Joona takes a step closer, but stops and holds up his hands when he sees the fear in the man’s face.
‘Listen to me, it’s extremely important that I make a phone call right now,’ Joona says, trying to sound composed.
‘Isolated status is reconsidered every ten days.’
‘You know I’m entitled to call my lawyer whenever—’
The guard slams the hatch shut and locks it. Joona goes over to the door and slaps his hand over the spyhole just as it turns dark. He hears a thud on the other side of the door, and realises that the bearded man has stumbled back and hit the wall behind him.
‘More people are going to die!’ Joona shouts, hitting the door. ‘You can’t do this! I need to make that call!’
Joona takes aim and kicks the door so hard that the walls shake. He kicks again, and sees a thin trickle of cement dust fall to the floor from the side holding the hinges.
He picks up the chair with both hands and smashes it against the window as hard as he can. One leg snaps as it hits the bars and clatters onto the desk. He does it again, then lets the chair fall to the floor and sits down on the bunk with his hands over his face.
57
The evening light slants in through the windows of the orangery, settling in stripes on the kitchen floor.
The strips of potato start to quiver as Rex lowers the cage into the hot olive oil.
DJ is standing by the island prepping the dill.
‘I’m a suspect,’ Rex says as he watches the fries slowly colour.
‘If you were, you’d be lying strapped to a bench with a wet towel over your face,’ DJ jokes.
‘Really, though,’ Rex says. ‘Why else would the Security Police come here if they hadn’t identified me on the security-camera footage?’
‘Because you were the Foreign Minister’s friend.’
‘I think he was murdered.’
‘Then I can give you an alibi,’ DJ smiles, and scrapes the dill into the bowl of shrimp.
‘But … it would be a scandal.’
‘It can’t be,’ DJ says. ‘Even if the recordings were made public … You have no idea what a response we got to your television interview. Everyone loves the idea of you two playing pranks on each other.’
‘I’m so bad at lying,’ Rex mutters, lifting the potatoes from the oil.
‘We’ll go to the funeral tomorrow, and then we’re in the clear,’ DJ says, rinsing the heavy knife.
‘Yes,’ Rex sighs, noticing that DJ has somehow ended up with dill in his blond beard.
‘We’ve got the situation under control. It’s fine. The only thing that bothers me is that damn fight,’ DJ says.
‘I know.’
‘Rex, I’m so sorry I came here. I panicked.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Rex says.
‘Surely we’d know if the man had died?’
‘Well, you don’t know for sure that he …’
‘I’ve been through all the news bulletins, everything.’
‘What did he want from you?’
‘I don’t feel like talking about it,’ DJ says, shaking his head.
‘What is it?’
‘No, it’s nothing,’ DJ whispers, and turns away.
‘You need to talk to me,’ Rex says to DJ’s back.
‘I will,’ he replies, and takes several deep breaths. Sammy comes into the kitchen without a shirt on.
‘DJ?’ Rex says.
‘Later,’ he says quietly.
‘What are you two whispering about?’ Sammy asks with a smile.
‘Lots of secrets,’ Rex says with a wink.
Sammy goes over to the French balcony, opens the door slightly and lights a cigarette.
‘Are you still thinking of going to that party out in Nykvarn?’
‘Yes,’ Sammy nods, clicking to make his lighter produce a transparent flame.
‘As long as you’re home in time for the funeral.’
Sammy takes a deep drag, making the cigarette crackle, then exhales the smoke through the gap in the door before looking at Rex.
‘I’d come home tonight but there are no buses after nine o’clock,’ he says.
‘Get a taxi,’ Rex suggests. ‘I’ll pay.’
Sammy inhales deeply again, then scratches his cheek with his thumb.
‘You can’t get a taxi out there in the middle of the night … it’s not exactly Café Opera.’
‘Do you want me to pick you up?’
‘How?’
‘Don’t forget you’ve got the award ceremony tonight,’ DJ says, setting the table.
‘Aren’t you supposed to be staying at Lyra’s tonight?’
‘Yes,’ DJ says.
‘Can I borrow your car, then?’
‘Of course,’ DJ says, setting out cutlery.
‘Then I’ll pick you up from Nykvarn, Sammy.’
‘Sure?’ Sammy asks with a smile, stubbing his cigarette out on the balcony railing.
‘Give me an address and a time – preferably not too late. I’m an old man these days …’
‘Is one o’clock too late? Or we can say earlier, something like—’
‘One o’clock’s fine,’ Rex replies. ‘That’ll give me time to pick up the award and get rid of it.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’
‘Can I talk to you?’ DJ says, leading Rex out into the orangery.
‘What is it?’
DJ’s face is calm, but his movements are restrained and nervous.
‘Borrowing the car might not be such a great idea,’ he says. ‘I sat in it with blood all over my clothes, and I—’
‘But you cleaned it,’ Rex interrupts.
‘I know … it must be the cleanest car in Sweden, but still, you never know … We’ve all seen CSI. They could show up with their special lights and find DNA.’
‘I don’t think the Swedish police would call in CSI,’ Rex laughs.
‘But what if he died?’ DJ whispers. ‘I can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t understand how it could have come to this.’
Sammy appears in the doorway.
‘Now you’re whispering again,’ he says sternly.
58
A red carpet lined with burning torches leads the way to the glazed atrium of Café Opera. Rex is welcomed by a woman with a blonde plait who leads him to a backdrop made up of ads for the biggest sponsors.
The evening’s event is to present Rex with an award that he thinks he should have been given a long time ago. So much time has passed that he started to say he didn’t want it, that he wouldn’t accept the award even if they baked it inside a cake.
When he turned down the invitation to attend this time, he received a phone call from the organiser saying that a little bird had whispered the name of this year’s recipient to her.
Among the throng of people between the buffet table and champagne bars, the noise level is deafeningly high.
Rex makes his excuses and pushes his way through to the bar, where he asks for a bottle of mineral water. The music is turned down and the lights change.
A tall woman from the industry magazine Restaurant World gets up on the stage and walks into the spotlight.
Even though Rex knows he’s going to get the award, his heart starts beating harder and he can’t help running his hand through his hair.
When the woman raises the microphone to her mouth, silence spreads around the room.
‘For the twenty-fourth year in a row, we’ve reached the point where we celebrate the achievements of the Chef of Chefs,’ she says, breathing so loudly that the speaker system roars. ‘One hundred and nineteen of the finest chefs in Sweden have voted, and we have a winner …’
While she is talking Rex finds himself thinking of one birthday when Sammy hid under the kitchen table and refused to come out and open his presents. Veronica explained later that he had been so excited that his dad was going to be there that it had all become too much for him.
The audience laughs politely when the woman on stage makes a joke.
Mathias Dahlgren, who has won several times before, is sitting with his eyes closed and a tense expression on his face.
Rex feels his hand shaking as he drinks the last of the mineral water and puts the glass down on the counter.
The woman on stage breaks the seal on the envelope. Crumbs of red wax fall to the floor as she unfolds the paper, holds it up to the light and then looks up at the audience.
‘And this year’s Chef of Chefs is … Rex Müller!’
Applause and cheering break out. People turn to look at Rex. He heads towards the stage, stopping briefly to shake Mathias’s hand. He stumbles slightly on the steps, but makes it up onto the stage.