The Albanian guys from Malm? are smoking with the prison guards.
The dust in the yard grows thicker and the guards start to realise that something’s going on.
Joona takes a few steps closer towards Rolf with his hands outstretched, attempting to calm the situation.
‘Put the weapon down,’ he says.
Rolf is clutching a sharpened screwdriver, a simple weapon which limits the variety of possible attacks. Joona assumes that he’s likely to aim straight for his throat, or swing in from the right, beneath Joona’s left arm.
Reiner is still holding the ball in one hand as he approaches Salim from behind. He’s trying to hide a knife in his other hand.
Joona backs away, drawing Rolf after him.
Marko pulls free and manages to call the guards before he gets punched hard in the stomach.
Salim hears the cry and turns around. The ball hits him in the face and makes him take a step back, but he still manages to grab hold of the arm clutching the knife as Reiner lunges at him. He holds the blade away from him, but stumbles and falls backwards against the fence.
It’s a much more aggressive and dangerous attack than Joona was expecting.
Rolf mutters something and jabs with the screwdriver. Joona twists his body away, reaches past the arm with the weapon and grabs Rolf’s sleeve from behind. With full force he drives his left elbow up under the man’s shoulder. The blow is so hard that Rolf’s arm breaks. The end of the bone juts uselessly from his shoulder socket.
Rolf groans as he stumbles forward from the force of Joona’s blow. The screwdriver falls to the ground and his arm swings loose, held together by muscles and ligaments.
One of the men on the path runs over, clutching a homemade baton made of heavy nuts screwed to a large bolt.
Joona tries to parry the blow but he’s too late. The baton hits him in the back, and pain flares between his shoulder-blades. He falls forward onto his knees but manages to get to his feet again, coughing hard. He sees the next blow coming, jerks his head out of the way and feels the baton whistle past his head.
Joona grabs the arm clutching the weapon. He uses the momentum to pull the man towards him, flips him over his hip and sends him crashing to the ground. Joona lands heavily on top of him with one knee on the man’s chest.
Rolf is still staggering around, clutching his shoulder and bellowing in agony.
Salim is on the ground, but uses his bleeding hand to push himself to his feet.
Marko comes running over, panting for breath. He stops in front of Joona and wipes the blood from his mouth.
‘I’ll say it was me,’ he says.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ Joona replies quickly.
‘It’s OK,’ Marko gasps. ‘You’ve got to get out, to see Valeria.’
The dust is settling as Joona walks up to Salim Ratjen.
Reiner drops the knife on the ground and backs away.
The guys from Malm? are approaching from the other direction. The guards are talking anxiously into their radios.
Joona leads Salim straight past the Malm? guys. They make way to let them through, then close ranks again.
Marko goes over to the man Joona sent flying, shoves him in the back again, and hits him in the face just as the guards start hitting him with their telescopic batons.
Marko falls to the ground and curls up. They keep beating him. He tries to protect his face and neck, but they continue until his body goes limp.
‘I’m sorry about this,’ Salim says to Joona.
‘Tell that to Marko.’
‘I will.’
Salim’s arm and hand are bleeding, but he doesn’t bother to look at his injuries.
‘Reiner is unpredictable,’ Joona says. ‘I don’t know what he wants with you, but it would be best to stay out of his way.’
They watch as more guards come into the yard carrying stretchers.
‘What are you planning to do outside?’ Salim asks.
‘I’m going to apply for a job.’
‘Where?’
‘The National Crime Unit,’ Joona replies.
Salim laughs, then grows serious as he eyes Reiner, who is standing over by the volleyball net.
‘You seem to think you’ll still be going,’ Salim suddenly says.
‘Marko’s taking the blame.’
‘Can I ask you to do me a favour?’
‘If I have time.’
Salim rubs his nose, then takes a step closer to Joona.
‘I really need to get a message to my wife,’ he says quietly.
‘What message?’
‘She needs to call a number and ask for Amira.’
‘That’s all?’
‘She’s changed her number, so you’ll have to go to her flat. She lives outside Stockholm, in Bandhagen: 10 Gnestav?gen.’
‘And why would she open the door for me?’
‘Tell her you’ve got a message from da gawand halak, that’s me. It means the neighbour’s boy,’ he replies with a brief smile. ‘Parisa’s very shy, but if you say you’ve got a message from da gawand halak, she’ll let you in. Once you’re in she’ll offer you tea. Accept the offer … but wait until she’s taken out the olives and bread before passing on the message.’
30
David Jordan kicks his shoes off. He’s on the phone with the director of programming for news and social affairs at TV4.
The director is explaining that he’s putting together a long item about the Foreign Minister for the ten p.m. news.
DJ heads into the house and walks to the dining room. Light reflecting off the choppy sea floods in through the windows.
‘Did you know that Rex Müller and the Foreign Minister were old friends?’ DJ asks.
‘Really?’
‘And I think … well, I know that Rex would be happy to contribute if you wanted a personal angle,’ he says, his eyes wandering over the rocks down towards the jetty.
‘That would be great.’
‘I’ll tell him to give you a call.’
‘Yes, as soon as possible, please,’ the director says.
Waves are breaking over the jetty. The boat is straining at its ropes, its fenders bouncing against the water.
When they hang up DJ sends Rex a text telling him that the director of programming took the bait, but that he should wait forty minutes before calling so as not to appear too eager.
DJ has already composed a number of posts for Rex to use on social media. He’s fairly confident that those posts, combined with the television interview, will be enough to prevent a scandal. If people do find out that Rex pissed into the Foreign Minister’s swimming pool, they’ll interpret his action as a final prank between old friends. Rex will say that he’s sure the Foreign Minister must have burst out laughing when he looked at the security-camera footage before his morning swim.
DJ stays by the window. Thoughts are running through his mind. He’s taken care of Rex’s problem, and now it’s time to get to grips with his own. A lot of things have happened in his life recently that he can’t talk to anyone about.
Rex would listen, of course, but DJ’s job is to help Rex, not burden him with his own worries.
DJ goes into the kitchen and stops in front of the black leather folder on the marble counter, thinking that he should at least look at its contents before making a decision.
The waves below are lit up like molten glass.
David Jordan reaches out and tries to open the catch of the folder with his right hand, but can’t do it. It’s too stiff. His fingers don’t seem to have any strength. An immense tiredness settles over him. His neck can barely manage to hold his head up.
He fumbles weakly in his pockets, finds the little tub of Modiodal, and tips the pills onto the counter. He lets go of the empty container, which rolls onto the floor as he puts one pill on his tongue and swallows.
He can no longer close his mouth, but feels the tablet slip down his throat. Very gently he tries to lie down, and ends up on his side. He closes his eyes, but can still see the light through his eyelids.
He wakes up on the floor half an hour later.