The Sandman

‘You shut your mouth,’ the man in the chequered jacket shouts. ‘I’m glad I didn’t stab you, little brother, and—’

‘I want my money,’ the other man calls with a smile.

39 (#ulink_843620cb-7bdc-59f6-b624-d46b64932a78)

There’s a light on in the bathroom when Joona gets home. He opens the door slightly and sees Disa lying in the bath with her eyes closed. She’s surrounded by bubbles and is humming to herself. Her muddy clothes are in a big heap on the bathroom floor.

‘I thought they’d locked you up in prison,’ Disa says. ‘I was all prepared to take over your flat.’

Over the winter Joona has been under investigation by the Prosecution Authority’s national unit for internal investigations, accused of wrecking a long-term surveillance operation and exposing the Security Police rapid-response unit to danger.

‘Apparently I’m guilty,’ he replies, picking her clothes up and putting them in the washing machine.

‘I said that right at the start.’

‘Yes, well …’

Joona’s eyes are suddenly grey as a rainy sky.

‘Is it something else?’

‘A long day,’ he replies, and goes out into the kitchen.

‘Don’t go.’

When he doesn’t come back she climbs out of the bath, dries herself and puts on a thin dressing gown. The beige silk clings to her warm body.

Joona is standing in the kitchen, frying some baby potatoes golden brown when she comes in.

‘What’s happened?’

Joona glances at her.

‘One of Jurek Walter’s victims has come back … he’s been held captive all this time.’

‘So you were right – there was an accomplice.’

‘Yes,’ he sighs.

Disa takes a few steps towards him, then gently rests her palm flat against the small of his back.

‘Can you catch him?’

‘I hope so,’ Joona says seriously. ‘I haven’t had the chance to question the boy properly, he’s in a bad way. But he should be able to lead us there.’

Joona takes the frying pan off the heat, then turns and looks at her.

‘What is it?’ she asks, suddenly looking worried.

‘Disa, you have to say yes to the research project in Brazil.’

‘I’ve told you, I don’t want to go,’ she says quickly, then realises what he means. ‘You can’t think like that. I don’t give a damn about Jurek Walter. I’m not scared, I won’t be governed by fear.’

He gently brushes aside the wet hair that has fallen over her face.

‘Only for a little while,’ he says. ‘Until I get this sorted out.’

She leans against his chest and hears the muffled double beat of his heart.

‘There’s never been anyone but you,’ she says simply. ‘When you stayed with me after your family’s accident, well, that was … you know, that was when I … lost my heart, as they say … but it’s true.’

‘I’m just worried about you.’

She strokes his arm and whispers that she doesn’t want to go. When her voice breaks, he pulls her to him and kisses her.

‘But we’ve seen each other all the way through,’ Disa says, looking up into his face. ‘I mean, if there is an accomplice who’s a threat to us, why hasn’t anything happened? It doesn’t make sense …’

‘I know, I agree, but … I have to do this. I’m going after him, and now is when it’s all happening.’

Disa can feel a sob rising in her throat. She fights it back down and turns her face away. Once she had been Summa’s friend. That was how they met. And when his life fell apart, she was there.

He moved in and stayed with her for a while when things were at their very worst for him.

At night he would sleep on her sofa, and she would hear him moving about, and knew that he knew she was lying awake in the next room. That he was looking at the door to her bedroom and thinking about her lying in there, more and more confused and hurt by how distant he was being, how cold. Until one night he got up, got dressed and left her flat.

‘I’m staying,’ Disa whispers, wiping the tears from her face.

‘You have to go.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I love you,’ he says. ‘You must know that …’

‘Do you really think I’d go now?’ she asks with a broad smile.

40 (#ulink_7b29e4db-b28a-56cd-87df-949306108d45)

Jurek Walter is visible on one of the nine squares of the huge monitor. Like a caged beast he is pacing the dayroom, walking round the sofa, then turning left and going past the television. He goes round the running machine, turns left again and goes back into his room.

Anders Rönn watches him from above on another of the screens, as well as on the other monitor.

Jurek washes his face, then sits down on the plastic chair without drying himself. He stares at the door to the corridor as the water drips onto his shirt and dries.

My is sitting in the operator’s chair. She checks the time, waits another thirty seconds, looks at Jurek, makes a note of the zone on the computer, and locks the door to the dayroom.

‘He’s getting faggots this evening … he likes that,’ she says.

‘He does?’