couldn't explain. Way too much.
Charlotte rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She and Lilian had each been given a bed in a little room near the intensive care unit, but neither of them got much sleep. Since Charlotte hadn't brought anything with her from home, she'd slept in her clothes, and she felt incredibly rumpled and grubby when she sat up and began to stretch.
'Have you got a comb?' she asked her mother, who had also sat up.
'Yes, I think so,' said Lilian, digging in her worn handbag. She found one in the very bottom and handed it to Charlotte.
In the bathroom Charlotte stood in front of the mirror and studied herself critically. The light was mercilessly bright, clearly showing the dark circles under her eyes, and her hair stood on end in an odd, psychedelic hairdo. She carefully combed out the tangles until her hair had more or less regained her normal style. At the same time, everything to do with her appearance seemed so meaningless now. Sara kept hovering in the periphery of her vision, holding her heart in an iron grip.
Her stomach growled, but before she went down to the cafeteria she wanted to get hold of a doctor who could tell her how Stig was doing. Every time she heard footsteps outside the door during the night she had woken up, prepared to see a doctor come in with a serious expression on his face. No one had disturbed them, so she assumed that no news was good news in this case. But she still wanted to hear something, so she went out in the corridor, wondering which way to go. A nurse who passed by showed her the way to the staff lounge.
She pondered whether she should turn on her mobile and ring home to Niclas first, but decided to wait until after she talked to the doctor. He and Albin were probably still asleep, and she didn't want to risk waking them too early. Then Albin would be in a grumpy mood the rest of the day.
She stuck her head in the doorway that the nurse pointed out and cleared her throat quietly. A tall man sat drinking coffee and leafing through a magazine. From what Niclas had said it was unusual for a doctor to be able to sit down even for a moment, and she felt almost embarrassed at bothering him. Then Charlotte reminded herself why she was here and cleared her throat a little louder. This time he heard her and turned with an inquiring glance.
'Yes?'
'Excuse me, but my stepfather, Stig Florin, was admitted yesterday and we haven't heard anything since late last night. Do you know how he's doing?'
Was she imagining things, or did the doctor get a strange look on his face? If so, it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
'Stig Florin? Oh yes, we stabilized his vital signs during the night and he's awake now.'
'He is?' said Charlotte, beaming with joy. 'Could we go in and see him? My mother's here too.'
Once again that strange expression. Charlotte was starting to get uneasy despite the good news. Was there something he wasn't telling her?'
The reply came hesitantly. 'I… I don't think it's a very good idea just yet. He's still weak and needs to rest.'
'Yes, but you could let my mother in for a moment, couldn't you? It couldn't hurt, and it might even help. They're very close.'
'I can imagine,' said the doctor. 'But I'm afraid you'll have to wait. Right now nobody is being let in to see Mr Florin.'
'But why…?'
'You'll just have to wait,' the doctor said brusquely, and she began to get really annoyed with him. Didn't they have to undergo some sort of training in medical school about how to handle relatives? He was on the verge of being rude. He could thank his lucky stars that she was the one who had come to talk to him and not Lilian. If he'd treated her mother like this, he would have got such a talking-to that his ears would have fallen off. Charlotte knew that she herself was altogether too compliant in these types of situations, so she merely muttered something and then retreated to the corridor.
She thought about what she was going to say to her mother. Something had felt very odd. Things weren't as they should be, but she couldn't for the life of her understand what was wrong. Maybe Niclas could explain. She decided to take the risk and wake them up at home. She dialled the number on her mobile. Hopefully he'd be able to reassure her. She already sensed that she was probably imagining things.
After the meeting Patrik got into his car and drove to Uddevalla. It had felt impossible just to sit and wait; he had to do something. The whole way there he kept turning over his options in his mind. They were all equally unpleasant.
He'd been given directions to the ICU, but still got lost a couple of times before he found it. Why should it be so damned hard to find his way in a hospital? It must have to do with his unusually lousy sense of direction. Erica was the navigator in the family. Sometimes he thought she had some kind of sixth sense for steering them in the right direction.
He stopped a nurse. 'I'm looking for Rolf Wiesel. Where can I find him?'
She pointed down the corridor. A tall man in a white coat was walking away from him, and he called out, 'Doctor Wiesel?'
The man turned round. 'Yes?'
Patrik hurried up to him and held out his hand. 'Patrik Hedstrom, Tanumshede Police. We spoke last night.'
'Ah, yes,' said the doctor, pumping Patrik's hand. 'You rang in the nick of time, I have to say. We wouldn't have had any idea what sort of treatment to use otherwise, and without the right treatment we probably would have lost him.'
'I'm so glad I could help,' said Patrik, feeling embarrassed by the man's enthusiasm. But a little proud too. It wasn't every day he saved somebody's life.
'Come with me,' said Dr Wiesel, gesturing towards a door that led to the staff lounge. The doctor went first and Patrik followed.
'Would you like some coffee?'
'Yes, please,' said Patrik, realizing that he'd forgotten to get a cup at the station. There had been so many thoughts buzzing round in his head that he'd even missed such a crucial part of his morning routine.
They sat down at the sticky kitchen table and sipped their coffee, which tasted almost as bad as the coffee at the station.
'Sorry, I think it's been sitting in the pot too long,' said Dr Wiesel, but Patrik raised his hand as a sign that it didn't matter.
'So, how did you reach the conclusion that our patient had arsenic poisoning?' the doctor asked with curiosity. Patrik told him how he'd been watching a programme on the Discovery Channel and then put it together with certain information he'd received earlier.
'Well, it's not the most common toxin, which is why we had a hard time identifying it,' said Dr Wiesel, shaking his head.
'How does the prognosis look now?'
'He'll survive. But he'll suffer the after-effects for the rest of his life. He's probably been ingesting arsenic for a long time, and it seems as though the last dose he got was massive. But we'll be able to determine that later.'
'By analysing his hair and nails?' said Patrik, who had gleaned that much from the programme last night.
'Yes, precisely. Arsenic remains in the body in the hair and nails.
By analysing the quantity and comparing it with the speed at which hair and nails grow, we can see almost exactly when he received the doses of arsenic and even how big they were.'
'And you've seen to it that he has no visitors?'
