The explosion of pain makes Absalon cry out.
The man lets go of the knife, leaving it sticking out, wedged beneath his bottom ribs.
Absalon lurches sideways but his fall is broken by the table. He throws one arm out, and his bloody hand sends a glass of milk flying.
The masked man pulls a machete from a strap inside his raincoat and walks towards Absalon again.
‘Stop it!’ Kerstin screams.
Absalon slumps onto a chair, holds his hand up in self-defence and shakes his head.
‘Please, stop now!’ Kerstin sobs.
The ceiling lamp above the table is spinning slowly. The light from the two bulbs wanders across the tablecloth. Milk drips steadily onto the floor.
‘What have I done?’ Absalon gasps.
He’s sweating and breathing fast, on his way to circulatory shock. The masked man stands still and looks at him.
‘You must have come to the wrong house,’ Kerstin says in a shaky voice.
Elsa is squirming in her arms, trying to escape and see what’s going on.
A trickle of blood falls from the chair.
The second hand on the clock ticks slowly on.
There are children playing outside, and Kerstin hears a bicycle bell.
‘We’re just normal people. We don’t have any money,’ she goes on weakly.
Peter is sitting under the table staring at his father.
Absalon tries to say something, but a convulsion fills his mouth with blood. He swallows and coughs, then swallows again.
The neighbour’s car pulls in and parks next to theirs. Car doors open and close. Bags of groceries are unloaded from the boot.
Absalon’s shirt is dark red, almost black. A steady stream of blood is running from the chair, the pool has reached Peter now.
‘Daddy, Daddy, Daddy …’ the boy whimpers in a high voice.
The masked man looks at the time, then grabs hold of Absalon’s hair.
‘Can I take the children out?’ Kerstin asks, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
Elsa is whimpering and Kerstin’s field of vision becomes distorted. There’s a loud buzzing sound in her head as she sees her husband’s lips turn white.
He’s in a lot of pain now.
The stranger leans over and whispers something to Absalon. The rabbits’ ears sway beside his cheek. He straightens up again and Absalon meets his gaze and nods.
Without any urgency, he lifts Absalon’s head and raises the machete.
The lamp above the kitchen table starts spinning the other way.
Peter shakes his head. Kerstin wants to yell at him to close his eyes, but no words will come out.
With great force, the man brings the machete down on the back of Absalon’s neck, through his vertebrae.
Blood sprays across the stove.
The dead body collapses onto the floor. Its legs are still twitching, heels hitting the plastic mat.
Peter stares at his father with his mouth gaping open.
Absalon’s head is hanging loosely from his body, brightly coloured blood pumps out of his throat in heavy pulses.
Blood is dripping from the handle of the oven.
The man leans over, pulls the knife from Absalon’s stomach and shakes the blood from its blade before leaving the kitchen.
55
While Saga is taking a shower at the boxing club, Joona calls Carlos to make sure that the police have gone to Ratjen’s home. He tries calling five times before giving up and leaving a voicemail saying that he’s out of prison, and wants to question Absalon Ratjen as soon as possible.
‘We might be able to stop the killer before anyone else dies,’ he concludes.
Joona and Saga leave the boxing club and walk together towards the car park.
‘Verner promised to take care of your release himself,’ Saga says.
‘If I don’t hear anything I have to be back at the prison in three hours.’
They cross the street and walk through the black gates. Suddenly Saga stops.
‘My phone just died,’ she says, holding it up. ‘Look, it’s been blocked. I’ll have to go to the office and find out what’s happened.’
They reach Joona’s Volvo, then see two serious-looking men wearing dark suits and earpieces heading in their direction.
‘Move away from the car, Bauer,’ the younger of the two agents calls out.
Taking her laptop out of her gym bag, Saga does as he says.
‘Is this Verner’s idea?’ she asks.
‘Give us the laptop,’ the older agent with cropped grey hair says.
‘This one?’ Saga asks, unable to hold back a grin.
‘Yes,’ he replies, and holds out his hand.
She tosses the laptop over the roof of the car, and it spins through the air before Joona catches it without changing his expression.
The two agents switch direction and start walking towards him. Melodic folk music is streaming out from an open window at the school. Joona stands still with the computer in his hand. The men walk around the car and approach with don’t-mess-with-us expressions.
‘That laptop is being sequestered according to paragraph—’
Just before they reach him Joona throws the laptop across the car roof again. Saga catches it with one hand and takes a step back.
‘This is just childish,’ the older agent says, struggling to suppress an involuntary smile.
They turn around again and start walking towards Saga. The younger one adjusts the cuffs of his sleeves.
‘You realise you’re going to have to give us the computer,’ he says patiently.
‘No,’ Saga replies.
Before they reach her she drops the thin laptop between the grille of a drain-cover. There’s a splash as it hits the water below. The two agents stop and stare at her.
‘That was a bit stupid, wasn’t it?’ the older agent says with a frown.
‘You have to come with us, Bauer,’ the other one says.
‘You should have seen the looks on your faces,’ she says, smiling, and heads off along the side of the building with the two agents.
She’s much shorter than them, and her leather jacket shimmers damply from her wet hair.
‘Do you want me to do anything for you?’ Joona calls after her.
‘You need to call Verner,’ she replies, turning to look at him. ‘He promised you wouldn’t have to go back to prison.’
Once Saga is in the agents’ car and they’ve driven off, Joona takes out his phone and tries Carlos again, then calls the Security Police Communication Centre.
‘Security Police.’
‘I want to speak to Verner Sandén,’ Joona says.
‘He’s in a meeting right now.’
‘He needs to take this call.’
‘Who shall I say is calling?’ the woman asks.
‘Joona Linna. He knows who I am.’
The line crackles, then Joona hears a recorded voice encouraging him to follow the Security Police on Twitter and Facebook. The voice stops abruptly when the woman comes back.
‘He says he doesn’t know you,’ she says in a reserved voice.
‘Tell him—’
‘He’s in a meeting and can’t take any calls right now,’ she interrupts, then ends the call before he has time to say anything else.
Even though Joona knows there’s no point, he calls the main government building and says that the Prime Minister is expecting a call from him. In a friendly voice, the secretary asks Joona to send an email to the admin department.
‘The address is on our website,’ he says, then hangs up.
Joona gets in the car and dials Janus Mickelsen’s number, but the call doesn’t go through and an automated voice informs him that the number is not in use. He tries the other contacts on the borrowed phone, but none of the numbers is in use now.
He looks at his watch.
If he starts driving now, he can be back at Kumla in time. He has no alternative. He can’t risk getting an extended prison sentence.
He starts the car and reverses out, then stops to let a woman and guide-dog pass on the pavement before turning right towards Norrtull.
The news on the radio includes a report that says the security services have averted a major attack on Sweden. As usual, no details of the operation are given, including whether the suspected terrorists were arrested. The Security Police’s Press Officer has issued a statement praising comprehensive strategic surveillance and a highly successful operation.
56