Now, in the seconds before the performance began, he needed to eradicate the very last remnants of thought.
He must be a body, with only four life-sustaining requirements.
Oxygen.
Water.
Food.
Sleep.
Nothing else.
He is a machine, she thought.
The plastic on the floor rustled when the boy began to move. He was still confused and bewildered from being unconscious, and looked around uncertainly. He tugged rather feebly at the chain around his neck, but he had already realised that it was pointless trying to get loose, and therefore crept backwards warily, getting to his feet and standing with his back to the wall.
Gao moved to and fro in front of the naked, helpless boy.
With a carefully aimed kick to his stomach he made him sink to his knees, gasping for breath. Then he kicked him hard on one ear and the boy collapsed, whimpering.
There was a cracking sound and blood ran from the boy’s nose.
She realised that the fight was too uneven and loosened the boy’s chains.
The bulb was swaying gently from the ceiling and the shadows played over the back of the crawling boy. Gao had read the situation and knew immediately what was expected of him. But the other boy thought that his begging and sobbing would save him, and so never realised the gravity of the situation.
He lay on the floor kicking his legs, like a submissive puppy.
She wondered if it was because this was the first time he had ever felt real physical pain, and therefore had no access to the necessary survival instincts. Perhaps he had been raised to believe in people’s innate goodness? That delusion meant that he never had a chance to defend himself.
Gao was raining down blows and kicks on him.
In the end she tried to even the odds by giving the boy a knife, but he just threw it away and howled in horror.
She got up from her chair and gave Gao the water bottle containing the amphetamine. He was sweaty and the muscles of his torso rippled with his deep breathing.
She and he would become something perfect, something whole.
In the shadows they were one being.
Openings and closings.
Blood and pain. Electrical impulses.
Slowly she began to whip the boy’s back with the electric cable, gradually increasing the pace and hitting him with growing fury.
The boy’s back was bleeding badly.
She picked up one of the syringes, but as she was about to inject the anaesthetic into his neck, she realised that he was no longer alive.
It was over.
Kronoberg – Police Headquarters
KARL LUNDSTR?M WAS the only interesting name on the list of suspects at the moment. Jeanette Kihlberg was both surprised and grateful that Sofia Zetterlund had got in touch. Maybe she could bring something new to the investigation?
It was desperately needed. Everything had ground to a halt.
Thelin and Furug?rd had long since been written off, and questioning the suspected rapist Bengt Bergman had been pointless.
Jeanette had found Bergman a particularly unpleasant individual. Emotionally unpredictable, but at the same time cold and calculating. He had talked about his great powers of empathy several times, while simultaneously demonstrating the exact opposite.
She couldn’t help seeing the similarities to what she had read about Karl Lundstr?m.
It was Bergman’s wife who had given him an alibi each time he had been suspected of anything. Jeanette had angrily pointed this out to von Kwist when she suggested they should talk to him again. She had also mentioned the similarities with Karl Lundstr?m and his wife, Annette, who had taken his side even when they were dealing with the abuse of their own daughter.
As usual, the prosecutor had been immovable, and Jeanette had to admit to herself that she’d been taking a chance with Bengt Bergman anyway.
A gamble that hadn’t paid off.
But it was clear to Jeanette from the short telephone conversation she’d had with his daughter that Bengt Bergman had a lot on his conscience.
Jeanette realised wearily that she wouldn’t be at all surprised if the prosecutor decided to drop the case relating to the aggravated rape of Tatiana Achatova, the prostitute.
What chance did a middle-aged prostitute with several drug convictions behind her stand against a senior official from the Swedish International Development Cooperation Agency? Her word against his. And it didn’t take much to work out who Prosecutor von Kwist was going to believe.
No, Tatiana Achatova didn’t stand a chance, Jeanette thought.
Once again she felt tired, and would much rather be taking a break from work, to enjoy the summer and the heat. But ?ke had gone to Kraków with Alexandra Kowalska, and Johan was up in Dalarna with some friends. She realised she’d only end up feeling lonely if she took her holiday now.
‘You’ve got a visitor.’ Hurtig stepped into the room. ‘Ulrika Wendin is sitting down in reception. She doesn’t want to come up, but says she wants to see you.’
The young woman was standing out in the street smoking. In spite of the heat she was wearing a thick black padded jacket, black jeans and a pair of heavy, military-style boots. She had her hood pulled up, and beneath it was wearing a large pair of black sunglasses. Jeanette went up to her.
‘I want my case to be reopened,’ Ulrika said, stubbing out her cigarette.
‘OK … Let’s go somewhere we can talk. I’ll buy you a coffee.’
They walked down Hantverkargatan in silence, and Ulrika managed to fit in another cigarette before they reached the cafe. They each ordered coffee and a sandwich before sitting down on the outdoor terrace.
Ulrika took off the big sunglasses and Jeanette realised why she’d been wearing them. Her right eye was swollen and blackish purple in colour. A black eye as big as a fist and, to judge by the colour, no more than a couple of days old.
‘What the hell is that?’ Jeanette exclaimed. ‘Who did that to you?’
‘Don’t worry about that. Just a guy I know. Pretty nice guy, actually. When he’s not drinking, I mean.’ She smiled awkwardly. ‘I was the one offering booze, and we had an argument when I wanted to turn down the volume of the stereo.’
‘Damn it, Ulrika. That hardly makes it your fault! What sort of people are you hanging out with? Some guy who hits you because you don’t want the music so loud that the neighbours complain?’
Ulrika Wendin shrugged her shoulders, and Jeanette realised she wasn’t going to get any further.
‘So …’ she said instead. ‘I can help you organise the legal side if you want to petition for a new trial against Lundstr?m.’ She assumed that von Kwist was unlikely to take the initiative. ‘What made you change your mind?’
‘Well, after we talked,’ she began, ‘I realised I’m not done with this. I want to explain everything.’
‘Everything?’
‘Yes, it was so hard back then. I felt ashamed …’
Jeanette studied the young woman and was struck by how fragile she looked.
‘Ashamed? What for?’
Ulrika squirmed. ‘They didn’t just rape me.’