They wait in silence, while the cameraman moves the lens up and down, then turns the microphone on and off, presumably to test it. They look nervous, the way people do when they are not used to staring at the single eye that preserves whatever it looks at for posterity.
Lydia Grajauskas speaks first.
Two sentences. She turns to Alena, who translates.
This is my reason. This is my story.
Grajauskas looks at her friend and says two more sentences.
She nods with a serious expression and waits, for Alena, who turns to the camera again and translates.
When you hear this, I hope that the man I am going to talk about is dead. I hope that he has felt my shame.
They speak slowly, careful to enunciate every word in both Russian and Swedish.
Ewert Grens sat in front of the TV for twenty minutes.
What he saw and heard did not exist. Lydia was transformed once more from perpetrator to victim, from whore to abused woman.
He got up and slammed his fist on the table as he usually did, hit it several times, hard enough to hurt. He shouted and hit. Sometimes there was nothing else you could do.
I was there a few hours ago.
It was me who had to talk to Lena!
Who do you think is going to tell her about this?
She doesnt deserve this.
Do you hear me?
She must never know this.
He must have shouted out loud; he thought it was only in his mind, was certain of it. But his throat felt rough, which it wouldnt if he had been silent.
Ewert looked at the empty, flickering screen and rewound the tape.
When you hear this, I hope that the man I am going to talk about is dead. I hope that he has felt my shame.
He listened to their introduction again and then rewound it again.
He could see them on the mortuary floor. She was face down, her arm twisted underneath her body. Bengt naked, his genitals ripped by the bullet, the hole through his eye.
If only you had admitted you knew her when she asked
.
Bengt. Fucking hell!
She asked you!
Maybe if youd said yes . . .
Maybe if youd told her that you knew who she was.
Then you might still be alive.
That might have been enough.
That you acknowledged her, understood
.
He hesitated, but only for a few seconds. Then he pressed
the red button with REC on it in white letters. He was going to wipe what he had just seen. From now on it no longer existed.
Nothing happened.
He pressed the same button again, twice, but the tape didnt move. He checked the cassette and saw that the safety tab on the back was broken. It was their story and they had done everything they could to make sure that no one stole it from them, recorded over it. Ewert looked around. He knew what he had to do.
He got up, stuffed the tape into his pocket and left the room.
It was after midnight by the time Lena Nordwall stood at the sink with the four mugs that still smelt of coffee. She rinsed them in hot water, in cold, in hot and in cold again. It took her half an hour before she felt able to let go. She dried them one by one, needed them to be absolutely dry, using a clean towel to make sure. Then she lined them up on the kitchen table. They gleamed in the lamplight.
Lena picked the mugs up, one by one, and threw them against the wall.
She was still standing by the sink when one of the children came downstairs, a little boy in his pyjamas. He pointed at the shards of china and said to his mother that mugs make an awful noise when they break.
NOW
PART TWO
THURSDAY 6 JUNE
Ewerts back ached.
The office sofa was really far too small; he had to get it changed. His sleep had been troubled. Bengts lie, Grajauskas and the other girl on the video, Annis hand that he couldnt get hold of, the tears that had drained him. His clothes were wrinkled and his breath was stale. He had tried to work when the hours dragged, but he couldnt concentrate on the investigation of the Oldéus and Lang case. Grajauskas and her friend had commandeered his thoughts. They had looked pale and spent when they talked about his best friend and the shame they hoped he would feel. He had tried to get back to sleep, twisting and turning until the light forced him to get up.
He absently touched the plastic parcel in his pocket. He had tried to wipe the tape and had failed. He had made up his mind and wasnt going to change it. It had to go.
The police house was still totally empty. He bought a dry cheese sandwich and a carton of juice from the machines in the corridor, breakfasted and then went to the locker rooms and had a long shower.
I must see her again soon.
Last time I brought death.
This time must I bring shame?
The water was hammering on his skull and shoulders. That damned mortuary was being washed down the drain and the tension began to slip. He used somebodys forgotten towel, dressed and got another coffee from the machine. Black, as usual. Slowly he woke up.
Good morning, sir.
He heard her voice from one of the rooms in passing. She was sitting on a chair in the middle of the floor and surrounded by papers, on the sofa, the desk, the top of the bookshelf, and the floor.
Hermansson. Youre in early.
She was so young. Young and ambitious. That usually wore off.
Im reading the witness statements from the hospital. Theyre really interesting. I wanted to have time to go through them properly.
Found anything I should know about?
I think so. Well, I havent got them all yet. The statements from Grajauskass guard and the boys who were watching TV in the dayroom are being printed now.
And?
For one thing, the link between Grajauskas and Sljusareva looks strong.
Perhaps it was her nice dialect, or her calm manner, whatever it was, he listened to her now, just as he had listened to her yesterday in the temporary operations centre, though it was too late. He should tell her. That she was good, that he trusted her and that didnt happen often.
Tell me more.
Can you give me a couple of hours? Ill have a clearer picture then.
Right. See me after lunch.
He was about to go. He ought to tell her.
Hermansson.
Yes?
She looked at him and he had to go on.
You did a good job yesterday. Your analysis . . . well, what you said. Id like to work with you again.
She smiled. He hadnt expected that.
Praise! From Ewert Grens. Thats very special.
He stood there, feeling something new. Abandoned perhaps, or exposed. He almost regretted having complimented her and switched tack; anything really, as long as it was different.
You know the store where electronic stuff is kept?
Sorry?
I need a couple of things from in there, but Ive never been. Do you know where it is?
Hermansson got up. She was laughing. Ewert didnt understand why. She looked at him and laughed, making him feel uncomfortable.
Sir? Just between us?
Yes?
Tell me, have you ever praised a woman officer before?
She was still laughing when she pointed out into the corridor.
And the store is right there, next to the coffee machine.
She settled down on the chair again and started rooting around among the papers on the floor. Ewert looked at her and then walked away. She had laughed at him. He didnt understand why.
Lisa Öhrström had kept her eyes closed for a long time.
She had heard the dark man who threatened her get up and leave; she had remained seated, not daring to move until Ann-Marie left her glass booth in the corridor and came to see how she was. The older woman had taken Lisa in her arms and talked soothingly, sat with her. At one point they had started playing the childish game of slapping one hand on top of the other.
Afterwards she had gone home. She had tried to see her
patients, but was too frightened and drained. She had never felt such fear.
It had been a long night.
She had reasoned with herself, trying to banish the ache inside. Her heart was racing and she took deep, slow breaths to settle down, but instead was alarmed by the way she gasped for air. No peace of mind, she didnt dare go to sleep, scared that she would never wake up, didnt want to, couldnt sleep, couldnt close her eyes, not any more.
Jonathan and Sanna. She couldnt keep them away.
All night long they had insisted on being let in.
She had tried to banish them by taking slow breaths, calm. She loved them like she had never dared to love anyone else, except perhaps Hilding, way back, before he had made her stop feeling. The children were different, they were part of her.
That man knew that the children existed. He had found her photos.
The damned pain in her chest.
The children were her weakness and her protection at the same time, little human beings she could not bear to lose and who strangely also made her able to control the panic that almost overwhelmed her.
The detective who had questioned her after Hildings body had been found, and who had made her identify that man Lang, DI Sven Sundkvist, had phoned early in the morning when she was still in bed, apologised, explained that they were working hard on the case and asked her to come to the station as soon as she could.
She was waiting in a dark room somewhere inside the main City Police building. She wasnt alone. Sundkvist was there too and a lawyer, who presumably represented the accused, had just come through the door.
DI Sundkvist told her to take her time. There was no hurry and it was important that she did everything in the correct way.
She went and stood at the window. He assured her that it was a one-way view only. Only those on the police side could see through it. The men on the other side just saw their own images in the mirrored surface.
There were ten of them, all about the same height, roughly the same age, and all had shaved heads. Each man had a label hung round his neck, a large white board with a black number on it.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, staring straight at her. At least thats how it felt as if they were waiting and watching to see what she would do.
She looked at them without seeing.
A few seconds for each one, scanning them from their feet to the top of their head. She avoided their eyes.
No.
She shook her head.
None of them.
Sven Sundkvist took a step closer. Are you quite certain?
Yes, I am. He wasnt one of these men.
Sundkvist nodded at the window.
Theyre going to walk in a circle now, one at a time. I want you to watch carefully.
The man furthest to the left, number 1, took a few steps forward and walked slowly round the relatively spacious room. Her eyes followed him. She saw him this time, his slightly rolling gait, a self-assured way of moving. It was him.
That was Lang all right.
Bugger, bugger Hilding.
She saw him return to the line. It was number 2s turn. The men ceased to look alike as she watched one after the other do the circuit of the room. They had all looked the same before when they were standing still, and now she saw their differences.