‘Then she’ll be face-to-face with the real problem. Let’s just say it’s in her best interest to sleep a little while longer.’
‘What kind of problem?’
‘What you should be devoting your resources to instead of hunting for me.’
Fabian turned on to Pontonjärgatan and saw the ambulance. ‘You’ve murdered at least four people, who admittedly had questionable morals, but from a legal standpoint they haven’t committed crimes that are even close to what you’ve done.’
‘What law? In Sweden it’s a crime to buy a stolen bicycle but okay to transplant a stolen organ.’
Fabian opened the car door, let the engine idle and crossed the street towards the ambulance, while he unbuttoned his shoulder holster and pulled out his pistol. ‘They haven’t kidnapped, tortured or killed anyone.’
‘Maybe not with their own hands, but their money made sure that Efraim’s body was cut up from the top down. He was violated and emptied of all life. The only thing that was his, besides me, went to the highest bidder.’
Fabian came up to the driver’s compartment of the ambulance and saw that it was empty. ‘I agree it’s disgusting, and I can understand if you’re—’
‘You don’t understand anything. You never will.’
He went round to the back of the ambulance. ‘And why shouldn’t I understand?’ He tore open the back door and aimed his pistol into the darkness.
‘Because you have never loved anyone that much.’
The two ambulance drivers were lying lifeless on the floor with something glowing on the stretcher between them.
‘You never seem to have loved anyone at all. Good luck with your promise.’
She ended the call and Fabian climbed into the ambulance. Both men had a pulse and were breathing, and the glowing object on the stretcher was a cell phone.
Malin’s cell phone.
He picked it up and studied it while he called for another ambulance. Suddenly Malin’s phone vibrated in his hand. He read the message.
Nobelparken.
He didn’t need any other information. Fabian understood exactly what it meant.
111
MALIN REHNBERG SCREAMED OUT loud in the darkness as she woke up, and only managed to calm down once she realized she was alone. Confused and uncertain, she tried to review what had happened. The last thing she remembered was lying on the hospital floor, fighting for her life with the cleaning woman, who turned out to be the perpetrator. She recalled her fall from the bed and how she had struck her hip so hard that she was forced to crawl to the door. Now she was lying in a hospital bed once again, but this time in a different model; it appeared to be brand new with plastic around the side handles.
The room felt similar. Even though it was so dark that she couldn’t see a thing, she realized that it was smaller than the room at Stockholm South General. It even sounded different when she screamed. Plus, she sensed there was a wall along one side of her and there was only a wall at the head of the bed in the old room. But most of all, it was the smell that made her certain that she had not only been moved to a different room, but that she was somewhere else entirely.
And then, of course, there were the straps that made it impossible for her to move. They were tightened from her feet all the way up over her chest. The more she thought about it, the closer she was to panicking and she had to force herself not to waste her energy on screaming. Instead it was crucial to think creatively and be observant of details. She noted, for example, that the pressure from the straps eased a bit when she exhaled. Ten minutes later, she’d been able to wriggle both her arms out.
But the joy over that partial victory ended abruptly once the kick hit her ribcage on her right side. She couldn’t figure out what it was, but after the third kick she remembered that she was pregnant with twins. How could she have forgotten? What kind of drugs had they pumped into her? She put her hands on her stomach and felt movement on the right side. The left was quiet, a little too quiet.
She had to get out of there as quickly as possible to get help. She tried to loosen the straps, but couldn’t find any knots or buckles. She extended her left arm to search the wall with her hand, but she didn’t find any switches, breakers or anything else that could be pressed. Then again, she did notice that the bed moved a little each time she pressed her hand against the wall.
So the brake was not on.
She put her left hand against the wall and pushed off with full force. The bed moved at least several metres through the darkness before hitting the opposite wall. After feeling around with her hands, she finally found the panel she’d been searching for that was filled with controls, taps and buttons to push.
The light flickered on. Just as she’d suspected, everything in the room was brand new. The protective plastic was still on in several places and there were signs on the wall around the door indicating that it was freshly painted. The drip bag hanging on her bed was empty, so she pulled the cannula out of the crook of her arm and pressed in with her thumb to stop the blood.
There was an Internet port and phone outlet on the panel above her, but she couldn’t see a computer or phone. She pulled herself over towards a wall cabinet where she found a supply of compression bandages, tape and various pairs of scissors. She took the sturdiest one and started cutting strip after strip.
When she was finished she tried to get out of bed, but had to give up. The pain in her hip was still so intense that the joint felt like it was moving around freely as soon as she tried to move. Instead she had to keep using the bed as if it was a canoe, pulling herself over towards the door.
The built-in spotlights in the ceiling turned on, revealing that she was in a broad corridor with doors along both sides. Presumably they led to rooms similar to the one she’d just been in. There were even signs saying that these doorframes had been freshly painted, too.
She’d already understood that she was in a hospital. But which one? A private clinic? And if that was the case, why was no one else here? Actually, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered other than getting out of there as fast as possible.
Without no idea which direction the exit was in, she chose to go right and started pulling herself along the wall towards some double doors at one end of the corridor. She pulled on the cord, which opened the doors, before continuing in. The spotlights woke up in time with her movement and shone down on dazzlingly smooth surgical tables under large ceiling lamps. She saw a number of different instruments attached to cables and hoses and shiny round metal tables filled with various surgical tools. The operating room looked so new, she wondered whether it had ever been used.
Desperate to find something to communicate with, she made her way over to a counter with cabinets and drawers. Suddenly she heard agitated voices coming from the corridor she’d just left. She looked around for somewhere to hide, and noticed an open door opposite her.
‘Didn’t you see the car outside? And why do you think the lights are on? Ghosts?’ one of the voices said as they got closer.
Malin pushed away from the surgical table with all the force she could muster and rolled off in the direction of the half-open door. But before she got there the doors behind her opened and three men came storming in and stopped when they caught sight of her.
‘What did I say?’ the man in the middle declared, pointing at Malin.
The expressions of the other two men did not change.
‘Excuse me, but who are you and what are you doing here?’ said the man with a strong accent, pulling his fingers through his grey hair.
‘My name is Malin Rehnberg and I work at the National Bureau of Criminal Investigation here in Stockholm,’ said Malin, thinking that she recognized the man. ‘I have no idea why I’m here. I don’t know even know where “here” is. But maybe you can help me with that and get me home.’
‘Bureau of Criminal Investigation, you say?’ The man came nearer to her.
‘Homicide investigator.’
‘I understand.
’ The man nodded. ‘Unfortunately, I can’t help you.’ He looked at the other two men. ‘Take her to room three.’
‘What do you mean? Okay, if this is a secret location, I won’t tell anyone. Just let me go home.’
‘I’m terribly sorry.’
As the two men rolled her away, she realized where she recognized the man from.
112
THE SNOWSTORM HAD PICKED up even more, and by the time Fabian passed Sergels torg a few minutes past midnight he couldn’t even see the glass obelisk despite the millions that had been invested to make it light up. The message from Aisha Shahin said Nobelparken, and he had understood what it meant immediately.
It was the location of the new Israeli Embassy.
He’d read about the neighbourhood protests and how the final political decision had still not been made, but just as Carnela Ackerman had hinted, no one really anticipated that it would be rejected and it seemed that the move was already in full swing. He actually knew the charming building well. The Swedish Forestry Institute had formerly been housed there and he had walked past it countless times with Sonja back when they still held hands.
En route he’d contacted Tomas and Jarmo who would join him as soon as they could. It was possible they were already there. Although they had been at Stockholm South General and had a longer way to go than him, they had both the Söderleden freeway and Centralbron at their disposal and could avoid countless traffic lights and intersections.
He passed the Royal Motorboat Club at the far end of Strandvägen, followed the curve to the left and turned off the car lights before turning right up the hill and stopping the car. He had initially wanted to park further away in order to quietly explore the place on foot, but Malin could regain consciousness at any moment, if she hadn’t already done so. And even though he had no idea what awaited her at that time, the mere thought frightened him more than he could bear.
He continued up towards the building, which resembled a fortress with a tower in one corner. There were piles of building material wrapped in tarps that were flapping in the wind all over the place. He couldn’t see Jarmo and Tomas’ car anywhere. Although he could hear a car picking up speed on the curve down on Strandvägen. When he turned around he saw its headlights turn up the hill and shine straight into the thousands of snowflakes that reflected the light in all directions.
He barely had time to formulate the question of why the hell they didn’t turn off their lights and stop, before he realized the answer: it wasn’t Jarmo and Tomas at all. Instinctively he threw himself down into the snow, and crawled on all fours behind a pile of boards. The headlights lowered and the car turned in and stopped in the courtyard only a few metres from him. He heard the sound of doors being opened and closed and thought it sounded like there were three of them, but it was impossible to hear exactly what was said.
‘No, no, no, listen to me. The car down there…’
He didn’t recognize the voice, but he made an educated guess that it was Gidon Hass – the man right below Aisha Shahin on the list of persons he wanted to arrest.
‘… Alarm doesn’t go off by itself…’
The voices trailed off and Fabian saw them disappear through a door into the building. He got up and hurried over but it was locked, so he went around the back of the building where most of the façade was covered by scaffolding. No lights were on in any of the first- or second-floor windows, so they had to be somewhere in the basement.
Fabian managed to make his way up along one of the scaffolding posts without gloves or real winter boots. Once he had reached the second floor, the gusts of wind were so strong that the snowflakes stuck to his face like nails. At last he was able to break a window and make his way into an unfurnished room that was full of paint cans and brushes. Using his phone as a flashlight, he hurried out.
After walking through a long hall, he took a wide staircase down to the first floor, where the renovation seemed to have stopped. The floor was torn up and loose cables were hanging from the ceiling. After some searching he found a narrow spiral staircase that led to the basement level. He continued through a thin corridor that had protective paper on the floor and smelled of fresh paint. Every five metres or so, he stopped and listened. The third time he heard them.
The footsteps were getting louder and louder.
He turned off his phone, and groped his way forward with his hands along one wall until he came to a door. He slipped in as quietly as possible, but it was too late: his movement had triggered the spotlights that bathed the room in light a few seconds later.
But that wasn’t the worst part. The room, which looked so new and shining, had been used not that long ago. He walked towards the operating table. It had been wiped off, to be sure, but in haste. There were traces of blood on the underside of the tabletop and on one of the legs. When he lifted the perforated cover of the floor drain a metre or so from the operating table and put his hand down in the dark water of the trap, he fished up large coagulated clumps of blood, pieces of cartilage and strands of hair.
He stood up and caught sight of a heap of tied-up black garbage bags beside a door that stood ajar into an adjacent room. He suspected what was in them, but was unsure whether he could stand opening them and looking in.
He took a few steps towards the pile and pictured himself walking up to the house in Enskede and ringing the doorbell. Anders would answer, and Fabian could immediately see in his eyes that he understood what had happened and would break down in front of him. He expected that Anders would start screaming and become aggressive, but instead he collapsed with one hand in front of his mouth. Fabian got down on his knees and could do nothing except hold him.
He untied one of the garbage bags and saw two severed arms and a foot. Parts of the legs were in one of the other bags. But it was only in the fifth that he found what he was looking for.
It was Carnela Ackerman’s head.
His reaction made him feel guilty, but he couldn’t help it. He was relieved that it wasn’t too late. There was still a chance.
113
MALIN REHNBERG KICKED AS hard as she could to get their hands away from her while she waved her arms and screamed. It wasn’t because of the pain in her hip, which was now so severe that she was about to faint. She was screaming for her life, even though she knew it was pointless and that she would never be able to get away. The two men’s hands were much too strong. Before long they would hold her so tightly that all she could do was scream.
Only then did the grey-haired man, who she surmised was none other than Gidon Hass, come towards her. ‘This is going to make you feel a little better,’ he said in broken Swedish, holding up a syringe.
Malin made a final attempt to get out of their hold, but her strength was used up. Drops of sweat were now running from her forehead in a steady stream.
‘Turn her around.’
The two men, who still hadn’t said a word, rolled her over on her side with her back turned towards Hass. She couldn’t feel the needle prick, but the effect hit her almost immediately. The muscles in her body relaxed and the pain finally subsided. For the first time since she woke up she wasn’t in agony.
‘Admit it. Isn’t that better?’
She was about to nod, but forced herself not to. Agreement was the last thing she wanted to give him. ‘I want to go home now. Do you understand me? I have to leave.’
Hass burst into laughter. ‘She thinks she can leave.’
The others started laughing too, while they tied up her feet and hands with new straps.
‘What the hell do you want from me?’
‘Leave her with me and start searching the building.’
The two men nodded and left the room.
‘What do I want?’ He put his hand on his chest. ‘You’re the one who’s intruding here.’
‘I have no idea where the hell I am. Please.’ She held back tears.
‘We’ve already been through this. I want you to tell me whether there’s anyone else he
re, or if that’s your car parked out there.’
‘I told you that I don’t know. I was at Stockholm South General and the cleaning woman attacked me.’
‘The cleaning woman?’
‘Yes, I had just realized that she was the perpetrator in the investigation that I—’ Malin interrupted herself. Suddenly she understood how it fitted together. ‘Am I at the embassy?’
The man nodded curtly. ‘Now perhaps you understand why you can’t go home.’ Hass turned his back to her and went to retrieve something.
‘But wait. You can’t just—’
‘That’s exactly what I can do.’ He turned around with a smile and another syringe in hand. ‘You should be grateful. You’re going to fall asleep and won’t even have time to realize that it’s over.’
‘But the babies?’ She could no longer fight the tears. ‘I am actually pregnant with twins.’
Hass came up and placed one hand on her stomach. ‘You were pregnant with twins. One has already given up. Haven’t you noticed it? Here we have life.’ He placed his hand on the right side of her stomach and then on the left. ‘And here, not so much. But what does that matter now? Soon you’re all going to be reunited anyway.’
All she could think as he set down the syringe and tightened a strap around her upper arm was that this wasn’t the way it was supposed to end. She was completely defenceless and pregnant. What had she done to deserve this?
‘I’ve found a suitable vein,’ he said, picking up the syringe again.
‘Wait. Please, wait. You have to tell Anders, my husband, that I love him more than ever. I haven’t said that in a very long time, but promise me that. Please, you have to promise.’
‘Your husband will never hear from us and he’ll never find out what happened. You suddenly disappeared one night and never came back. Of course, he’s going to have theories about this or that, but he’ll never get close to the truth. Over the years he’s going to think less and less about it and get on with his life, maybe with another woman. Who knows, maybe even with twins to top it off.’
The Ninth Grave Page 45