Night Rounds

Chapter 16

FOR ONCE IRENE arrived home before the twins. On Thursdays they didn’t come home until six in the evening, because they both had basketball practice right after school. Irene found a wonderfully aromatic chicken stew in the refrigerator, which Krister had made the night before. She only had to use her culinary skills to put the rice up to boil.

Still, she had to check one thing before the girls came home. She took the stairs two at a time to Jenny’s room. The poster roll was still under the bed. Not that it made things easier, but it could be a starting point for a discussion.

And maybe it would have been, if Jenny and Katarina hadn’t come in through the front door at that moment.

“Things are going down. They call it ‘direct action.’ These are great guys who know what they stand for. Not meek weaklings who are all talk and no fight. And they’re feminists, too. They think women and men are equal. That kind of stuff.”

Jenny’s voice was crystal clear to Irene as she stood there in her daughter’s bedroom. Without knowing exactly why, she swiftly crossed the hall to her own room. Sammie made a tumult downstairs greeting the twins, and it overrode the girls’ voices. Irene quietly pulled her door almost shut, leaving a small crack in order to listen and look out.

“How nice of them,” Katarina said sarcastically. “And if we weren’t, would we even be protected under their animal-rights legislation? Or would we be of less value than a hamster?”

“God, you’re so mean. It’s great that they’re on our side.”

“On our side. As long as we agree with them, sure. Just try stating your own opinion and they’d kick you out quicker than you could say jackrabbit.”

“No they wouldn’t. I can say what I believe. There’s a lot of girls in our group. We can say what we want. And it’s not a problem, because we all agree anyway.”

Angry stomping on the stairs followed Jenny up to her room. Irene heard her messing around for a while, before she stomped back down. From the kitchen came the familiar sound of the refrigerator door opening.

“Did you drink all the apple juice?” howled Jenny.

“There was just a little bit left.”

“How damned considerate. You know I don’t drink milk.”

“Fucking ex-cuse me.”

The tone as well as the language were so horrendous that Irene fantasized going downstairs to tell them to wash their mouths out with soap so their tongues wouldn’t turn black and fall off. Then she heard Jenny say, “You’re just mad that I’m actually doing something to change the world. This evening we’re going to—”

Jenny stopped talking, and Irene froze.

“So what’s your big plan?” Katarina scoffed.

“Direct action.”

A moment of silence. Finally Katarina said, “What do you have there?”

“None of your business.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Irene peeked down the stairs and saw Katarina head toward the bathroom door in a rage. Katarina slammed the door and locked it dramatically. At the counter, Jenny was drinking a glass of water, the poster roll jammed up under her left arm. She held a tomato sandwich in the other hand. She had her jacket on. Then she headed for the door, opened it, and left.

The second the door closed behind Jenny, Irene shot down the stairs. Without making a sound, she pulled on her jacked and slipped out after her daughter.

It was dark and below freezing outside. Irene saw Jenny in the light of a street lamp and realized she was heading for the bus stop. Irene whirled back toward the garage and got into her car. She drove slowly toward the bus stop and parked the car in the darkness between two streetlights a short distance away. As she turned off the motor, she saw Jenny appear by the bus shelter. A few minutes later, the bus arrived, and Jenny climbed aboard. Irene followed at a distance.

Jenny got off the bus at the Frölunda Square stop. She started to walk toward one of the apartment buildings. Irene was distracted as she parked the car and paid the fee. She lost sight of Jenny. She knew only the building Jenny had entered, but not which entrance she’d used.

Irene cursed her own idiocy. What would it matter if she’d gotten a parking ticket? Now she had to sit and wait, since there was nothing else she could do. As she waited, she took out her cell phone and called Katarina.

“Hi, sweetheart. I’m going to be a little late this evening. There’s chicken stew in the fridge. Could you boil some rice and throw together a salad? … Oh, so you already had a sandwich, I see.… But maybe you’ll want some dinner once I get home.… All right. I understand. Could you at least take Sammie out for his walk before you head over to Anna’s? … Okay, thanks. Be home by ten. School tomorrow. Bye, now.”

Irene hung up and prepared to wait for Jenny to reappear. She waited a long time.

Her car was freezing cold, and it was almost nine in the evening when she saw her daughter again. Jenny was not alone. She was in the middle of a gang of six people; it was hard to say whether they were girls or boys. All of them wore hoodies that shadowed their faces. The young people headed over to an old Volvo 240. It was hard to tell its true color under the predominant color of rust. It was a real clunker. Irene had almost wanted to go see if its inspection was current when she’d first caught sight of it. One of the taller people, who Irene assumed was a boy, opened the trunk. He searched for something, then pulled it out and handed it to Jenny. Jenny took off her jacket in spite of the cold weather to put on this new article of clothing. Irene had a chill down her spine when she saw that it was a hoodie, too. Jenny pulled the string on the hood so that little could be seen of her face. Now she looked like all the others.

The whole gang hopped into the car. It protested loudly at being started, but finally it began to move. The thick exhaust made it impossible for the kids to see Irene following them. She could have been only five yards behind them and they wouldn’t have seen her through the smoke. Nevertheless, she kept her distance.

The car turned onto Radiovägen and headed toward the suburb of Mölndal. Irene had no difficulty following them, since the Volvo could hardly go more than forty-five miles an hour. Its engine sounded like an old sewing machine set at zigzag.

They passed the Radiomot and kept going until, to Irene’s surprise, the car signaled a left turn. The car drove up Viktor Hasselblads Gata. Irene dropped back a little more, since there was not much traffic here at this hour. The rusty clunker slowed even further and began to creep along the road. What were they up to? Irene’s worst suspicions were confirmed when the car turned off onto a small side street. She hit the gas and went on past. She was able to see the neon sign reading NISSE’S MEAT AND DELI.

Irene switched off her headlights as she turned down a neighboring side street. She got out of the car as quietly as possible and closed the door carefully. She decided to head back via the roads behind the industry buildings along Viktor Hasselblads Gata. It would have been much easier to walk down the main street, but she was sure the gang would have assigned someone to keep watch.

It wasn’t easy to find her way among the confusion of side streets. Finally she was able to recognize the back side of the neon sign for Nisse’s Deli. A high fence surrounded the large parking lot behind the building, but at the corner there was a clump of bushes that would provide a good hiding place.

Irene peeked out between the branches. All she could make out were three parked refrigerator trucks. The back of the building and the loading dock near it were brightly lit. She figured that the distance between the dock and the trucks was about five yards. Everything appeared calm and silent, except for a repeated metallic snipping sound. Someone was cutting through the chain-link fence. Then she saw five dark silhouettes moving into the lot next to the trucks. She’d been right. One of them was standing watch.

Slowly, she moved closer to the fence. She had a good guess where the hole had been made and gingerly felt along the fence until she found the cut-open space. She passed through carefully and took cover in the darkness at the side of the building.

The group of shadowy figures was gathered just out of range of the light near the front of the closest truck. The tallest one lifted his arm over his head and measured a blow with the heavy pliers. The memory of a different set of wire cutters sprang into Irene’s head.

She fished out her cell phone, and at the same time as she heard the shattering of glass, she called emergency services, 112. As the wick of the gasoline bomb caught fire, she reached someone on the other end.

“Firebombing of a refrigerator truck. Militant vegans. Högsbo industrial area, Viktor Hasselblads Gata. Nisse’s Meat and Deli. The activists are driving an old, rusty Volvo 240. License number N—”

She was so concentrated on the fire breaking out that she didn’t notice someone creeping up behind her. Just before everything went dark, she thought she heard Jenny’s horrified scream: “Mama!”

IRENE CAME TO a few moments later. She heard running footsteps across the asphalt and the slamming of a car door. In spite of her ambivalent prayer to the contrary, the car’s motor started right up. Her skull throbbed, and she felt extremely nauseous. With great difficulty she lifted her head to look around. She saw a flamenco dance of flames before her eyes and felt the heat on her face. When the world finally stopped spinning, she saw that the truck was burning. It took her a few more seconds before she heard the sobbing. Irene slowly turned to look behind her and saw a huddled figure she intuitively knew was Jenny. She began to crawl toward her daughter. She didn’t dare stand. She feared she’d pass out if she did.

Jenny didn’t appear to be hurt, although she was down on the ground. Her entire body was shaking from sobs. Or perhaps from the cold. To her surprise, Irene realized that Jenny wasn’t wearing any coat, not even the awful hoodie. Which Irene was glad to see. But now she had on only a T-shirt. Her skin was ice-cold when Irene reached her and stroked her arm with a shaking hand. “There, there, sweetheart,” she said. “Come on, let’s get out of here before my cronies get here.”

Jenny swallowed her sobs and nodded. Shakily, she stood up and tried to help her mother, but Irene was unable to stand.

“I’ll just crawl for a bit,” Irene said.

As quickly as she could, she made her way to the opening in the fence. It was easy to find now in the light of the blaze. She used the fence to help her get to her feet. Extremely slowly, she headed toward the bushes in the corner. They could hear police sirens coming closer. The moment the first flash of blue light appeared, Irene ducked behind the bushes and pulled Jenny after her. She wrapped her arms around her daughter to both keep her warm and comfort her. They sat stock-still.

They heard the slam of a car door and footsteps on the asphalt.

“Damn, it’s locked. We have to pull the alarm—Wait, is that a car from the security company? Hey there, guys! I’m glad you’re here. The fire truck will be here any second. Hurry and open the fence.”

Now or never. The activity around the fence and the approach of the fire truck distracted the policemen and firemen just enough so that Irene and Jenny could sneak away. Irene supported herself with a hard grip on Jenny’s shoulder, and they headed together toward the tiny side street.

Step by step they wobbled toward the car. Irene felt that they had walked for miles, even though it was hardly a hundred yards. She was no longer dizzy, but she felt weak and shaky. Her clothes clung to her body with sweat.

Before she opened the car door, she thoroughly wiped the cell phone on her sweater and then, with all her remaining strength, threw it into a clump of rhododendrons nearby. It would lie there undiscovered for a long time, if she were lucky.

She fumbled with the lock on her car door and sank down into the driver’s seat. She unlocked the passenger door for Jenny, whose teeth were chattering from cold. Irene took off her leather jacket and gave it to Jenny. Her daughter began to cry softly again but pulled herself together enough to put the jacket on. Her voice trembled as she said, “Mama … I thought … we were just going to put up … some posters.… Not set … a car on fire. And he … hit you! I saw it.… I screamed.…”

Now Jenny dissolved into violent sobs. Irene started the car and carefully backed onto the main road. She began to drive away, well under the speed limit but putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the burning truck.

Jenny blew her nose and dried her face with the cloth Irene kept in the glove compartment. Irene used the cloth to wipe the insides of the windows when they fogged up, so it was not the cleanest. Jenny’s face now looked as if she’d put on camouflage makeup. Irene decided not to mention it and asked instead, “What happened to you?”

Jenny blew her nose again into the cloth and tried to control her voice. “When Tobi—one of the guys—realized that you were … you were my mom … he called me a traitor and slapped me on the cheek and demanded the hoodie back.”

Irene glanced at Jenny and realized that the red in her face was not just from crying. There was a sharp mark just at the line of Jenny’s cheekbone that would certainly blossom into a black bruise.

Irene drove back toward Frölunda Square. As she entered the square, she was happy to see that a police car and a police bus, blue lights flashing, were parked next to the ancient Volvo 240.

IT WAS EXACTLY 10:00 P.M. when Irene and Jenny opened the door to their house. Irene was relieved that Katarina was not yet home. Irene’s rattled brain was beginning to clear and she’d started to make a plan. She turned to her daughter, who looked forlorn and frozen, and said, “Hurry up and take a shower. Use steaming-hot water. Then go right to bed and pretend you’re asleep. Do not talk to Katarina. I’ll bring you a sandwich in a minute.”

Jenny nodded and hurried upstairs. Irene hopped into the downstairs shower. She threw her dirty clothes directly into the laundry. Then she called her colleagues in Frölunda to report her telephone stolen. She said she believed it had been stolen while she was shopping, around six that evening. Her voice didn’t tremble and the other officer promised to cut service to her number.

Fifteen minutes later she went up to Jenny’s room with a lettuce-and-tomato sandwich on a plate and a mug of hot tea. At the last moment, she’d remembered not to add honey. Jenny was just coming out of the bathroom in her thickest flannel pajamas, the ones she’d gotten for the ski trip to Värmland. She snuggled down into her sheets as Irene sat on the edge of the bed.

Irene said, “We won’t mention this to anyone, not even Papa or Katarina. No one at all.”

Jenny’s eyes were red from crying, and the mark on her cheek was beginning to take on a purplish hue. She nodded without saying anything.

“We’re going to say that you hit your face on the railing of a stairway and that gave you the bruise.” Irene considered. “You left your jacket in the trunk of that Volvo. Is there anything in the pockets that could lead to you?”

Jenny thought for a moment and shook her head. “I had my wallet in my jeans, and my keys, too. It was an old jacket, and I’d just washed it, so I’d taken everything out of the pockets. They … they said to wear dark clothing. So we wouldn’t be seen. I thought we were going to hang … those posters.”

“I know, sweetheart. But it’s worked out okay. Everything’s fine now. Just promise me you’ll never get in touch with them again. Do you think they might turn you in?”

Jenny shook her head violently. “We never talk to the pigs. Never!”

The mother pig smiled and stroked her militant daughter’s face above the bruise now turning blue.

IRENE WAS IN bed when she heard Katarina sneak in through the front door. She heard Katarina try to muffle Sammie’s joyful barks, hissing, “Shh, Sammie. You’ll wake them all up. Stop.”

The sounds of careful tiptoeing up the stairs. Irene closed her eyes and pretended to sleep as her daughter peeked through Irene’s half-open bedroom door. She must have put on a good act, because Katarina slowly closed the door and slipped into the bathroom. Irene glanced at the clock on her nightstand: 23:08.

Katarina ran water from the faucet, flushed the toilet, and then crossed through the television room to go to her bedroom.

Irene lay for a long time and stared into the darkness. It did not feel right to have secrets from the family. But right now Krister was under tremendous pressure at work. He didn’t need to know about this latest adventure. Perhaps this would be the end of Jenny’s foray into the animal-rights movement. She could be a vegan as much as she wanted, which would be enough of an irritant for her father. This just wasn’t necessary for him to know.

A new worry began to rattle around in her brain. Why was Katarina out so late? Of course, the girls were in the last year of their basic schooling and would be fifteen next month, but coming home after 11:00 P.M. on a normal weeknight was much too late. Perhaps she hadn’t even been at Anna’s house at all. What was she up to? Did she have a boyfriend? Irene was wide awake now and imagining one scenario after the other. Had she warned the girls enough about HIV and using condoms under any circumstance? Had she talked to them about other sexually transmitted diseases? What kind of birth control would be best for fifteen-year-old girls? Finally she calmed herself down. She would have to trust her daughters a bit. They probably knew more about all this than she did. But she would make sure to have another chat with them anyway.

Perhaps it was a good thing that Katarina had come home late. Nothing need be brought up about what had gone on this evening. They all seemed to have their own little secrets.

• • •

THE EVENING MOVIE on Channel 5 was over. Siv Persson felt content and even somewhat tired. The movie had been a romantic comedy, not one of those unpleasantly graphic mysteries with all those deaths and murders. Nothing to remind her of the previous week. She’d come out of that fairly well, she thought. Her anxiety was no longer so bad, and there were even stretches of time when she hardly thought about the hospital at all. Now she’d do her best to relax in the days before her cataract surgery.

The memories of that terrible night were still vivid, especially when she tried to fall asleep. Then the images became as sharp as those on her big-screen TV. Cold moonlight. The tall blond woman in the nurse’s uniform, her face turned away. Then the woman began to turn her face back.… Siv shut down the memory as quickly as she could.

She got up to go into the kitchen. It was almost eleven in the evening and time to get her medicine ready. She usually put the tablet into an egg cup and brought the cup and a glass of water to her nightstand. Now that she could no longer read before sleeping, she had taken up the habit of listening to the music on the radio’s Channel 2. At midnight she’d take her medicine. Then she’d be able to sleep until eight.

Siv Persson had just put her little white pill in the porcelain cup when she heard a soft knocking at the door. At first she doubted her ears and stood still in the kitchen with the open bottle in her hand. A moment later the knock repeated, just as quietly as before. Her heart began to thud, and she felt her fear grow. She heard the male policeman’s voice inside her head: You are now the only surviving witness. This is a dangerous killer.

Whoever would knock on the door at this time of night? She certainly wasn’t expecting visitors.

Her mouth was dry, and her tongue stuck to her teeth. She could hardly breathe. Screaming would not help, and she wouldn’t have been able to make a sound anyway. Who could she call for help? She hardly knew the neighbors. They’d exchange greetings when they ran into each other on the stairs, but that was it. The police? They already thought she was crazy. She walked to her door quietly and looked through the peephole.

Empty. No one was on the other side. She almost laughed out loud from relief, but her laugh lodged in her throat. Even if she didn’t see well, there was nothing wrong with her hearing. The sound out there was barely audible, detectable only by someone whose senses were on high alert. Clothes rustling. Someone was pressed next to the wall beside her door. Someone was hoping that she’d open it.

Her heart leaped, and her ears hummed. Don’t faint! Don’t faint! she told herself as she took deep breaths. She tried to calm down. Her door was sturdy and equipped with dead-bolt locks. She’d locked them all, even with the risk of being caught inside in case of fire. She’d been doing this ever since Marianne Svärd had been killed.

Her pulse had calmed somewhat when she noticed that the lid of the mail slot was slowly opening. There was a slight creak. To her horror, Siv realized that the killer could probably see her ankles and her feet. She quickly moved back. Slowly, the lid closed again. Hasty footsteps away from the door clicked toward the stairs. At first Siv Persson stood paralyzed, but once she heard the footsteps in the stairwell, she rushed to the peephole.

She caught a glimpse of a black hat with its brim turned down. Underneath the hat she could see blond hair.