In the dream, she attempted to find a way to conquer the darkness, but in the end, she’d felt the panic come anyway. She had reached out her hand in a sweeping gesture to find something to hold on to when she discovered him. Touched him. Danilo. He had jerked when her hand made contact with him, and she’d felt how he was shaking just as much as she was. They hadn’t had any idea how long they were going to sit in the cellar, but they knew that a girl had sat there previously, alone, and when the door was opened after multiple days, she had starved to death.
Weak, they’d called her.
Neither Jana nor Danilo had wanted to be called weak. That was why they’d held each other’s hands there in that cold cellar. Held hands to show that they were not going to fold, not even in the darkness.
They’d been only seven years old when they experienced their first endurance exercise together. During that time, she learned more about him than she had wanted to know. She had tried to stay away from Danilo—or Hades, as he was called then...the name they had carved into his neck.
She had tried to forget about those dark years they had shared together as child soldiers. And now, after all this time, he had forced her to hide him in her own apartment.
Jana pulled the comforter away from her body with the thought that the memories of their common childhood had now also wormed their way into her dreams. She didn’t want that, didn’t want to think about Danilo at all. But no matter how much she tried to ignore him, she couldn’t get rid of him. Not even in her dreams.
And now, on top of everything else, he was threatening to kill Per.
She got out of bed slowly. It wasn’t that Danilo had threatened to hurt Per that bothered her. It was knowing he would actually do it, if he felt he had to.
He wouldn’t even blink, she thought.
* * *
Philip stood naked in the kitchen and looked at the pills he was holding in his hand. They were his lifeline; they allowed him to function. He thought about his conversation with his boss, Eva. Had it really taken almost twenty minutes for them to transport the woman who had suffered a heart attack to the hospital? Twenty minutes was inexplicably long; he agreed with Eva on that point. But what was there to say?
Sure, he’d taken a pill during the night, but he shouldn’t have fallen asleep because of that. Or had he made a mistake and mixed up the Sobril with the Imovane? Sobril was supposed to calm him. Imovane made him sleep.
If so, that would also explain why he didn’t know where he had put his wedding ring. He’d looked at work, in the locker room, in the lounge, in all of the bunk rooms. He’d looked everywhere at home, too, but hadn’t found it.
I should stop the pills now, he thought, putting a pill on his tongue. He drank some water before going back to the bedroom. Lina had rolled over and lay on her back with her legs straight up in the air. She was pressing her hands against the sides of her bottom as she followed him with her eyes.
“What were you doing out there?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “But what in the hell are you doing?”
“I’ve heard that you maximize your chances of getting pregnant if you lie in bed like this for a half hour afterward.”
“Who said that?”
“I read it in a magazine. There’s no scientific proof behind it, really. But it also said you could strike a compromise and lay like this just for a little bit, say, ten minutes or something. And definitely on your back, maybe with a pillow under your butt or sort of pedaling your legs with them up in the air like this...”
She began pedaling her legs.
“It isn’t scientifically established, either,” she continued, “but it sounds logical, so why not try?”
She kicked more energetically with her legs and expected Philip to begin laughing. But he didn’t. Instead, he sank down with his head on the pillow and listened to the patter of raindrops against the window.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Thinking.”
“About what?”
“That it rained the first time we had sex.”
“You remember that?” Lina giggled. She lay on her side, supporting her head with her hand. She became serious and looked at him for a long moment.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “What has happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Yes, something did. Tell me. I can see in your face that something has happened.”
The bed rocked as she moved closer. She began caressing his chest.
“Wow, you’re so sweaty,” she said.
He took her hand in his, stopping her movements, and pressed it against his cheek.
“What’s going on with you?” She giggled.
“Nothing.”
“But it’s got to be something.”
“No, it’s nothing.”
“Yes, tell me. Tell me what it is, my love. Do I have to persuade you?”
She smiled at him, kissed him on the mouth, draped her leg over him, pressing her naked body against his. He tried to keep her hand in his, but she pulled it free and pinched his nipple.
“Stop it,” he said, tossing back the comforter.
“Where are you going?” she asked, disappointed.
“I’m going to get something to eat,” he said.
“I’m hungry, too. Would you toast some bread for me?”
“Of course.”
He walked out of the bedroom and went back into the kitchen. The window was open, and raindrops were puddling on the windowsill, but he didn’t bother to close it. Instead, he picked up the glass he’d left on the kitchen counter and let the water run from the tap as he drank.
He was just about to put the glass down when he began thinking of Katarina, his best friend and colleague.
How could she still be sick? She hadn’t seemed sick when he’d talked to her the day before yesterday. And why hadn’t she called him back yet?
“How’s my toast?” Lina called from the bedroom.
“Good,” Philip said, finding his cell phone.
He dialed Katarina’s number.
* * *
Anneli got up from the mattress on the floor in her mother’s house and was aware of the pain in her back. She opened the curtains and squinted out toward the rainy street. There had been a time when she would stand at a window and hear Gunnar approach her from behind, would feel his hands around her body and listen to him breathing. But that was another time, another window.
She considered going in to where her son, Adam, was sleeping and lying next to him and giving him a hug. But she stayed where she was, thinking that it was crazy that they were living with her mother now, his grandma. She had told Adam that it was just temporary, that she and his dad needed to be apart for a while, that they just needed a break. Grown-ups need breaks sometimes.
Adam had taken all of it in calmly. Maybe he was used to it; the number of times that she and Gunnar had separated was already far too high. But they had always found their way back to each other and would move back in together eventually. She had always known how he felt about her.
But now she had to admit that everything felt different. Tears sprang to her eyes at the thought of how she had lost control and let her feelings take over. How she had cheated on Gunnar.
Would he ever forgive her?
She longed to go home to him, to crawl next to him in their warm bed, feel his chest move as he breathed, hear his snoring.
Her palm became wet from her tears as she wiped her face. She picked up her cell phone and started to compose a text, but she deleted it and put the phone down.
There was no point. He wouldn’t text back.
* * *
Jana Berzelius stood in the doorway to her bedroom. It was quiet in the apartment in the dark, except for the patter of rain against the window.
When she walked toward the bathroom, she caught sight of him, lying on the sofa with his eyes closed, seeming to be asleep. His clothes were on the floor, his running shoes unlaced and his gym bag closed.
She thought about the knives in the kitchen and wished she were holding one of them in her hand; wished she could thrust it through his body with all of her strength.
Or she could just use her hands.
She had killed a man like that once. She’d crushed his larynx by striking him with the side of her hand, just as she’d been taught. But that was a long time ago. She’d been young and afraid for her life. Now she wasn’t terrified, just furious.
“What do you want, Jana?”
Danilo was almost whispering.
She raised her eyes and looked at him. He had opened his eyes and pushed one hand under his pillows.
“I don’t think you want me to answer that,” she said.
“You don’t need to answer,” he said. “I already know what you want. Killing me would be a small problem for you. But afterward, you’d have a big problem. And when it comes down to it—” he pulled a pistol out from under the pillow and aimed it at her “—I believe you think it’s more important to get back what’s yours than to kill me. It would cost you much less to let me live.”
She didn’t move a muscle. She didn’t even blink.
“If you kill me,” he said, “your career and your life will be ruined in the same moment. So make sure to leave me alone.”
“I hate you,” she said.
“That’s what you always say,” he said, replacing the pistol under the pillow before closing his eyes again.
She went into the bathroom, closed the door quickly and locked it.
Her skin was covered in goose bumps as she got into the shower. She stood under the warm jets for a long time before sweeping a terry cloth towel around her body and a second one around her hair.
A white jar stood in the middle of the shelf. A faint scent of citrus spread through the room as she forcefully rubbed lotion on her face, arms and the deformed letters on her neck. She twisted the lid back on the cream, put it back on the shelf and reached for the electric toothbrush that always stood next to it.
But it wasn’t there.
She looked around and found it farther down on the shelf.
The thought that he had used her toothbrush made her see red. She took it and threw it against the tiles. Then she cursed herself for not having ended his days at the boathouse three months ago when she’d actually had the chance. That way she would’ve avoided all of this.
* * *
The stairwell of the police station was empty. Henrik enjoyed the silence as he walked slowly up to the third floor. Once upstairs, he saw Mia, who yawned exaggeratedly. She had just pulled on a gray knit sweater, and her fine blond hair was standing straight up with static electricity.
“Good morning!”
Gunnar Öhrn rushed past. A deep furrow was visible on his forehead.
“Already on the move?” Henrik asked.
“Yes,” Gunnar said. “The media is here and writing about the new reorganization. It’s not enough that we have crimes to solve—I have to go down and answer questions about how we are going to solve them, too. And how can I answer who does what, when we have new colleagues with titles I don’t have the faintest idea of?”
“Like coordinator Britt Dyberg?” Henrik said.
“Yes, for example,” Gunnar said.
“Who the hell is Britt Dyberg?” Mia asked, smoothing her hand over her hair in an attempt to get it to lie flat again.
“A coordinator,” Gunnar said.
“Now that’s a fucking title,” Mia said. “Whatever happened to ‘police officer’?”
Gunnar pulled his hand over his face, making his skin flush red.
“You look like you’re ready to drop,” Henrik said.
“Yes, because I see that we’ve created an organizational nightmare and a worse operation for the near future. The goal was to put more police resources closer to the public, but if we can’t decrease the administrative work, there won’t be any change. The police will just sit there and do paperwork instead of being on the ground preventing crime.”
“I’ve heard a lot of people say that things on the ground are working,” Mia said. “On the supervisory level, though, it’s a fucking mess.”
“But we got a new regional boss, anyway,” Henrik said. “Carin Radler.”
“Thanks for reminding me. That doesn’t exactly make me feel less shitty,” Gunnar said.
“Be careful so it doesn’t rub off,” Mia said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Gunnar said. “Everyone already feels shitty, and it’s not so strange when we, who have supervisory positions, who are supposed to make quick decisions every day, aren’t really settled in. In front of my title is the word ‘Acting.’ No one knows who has the authority to make decisions, no one knows what they’re supposed to be doing, or with whom, and so nothing happens. And that’s going on all over the country. There are supervisors who still haven’t received their new job descriptions, so they’re just sitting on the sidelines and watching.”
“So they’re just walking around not really doing anything?” Mia asked.
“That’s about it,” Gunnar said. “It’s the worst for those who are older than fifty. They can’t even be on patrol. They have to guard cells and answer telephones.”
“Yes, I was one of the ones listening with great interest when the implementation committee was going around the country and saying that all of the decisions of the new organization would be understood as far down as possible in the ranks,” Henrik said.
“What are you getting at?” Mia asked.
“That it was a nice thought.”
“A nice thought, yes,” Gunnar said. “But it hasn’t been implemented. All of the decisions come from a central location in Stockholm, and from there it must be terribly difficult to get a feel for the regional conditions. It works just as poorly as I had thought, maybe even worse.”
He fell silent as Anneli walked past in the hallway.
“I know you don’t like to talk about it, but to change the subject,” Henrik said, “may I ask, how are things between you two?”
“Between me and Anneli?”
“Yes.”
“Our relationship is like the Police Authority after the reorganization. It exists in a vacuum.”
Mia laughed.
“So what are you going to do to regain order?” she said.
“Everything rests on finding a new role, and in order to do that, a significant amount of desire is required,” he said.
“I was talking about your relationship.”
“So was I,” he said.
Just then, Henrik’s cell phone began ringing.
“Excuse me,” he said, and left to go down the hallway.
* * *
Philip put the last bite of toast into his mouth and sank back on the sofa. Lina settled in next to him and the two of them watched the morning news on Channel 4, where a panel of entertainment reporters were discussing the participants of Let’s Dance.
Lina reached for the cup of tea on the coffee table, but ended up in a coughing fit.
“Are you okay?” he said, feeling how nice it was to think about something other than work.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m just so terribly tired. Maybe I’m already pregnant.”
“Pregnant?!”
“I’m just joking.”
“That’s nothing to joke about.”
She giggled and kissed him, lifting his arm and laying her body along his.
“I really want this to happen,” she said.
“Me, too,” he said, stroking her hair.
“Just think if we can have a baby. We should have four kids, don�
�t you think?”
“Four? Never!”
“At least three, then!”
“I’d just be happy if we had one,” he said. “Why do you want to have so many kids?”
“Because I love you. I love the thought of having children with you. I love trying to make a baby with you. I would love being pregnant with you. Going through labor next to you...”
“Take it easy now,” he said, pulling his arm from her shoulders. He sat up and felt her gaze on his back.
“Children are the whole purpose in life, aren’t they?” she said, caressing up and down his spine with her fingers.
“Yeah,” he said, getting up.
“Where are you going now?” she asked.
“I have to take care of something...at work,” he said, the worry apparent in his voice.
“You’re always working.”
She sounded disappointed.
“Can’t you stay home?” she continued. “So we can lie here on the couch all day long and snuggle?”
“I can’t. I have to get going,” he said, putting on a pair of pants and a shirt that lay on the floor.
He heard Lina sigh as he left the living room.
“No more sex, then?” she called.
“Not now. Tonight, maybe?”
“Sandra is coming over tonight.”
“Why is that?” he asked, turning around.
“We’re supposed to have dinner with her. Didn’t you remember?”
“Yes, yes,” he said doubtfully. “But you two are always here. Can’t you go to her place for a change?”
“But we’ve already decided that she’s coming here at six thirty. Maybe we’d have time for a quickie before that?”
“Sure,” he said, grabbing his car keys.
* * *
Water dripped from the buildings and gutters.
Jana Berzelius walked with brisk steps toward the police station and focused on her breathing. She had only her briefcase in her hand; she’d left her computer and binders in the car. It didn’t actually matter how much she tried to hide from Danilo, she realized. He had already been snooping around on her cell phone, scrolling through her messages and emails. She shuddered.
Slowly We Die Page 11