He remembered what the great Chinese philosopher had said about people’s ability to learn.
I hear and forget, I see and remember, I do and learn.
Words were superfluous.
He just had to look at her and learn what she wanted him to do. Then he would do it, and understand.
The room was silent.
Every time he made an effort to speak she put her hand over his mouth and shushed him, and when he communicated with her it was via small, precise and muffled grunts, or with sign language. After a while he didn’t utter a single word.
He could see how pleased she was when she looked at him. When he put his head in her lap and she stroked his cropped hair, he felt calm. He showed her he was happy by quietly humming.
The room was safe.
He watched her and he learned, memorising what she wanted him to do, and as time passed he went from thinking in words and sentences to relating his experiences to his own body. Happiness became a warmth in his stomach, and anxiety a tension in his neck.
The room was clean.
He merely did, and understood. Pure feeling.
He never said a word. When he thought, he did so in pictures.
He would be a body, and nothing else.
Words were meaningless. Words must not exist even in thoughts.
But they were there now, and he couldn’t help it.
Gao, he thought. My name is Gao Lian.
Kronoberg – Police Headquarters
JEANETTE KIHLBERG FELT deflated as she ended her call to Sofia Zetterlund. She knew there’d be problems getting hold of a court order. Von Kwist would raise objections, she was convinced of that.
And then there was Sofia Zetterlund.
Jeanette didn’t like how cool she had been. She was far too rational and unemotional. They were dealing with two dead children, after all, and if she could be of any help, why wouldn’t she want to? Was it really just a matter of professional ethics and her oath of confidentiality?
It felt like they weren’t getting anywhere.
That morning she and Hurtig had tried in vain to track down Ulrika Wendin, the girl who had reported Karl Lundstr?m for rape and sexual abuse seven years ago. The phone number in the directory was no longer in use, and there was no answer when they drove out to the address in Hammarbyh?jden. Jeanette hoped that the note she had put through the letter box would encourage the girl to get in touch as soon as she got home. But so far the phone had remained silent.
This case had turned into a real uphill struggle. It had been two weeks, they had no leads, and one boy was still unidentified.
She felt she needed a change. A new challenge.
If she wanted to go any further up the police hierarchy it would mean being deskbound or taking on more administrative responsibilities.
Was that what she wanted?
While she was reading an internal memo about a three-week-long training course on how to interview children, there was a knock on the door.
Hurtig came in, followed by ?hlund.
‘We’re thinking of going for a beer. Do you want to come?’
She looked at the time. Half past four. ?ke would be busy making dinner. Macaroni and meatballs in front of the television. Silence and a suggestion that boredom was all they had in common these days. Change, she thought.
She balled up the memo and threw it in the waste bin. Three weeks in a classroom.
‘No, I can’t. Maybe another time,’ she said, remembering that she had promised herself that she would say yes.
Hurtig nodded and smiled. ‘Sure. See you tomorrow. Don’t work too hard.’ He shut the door behind him.
Just before she packed her things to go home, she made up her mind.
A quick call to Johan to ask if he could see if it was all right for him to sleep over at David’s before she called and booked two cinema tickets for the early screening. Not exactly a massive change, admittedly, but at least it was a small attempt to shake up their grey, everyday life. The cinema, then dinner. Maybe a drink after that.
?ke sounded annoyed when he picked up the phone.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘What I usually do at this time of day. What are you doing?’
‘I’m about to leave, but I thought maybe we could meet in the city instead.’
‘Oh, something special going on?’
‘Not really, I just thought it’s been a while since we did anything nice together.’
‘Johan’s on his way home, and I’m standing –’
‘Johan’s staying over at David’s,’ she interrupted.
‘Oh, OK then. Where shall we meet?’
‘Medborgarplatsen, outside the market hall. Quarter past six.’
They hung up, and Jeanette dropped her phone in her jacket pocket. She had been hoping he would be pleased, but he had sounded fairly cool. But, on the other hand, it was just a trip to the cinema. Even so, he could have tried to sound enthusiastic, she thought as she switched off her computer.
As Jeanette walked past the steps of Medborgarhuset and the Anna Lindh memorial, she caught sight of ?ke. He looked tense, and she stopped to look at him. Twenty years together. Two decades.
She went up to him. ‘Seven thousand, give or take,’ she said with a smile.
‘What?’ ?ke looked quizzical.
‘Might be a bit more. I’m not good at maths.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘We’ve been together for more than seven thousand days. Get it? Twenty years.’
‘Mmm …’
Indira – Restaurant
AN OUTSTANDING STUDY of human degradation, the first feature-length film made using a mobile phone. Possibly not the best film Jeanette had ever seen, but definitely not as bad as ?ke seemed to think.
‘Are you hungry?’ Jeanette turned towards ?ke. ‘Or shall we just go and have a beer somewhere?’
‘A bit peckish, maybe.’ ?ke was looking straight ahead. ‘A bit of food wouldn’t hurt.’
Jeanette thought it sounded like a sacrifice. That it was an effort to have to endure a couple of hours in her company.
The Indian restaurant was full, and they had to wait ten minutes for a free table. She wondered how long it had been since they last had an Indian meal. Five years? Or any meal in a restaurant, come to that? Two years, maybe.
Jeanette ordered a simple palak paneer, ?ke a strongly spiced chicken dish.
‘Yes, you always have the same thing,’ ?ke said.
Always the same thing? Jeanette knew he was just as predictable. He always picked the hottest dish, explained to her why you ought to eat heavily spiced food, and ended the meal feeling unwell and insisting on going home.
What he said next gave her an odd sense of déjà vu.
‘To start with, it’s good for you. The spices kill stomach bacteria and make you sweat. The body’s cooling system kicks in. That’s why people eat strongly spiced food in hot countries. But it’s also a hell of a kick. It sends the endorphins flying around your head, almost like being high.’