It was 13:42. The trial was over and Jana Berzelius gathered up her papers and left the courtroom in a hurry. As usual she went straight to the emergency exit and pressed the white fire door open with her hip. With quick steps she ran down the stairs to the heated garage down below. And while she maneuvered her car out of the parking place, she phoned Henrik Levin to persuade him to prepare the second interview with Gavril. But the number was busy.
She drove quickly out of the garage and made another attempt to reach Henrik, but even though she heard it ringing this time, he didn’t answer. She thought every traffic light changed to red as soon as she approached. The pedestrians took an exaggeratedly long time to cross at the zebra crossings and the other motorists drove unusually slowly in front of her. When she did finally reach the police station, all the parking spaces were occupied too, and she had to drive round three times before she found a small space in which to park.
She could hardly open the door without it touching the car next to hers, and she had to pull in her stomach and hold her breath to get out of the car. She half ran across to the stairwell where she pressed the button to summon the lift. She waited and waited but according to the display the elevator was only going up and down between the higher floors. In the end she took the stairs.
She was out of breath when she got to the department and made an attempt to compose herself before she opened the door to the interview rooms. There was frantic activity in there, and the first person she met was police officer Gabriel Mellqvist.
He immediately held up his hand.
“This is a prohibited area.”
“I have a meeting with my client and I’m a bit late,” said Jana.
“What is your client’s name?”
“Gavril Bolanaki.”
“I’m sorry, you can’t come in.”
“Why not?”
“The case is closed.”
“Closed? How can it be closed?”
“I’m sorry, Jana, you must leave.”
Gabriel pushed her out through the door and closed it in front of her. She remained standing in the corridor, surprised and angry.
She pulled out her phone and rang Henrik again. No answer. Rang Gunnar. No answer.
She swore out loud and then ran down the stairs to the garage.
*
Lena Wikstr?m sat in her cell and banged her head against the concrete wall. The only soft thing in the cell was a mattress with a plastic cover and yellowish faded sheets, and she sat crouched up toward the end of the mattress with her arms clasped around her legs. On the wall was an oval-shaped white lamp and next to that somebody had used a black object to misspell Fuck and instead written Fukc. Some weak light came in between the bars in the window. The cell was eight square meters and besides the bed contained a sort of wooden desk with a built-in and very solidly anchored chair, also of wood.
Lena had been in the detention cells for seven days. She had dealt with it without great problems since she—deep inside—had hoped she would get out. But this particular day her hopes had been dashed. In the line to lunch she had heard the news that Gavril had been arrested and was also in the detention center. She left her food untouched on the tray. She hadn’t even been able to drink the milk she had been served. It had been him who was going to help her out. But now he too was locked up, in a cell close to hers.
It’s over now, she thought and banged her head harder against the wall. Now everything is over, and I’m finished too. I just have to accept that. There is nothing more I can do. Just one thing remains. And that is that I must get away from here.
From this life on Earth.
*
Torsten Granath stood beside his desk wearing a beige coat and was just putting a folder in his briefcase when Jana Berzelius stormed into his office. She stood in the middle of the room, putting her weight on one leg, with her arms folded.
“What’s happening?” she said.
Torsten looked up at her, a question mark on his face.
“I must go home. My wife phoned, and there are problems with Ludde. He has been eating his own excrement the last 24 hours. We must take him to the vet’s.”
“I mean Gavril Bolanaki. What’s happening?”
“Ah yes, that. We were going to inform you.”
“Why is it finished? He’s my client.”
“The case is closed. The Security Service has taken over. Nobody can talk to him. Not even you.”
“Why not?”
“He’s going to be an informer.”
“What do you mean, informer?”
“He’s going to help the police in their mapping of the drug trade in Sweden. Because of the threatening picture for him, both he and his son are now in the care of the Security Service and they will be moved from the detention center tomorrow morning at nine.”
“Does he have a son?”
“Evidently he does.”
“Where are they going to move him to?”
“That’s confidential, Jana. You know that.”
“But...”
“Drop it now.”
“But we’ve got him...”
“As prosecutor it isn’t about convicting people, but about finding out the truth.”
“I know.”
“And now the police will have the best possible insight into the drug trade. That was the only good thing to come from this.”
No, it wasn’t, Jana thought and turned on her heel and stormed out again.
*
Jana Berzelius was resolute. Her eyes had narrowed; she felt like killing somebody...in particular the person who had decided that Gavril Bolanaki would get protection. Gavril had manipulated the police, she knew that. He had led them to believe that he was just a minor figure with good insight in what had gone on. Now he would avoid everything, the hearing, the trial and conviction. He would get away!
She squeezed her hands around the steering wheel, slowed down and opened the side window. She quickly drew the parking card in the reader and then drove into the garage with screeching tires. She parked at her reserved place and slammed the car door behind her. In the stairwell she took two steps at a time up to her apartment. With a firm grip she put the key into the lock, opened the door and stepped into the hallway. She was just about to close the door when she saw a hand grasp it from the outside. She didn’t have time to react before a darkly clad figure pushed his way in behind her.
His face was well hidden with a large hood. Then he held up both hands, showing his empty palms to her.
“No fighting, Jana,” said the man and she immediately recognized the voice.
It belonged to Danilo. He pulled off the hood and exposed his face.
“You ought to be more careful,” he said.
Jana snorted at him and turned on the ceiling light.
“Sending a text wasn’t the smartest thing to do,” Danilo went on.
“Why not? Are you hiding from somebody?” said Jana.
“No, but you are.”
“The police can’t trace a prepaid SIM.”
“You never know.”
They both fell silent and looked at each other from top to toe. Danilo broke the silence after a few moments.
“So he’s been caught, then?”
“Yes. Or perhaps...”
“What do you mean?”
“Come in and I’ll tell you.”
CHAPTER
FIFTY-TWO
HENRIK LEVIN WOKE suddenly. He had had a short snooze. And that was hardly surprising. The day’s events had demanded total concentration and he wasn’t only exhausted mentally, his body too was aching with tiredness.
Henrik looked up from the pillow. On his stomach lay a book about a teddy bear. Vilma lay on his arm. Her little body was quite still. Felix lay close to him on the other side. He was breathing deeply. Henrik tried as carefully as he could to get his arm out from under Vilma, but she moved and pushed even closer. Henrik looked at his daughter’s sleeping face. He pressed his nose against hers and then freed his arm. Felix didn’t move a muscle when the other arm, under him, disappeared too. In his sleep, he opened his mouth out wide like a baby bird in a nest. Henrik stroked the boy’s cheek. Then he delicately started to maneuver himself out from the narrow bed and after a couple of attempts he had to clamber over the high edge of the frame. The heat from the children’s bodies had made him sweaty. He pulled the sticky shirt away from his skin and decided that the children could stay on in the same bed for the night.