There was rubbish everywhere. Cardboard boxes piled on top of each other. Old newspapers in heaps, moldy remains of food on paper plates, empty bottles, beer cans and fast-food cartons. An old radiator was on a sofa. The carpet was rolled up. The table had a big crack in it, and the wallpaper was ripped.
Henrik looked in through the open window and the acrid smell of feces immediately made him nauseous. He pulled his head back and retched.
Mia took a couple of cautious steps forward with her drawn weapon, maneuvered her way between the piles of shit and all the rubbish.
“Police!” she called out, but her voice was drowned by a feeling of queasiness.
Mia came into a hall and saw the door to the kitchen. The hall too was in an awful mess, and she could hardly discern the wallpaper pattern because of all the rubbish piled up against the walls. She went into the kitchen and was met by an even worse stench. It came from a man who lay in a strange position. His mouth was open wide, his eyes staring blankly, and Mia could quickly see that he was dead.
CHAPTER
FIFTY-ONE
Monday, April 30
JANA BERZELIUS WANTED to delay the planned morning trial, but there wasn’t any legal possibility to do so. For the first time in her professional career as a prosecutor she had also hoped that one of the parties who were called to court would have given due notice of inability to attend. If one of the witnesses had suddenly fallen ill, or there had been serious disruption to public transport, or for some other unpredictable reason had not been able to come to the court, then they would have had to postpone the hearing. But unfortunately all the parties were present, as were the lay magistrates and the judge, and Jana’s spirits deflated a little. The trial would start at the designated time.
She sighed and opened her red folder with the evidence she was going to present in court. The charge was arson. She looked at the clock. In five minutes the trial would start. And in five minutes they would start questioning Gavril Bolanaki at the police station. She had been in touch with Henrik Levin by phone and told him to start the interview without her. She hoped the trial would be over within an hour and then she would hurry to the detention center to confront him, confront Papa.
She tidied her hair. Let her hand stop on her neck. Felt the carved letters.
The time has come, she thought.
At last.
*
Henrik Levin looked up at the man who sat in front of him. Black shirt with rolled-up sleeves. His hair was dark, longish and combed back. His nose was wide and his eyes dark, framed by bushy eyebrows. The scar on his face went from his forehead down to his chin; it was hard to stop staring at it. Henrik fixed his gaze on the other half of the man’s face and started to speak: “What were you doing out at sea?”
Silence.
“Why did you flee from us?”
Silence.
“Do you live on the island?”
Still silent.
“Have you seen this boy before?”
Henrik showed him a photo of Thanatos.
The man raised one corner of his mouth in what resembled an arrogant smile.
“I want a lawyer,” he said slowly.
Henrik sighed.
He had no choice but to obey.
*
After two hours, the trial was about halfway through. Jana was frustrated. The injured party and the accused had been interrogated to establish facts and after the break the witnesses and the written evidence would be dealt with. She got up from the prosecutor’s bench and left the courtroom. After a quick visit to the restroom, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and saw that she had missed a call from a hidden number. A recorded message said that Henrik Levin had tried to get hold of her, and she immediately phoned him.
“How are things going?” she said when he answered.
“Nothing yet,” he said.
“Nothing at all?” said Jana.
“No. He’s saying nothing. He’s demanding a lawyer.”
“Then he’ll get one. But I want to talk to him first.”
“It’s pointless.”
“But I want to try.”
She looked at the clock and went on: “In three hours the trial here ought to be over. Then we can start questioning him again.”
“Okay. The interview room at two o’clock again,” said Henrik.
“Without a lawyer.”
“We can’t do that.”
“Yes, we can. I’m the prosecutor and he’s my client and I want to talk with him.”
Jana savored the words: my client.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Just five minutes. That’s all I ask.”
“Okay.”
When the conversation ended, she remained standing there a while with the phone pressed to her chest. She felt exhilarated in some way.
Almost happy.
*
Mia sat leaning well back in the chair with her arms crossed over her chest. Henrik had left the interview room in a hurry to answer a call from Jana Berzelius and meanwhile she sat there and kept an eye on the suspect. The man in front of her half smiled all the time. His head was lowered and the lamp cast shadows over the scar on his face.
“Do you believe in God?” said Mia.
The man didn’t answer.
“Your name. Gavril. It means God is...”
“My strength,” he filled in. “Thank you, I know what it means,” he said.
“So you believe in God?”
“No, I am God.”
“Oh yeah? That’s nice.”
He smirked at her. She felt uncomfortable. Squirmed. Gavril did the same. Copied.
“A god doesn’t kill,” said Mia.
“God gives and takes.”
“But he doesn’t kill children.”
“Oh yes, he does.”
“So you’ve killed children?”
Gavril smirked again.
“What the fuck are you smirking at?”
She leaned back in the chair. Gavril too.
“I haven’t killed any children,” he said. “I’ve got a son myself; why would I want to kill such small creatures?”
“But we fucking well found your hairs on a little girl who lay in a mass grave on an island which you were on your way to!”
“But that doesn’t mean I’ve killed her, does it?”
Mia glared at Gavril. He glared back. She refused to look away.
“But I wonder,” he said slowly. Still glaring hard at her. “If I knew who has killed them and if I tell you, what would you do for me?”
“Yes, what would we do for you?”
Gavril heard her sarcasm. He clenched his teeth, hissed.
“I don’t think you understand what I mean. If I tell you who did it, what do I get in return then?”
“This isn’t a fucking negotiation. Don’t you...”
“I want you to listen very carefully.”
Gavril leaned forward. Came close to Mia. Unpleasantly close.
She didn’t look away. She couldn’t lose.
“If you lock me up, I want you to remember my face for the day I get out. Do you get what I mean?” he hissed.
Then he calmed down, leaned back on the chair and said: “You’ll be making a big mistake if you lock me up. That’s why I’m making my offer. I can easily name several key people who govern the Swedish drug trade today. I can point out places and persons. But I think you are most interested in the children’s role in all this. I’m right, aren’t I?”
Mia refused to answer.
“So if I tell you how it all fits together, what will you do for me? I’m not going to confess to anything about myself, but I can tell you everything I know about the others. If that is of interest, I mean. But I think it is.”
Mia bit her lip.
“I have a suggestion,” said Gavril. “If I tell you everything then you must protect me and my son. If you lock me up now, you won’t get to know anything and I can guarantee that more children will die. I am the only one who can put a stop to it. I want to have the best possible protection too. From the highest levels. Otherwise I won’t say anything. So—how do you want it?”
Mia lost. Her gaze left his. She looked down at the table, then straight into the mirror in the window. She knew that Gunnar stood there behind it, and she knew that he was just as uncertain as she was.
What the fuck should they do now?
*