The Asylum

Jan couldn’t see much of the forest in the darkness, but he was surrounded by all the sounds of the countryside at night. His boots scuffed rhythmically over rocks and gravel, the night breeze soughed in the fir trees, an owl hooted down by the lake. And the drums kept on beating, but that was just inside his head.

It was almost half past nine and he was on his way out of the narrow ravine. The hillside looming up on his left was no more than a black, shapeless lump, but Jan had found his way easily.

He reached the path down below the bunker a few minutes later; he stopped and listened intently. He couldn’t hear any shouting or crying.

He crept up the slope like a cat, silent and wary. When he reached the steel door he lifted away the branches, placed his ear to the metal surface and listened again. Not a sound.

Slowly he drew back the bolts, opened the door and looked in. He heard nothing, felt nothing. It was neither hot nor cold inside the bunker.

Nor was there the smell of fear.

Jan held his breath. Nothing was moving, but in the stillness he could just make out the faint sound of someone breathing.

He tiptoed inside. Slowly and carefully he took out his mobile and switched it on so that a weak white light illuminated the bunker. Roboman was in the middle of the floor, switched on, its little lights flashing away. Jan noticed a couple of empty drinks cartons in one corner, along with open packets of sweets and crumpled sandwich wrappers.

That was good; William had eaten and drunk during the evening. And if he had needed to pee, there was the bucket Jan had placed at the far end of the room.

A little body was lying on the mattress: William. He was moving very slightly in his sleep. At some point during the evening he must have felt tired, and settled down next to the wall. He was now sleeping peacefully beneath a thick layer of blankets.

Jan crept across the room, took the bucket outside and emptied it a few metres away. Then he went back inside and lay down on his back to listen to William’s breathing.

At this particular moment Jan felt a fantastic sense of calm suffusing his body. He felt victorious, almost happy that everything had worked out so well today. William had been lured away and locked up, but no harm whatsoever had come to him.

Jan could do this, no problem. Forty-six hours would soon pass.

William’s parents were in the worst position; Jan knew they would be suffering agonies right now. Anxiety would have turned into fear, then into sheer terror. They wouldn’t sleep tonight, not for one minute.

Jan sighed and closed his eyes. All was well in the forest.

He would just lie here for a while and keep watch over William, even though he was under no obligation to do so — no adult had kept watch over Jan when he’d been locked up.

33

Jan takes short steps through the basement of St Patricia’s, stopping frequently, like an explorer in an unfamiliar system of caves. Slowly he gropes his way through dark rooms and corridors turning this way and that, his only support a small torch. The Angel in his right hand has not gone out yet, but the light is growing weaker all the time.

The room he came to first doesn’t appear to have any other exits, so he turns back and continues down the corridor. It bends to the right after a few metres, then right again, then left and into another big room with tiled walls and floor. Something crunches beneath his shoes: there is broken glass on the floor.

The Dell seems far away right now; a part of him longs to turn around and head back to the familiarity of the safe room. But instead he keeps on going.

The darkness around him remains silent, which is reassuring.

Jan can see four black doorways leading out of this large, tiled room. He walks over and shines his torch through them one by one, but beyond each opening there is only a dusty passageway leading to a rusty metal door. He decides to ignore three of these passageways, but there is less dust on the floor of the fourth, as if someone has walked on it fairly recently. The door also looks less rusty, so he turns the handle.

Behind it is another corridor, lined with a series of doorways. He peers into the first opening and sees a small, bare room with an old iron bed, but no mattress. When he steps inside and holds up the Angel, he can just make out faded and yellowing postcards pinned to the walls, and some illegible graffiti. It seems to be an old sick room, or a cell.

Jan remembers the Black Hole at the Unit, and quickly backs out.

He glances into each cell, but sees only more bare walls and old iron beds. His steps are getting shorter and shorter. He has never been particularly afraid of the dark, but he is beginning to feel more and more alone down here. The doorways gape at him like black mouths, ready to swallow him up. Are they really empty?

Eventually he switches the Angel’s transmitter back on. ‘I’ve gone further into the basement,’ he begins, ‘but I don’t think this area is in use any more. The lights don’t work.’

The Angel in his hand is silent, but he hopes Hanna is listening.

‘OK, I think I’m going to turn back soon...’

Then he stops; he doesn’t feel entirely comfortable with the idea of talking down here. With each word he utters, the sense that someone is listening grows stronger. Attentive ears, lurking somewhere in the darkness.

‘See you soon,’ he whispers, hoping once more that Hanna can hear him before he switches off the transmitter.

The corridor takes a sharp turn, and he edges along it. It leads to yet another large tiled room with steel benches and white plastic curtains; is this a different room, or has he been here already?

Just keep walking. One step, then two, three, four...

Jan had been a little bit scared of encountering rats when he crawled out from under the floor, but now he realizes that he is in fact the rat. He is the one who daren’t let out a squeak as he cautiously moves across the concrete floor, alert to the slightest sound.

In the big room the shadows gather around him. Fear of the dark begins to creep up on him, so he turns to the right and tries to stick close to the wall.

At first glance these rooms also look as if they have been closed up for many years, but gradually Jan begins to discover signs of more recent visits. On a wooden shelf beside some dark-glass containers, he sees a rolled-up football programme from a local match, and when he opens it up he finds it is from the previous season.

There is more graffiti on the walls, in black felt-tip pen. Just below the ceiling someone has scrawled JESUS SAVE ME IN THY BLOOD, and on another wall nearer the floor are the words I WANT A HOT WOMAN! It looks as if both sentences have been written with the same pen.

It is chilly in the underworld, yet Jan is sweating.

He pulls a cracked plastic curtain aside and discovers an old desk. He tries to open the drawers, but they are locked.

He gives up and stares thoughtfully at the ceiling. Rami is somewhere up above him. There are two wards for the women in the hospital, according to Hanna. But how is he going to get up there?

And where is Ivan Rössel? Here in the darkness he feels palpably close; Jan recalls his smile on the computer screen. But Rössel and the other violent patients must be kept behind locked doors, surely?

Suddenly Jan hears a low, rumbling sound in the distance, followed by an extended cry, like an echo.

He doesn’t know exactly which direction the sound is coming from; perhaps it is just his imagination, but it makes him stop and listen, motionless.

He hears nothing more, but eventually he turns around. It’s a combination of the noise, the darkness, the isolation down here. The hour is late, and the light from the Angel is growing weaker and weaker. He shines the beam around the big room — but which of the doorways did he actually come through? He can’t remember.

He chooses the one on the right. Beyond it there is a long corridor, and suddenly he can see light. He keeps on walking, turns a corner and finds himself in a fairly large hallway with subdued lighting. On the far side is a wide glass door with a green sign that says EXIT, and through that door there is a pale-stone flight of stairs leading upwards.

Jan believes that he has found the way up to the wards, and eagerly steps forward — then stops abruptly. There is a metal box with a black, staring lens up above the glass door.

A camera.

If he walks over to the door, the camera will pick him up. So he turns around, goes back into the big room, and chooses the opening on the left.

This corridor is only three metres long and ends in a closed steel door.

Jan is lost.

There is panic in his head and legs now, but he suppresses it, turns around and slowly makes his way back across the tiled floor. It’s fine, he will find the way if he just keeps moving and tries every door. He sweeps the dying light of the Angel across the wall and chooses a doorway at random. This time the long corridor feels both alien and familiar at the same time; he passes two more closed doors, and this time the corridor ends in an ordinary wooden door.

He lowers the Angel and opens the door, to be met by a sudden brightness. Strip-lights on a low ceiling. Warm air smelling of bleach rushes towards him, and he sees large white machines with dials and flashing lights. Huge fans and electric motors are whirring and throbbing, and there are baskets full of bedlinen and clothes, as well as a rail attached to the ceiling.

This is a laundry, Jan realizes — St Patricia’s Hospital laundry.

He is not alone. A tall, thin man in grey overalls is standing with his back to Jan only five or six metres away, folding sheets. The man has an Mp3 player attached to his belt, his earphones are on, and he hasn’t yet noticed Jan. But if he turns around...

Jan doesn’t wait for that to happen; he closes the door quickly and silently. Then he goes back down the corridor and into the tiled room, heading for the other doorways. He nearly got caught just now — and yet he feels calmer. There are people down here after all, ordinary people doing their jobs.

That is when he hears more sounds, much closer this time: someone is singing, chanting quietly. Several voices in harmony. It sounds like an old hymn, but there is too much of an echo in the tiled room to enable Jan to make out any words.

Staff or patients?

Jan doesn’t want to know who is singing like this so late at night. He moves cautiously forward, keeping close to the wall. Ready to run.

Eventually he finds the right way. He recognizes the very first corridor with the little cells, and from there he makes his way through the first tiled room and back to the safe room. He feels almost completely at ease now.

He doesn’t need to crawl under the floor this time: from this side he can open the steel door and make his way back to the Dell.

He is in the warmth and the light once more, and Jan switches off the Angel.

It is almost midnight, but Hanna is still awake when he gets back. She stares at him intently; she seems almost excited, and for a moment he forgets Rami.

‘I heard you,’ she says, holding up the other Angel. ‘Clear as a bell.’

‘Good.’

‘Did you see anything down there?’

‘Not much.’ He breathes out and wipes his forehead. ‘It’s like a labyrinth, with corridors and old wards, and I think I heard voices...’

‘Did you find a way up to the wards? Or a lift?’

Jan shakes his head. ‘I only got as far as the laundry... There were people in there.’

‘People? Men and women?’

‘A man. A member of staff, I assume — but he didn’t see me.’

Hanna nods, but doesn’t seem particularly interested. ‘So it was a wasted visit.’

‘No,’ says Jan. ‘I’ve learned my way around down there.’

Jan could see the fence with its barbed wire every time he sat at the desk in his room. It was impossible to avoid; it was at least twice his height. First of all there was a lawn, then the fence, and beyond it a path disappearing in the direction of the town.

The fence kept him trapped inside the Unit, he understood that — but it also protected him from the rest of the world.

What had he done to end up in here?

He looked at the bandages around his wrists. He knew what he had done.

He asked Jörgen for paper and pens so that he could do some drawing. He drew a rectangle and started on a new comic strip. The Secret Avenger, his own superhero, was fighting the Gang of Four at the bottom of a dark ravine. The Secret Avenger was immune to everything but bright light, so the gang were trying to get him with laser beams.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and a second later it opened, before Jan even had time to answer.

A man in a grey woollen sweater looked in. Not Jörgen. This man had a beard, but his head was completely bald. ‘Hello there, Jan. Good to see you up and about.’

Jan didn’t answer.

‘My name’s Tony... I’m a psychologist here. We’re just going to check you over.’

A psychologist. That meant they were going to start digging away at him.

Tony stepped aside and a young male nurse came over to Jan with a stethoscope and hard hands. He took Jan’s blood pressure, listened to his chest, and pulled his bandages to one side to look at the sutured wounds along his wrists.

‘He seems fine,’ the nurse said over his shoulder. ‘Almost back to normal.’

‘In physical terms,’ Tony said.

‘Absolutely... You can take care of his soul.’

Neither of them spoke directly to Jan, and the nurse didn’t notice his burn marks. He stood up without another word when he had finished.

‘Will I be going home soon?’ Jan asked.

No reply. Tony had already closed the door.

Jan stopped drawing after only five frames. He lay back down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He would be stuck in the Unit until someone let him out. Other people were making decisions for him, but he was used to that.

He stayed where he was; he had no desire to go out.

The sound of guitar music was coming through the wall. The girl in the room next door was still practising her chords, over and over again, but she was getting quicker now. And she had started to sing along.

Jan turned his head to the wall and listened. The words were in English, but he understood most of them. Rami was singing quietly about a house in New Orleans they called the Rising Sun, which had been the ruin of many a poor girl. She sang the same lines over and over again, before admitting to God that she was one of those poor girls.

The more Jan heard, the more he wanted to go next door. He didn’t just want to listen, he wanted to watch the girl singing as well.

He suddenly sat up and went over to the chair by his desk. It was made of wood with a thin seat, and he started drumming on it, keeping time with the chords of the guitar. It went pretty well and he managed to hold the beat — he had played the drums in the school orchestra. None of the boys in school had ever asked him to be in their rock band, of course, but at least he had played Swedish and German marching music for two years. It had been pretty good fun.

Jan had nothing to live for, but he was good at keeping the beat.

His drumming on the chair grew louder and louder. He was so caught up in the four-beat pattern that he didn’t notice that the guitar in the room next door had fallen silent. He didn’t stop until the door suddenly flew open.

It was the guitar girl. ‘What are you doing?’ She didn’t sound angry, just curious.

Jan froze with his hands above the chair. ‘I’m drumming.’

‘You’re a drummer?’

‘Kind of.’

The girl was still looking at him, a thoughtful expression on her face. She was tall and skinny, Jan noticed; she was pretty, but she had hardly any curves.

‘Come with me.’ She turned on her heel as if it was understood that Jan would follow her. And he did.

They went into the empty corridor and turned left; the girl opened the second door on the left-hand side, marked STOREROOM.

‘You can, like, borrow stuff from here,’ she said.

The storeroom was small but packed with shelves full of different things. There were books, table-tennis bats, and piles of board games and chess sets.

There were pens and paper and notebooks too; this must be where Jörgen had got the drawing paper from.

‘Do you write?’ the girl asked.

‘Sometimes... I draw as well.’

‘Me too,’ she said, picking up a thick black notebook. ‘There you go... Now you can keep a diary.’

‘Thanks.’

Jan had never written about himself, but he took it anyway.

There were musical instruments on a couple of the shelves, and the girl moved across to them. ‘This is where I found the Yamaha.’

‘The Yamaha?’

‘My guitar.’

Beside the shelves stood a drum kit. It was very small, just one battered bass drum and one crash cymbal, but the girl picked it up. ‘You can take this.’

She carried the drum, Jan took the cymbal and the sticks. The girl led the way back to her room. ‘Come in.’

Jan hesitated briefly, then went inside. He looked around in amazement; whereas his room was white, this one was coal-black. It looked like some kind of studio; the girl had covered the walls with huge pieces of black fabric.

She sat down on the bed with her guitar. ‘Shall we give it a go?’

‘OK.’

‘You start.’

Jan picked up the sticks and began to play. He started off with a steady four-beat tempo on the drum, tapping the crash cymbal on the first and third beats. After a while he really got into it; it sounded pretty good.

The girl was nodding her head in time with the music. She was listening — and that gave him confidence. He wasn’t used to it. The girl opened her mouth and began to sing, in the same slightly hoarse voice as when she spoke:

It was obviously the only verse she had, because she sang it twice, then fell silent. Jan stopped drumming at the same time. They looked at one another.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘Shall we do it again?’

‘What’s your name?’ asked Jan.

‘Rami.’

‘Rami?’

‘Just Rami right now. Does that bother you?’

Jan shook his head. Then another question popped out before he had chance to think about it: ‘Why are you here?’

But Rami needed only half a second to consider and then answer, as if it weren’t particularly important. ‘Because my older sister and I did something... something stupid. It was mostly my sister. She took off and went to Stockholm, and she’s keeping out of the way. But I couldn’t go with her, so I ended up in here.’

‘What did you do?’

‘We tried to poison our stepfather. He’s disgusting.’

The room fell silent. Jan didn’t know what to say, but suddenly he heard someone calling his name.

‘Jan? Jan Hauger?’

He jumped, but was relieved at the interruption, and opened the door.

It was the nurse who looked like Jesus, but whose name was Jörgen.

‘Phone call, Jan.’

‘Who is it?’

‘Some friend of yours.’

Friend? Jan glanced at Rami.

She nodded. ‘We’ll carry on afterwards.’

The staffroom was at the other end of the Unit. Jörgen showed him the way, then closed the door. There was a bed, a table, a telephone.

The receiver was lying on the table; Jan picked it up. ‘Hello?’

‘Hauger? You wanker. You fucking loser...’

Jan recognized the voice. He didn’t say anything; all the air went out of his lungs.

But the voice on the other end of the phone had plenty of air. ‘So you’re alive, are you?’ it went on. ‘You should have died... we thought you were dead. You couldn’t even manage to die, could you?’

Jan was listening and sweating, just as if he were in a sauna. His hands were the worst; his palms were so wet that the receiver almost slipped out of his grasp.

‘Do you know what we’ve told everybody in school, Hauger?’

Jan didn’t speak.

‘We said we saw you standing in the shower wanking. Wanking and groaning...’

‘That’s not true.’

‘No, but nobody will believe you.’

Jan took a deep breath. ‘I haven’t said anything. About any of you.’

‘We know that... Because if you do, we’ll kill you.’

‘You will anyway,’ said Jan.

The only response was laughter. It sounded as if there were several boys standing around the phone, with different laughs.

Then there was a click as the call ended.

Jan looked down at his trousers. There was a warm, damp patch just below his flies: he had wet himself.

34

Jan is tired when he gets home from the Dell well after midnight — not physically, but mentally. The visit to St Psycho’s has used up all his energy.

But he sleeps peacefully for the rest of the night; he wakes at half past seven and sets off for work on his bike an hour later.

Everything looks perfectly normal in the playground. The swings are empty and there are a few plastic spades in the sandpit, waiting for the children.

But when Jan opens the door, he can see that something is wrong. Hanna and Andreas are standing in the cloakroom with some of the children — but Hanna isn’t supposed to be here, she should have gone home an hour ago.

‘Morning, Jan,’ says Andreas.

Jan smiles at his colleagues, but neither of them smiles back. He asks, ‘Everything OK?’

Andreas nods. ‘I think so... but we’re having a meeting shortly.’

‘A staff meeting,’ Hanna says.

‘What, a feelgood meeting?’

‘I don’t know... I don’t think so.’

Andreas doesn’t sound remotely curious. Jan tries to look equally unconcerned, but as he is taking off his jacket he catches Hanna’s gaze for a second. Her blue eyes are just as blank and unreadable as usual, and she quickly looks away.

Fifteen minutes later they are all sitting around the kitchen table. All except Marie-Louise, who is standing straight-backed in front of her staff. She adjusts her blouse, clears her throat and presses the palms of her hands together.

‘There’s something we need to discuss,’ she says. ‘Something serious. As we all know, the rules regarding security here at the Dell are particularly important, but unfortunately there has been a breach.’ She pauses, then goes on: ‘When I arrived at about seven o’clock this morning, the security door leading to the basement was open. More or less wide open, in fact.’

She looks at her staff, but no one speaks. Jan makes an effort to prevent his eyes from darting all over the place.

‘Hanna, you and I talked about this before the others arrived,’ Marie-Louise goes on, ‘and you say you have no idea how it can have happened.’

Hanna nods. Her gaze is steady, shining with innocence.

Jan is impressed.

‘No, it’s really weird,’ Hanna says. ‘It was definitely shut when I went to bed.’

Marie-Louise stares at her. ‘You’re absolutely certain?’

Hanna glances sideways, but only for a fraction of a second. ‘Almost.’

Marie-Louise sighs. ‘That door must always be kept closed. Always.’

The atmosphere is oppressive. Jan is sitting next to Hanna, but he doesn’t say a word. He gazes blankly at Marie-Louise, wondering if he was the one who left the door open when he came up from the basement.

Suddenly they hear a bright, cheerful voice: ‘Good morning, fellow citizens!’

Everyone turns to look at Mira, who is standing in the doorway smiling at the adults, with a big gap in her front teeth. Jan knows that she learned the expression ‘fellow citizens’ a few days ago, and she seems determined to use it as often as possible.

‘Good morning, Mira,’ Marie-Louise says quickly. ‘We’ll be there soon! We just need to have a little chat...’

‘But Ville and Valle want to go to bed! We need to get everything ready for them!’

‘Jan,’ Marie-Louise says quietly, ‘could you go and put Mira’s dolls to bed, please?’

‘Of course.’

He is glad to leave the room. This staff meeting is no fun at all; he can feel the thin web of secrets and lies between himself and Hanna, and he is afraid that one of the others might catch sight of it.

‘Good morning, fellow citizen!’

‘Good morning again, Mira.’

She seems pleased that it is Jan who has come to help her. They sit down next to her bed, and he picks up her two dolls and tucks them in under the covers.

Jan is more relaxed in here. He sorts everything out, he makes sure that Ville and Valle are lying comfortably side by side, with their heads on the pillow, and he runs his hand over the sheet to smooth out any creases — but still other thoughts come crowding into his mind.

He is wondering about the open door, of course. If he was the one who forgot to close it last night, he will have to pull himself together. Otherwise a camera will be installed at the Dell, sooner or later.

‘There you go,’ he says. ‘Is that OK, Mira?’

She nods and leans over the bed. Each doll receives a pat on the head, then she backs away.

She picks her nose and looks at Jan. ‘What did the man want?’ she asks. ‘Did he come to take Ville and Valle?’

‘What man?’

Mira removes her finger from her nose. ‘The man who was in here.’

‘There was no man in here.’

‘Oh yes there was,’ Mira says firmly. ‘I saw him when it was dark.’

‘Last night, you mean?’

She nods. ‘He was standing there.’ Mira points at the floor by the foot of her bed.

Jan looks but doesn’t say anything for a moment; he doesn’t actually know what to say. ‘You were dreaming,’ he reassures her eventually. ‘You just dreamed there was a man here.’

‘No!’

‘Yes, you did, Mira. You do have dreams sometimes. You dream about things even though they don’t exist, and you dream you’re playing outside even though you’re lying in bed. That’s true, isn’t it?’

Mira gives this some thought, then nods again. Jan has convinced her, even though he himself is far from convinced. A man in the children’s room?

‘Good,’ he says. ‘Let’s leave Ville and Valle to get some sleep, then.’

They move out of the room, with Mira skipping on ahead; she seems to have already forgotten what she told him.

Jan does not forget. He goes back to the staffroom, but almost everyone has gone. Andreas is rinsing his cup; Jan pours himself a fresh cup of coffee and asks in passing, ‘Is the meeting over?’

‘Yup.’

‘So what conclusions did you reach?’

‘Nothing startling,’ says Andreas. ‘I mean, we all know the door is supposed to be kept shut. So we need to make sure that we close it properly behind us, and check that everyone else is doing the same.’

‘Sounds good.’

Suddenly Jan hears the main door slam, and turns around. Hanna has just left; she is finally on her way home after her night shift.

Jan pulls on his boots and quickly runs after her. He catches up with her by the gate, and calls out quietly, ‘Hanna!’

She stops and turns around, but her expression suggests that they don’t even know each other. ‘I’m going home,’ she says. ‘What do you want?’

Jan looks around; there is no sign of any adults or children in the playground, but still he dare not say too much. ‘Mira’s had a nightmare.’

‘Oh?’ Hanna’s tone is cool and neutral.

Jan lowers his voice. ‘She had a dream about a man.’

‘Yes, well, she’s had dreams before, it’s...’

‘He was standing in the bedroom last night, next to her bed.’

Hanna looks at him, her expression blank, and Jan lowers his voice even more, to a dull whisper: ‘Hanna... have you let anyone out through the sally port at night? A patient who might have gone into the children’s room?’

She looks down at the path. ‘It’s fine. It’s a friend.’

‘A friend? A friend of yours?’

Hanna doesn’t reply; she just looks at her watch and sets off again. ‘My bus will be here in a minute.’

Jan sighs and follows her. ‘Hanna, we need to—’

She breaks in without looking at him. ‘I can’t talk about this any more. You’ll just have to trust me... It’s fine. We know what we’re doing.’

‘We? Who’s we, Hanna?’

She doesn’t stop; she opens the gate and closes it behind her. Jan stands there watching her as she crosses the road. He thinks about the old joke, which isn’t particularly funny:

Who was that lady I saw you with last night?

That was no lady, that was my wife.

But he hears Mira’s voice in his head as he walks back into the pre-school: Jan, who was that gentleman I saw by my bed last night?

And he hears his own voice answering her: That was no gentleman. That was Ivan Rössel.

35

On the way home after his day shift, Jan makes a decision: no more secret visits to St Psycho’s. No more trips down to the basement, or to the safe room. After the staff meeting with Marie-Louise, that’s it.

He doesn’t think he was the one who forgot to close the door; it seems more likely that it was Hanna, but it doesn’t actually matter. Hanna ought to put a stop to her nocturnal visits too.

Not ought to — she must stop.

But when he gets home and opens the door, there is something waiting for him. A large, fat envelope is lying on the hall floor — but of course it isn’t addressed to him. He is only the courier; the envelope is marked S. P.

Jan sighs and steps over the envelope. He doesn’t want to touch it, but it can’t just stay there, and eventually he picks it up. Now he is holding it in his hand, he might as well open it.

Thirty-six letters, large and small. Jan slowly shuffles through them on the kitchen table. None is addressed to Maria Blanker, but eleven of the letters are for the same person: Ivan Rössel. He seems to have plenty of pen friends.

But what do they want?

Jan ponders for a few seconds, thinking about Hanna and the open door. Then he quickly picks up one of Rössel’s letters. It’s an ordinary white envelope, with no sender’s name, and it isn’t very well sealed. He fetches a knife and slides it under the flap, which opens almost at once.

Prying. Jan doesn’t like that word, but he still inserts two fingers in the envelope and removes the contents. There are several thin sheets of paper, covered with neat writing in ink:

The letter goes on for three more pages, with lengthy declarations of love to Ivan Rössel and dreams of a life together. A photograph is attached: it shows a smiling woman with two barking dogs.

Jan folds the sheets of paper and carefully puts them back in the envelope, then he fetches a glue stick and reseals the flap. He doesn’t open any more letters.

A love letter to Ivan Rössel. Well, that’s what it sounded like anyway. Jan has read that notorious violent criminals who have ended up in prison often get fan mail — piles of letters from people they have never met. Letters from women who want to help them become better people. Do all of these letter-writers want to help Rössel?

Then he thinks about Rami, and the letter he started writing to her. But his love is different. Completely different.

The squirrel wants to get over the fence, she had written. The squirrel wants to jump off the wheel.

That was almost two weeks ago, and he hasn’t written to her since then. And he promised himself that he wouldn’t smuggle any more letters.

In spite of this he gets out a sheet of paper. If Rami is in the hospital under the name Blanker, and if he were to write a letter to her — what would he write? He doesn’t want to sound like some lovesick stranger, like Carin from Hedemora.

Jan wants to explain who he is. So he picks up his pen and begins to write:

Jan stops and looks at the words. To escape — that’s what he wants to write, isn’t it? But he doesn’t do it. He can’t write something like that unless Rami herself wants it to happen.

In the Unit she had talked about running away virtually every day. She wanted to get out of that place, she wanted to go and see her older sister, she wanted to go to Stockholm — she was only fourteen years old, but she had big plans.

Jan had no big plans at all. He just wanted to be with Rami.

True love does not die of natural causes. It is murdered by those who rule over us.

He ought to write that instead; this letter is no good. He screws it up and starts again:

‘Look!’

Rami’s cry made Jan jump. He had been sitting on the floor, calmly and quietly drumming along to her guitar chords, almost lulled into a soporific state by the rhythm, but she had suddenly stopped playing. She had got up from the bed and gone over to the desk by the window.

She was pointing at something. ‘Have you seen my guardian animal?’

Jan stopped drumming. ‘What?’

‘He’s out there on the grass.’

Jan had no idea what she was talking about, but he got up and looked out of the window. He saw a small greyish-brown creature darting around on the lawn. Every so often it stiffened and looked around, then it was off again.

‘It’s a squirrel,’ Jan said.

‘Squirrels bring luck, according to my grandmother,’ Rami said. ‘I’ve conjured him up... I can send him off to freedom.’

And almost at that same moment the squirrel dashed off towards the fence. It jumped up and gripped the wire netting with its paws, then slipped through the barbed wire before taking an insane leap towards the branch of a tree outside the grounds. It grabbed the tip of the branch, swung itself inwards towards the tree and disappeared.

‘There you go, freedom...’ She looked at Jan. ‘Those were my thoughts, escaping over the fence. Now they are free!’

Jan gazed at Rami, wondering if she was serious. She was. She wasn’t smiling, at any rate.

He suddenly realized that he had leaned forward, and was standing very close to her now. He was aware of the smell of her, a mixture of grass and pine resin. It was beginning to feel slightly embarrassing. He had to say something. ‘So your... your name is just Rami?’

‘I used to be called Alice, but Rami is fine.’ She went back over to the bed and picked up the guitar, played a couple of chords and glanced up at Jan. ‘Do you know what we ought to do?’

‘No, what?’

‘We should do a gig. We’ll practise a bit more, then we’ll play for the ghosts.’

‘What ghosts?’

‘All those who are imprisoned in here.’

Jan nodded, but he didn’t regard himself as a prisoner. For him, the fence provided protection from the rest of the world.

Suddenly Rami’s door opened and a woman with black hair and big, shiny glasses poked her head in. ‘Alice?’

Rami looked defiant. ‘What?’

‘Don’t forget our counselling session today. Three o’clock.’

Rami said nothing.

‘We’re just going to have a chat,’ the woman said. ‘I know it will make you feel better.’

The door closed.

‘The Psychobabbler,’ Rami said. ‘I hate her.’

On his fifth morning in the Unit Jan was sitting in his room working on his comic strip about the Secret Avenger and the Gang of Four. The sheets on his bed were in a heap. They were dry now, but they had been wet when he’d woken up.

The diary was also beside him on the desk, the one Rami had given him. He had stuck the Polaroid of himself on the front cover, and had begun to write in it. He had written about things that had happened over the last week, things that Rami had said or his own thoughts, and he had ended up with several pages covered with line after line of words. Weird.

Suddenly there was a knock on his door. He did what Rami had done and refused to answer, but of course it was opened anyway.

A bearded face appeared — it was the psychologist. The one called Tony. ‘Morning, Jan. Time we had a little chat, you and I.’

Jan stiffened. ‘What about?’

‘About a boy called Jan Hauger, I think.’ Tony smiled in the middle of his beard. ‘Come on, let’s go up to my office.’

Jan stayed where he was, sitting at his desk with his pen and paper; he remembered the warning on the telephone. He had no intention of telling Tony anything.

But the psychologist waited patiently, and in the end he won. Jan got up and went with him. They walked through the dining room, then up the stairs to a corridor lined with offices.

The psychologist led Jan into one of them. ‘Take a seat.’

Then he sat down behind the desk and read through a folder for a couple of minutes. Jan sat in silence, staring out of the window. The sky was blue, the sun was shining on pools of melting snow and ice in the car park.

Suddenly the psychologist looked up at him. ‘Where did you get the sleeping tablets from?’

Jan was taken by surprise, and answered automatically, ‘They were my mum’s.’

‘And the razor blade — was that your dad’s?’

Jan nodded.

‘Should we interpret that symbolically in some way?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Jan didn’t understand, and Tony leaned forward to explain. ‘Well... You swallowed your mother’s tablets and slit your wrists with your father’s razor blade; was that some kind of protest, perhaps? A protest against your parents?’

Jan hadn’t thought of that. He didn’t think about it now either — he simply shook his head and said quietly, ‘I knew where they were... Where they kept them.’

‘OK... But if we can just summarize what happened a few days ago: you took fifteen sleeping tablets, slit your wrists and jumped into the lake just below your house?’

Jan didn’t say anything. He supposed that was correct. But the things the psychologist claimed he had done already felt incredibly vague, like a dream. Like a comic strip. The Secret Avenger and the Pond.

‘It’s a pond,’ he said eventually.

‘OK, so the lake is a pond,’ Tony said. ‘But a person can drown perfectly well in a pond too, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Mm.’

Jan didn’t want to think about how it had felt down there when he couldn’t get any air into his lungs. He looked at the carpet underneath the desk. It was green.

‘Anyway, you were pulled out of the pond by a couple of kind people who happened to be passing, and you were taken to the local hospital in an ambulance. Then you were transferred here, to the Child and Adolescent Mental Health Unit. And now we’re sitting in my office.’

‘Mm.’

Silence.

‘You wanted to die in that pond,’ Tony said. ‘Do you still want to die?’

Jan looked out of the window again. Beyond the car park he could see the huge buildings that made up the hospital complex, several storeys high and constructed of steel and glass. The sun was shining on the windows — it had felt like winter when he jumped into the icy water, but now it looked like spring out there.

This was a secure world. He was locked up, but he was safe.

‘No,’ he said. He knew it was true; here inside the Unit he didn’t want to die.

‘Good,’ said Tony. ‘That’s excellent, Jan.’ He wrote down a couple of sentences on his notepad. ‘But things were different a few days ago. How did you feel then?’

‘Bad,’ said Jan.

‘And why did you feel bad?’

Jan sighed. He intended to say as little as possible about this. He could have said a great deal about the Gang of Four and all the rest of it — he could probably have talked for several hours — but nothing was going to be improved by a lot of talk. ‘No friends,’ was all he said.

‘You haven’t got any friends?’ Tony said. ‘Why not?’

‘Dunno... They think I’m stupid.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because I sit and draw stuff.’

‘You draw?’ Tony said. ‘And what else do you do in your spare time?’

‘I read... and I play the drums a bit.’

‘In a band?’

‘In the school orchestra.’

‘So haven’t you got any friends in the orchestra?’

Jan shook his head.

‘So you feel very lonely, Jan... as if you’re the loneliest person in the world?’

Jan nodded.

‘And do you think this loneliness is your own fault?’

Jan shrugged his shoulders. ‘Suppose so.’

‘Why?’

Jan thought about it. ‘Because everybody else has got friends.’

‘Have they?’

Jan nodded again. ‘And if they can do it, then I should be able to do it.’

‘Have you never had friends?’

Jan gazed out of the window. ‘I used to have one friend, in my class. But he moved away.’

‘What was his name?’

‘Hans.’

‘And how long were you two friends?’

‘As long as I can remember... Since nursery, I think.’

‘So that means you can make friends,’ said Tony. ‘There’s nothing wrong with you.’

Jan stared down at the desk, and considered saying, I wet myself at night, that’s what’s wrong with me. But he kept quiet.

‘There is nothing wrong with you, Jan,’ Tony said again. He leaned back. ‘And we’re going to have lots of chats about how we can help you to feel better. OK?’

‘OK.’

Jan was allowed to leave. On his way back to the stairs he passed other doors and read the names and long titles: Gunnar Toll, Clinical Psychologist; Ludmila Nilsson, Medical Practitioner; Emma Halevi, Clinical Psychologist; Peter Brink, Counsellor. None of the names meant anything to him.

Jan woke up on his back on a hard floor, and wondered for a moment where he was. Not at home. He had lain down somewhere fully dressed in his thick jacket, hat and scarf. Then he had fallen asleep. But where?

There was a low ceiling above his head — a ceiling made of reinforced concrete.

Then he remembered: he was inside the bunker in the forest. He had intended to have a little rest, that was all, but he was still here.

Stupid. Dangerous.

He looked down his legs and saw that the steel door was ajar, with his boots almost sticking out through the opening. Outside he could see the greyness of the forest, beneath an equally grey sky. The sun wasn’t up yet, but it was on its way.

Jan was suddenly afraid that William had crept out into the darkness, but when he turned his head he saw a thick bundle of blankets half a metre away. He could hear the sound of soft, regular breathing: William was still fast asleep.

The air inside the bunker was cold, and there was no warmth in Jan’s body either. His legs felt numb; he lifted them one by one, moving them slowly to try to get the muscles going. He sat up slowly. He didn’t feel rested, just stiff and dirty.

Last night he had experienced a heady sensation of victory, when the plan worked and his fantasy became a reality. This morning everything felt completely wrong. He was lying in a bunker next to a child he had locked up the previous day — what the hell was he doing?

William shifted under his blankets, and Jan went rigid. Was he waking up? No, not yet.

Jan took Roboman outside and recorded three new messages, telling William that everything was fine. He set the toy to standby so that William’s own voice would activate it. Then he crept back inside and placed it on the floor.

He heard a faint cough, then a little hand emerged from the blankets and groped around on the floor. Jan quickly backed away, slipped outside and bolted the steel door shut.

Forty-six hours, he thought, looking at his watch.

It was only ten to seven — which meant there were some thirty hours left before he would let William go. A long time.

Jan arrived at Lynx fifteen minutes later. No one else was there yet, but he had his own key and could let himself in.

The whole place was silent, with no children’s laughter echoing through the rooms.

He switched on the coffee machine, flopped down in an armchair and closed his eyes. The image of William’s hand groping around for someone to hold on to was still fixed in his mind.

Just before half past seven the main door opened and Nina walked in. They looked at each other wearily; Nina’s eyes were shadowed with anxiety. ‘The children aren’t coming in today,’ she said. ‘We’ve placed them with other nurseries temporarily.’

‘OK.’

‘Have you heard anything? Any news?’

Jan looked at her and opened his mouth. He felt a sudden desire to tell her everything. He would tell her that William was locked inside a camouflaged bunker deep in the forest, that he was bound to be a little bit scared but that he was completely unharmed, because Jan had planned the whole thing meticulously.

And the most important part: he would tell her why all this had happened. It wasn’t about William — not really.

It was about Alice Rami.

‘There’s something I need to tell you—’ he began, but he was interrupted by a sudden rattling noise out in the hallway as the front door opened. A police officer walked in, a uniformed constable. He was the same man who had told Jan the previous evening about a horrible discovery on a forest track some years ago.

Jan closed his mouth and straightened up. He was a reliable classroom assistant once more. It was a difficult role, but it still worked.

The police officer’s mobile started to ring. He moved into a side room to take the call.

Jan looked Nina in the eye. ‘I’m going to volunteer... to join the search party, I mean.’

Nina simply nodded — and she never asked what he had been going to tell her.

The sun slowly rose above the roof of Lynx. A blue and white police van arrived and began to function as some kind of liaison unit out in the car park. More and more police officers, military personnel and civilians began arriving at the nursery; they would have a cup of coffee, then head out into the forest. Jan went along too.

The search party got under way at quarter past nine. Police, members of the local army defence unit and volunteers in a long line. Two dogs would be brought in after lunch.

Jan stood somewhere in the middle listening to a police officer outlining how the search for William would be conducted: ‘Our approach is calm and methodical.’ Crevices in the rocks, dense fir trees, areas where water had collected — everything was to be searched.

The chain of people was going to begin with a broad sweep along the lake, Jan realized. When would they start searching on the other side of the ridge, where the bunker was?

The mood was subdued as they slowly moved forward through the forest.

At half past eleven a whistle suddenly blew. Evidently the search had been called off, and immediately there was a buzz among the participants. Had the boy been found? Dead or alive?

Nobody knew, but the orderly line began to break up as people gathered in smaller groups. Jan stood alone among the trees until he heard a woman shouting: ‘Hauger! Is there a Jan Hauger here?’

‘Yes?’ he shouted back.

It was a police officer; she came striding up to Jan through the undergrowth. ‘There’s a meeting down at the nursery,’ she said. ‘They want you there.’

It was an order, and Jan’s blood ran cold. They’ve found him, he thought. ‘Why?’ he asked.

‘No idea... Would you like me to walk you down?’

‘No,’ Jan said quickly. ‘I can find my own way.’

Nina, Sigrid and three other classroom assistants were sitting in the staffroom when he got back to Lynx. Two uniformed officers were also there, along with a man in civilian clothes; Jan realized immediately that he too was a police officer.

Jan unbuttoned his jacket and sat down next to Nina. ‘The search party is taking a break,’ he said.

Nina nodded; she already knew that. ‘Something’s happened... They want to talk to the staff, one at a time.’

‘Why?’

Nina lowered her voice: ‘Apparently the parents got a package in the post today, with William’s little hat inside... So the police think someone has taken him.’

36

There is one thing Jan loves at the pre-school, something he sees every day: the children’s innocent faces. Their honest eyes. Children don’t hide anything — they don’t know how. They haven’t yet learned to lie convincingly, the way adults do.

But when he arrives for a night shift, Lilian is also struggling to hide how she feels this evening. Her red hair is uncombed, her blouse is creased and her eyes are dark and tired. She feels bad.

‘Everything OK, Lilian?’ Jan asks.

‘Brilliant.’

‘Anything wrong?’

She shakes her head. ‘No. I just want to go home.’

It is more likely that she is intending to go out, possibly to Bill’s Bar. Jan thinks that she is looking more and more worn out with every passing day. Perhaps it’s the autumn. Perhaps it’s the drink. She drinks too much, he knows that. But it’s not the sort of thing people talk about.

Thanks, but I’ve got problems of my own, he thinks.

When Lilian has left he goes to join the children in the playroom. Mira and Leo, the only children who are staying overnight, are sitting there among a sea of building bricks.

Jan smiles and sits down beside them. ‘What a fantastic building!’

‘We know!’ Mira shouts.

As usual Leo looks less pleased, but at least he seems calm today.

Jan picks up a couple of bricks. ‘I’m going to build a hospital.’

Three hours and many games later, it is night once more. Mira and Leo are in bed; they have had supper and a story, and all is peaceful. The children are asleep and Jan is sitting in the staffroom filling out the food order.

He carries on working; time passes. Hidden in his bag is the latest batch of thirty-seven letters which he will soon deliver to the hospital.

One of them is to Rami from him. Eventually, when he got going, he sat there and wrote her a five-page letter. He wrote about their time together in the Unit, the things they talked about. And he wrote about what had happened to him afterwards, how he had become a pre-school teacher and finally ended up here at the Dell.

He promised himself that he wouldn’t deliver any more letters, but that promise has evaporated.

At the end of the letter he wrote that he had never been able to forget her. I will never forget you. It wasn’t a declaration of love; it was simply the truth.

He looks up and catches sight of himself. He is sitting opposite the staffroom’s only window, and he can see his reflection floating in the darkness. But suddenly he notices something behind it, slender shadows moving in the night.

Animals — or people?

He leans closer to the glass. If there are people out there they are close to the fence, in the darkest area between two lights.

Jan considers going outside, but decides against it. Instead he carries on with the food order.

Suddenly the doorbell rings, a harsh, long-drawn-out sound. Jan glances towards the door, but remains in the staffroom.

The bell stops ringing, and everything goes quiet. But three minutes later there is a loud bang right in front of him, on the window. He jumps.

A pale face is staring in through the glass. A tall, bony man with a shaven head is standing motionless out there. He is wearing a thick black padded jacket, and underneath it he is dressed in white hospital scrubs. Jan doesn’t recognize him.

‘Can you open up?’ the stranger shouts.

Jan hesitates, and the man goes on: ‘Are you on your own?’

Jan shakes his head.

‘Who else is in there?’ the man demands.

‘Who are you?’ Jan shouts back.

‘Security — night shift. Can you open up?’

Jan doesn’t move. He wonders if the man knows Lars Rettig, but instead asks, ‘Have you got some ID?’

The guard takes out a plastic card and holds it up for a few seconds, just long enough for Jan to see that the face on the card resembles the guard’s, then he puts it away. His voice is harsh and impatient now: ‘Open up!’

Jan will have to trust him; he opens the window, letting in the cold, and asks, ‘What’s happened?’

‘We’re missing a four-four.’

Jan has no idea what this means, and shakes his head. ‘I haven’t seen anything.’

‘Can you give us a call if you do?’ The guard doesn’t wait for a reply; he backs away from the window and disappears into the darkness.

Jan closes the window and the room is silent.

Almost silent; the clock is still ticking towards midnight, when he is due to leave the package up in the visitors’ room. He ought to postpone it, but that is impossible.

He checks on the two children and goes back to the staffroom. He is waiting for something to happen.

Has someone really escaped?

What should he do?

Stay here. This is where he’s supposed to be, after all — with the sleeping children. But he has to make one last visit to St Psycho’s. He will have to be careful now that people are moving around the hospital complex, but he just has to do it. The things he has written in the letter to Rami are too important; she must have the opportunity to read them.

He waits another twenty minutes. The only thing that happens is that he feels more and more tired, both physically and mentally. He is tired of sitting up in the middle of the night, next to a high wall.

It shouldn’t be like this... so dark and lonely. But that’s the way it is, and at ten minutes to midnight he goes to check on the children one last time. Then he fetches the key card.

One last delivery. He hangs one Angel in the children’s room, and heads for the door. Everyone has been very conscientious about keeping it closed since the telling-off from Marie-Louise, but now Jan must open it.

All is dark and quiet, and Jan quickly makes his way along the underground corridor. He has become very efficient in his deliveries; this time it takes only four minutes to travel up to the visitors’ room and back down again. His heart is pounding all the time, but no one disturbs him, and the Angel attached to his belt remains silent. At five past midnight he is safely inside the Dell, as if nothing has happened.

Time to sleep. He makes up the sofa bed, then settles down and thinks about his letter to Rami for a little while before closing his eyes.

A rattling noise wakes Jan.

He opens his eyes, but the room is in darkness. Has he slept? He must have done, because the clock by his bed is showing 00:56.

Something is still rattling faintly outside the window, creaking and clattering. It’s the fence. Someone is climbing up the fence.

Jan sits up, blinking in the darkness. He pulls on his jumper and trousers. Then he opens the blind a fraction and peeps out of the window.

He can’t see a thing.

It feels wrong, and at first he can’t understand why. Then he realizes he is used to having a light outside — but the nearest floodlight has gone out.

As he peers through the glass he can just about make out some sort of movement out there.

The rattling continues. He leans closer, staring hard. The noise is coming from the metal fence, and he can see a shadow roughly the height of a man on the other side. Someone is trying to climb up.

The front door is locked, he knows that.

Shouldn’t go out, he thinks. Shouldn’t leave the children.

And yet he goes to the cloakroom and puts on his shoes and jacket. The wind has picked up outside in the playground, and it is much colder. Jan keeps his head down and quickly makes his way round towards the section of the hospital complex where the rattling is coming from.

When he reaches the wooden fence surrounding the Dell and looks up at the metal fence, the noise has stopped. But the shadow is still there, and as Jan looks up he sees it reach for the top of the fence — then suddenly lose its grip. It falls backwards in a short arc, landing with a dull thud in the darkness.

Jan heads over towards the hospital. He has almost reached the fence when a white light suddenly flares into life, shining straight in his face. It comes from a powerful flashlight.

‘Who’s there?’ a voice barks.

‘Jan Hauger... I work at the pre-school.’

‘OK,’ says the voice. ‘I recognize you. You’re my stand-in with the Bohemos.’

The figure takes a step closer, and Jan recognizes the man and his broad shoulders. It’s Carl, the drummer, with the tear-gas canister and handcuffs hanging from his belt. Rettig’s friend, and Hanna’s contact at the hospital.

Jan would like to ask him about that, but Carl gets in first: ‘Have you delivered it?’

‘Delivered what?’

‘The package.’ Carl nods in the direction of the hospital and the visitors’ room, and Jan understands. So Carl knows that Jan is part of the chain involved in smuggling the letters.

No point in denying it. ‘Yes,’ Jan says quietly. ‘I’ve already been up there.’

‘OK, I’ll go and pick it up. When everything’s calmed down.’

‘What happened?’

‘A four-four.’

‘Does that mean someone’s escaped?’

‘Yes,’ says Carl. ‘But the fence stopped him, and we managed to bring him down.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘We’ll sort it. You go back inside. Go and get some sleep.’

Jan nods and is just about to turn away when Carl adds, ‘We have to stop soon.’

He seems to be talking to himself, but Jan asks, ‘You mean this business with the letters?’

‘The whole thing... It’s all starting to get out of control.’

‘What do you mean?’

But Carl doesn’t answer. He simply walks away along the fence and disappears into the darkness.

37

Jan is awake at five, long before the children. He has managed only a few hours’ sleep, and has been troubled by unpleasant dreams; he was swimming in a lake and his legs got stuck in the mud at the bottom. He struggled and struggled, but was unable to free himself.

Marie-Louise arrives at half past seven, and he immediately tells her what has happened — or at least the little he knows.

‘Someone escaped?’

She seems horrified by the news, so Jan says, ‘Well, someone tried.’

His memory of the night’s events is already woolly.

‘I’ll find out what’s happened,’ says Marie-Louise.

Then the Dell is open and the day’s activities begin, but while the children are resting after lunch Marie-Louise calls a staff meeting.

Jan sits down at the table, ready for anything.

‘We’ve received a directive from the hospital board,’ Marie-Louise announces. ‘It has been decided that the Dell will be closed at night.’

Everyone absorbs the news in silence, Jan included. But he is surprised — he’s due to do two more night shifts later in the week.

‘So we’re only going to be operating during the day?’ Lilian asks.

‘That’s right.’ Marie-Louise doesn’t seem particularly upset by the decision as she goes on: ‘Having the children here overnight was never a permanent solution, we’ve always known that. After all, children should be living in a proper home, and now social services think they have found suitable families for both Mira and Leo. So everything will work out perfectly.’

Jan leans forward and asks, ‘When is this going to happen?’

‘Quite soon. We will be working days only from the middle of November.’ Marie-Louise seems to pick up on some hint of anxiety in his expression, because she adds, ‘But there’s nothing for you to worry about, Jan — your temporary contract won’t be affected by this. Nobody will be affected, really — we’ll just have to redo the rota and allocate more day shifts.’ She smiles reassuringly at her staff. ‘It means more companionship and less lone working.’

Jan makes an effort to look pleased, but it is only superficial. He is waiting for an answer from Rami — how is he going to get hold of it now? He is also certain that the Dell is being closed at night for security reasons. Perhaps because of last night’s attempted escape, or because Marie-Louise found the basement door open. Perhaps she no longer trusts her staff.

When the others have left the room, Jan hangs back. ‘Did they say anything about what happened last night?’

Marie-Louise gives a brief nod, as if she would prefer to think about something else. ‘Yes. It was a patient who had been sectioned; he managed to get out of the ward and made it as far as the fence. It happens from time to time. But they caught up with him there, and security has been tightened up... Stepped up a level, they said.’

‘Excellent,’ says Jan, in spite of the fact that increased security at the hospital is the day’s second piece of bad news as far as he is concerned.

The telephone rings among all the furniture in Jan’s flat that evening. He waits a little while before reaching in among the chaos and picking up.

He is expecting it to be his mother in Nordbro, but it is a younger woman’s voice. It takes him a few seconds to realize that it is Hanna Aronsson.

Though today was Hanna’s day off, she asks, ‘Have you heard about the night shifts?’

‘Yes,’ says Jan. ‘How did you find out?’

‘Lilian rang me.’

‘No more evenings for us, then,’ he says. He knows that Hanna understands what he means.

There is a brief silence at the other end of the phone, then she asks, ‘Can you come round to mine for a bit? Number five Bellmans gränd?’

‘OK, but why?’

‘Because I want to return your books and have a little chat.’

Jan puts the phone down. He thinks of Hanna’s blue eyes and wonders if he has made a new friend, just like Rami fifteen years ago.

Hanna lives in a recently built apartment block close to the main square. She opens the door quickly and invites him into a light, dust-free apartment, decorated in shades of pink and white. ‘Hi... come in.’

She isn’t smiling; her expression is tense as she heads towards the kitchen.

Jan follows her, but stops in the living room. He envies her all this light and space. There is a bookcase in the corner, and when he moves closer he sees that she reads non-fiction books about crime. There are titles such as The Worst Murders in History, Monsters in Our Midst, Charles Manson in His Own Words, The Confessions of Ted Bundy and The Serial Killers — A Study in the Psychology of Violence.

Books about murderers — a whole shelf full of them. Jan can’t see any books about Patricia or other saints, but he supposes nobody writes that kind of thing any more.

‘Are you coming?’ Hanna shouts.

‘On my way.’

She is making tea. The kitchen is small and just as clean as the living room, with neatly folded towels and tea towels next to the cooker. On the table there are four books that Jan recognizes: The Princess with a Hundred Hands, The Animal Lady, The Witch Who Was Poorly and Viveca’s House of Stone.

Hanna passes them over to Jan. ‘Thanks for the loan.’

‘Have you read them?’

‘Yes, but they’re pretty violent. Like when the princess gets the beggars’ hands to strangle the robbers... It’s not exactly the kind of thing you’d want to read to the kids, is it?’

Jan agrees, but says, ‘They’re no worse than your books though, are they?’

‘What books?’

‘The ones in there... all those books about murder.’

Hanna lowers her gaze. ‘I haven’t read them all. But I wanted to know more after... after I made contact with Ivan. There are tons of books about murderers.’

‘People are fascinated by evil,’ Jan says. He pauses for a moment, then goes on: ‘Rössel has other pen friends besides you. Did you know that?’

‘No.’ Hanna looks up at him with renewed interest. ‘How do you know?’

‘I’ve seen some of the letters he gets.’

‘Were they from women?’

‘Some of them, yes.’

‘Love letters?’

‘Maybe... I haven’t read them.’ Jan has no intention of telling anyone that he opens the letters and secretly reads them.

There is a pile of paper on the table in front of them, a computer printout. Hanna reaches out and brushes it with her fingertips. ‘I wanted to show you this... Ivan gave me the manuscript of his book.’

‘When he was down in the school?’

Hanna shakes her head. ‘That wasn’t Ivan... It wasn’t anyone from the hospital.’

‘So who was it, then?’

‘I can’t tell you that.’

Jan gives up. He looks at the manuscript and sees that the title is My Truth. There is no author’s name, but of course he knows who it is. ‘Rössel’s memoirs,’ he says.

‘Not memoirs,’ Hanna says with a quick glance at Jan. ‘I’m just reading it now and it’s a kind of hypothesis.’

‘A hypothesis? On how the murders happened?’

Hanna nods without saying anything. The tea is ready, and she pours them each a cup.

They sit down at the table, but Hanna carries on staring at the manuscript, and in the end he asks, ‘Are you in love with Ivan Rössel?’

She looks up and quickly shakes her head.

‘So what’s all this about, then?’

Hanna doesn’t reply, but she leans forward, gazing at him with those clear blue eyes for a long time, as if she is considering Jan’s appearance.

She wants me to kiss her, Jan thinks.

Perhaps this is one of those occasions when people kiss each other. But when he thinks about kisses he remembers Rami’s mouth pressed against his own in the Unit, and everything feels wrong.

He must think about something else. About the pre-school. About the children. ‘I’m worried about Leo,’ he says.

‘What?’

‘Leo Lundberg... Leo at the Dell.’

‘I know who Leo is,’ Hanna says.

‘Yes, but... I’ve tried to talk to him, tried to care about him, but it’s difficult. He’s not happy... I don’t know how to help him.’

‘Help him with what?’

‘Help him to forget what he’s seen.’

‘And what has he seen?’

Jan shakes his head. The very thought of little Leo upsets him, but in the end he answers, ‘I think Leo saw his father kill his mother.’

Hanna gazes blankly at him. ‘Have you spoken to Marie-Louise about this?’

‘A bit, but she’s not really interested.’

‘There’s nothing you can do,’ Hanna says. ‘You can’t take away someone else’s wounds; they’re always going to be there.’

Jan sighs. ‘I just want him to be happy, like any other kid... I want him to know that there’s a lot of love in the world.’

Even he can hear that this sounds ridiculous. There’s a lot of love in the world. It sounds a bit over the top.

‘Perhaps you’re trying to compensate for that other boy,’ Hanna says.

‘What other boy?’

‘The one you lost in the forest.’

Jan gazes down at the table, then looks up at her. A confession is forcing its way out, like some kind of compulsion. ‘That’s not exactly what happened,’ he says eventually. ‘I didn’t lose him.’

‘No?’

‘No... I left him in the forest.’

Hanna is staring at him, and Jan quickly goes on: ‘It wasn’t for very long... and he was perfectly safe.’

‘Why did you do it?’

Jan sighs. ‘It was a kind of revenge... on his parents. On his mother. I wanted her to feel really bad. And I thought I knew what I was doing, but...’

‘And did you feel better afterwards?’ Hanna asks.

‘I don’t know, I don’t think so... I don’t give it much thought these days.’

‘Would you do it again?’

Jan looks at her and shakes his head, trying to look as honest as possible. ‘I would never harm a child.’

‘Good,’ Hanna says. ‘I believe you.’

Those blue eyes are still gazing at him. He can’t really work Hanna out. Perhaps he ought to stay, talk to her some more, try to find out how she really feels about him, and about Ivan Rössel.

No. He gets to his feet. ‘Thanks for the tea, Hanna. See you at work.’

He heads out into the cold night air and goes straight home, with his rucksack full of Rami’s picture books.

The concert that would end with a kiss and a fight was to be held in the TV room in the Unit.

Seven o’clock was the advertised time, but by then only three people had turned up. The first was the woman in black who had stuck her head around Rami’s door to remind her about an appointment — the one Rami had nicknamed the Psychobabbler. And Jörgen had brought in a little girl with timid blue eyes; Jan had never seen her speak to anyone. She was just as shy as he was.

Jan had set up his drums slightly to one side behind Rami’s microphone, so that he would be heard but not seen. He was already regretting this whole idea.

At five past seven more people began to turn up — the ghosts, as Rami called them. They ambled in and sat cross-legged on the floor. Jan didn’t know many names, but he was starting to recognize most of the Unit’s inmates by now. There were fourteen or fifteen of them, all in their early teens — mostly girls, but a few boys too — some with spiky black hair, others with neatly combed locks. Some sat motionless, some kept on shifting restlessly, looking around the whole time. Were they drug addicts? Were they bullies, or perhaps the victims of bullying?

Jan had no idea why anyone else had been admitted to the Unit. He didn’t know anyone except Rami. And when he saw a skinny young girl stare at her and then lean over to her friend and whisper loudly, ‘Who’s she?’, he realized that Rami had kept even more of a low profile.

She waited silently at the microphone, her back straight and her face almost chalk-white as she clutched her guitar.

Jörgen went and stood beside her with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, gazing out across the room. ‘OK, people, time for some music. Our friends Alice and Jan are going to play us a couple of songs.’

This introduction was greeted with nervous giggles, and a disappointed question: ‘But what about the TV?’ It was a tall boy in a denim jacket. Jan couldn’t remember his name. ‘There’s ice hockey on tonight... Aren’t we allowed to watch TV?’

‘Of course — after the music,’ said Jörgen. ‘Quiet now.’

But the ghosts were not quiet; they nudged one another and giggled and whispered.

Rami was also suffering from stage fright. Not as badly as Jan, but he could see that she had closed her eyes and seemed to be trying to forget that there was anyone else in the room. And yet there was a clear connection between Rami and the audience — as soon as she opened her mouth, every single person sitting on the floor fell silent. They were all staring at her.

‘OK,’ she drawled into the microphone. ‘This is an American song I’ve translated...’

She began with ‘The House of the Rising Sun’, which suited Jan; this was the drum accompaniment he knew best. Then she went on to her version of Neil Young’s ‘Helpless’, followed by Joy Division’s ‘Ceremony’, both of which Jan had also rehearsed with her.

Rami had begun to relax while she was singing, and there was more colour in her face. When ‘Ceremony’ ended she suddenly turned around, walked over to Jan — and kissed him on the lips.

He stopped playing. The kiss lasted three seconds, but the world came to a standstill.

Rami smiled at him, then walked back to the microphone.

‘This last song is called “Jan and Me”,’ she said, nodding to Jan to signal a four-beat.

He had never heard of the song; he was off balance after the kiss, but eventually he managed to start playing, keeping time with her nods. Rami played a minor chord and began to sing:

She closed her eyes and went into the chorus:

Jan was so taken aback by the words that he almost lost the beat. It sounded as if he and Rami were together, but they weren’t. He had been aware of the scent of her, but she had never even touched him.

When the song ended Rami went straight into a different chord, keeping the same beat. She leaned towards the microphone and looked straight at the audience for the first time. Jan could see that she was smiling as she said, ‘This is a song about my psychologist.’

She played a loud riff on the guitar and nodded to Jan to join in.

Rami found the rhythm, closed her eyes again and began to intone the lyrics with a harsh, thrusting pulse:

Then she took a deep breath before starting on the chorus, almost spitting out the words:

The chorus just went on and on. Rami stood there straight-backed; she wasn’t even singing notes any more, she was just chanting the words Stop talking, stop talking crap! over and over again. No music was coming from the guitar, but Jan kept up a steady rhythm, beating time to the words.

He could see everyone in the Unit, inmates and staff, simply sitting there as if someone had cast a spell on them; the teenagers were all listening intently.

But the Psychobabbler had got to her feet over by the door. She didn’t look happy, and with every word that Rami chanted she took a step closer to the microphone. Eventually she was standing half a metre away from Rami, and about a metre from Jan. Rami hadn’t seen her; she had her eyes closed and was still singing, ‘Stop talking! Stop talking crap!’

The Psychobabbler grabbed hold of Rami’s shoulder; Rami opened her eyes, but ignored her and carried on singing. However, it sounded more like a battle cry now: ‘Stop! Stop! Stop!’

The Psychobabbler seized the microphone stand and moved it away, but Rami carried on yelling without the microphone. She opened her throat and let out a piercing scream that made those sitting on the floor recoil in shock. ‘Die! Die!’ Rami bellowed, then hurled herself at the Psychobabbler like a wild animal.

They crashed to the floor in the middle of the audience, rolling around as if they were locked together. Two wrestlers. Jan stared at them, but carried on drumming. He could hear Rami’s screams, he could see her scratching and tearing with her fingernails — not at the Psychobabbler, but at herself. She raked her arms until they bled, she smeared streaks of bright-red blood all over herself, over the floor, over the Psychobabbler’s face and her black clothes.

‘Calm down, Alice!’

Jan heard the sound of running footsteps as Jörgen and a colleague arrived and dragged Rami off. But still she carried on screaming, her arms flailing wildly.

‘Stop drumming!’ Jörgen bellowed at Jan.

He stopped at once, but still the noise continued. Rami screamed and screamed. The two men had her in a firm grip by now, and dragged her out of the room. Jan heard her cries disappearing down the corridor, and then there was near silence.

The only sound in the television room was of someone panting. The Psychobabbler. Slowly she got to her feet and adjusted her bloodstained jumper. A colleague passed her a handkerchief.

‘Now do you see?’ said the Psychobabbler. ‘Do you remember my diagnosis?’

The concert was over, but Jan stayed where he was for a little while before picking up his drum kit. His arms were trembling.

The boy in the denim jacket looked around with a nervous smile, then went over and switched on the TV.

Jan walked out alone. He went and put the drums back in the storeroom. He was intending to go back to his room and do some drawing, but when he saw Rami’s closed door he stopped, looked at it for a moment, then knocked.

There was no answer, so he knocked again.

No answer.

‘She’s not there,’ said a voice behind him.

Jan turned around and saw a girl in the corridor. One of the ghosts.

‘What?’

‘They took her down to the Black Hole.’

‘The Black Hole... What’s that?’

‘It’s where they lock you up if you kick off or something.’

‘Where is it?’

‘Down in the cellar,’ said the ghost. ‘It’s got a door with a whole load of locks.’

The Black Hole?

Jan crept down into the underworld, to the long, silent corridors. He found the right door and knocked. There was no answer this time either; the door was made of steel, and no doubt swallowed every sound. But there was a tiny gap at the bottom.

He went back up to his room and fetched pens and a piece of paper. He didn’t know what to write to Rami, but he had to cheer her up somehow, so he wrote: GOOD GIG! JAN

He slid the paper beneath the door, and managed to push a pen under as well. After a minute or so of absolute silence, the paper reappeared. Just one sentence had been added: I AM A SQUIRREL WITHOUT TREES OR AIR.

He looked at the piece of paper. Then he sat down and began to draw a picture of a girl with a guitar, standing on an enormous stage in front of a huge audience, all with their hands in the air. He made as good a job of Rami’s face as he possibly could, then he pushed the picture under the door and quickly crept away.

The following morning he heard noises out in the corridor. Heavy footsteps and loud voices, then the sound of Rami’s door slamming shut.

When everything had gone quiet he went and knocked on her door.

‘Who is it?’ she asked tonelessly through the door, her voice lacking any hint of curiosity.

‘Jan.’

There was a brief silence, then she said, ‘Come in.’

He opened the door very slowly and carefully, as if it might break. The room was in darkness, but he was used to that.

‘Thanks for the picture,’ she said.

‘You’re welcome.’

Rami was lying on the bed staring at the ceiling, with the guitar beside her like some kind of pet. Jan couldn’t see if she was restrained in any way.

He wasn’t afraid, but he stayed by the door. ‘It went well yesterday,’ he said. ‘Really well.’

Rami shook her head. ‘I’ve got to get away from this place, they’re going to break me in here... You want to get out too, don’t you?’

She had raised her head and was looking at him. Jan nodded slowly, even though it wasn’t true. He wanted to stay in the Unit until he was old enough to leave school; he wanted to eat, sleep, play table tennis with Jörgen and play the drums with Rami.

She looked up at the ceiling again. ‘But first I’m going to get my revenge on her.’

‘On who?’

‘The Psychobabbler. She’s the one who had me locked up.’

‘I know,’ Jan said.

‘But that’s not the worst thing,’ Rami said, nodding in the direction of her desk. ‘While I was locked up she came in here and took my diary. I just know she’s sitting there reading it now. From cover to cover.’

Jan looked over at the desk. What Rami said might well be true, because the book that had been lying on the desk was gone.

‘She’s going to regret that,’ Rami said. ‘She and her family.’

38

Jan doesn’t recall ever having spoken to a neighbour, not in all the years he has lived in apartment blocks. He might have said hello if he met someone on the stairs, but he has never stopped to chat. To him a stairwell is not a meeting place, it is just a no-man’s-land where the only sound is the reverberating echo of doors closing.

But here in Valla there is one neighbour he has spoken to, and now he wants to see him again.

When he gets home after the evening with Hanna, he places Rami’s picture books on the kitchen table. He sleeps well that night.

He is still tired when he wakes up, but there are things he must do, and after breakfast he picks up an empty coffee cup and goes down two flights of stairs to the door that says V. LEGÉN on it, and rings the bell.

It takes almost a minute before the door opens. An aroma of pipe tobacco and alcohol reaches Jan’s nostrils as his grey-haired neighbour stares blankly at him, but he gives Legén a big smile.

‘Hello there,’ Jan says. ‘Me again, from upstairs... I’m baking another cake, and I wondered if you could possibly spare a bit more sugar?’

The neighbour seems to recognize him, but doesn’t bother to say hello. ‘Ordinary sugar?’

‘Any kind.’

Legén simply takes the cup and turns away; he doesn’t invite Jan into the dark hallway, but Jan steps inside anyway.

There is no sign of the bag from St Patricia’s that was lying on the floor last time; Jan follows Legén into the kitchen. There are plates piled high all over the place, little islands of bottles and cans on the floor, and the windows are covered in a grey film of dust and grease.

‘I work at St Patricia’s, by the way,’ he says to Legén’s back.

His neighbour doesn’t react at all; he simply carries on tipping sugar into the cup.

‘You used to work there too, didn’t you?’ Jan goes on.

There is no reply this time either, but he thinks he picks up a brief nod over by the worktop. So he tries again: ‘Did you work in the laundry?’

This time Legén definitely nods.

‘How long were you there?’

‘Twenty-eight years. And seven months.’

‘Wow. But you’ve retired now?’

‘Yes,’ Legén says. ‘Now I just make wine.’

Jan looks around. It’s true; that’s what the bottles and cans are for. The fruity, alcoholic aroma is coming from the containers, not from Legén.

‘But maybe you still remember how things looked up there... in the hospital?’ Jan says slowly.

‘Maybe.’

‘Any secret passageways?’ Jan says, smiling to show that this is a joke. Which it isn’t.

Legén stops pouring sugar and looks at Jan, who adds, ‘I’d really like to hear some of your stories, if you feel like talking.’

‘Why?’ asks Legén, picking up the cup of sugar.

‘Well, I work there... I’m just curious about the place. I’ve never been up to any of the wards.’

‘Oh?’ says Legén. ‘So where do you work, then?’

Unable to come up with a convincing lie, Jan replies, ‘At the pre-school.’

‘Pre-school? There is no pre-school.’

‘There is now. It’s for children whose parents are in St Patricia’s.’

Legén simply shakes his head in amazement; he considers Jan’s request for a moment, then hands over the cup of sugar. ‘OK... A hundred, in that case.’

‘A hundred what?’

‘A hundred kronor and I’ll tell you. You can try my wine as well.’

Jan thinks about it, then nods. ‘If you talk to me I’ll fetch the money afterwards.’

Legén sits down at the kitchen table; he doesn’t speak for a little while, but eventually he says, ‘There are no secret passageways. Or at least I’ve never seen one. But there is something else.’

He rummages among the newspapers and receipts covering the surface of the table, and finds a pencil and a torn piece of paper. He begins to draw squares and narrow rectangles.

‘What’s that?’ Jan asks.

‘The laundry.’ Legén draws an arrow. ‘You go to the drying room. There’s a big, wide door. But you don’t go through it, you use the door on the right, just here. That takes you into a storeroom’ — he draws a thick circle around one of the squares — ‘and in there, behind all the stuff, is the way up.’

‘A staircase?’

‘No. An old lift. It goes straight up to the wards... The whole place. But not many people know about it.’

Jan looks at the messy sketch. ‘But there are usually people in the laundry. And plenty of security guards.’

‘Not on Sundays,’ says Legén. ‘The laundry is empty on Sundays; you can operate the lift from inside, and go up and down as you wish.’

For the first time he meets Jan’s eye, and Jan gets the feeling that Legén is talking about himself. All of a sudden there is some kind of understanding between them. Twenty-eight years at St Psycho’s, Jan thinks. Plenty of time to learn about every square metre of the place, every door and every corridor.

And he must have met many of the patients. Seen them and thought about them.

‘Did you use the lift?’ Jan asks.

‘Now and again,’ Legén replies.

‘On Sundays?’

‘Now and again.’

‘You used to meet someone up there?’

Legén nods. He seems to be remembering those encounters. ‘A woman?’

Legén’s expression is mournful. ‘She was beautiful, really lovely... but she carried hell inside her.’

Jan doesn’t ask any more questions.

The detective inspector had bright-green eyes that stared and stared and never looked away. She was sitting at Nina’s desk in the office and seemed completely at home, as if she were now in charge of Lynx. Jan was trying to appear equally relaxed — he was just one of the members of staff being interviewed by the police.

‘Did you see anyone else out in the forest?’

‘You mean... any other adults?’

‘Children or adults,’ said the officer. ‘Anyone who wasn’t part of your group.’

Jan pretended to think back. He could have come up with a shadow among the trees, a crouching male figure spying on the boys with greedy eyes, but he knew that the police were hunting for a kidnapper now, and he didn’t want to link himself to such a figure in any way. He shook his head. ‘I didn’t see anyone... but I did hear some noises.’

‘Noises?’

Jan hadn’t heard any noises, of course, but he had to carry on now he’d started: ‘Yes... creaking branches, as if something was moving about among the fir trees. But I thought it was an animal.’

‘What kind of animal?’

‘I don’t know... A deer, maybe. Or an elk.’

‘Something large, in other words?’

‘Exactly, a large animal... But not a predator.’

The inspector narrowed her eyes. ‘What do you mean by predator?’

‘Well... there are predators in the forest. You don’t see them very often, because they’re so timid, but there are bears and lynxes and wolves... or maybe not wolves, not this far south.’ Jan knew he had started to babble; he closed his mouth and gave a slightly strained smile.

The inspector didn’t ask any more questions. ‘Thank you very much,’ she said, writing something down in her notebook.

Jan stood up. ‘Will you be organizing another search party?’

‘Not just at the moment. The helicopter is going out, and there will be a number of specific targeted initiatives.’

‘I’d be happy to help,’ Jan said. ‘With... anything at all.’

‘Thank you.’

When Jan left the room he looked at the clock. It was twenty past two. Soon it would be twenty-four hours since William had entered the bunker and Jan had crept up and locked him in.

It felt like a year.

Nina and the rest of his colleagues from Lynx and Brown Bear were sitting in the staffroom. They barely spoke to one another; they were just waiting. It felt like a funeral tea. Sigrid Jansson wasn’t there — she had signed herself off sick after her interrogation by the police and gone home.

Because that was what they were doing, wasn’t it? Interrogating people? That’s what it had felt like, and Jan was exhausted after all the questions. He knew that the police had read the letter he had sent to William’s parents, and that they were searching for the boy’s kidnapper, but surely he wasn’t a suspect?

He poured himself a cup of coffee, sat down with the others and tried to relax. There was no longer any sign of the sun outside the window. It was still too early for twilight, but it was on the way.

William’s second twilight in the forest, followed by evening, followed by night.

‘How are you feeling, Jan?’ one of his colleagues asked quietly.

He looked up. ‘Not too bad.’

‘It wasn’t your fault.’

‘Thanks.’

Not his fault. Sometimes Jan actually thought this was true, and that William had just somehow disappeared. But then he remembered what had really happened, and he felt sick. He was tired, beaten. He wasn’t strong enough.

The nursery was unbearably quiet without the children. Silent and still. Not much happened; uniformed officers came and went in the corridor, their expressions still grim, and Jan realized that William had not been found.

He finished his coffee and looked out of the window again. The forest up above the nursery loomed like a dark shadow.

Stop this, a voice said inside his head. Do the right thing and stop this ritual now. Let him go.

Jan got to his feet. ‘I have to go.’

‘Do you want to go home?’ asked Nina.

‘I don’t know... I might take a walk up to the forest.’

He looked helplessly at Nina, but she turned and gazed sadly out of the window. She said quietly, ‘They don’t think he’s there any more.’

‘OK... But I might just wander up there anyway before I go home. I have to do something.’

Some of his colleagues gave him sympathetic smiles, but Jan didn’t smile back.

39

The dell looks so fragile from a distance, Jan thinks. It’s only a wooden hut after all, built to function on a trial basis for a few years before it disappears without a trace. Winter is on its way, and one severe storm sweeping in from the sea could rip off the roof, smash the walls and race through the rooms.

St Psycho’s is a different matter altogether. The grey-stone building has stood for more than a hundred years, and will doubtless stand for a hundred more.

It is Saturday, and Jan has a night shift at the pre-school. He expects to hear the happy voices of the children when he opens the door, but all is quiet. The only sound is a faint clinking from the kitchen, and as Jan is taking off his jacket Hanna appears. She is holding a knife in her hand, but it’s only an ordinary table knife; she’s in the middle of emptying the dishwasher. ‘Hi,’ she says.

‘Hi. I thought Lilian was working today?’

‘She’s ill.’

Jan looks around. ‘Where are the children?’

‘They’ve gone to visit Mira’s new foster family.’

‘Oh, right... When will they be back?’

‘Any minute now.’

Jan takes a step closer to Hanna, in spite of the fact that there is no one else in the building, and says quietly, ‘Listen, all the stuff we’ve talked about... all those secrets. You won’t mention anything to anybody else, will you?’

He feels really stupid, but Hanna merely shakes her head, her expression blank. ‘Secrets bind us together.’

‘You’re right,’ Jan nods. ‘We have a pact.’

He has no time to say any more; the door bursts open and two small bodies dressed in waterproofs come hurtling in: Mira and Leo.

Mira shouts with joy when she spots Jan, and both he and Hanna automatically move apart. Maintain the façade in front of the children.

Mira and Leo are accompanied by a man in a blue cap, a light-brown jacket and sturdy boots. He looks calm and reassuring; he smiles and shakes hands, first with Jan and then with Hanna, introducing himself as ‘Mira’s second daddy’. They both smile back at her new foster father.

‘It all went very well today,’ he says. ‘They’re great kids... This is going to be fantastic.’

‘Absolutely,’ Jan says.

Now the children are back he can’t talk to Hanna any more. She finishes at half past six, and goes home dead on time, with big hugs for Mira and Leo and a brief nod to Jan.

When he is alone with the children he makes supper and sits down at the table with them. ‘Did you have a good time today?’

Mira nods. ‘I’m going to live on a farm. They’ve got horses!’

‘Wow,’ says Jan. ‘Did you get to stroke them?’

Mira chatters on, brimming over with excitement. Jan sees the look on her face, and it makes him feel happy too.

Then he glances over at Leo. He knows that Leo is also going to live on a farm outside the town, but he can see no trace of excitement in Leo’s eyes. ‘Have you had enough to eat?’ he asks.

‘Maybe... Can we have some sweets?’ asks Mira. She knows it’s Saturday.

The children have some chocolate, read two picture books, then go to bed at quarter past eight, after the usual protests.

Jan sits down in the kitchen to wait. The underground passageway leading to St Psycho’s is calling to him, but he has no intention of going down there tonight. That can wait until tomorrow, when the laundry will be empty and security will be slightly more relaxed. Tonight he will just slip up to the visitors’ room. He has to take that risk.

At half past ten he goes up in the lift. He opens the door a fraction at first, but the room is empty and in darkness.

Nothing has changed, but when he quickly goes over to the sofa and lifts up the cushion, he finds a new envelope. It is pale blue this time, and not as fat.

When Jan is safely back in the kitchen, he opens the envelope and discovers that it contains eighteen letters, but he is really interested in only one of them. It is addressed to him, to Jan, and he rips it open immediately, like a Christmas present.

Inside there is a small piece of paper, with a short message in spidery handwriting. But Jan reads it over and over again:

A reply. A reply from Rami. It has to be. Jan puts down the piece of paper; his hand is shaking. Through the window he can see the lights of the hospital, but he suppresses the urge to go straight out into the night to search for Rami’s room.

40

‘Keith Moon meets Topper Headon!’ Rettig shouts. ‘That’s exactly what it sounds like when you play, Jan!’

Jan nods and plays one last roll. He has been sitting behind the drum kit for almost an hour, and the music has made him forget the letters from the hospital.

And now Rettig has paid him a compliment, which is kind; Jan isn’t sure whether to pass on the bad news about the Dell. But eventually he decides to tell him. When only he and Rettig are left in the rehearsal room, he casually says, ‘By the way, the pre-school is going to be closed at night.’

Rettig carries on packing away the instruments. ‘From when?’

‘Soon... next week. All the children have foster families now.’

‘OK, thanks for letting me know.’

‘But you realize what this means?’ says Jan.

‘What?’

‘That none of the staff will be there at night... So it looks as if we’ll have to stop playing postman.’

But Rettig shakes his head. ‘Just think about it, Jan.’

‘Think about what?’

‘About the fact that the Dell will be closed at night... What does it mean when something is closed?’

Jan gets up and puts down the drumsticks. He has been hard at it, and he has blisters on his fingers. ‘It means no one can get in,’ he says. ‘When something is closed, the doors are locked.’

‘Absolutely,’ says Rettig, ‘but you’ll still have a set of keys, won’t you?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘And the most important thing is that the place will be empty... There won’t be anybody there at night, will there?’

‘Maybe not.’

‘And if someone has a key to a place that’s closed, they can just go in and do whatever they want, can’t they?’

‘I suppose so,’ says Jan. ‘As long as they don’t have some kind of surveillance.’

‘There’s no surveillance at night. I’m in charge then, remember.’ Rettig closes his guitar case and goes on: ‘But we can take a break from the deliveries if you think it’s a good idea. We’re running a major security exercise at St Patricia’s in a couple of weeks, and things usually get a bit tense up there until everything falls into place.’

Jan is thinking about everything that has happened over the past few weeks. About the strange noises in the corridors. ‘The hospital basement,’ he says. ‘Is it completely empty at night?’

‘Why do you ask?’

Jan hesitates. He doesn’t want to give anything away. ‘Dr Högsmed mentioned something about the corridors in the basement when he was showing me around,’ he says. ‘He said it was unpleasant down there.’

‘Högsmed’s the boss, but he knows nothing,’ Rettig replies. ‘He’s hardly ever been down to the basement.’

‘But is there anyone else down there?’

Rettig nods. ‘The communal areas are down there... The patients from the open wards are allowed to spend time down there without supervision. There’s a swimming pool and a small chapel and a bowling alley — a bit of everything, really.’

Jan looks at him. ‘The open wards... so those patients aren’t dangerous?’

‘Not usually,’ Rettig replies. ‘But sometimes they get ideas, and then you have to be on your guard.’

Jan knows he has to be on his guard, all the time. But Rami feels so close now, and he wants to ask Rettig one last question: ‘And if you happened to find me down there, would you sound the alarm?’

The question doesn’t go down well with Rettig. ‘You’d never get in, Jan... And why on earth would you want to get into St Patricia’s? Do you really want to know what an asylum looks like on the inside?’

‘No, no,’ Jan says quickly. ‘I was just wondering, if I did get into the hospital, would you give me away?’

‘We’re mates.’ Rettig shakes his head. ‘You don’t grass on your mates. So I wouldn’t do anything... I’d leave you alone.’ He looks at Jan. ‘But I wouldn’t be able to help you either, if someone else found you. I’d deny the whole thing, just like in that American TV series.’

Jan can’t ask for anything more. ‘OK. I’ll just have to improvise.’

‘Everybody improvises up there at night,’ Rettig says.

‘What do you mean?’

Rettig shrugs his shoulders. ‘The days are well organized at St Patricia’s; we have good, solid routines. But the nights aren’t quite as peaceful. Anything can happen then.’ He grins at Jan and adds, ‘Especially when there’s a full moon.’

Jan doesn’t ask any more questions. He moves away from the drum kit; he didn’t perform particularly well tonight, whatever Rettig thinks. He’s not really a team player.

That night Jan dreams about Alice Rami again; but it’s a horrible dream. He is walking beside her along a road, and he ought to feel good — but when he looks down, the creature running along and panting between them is no ordinary dog. In fact, it isn’t a dog at all.

It’s a growling, snarling wild animal, a yellowish-brown cross between a lynx and a dragon.

‘Come along, Rössel!’ Rami calls as she jogs off down the road.

The creature grins scornfully at Jan and races after her.

Jan is left alone in the darkness.

It was time for the madness to end, Jan realized.

When he left the nursery he had definitely decided: he was going to let William go. Let him go now. The planned forty-six hours in the bunker would be only twenty-four.

He turned off and headed up into the forest, striding purposefully along.

The track had been trampled by hundreds of boots over the past two days; it had been widened and was easy to walk along. Jan was able to move faster, and when he got into the forest he could see how the undergrowth had been flattened. It wasn’t dark yet; it was only quarter past three. But there was no sign of anyone, and he couldn’t hear the helicopter.

He carried on into the ravine, quickly went through the old gate, and slowed down only when he had almost reached the slope leading up to the bunker. He had to be careful here.

The small metal door was just as well hidden as before, and when Jan moved the branches aside he saw that it was still firmly closed.

He let out a long breath. Time to assume the role of the innocent classroom assistant who goes into the forest and happens to do what no one dares hope for any longer: he finds the missing child. By pure chance.

He put his mouth close to the door and shouted, loud and clear, ‘Hello? Anyone there?’

He waited, but there was no response.

Jan could have carried on shouting, but after waiting for a few more seconds he pulled open the door. ‘Hello?’ he said again.

There was no response this time either.

Jan wasn’t worried yet, just puzzled. He bent down and stuck his head inside the dark bunker. ‘Hello?’

It was messier in there this time. The blankets lay in a heap by the wall, and there were many more empty sandwich packs, drink cartons and sweet wrappers strewn around. Roboman was also lying on the floor, but he was broken. His head was cracked and his right arm was missing.

But there was no sign of William.

Jan crawled inside. ‘William?’

He shouldn’t really call out the boy’s name, but he was worried now. The boy wasn’t in there, and yet there was nowhere he could have gone.

Eventually he caught sight of the red bucket. The toilet bucket. It was standing right by the back wall, but it was upside down. Why?

Jan looked up at the wall and saw one of the long, narrow gaps that let in air — but it had somehow become slightly bigger. Someone had poked away the earth, branches and old leaves, and managed to clear the opening so that it was now between twenty and thirty centimetres deep. Not big enough for an adult, but big enough for a five-year-old.

William had found a way out. He had probably tried to take Roboman with him, but had dropped the toy on the floor.

Jan tried to remain calm. He knew what he had to do, and set to work. He spread the blankets out on the floor and gathered up everything he had brought into the bunker: the food and drink, the toys and the plastic bucket. Then he bundled everything up in the blankets and dragged them outside. He had now removed all traces of himself from the bunker. The old mattress was still there, but couldn’t be linked to him.

He quickly carried the bundles down to level ground, took exactly one hundred and twenty paces away from the bunker and hid the lot under a dense fir. He would fetch it later, when he had found William.

Jan looked around. It was twilight now, but nothing was moving in the forest.

Where should he start?

41

Jan goes to work earlier on the Sunday; he wants to get to the hospital before the sun goes down. It is shining like a big yellow ball in a dark-blue sky this afternoon. Autumn days can be so fresh and clear sometimes.

The sunshine is perfect, because after the reply from Rami, he wants to see the hospital in daylight.

I have marked out my nest, the letter had told him. Come out of the forest and see.

The forest is at the back of St Patricia’s, so Jan has to make a detour. This is not without risk — he must keep out of range of the cameras and alarm systems. But the slope leading down to the brook that runs alongside the fence is thick with undergrowth and dense fir trees, and he is able to remain hidden in the shadows.

He stops between two firs and gazes over the fence at the rows of windows. From the edge of the forest he spots something new on the stone façade: something is fluttering in the wind up there.

A white flag. It looks as if it has been made from a torn sheet or a handkerchief, and it is hanging down from one of the windows.

Now he understands what the squirrel meant when she said she had marked out her nest.

Jan counts silently, circling the window with the flag in his mind’s eye, as if the façade were a map: fourth floor, seventh window from the right. He must remember that position.

There is no sign of anyone behind the glass; the room is in darkness, but Rami has shown him exactly where she lives.

All he has to do now is get there — but the only way is through the basement.

Before tea Leo and Mira are playing doctors. Their cuddly toys are poorly, and the children are going to make them better. Jan helps them to sort out the little beds, then he has to lie down and be a patient too.

After they have eaten they go outside for a while. Leo and Mira want to play on the swings, but Jan is somehow detached from their activities. He gives them both a push, then glances over at the fence. It is dusk now, and the floodlights have come on, shining on wet leaves and the sharp points of the barbed wire.

Fifteen years have passed, but Jan hopes that Rami will still be there. His Rami, that is. The Rami who was in the room next door to him in the Unit for a while. The girl who let him in and was the first person who seemed to think he was worth talking to. No, not seemed to think — she actually liked spending time with Jan. And the fact that she left him and ran away like a squirrel — well, that was because of something else altogether.

It is late by the time the children fall asleep — just before nine.

Jan should be able to relax now, but it is impossible. Leo had trouble getting to sleep, and shouted for Jan several times. Jan’s nerves are already at breaking point, and tonight he has a long journey ahead of him. Long and uncertain — even if he knows his goal.

Fourth floor, seventh window from the right.

At quarter past eleven he checks on Mira and Leo one last time, then heads down the stairs to the basement with the Angel clipped to his belt. There isn’t a sound; the children have been fast asleep for more than two hours now.

He opens the door into the safe room; the door at the far end is still unlocked. He walks into the darkness.

He is back in the hospital basement, but he is better prepared this time. The Angel has new batteries, and the little beam sweeps across the old tiled walls. He knows where he is, but he is still unable to relax. Last time Hanna was upstairs listening in, but tonight he is all alone.

He sets off, with Legén’s primitive map in his hand: the arrows should help him find his way.

To make sure he doesn’t get lost, he has something else in his pocket: white paper. Before he left he sat in the kitchen and tore up several sheets of paper into tiny pieces. As he walks along he drops them one by one, a couple of metres apart.

Marking out his escape route.

He eventually reaches the grubby tiled rooms, and tucks the Angel underneath his jumper so that the light won’t show too much, just in case any patients are wandering around down here. He is getting close to the laundry now, and even though Legén maintained it was closed on Sundays, he doesn’t want to advertise his presence.

He looks up at the ceiling. Thick, snake-like electric cables are intertwined up there. And somewhere above him are the rooms where the patients live. About a hundred, Högsmed had said. And he is hoping that one of them, on the fourth floor, is Alice Rami.

He has reached the laundry. The door is closed. And locked? He reaches out and pushes down the handle. The door is stiff, but it opens.

The last time he was here there was a light on, but now the room is in darkness. It is like a black cave, apart from the odd light on the electricity meter and the washing machines, glowing like the red eyes of animals lurking in the gloom. Fans are whirring softly in the background; the air is warm and heavy.

Jan steps inside, still clutching his map.

He is looking for a wide door, but doesn’t want to switch on the light. Or rather he does want to, but dare not. He gropes his way forward, past rows of padlocked metal cupboards and a table littered with dirty coffee cups. Then he is in a smaller room with no lights at all, and he has no choice but to use the Angel.

The beam falls on an enormous washing machine with a metal face and a round, gaping mouth in the middle. The walls are lined with long shelves containing bundles of laundry; up at the top there is a steel rail with a row of vests on coat hangers; they look like slender white angels.

Jan carries on searching, and eventually he discovers a broad, black steel door.

The door to the drying room, according to the map. A few metres to the left there is a narrower wooden door with a round knob; Jan goes over and opens it.

The rooms in the laundry have been getting smaller and smaller, and this is the smallest of them all. A storeroom with stone walls. There is an old light switch by the door, and he decides to risk it in order to save the Angel’s batteries.

A dusty bulb illuminates a windowless room full of rubbish: old wooden crates, empty soap-powder boxes, a broken coat hanger. But next to one of the shelves is exactly what Legén promised: a lift door with an iron handle. A very small door — more of a hatch, really. It is barely a metre wide and not much taller, and when Jan goes over and opens it, he realizes that this is not a lift meant for people. It is a wooden lift built many years ago to send baskets of clean laundry up to the various floors in the hospital.

There isn’t much room inside; it would be impossible to stand upright. Jan stares at the opening and hesitates. Then he stoops down and pushes his head and shoulders inside. It’s like crawling into the luggage compartment on a bus. Or into a big chest.

It is seriously claustrophobic, but still he squeezes himself inside.

Fluffy dust balls swirl away from his hands and knees; he can’t stand up, but with a little bit of effort he can move his legs and turn around.

Before Jan closes the hatch he glances down at the Angel. What will he do if one of the children wakes up and calls out to him now? But he can’t think about that; he is too close to Rami.

Fourth floor, seventh window.

He switches on the Angel’s torch. The wooden walls are pressing in on him, and his shadow is dancing on the ceiling. He sees a number of black circles in front of him. Seven buttons. They are old and cracked, they might even be made of Bakelite, and one of them is marked EMERGENCY STOP. The other six are not numbered, but he takes a chance and presses the fourth button from the right.

He hears a clunking sound somewhere above him, and slowly the lift begins to move. Upwards. The wall in front of him slides downwards as the lift shakes and rattles.

Jan is on his way up through the hospital. His destination is by no means guaranteed, but he hopes it is the fourth floor.

He closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to think about it, but the lift feels like a wooden coffin.

After more than a week in the Unit Jan started to talk about why he had jumped in the pond. Not to some psychologist, but to Rami. It was a long story, told behind the closed door of her room.

Rami was restless that evening. She jumped up on to her unmade bed, then lay down with the pillow over her face. Then she got up again, grabbed her guitar and stood right at the edge of the mattress facing the black curtains, as if she could see an audience out there in front of her.

‘I love chaos,’ she said. ‘Chaos is freedom. I want to sing in praise of insecurity... as if I’m standing on the very edge of the stage, and sometimes I just fall off.’

Jan was sitting on the floor, but said nothing.

Rami didn’t look at him, she just went on: ‘If I ever get to record an album, it will be like a suicide note. But without the suicide.’

Jan looked at the floor for a while, then said, ‘I’ve done that.’

Rami struck a chord on the guitar, fierce and dark. ‘Done what?’ she said.

‘I tried to kill myself,’ Jan said. ‘Last week.’

Rami played another chord. ‘People should die for music,’ she said. ‘A song should be so good that people want to die when they hear it.’

‘I wanted to die before I came here... And I almost managed it.’

Now it was Rami’s turn to be quiet; she seemed to be listening at last. She took a couple of steps backwards and leaned against the wall. ‘You wanted to die? For real?’

Jan nodded slowly. ‘Yes... I would have died anyway.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They would have killed me.’

‘Who would?’

Jan held his breath and didn’t look at Rami. Talking about what had happened was difficult, even though the door was closed, even though the fence was protecting him. He felt as if Torgny Fridman were sitting on the other side of the wall, listening.

‘A gang,’ he said eventually. ‘A gang of lads at my school... They’re in the year above me and they call themselves the Gang of Four, or maybe that’s just what everybody else calls them. They rule the place — in the corridors, anyway. The teachers haven’t got a clue. They don’t do anything about it... Everybody just does whatever these lads say.’

‘But not you?’

‘I was stupid, I didn’t think,’ Jan says. ‘One day in the lunch queue, Torgny Fridman told me to move out of the way. He wanted to go in front of me, but I wouldn’t let him in... I stayed put, and in the end one of the teachers came and spoke to him and sent him right to the back of the queue. He never forgot it.’ Jan sighed. ‘From then on it was just a campaign of terror; it was war between me and Torgny. He used to have a go at me every time he saw me, either by shouting out what a worthless little shit I was, or by knocking me over.’

Jan paused.

‘So I kept away from the gang. I counted the days, and I thought I might just make it.’

Friday afternoon, a bitterly cold day in March. Jan’s last lesson today was PE, and now it’s over. It’s the end of the school week, and it’s actually been pretty quiet. No fights.

He is the last person in the boys’ changing room. He might even be the last person in the sports hall. It is a few hundred metres away from the rest of the school, and everyone else has gone. All the boys in his class waited for their friends. No one waited for Jan.

It’s OK, it’s always the same.

He picks up his flimsy towel, winds it around his waist and heads for the showers, where the dripping water echoes in the four small cubicles. He hangs up his towel and goes into the cubicle next to the pine door of the sauna.

He turns on the hot water, stands under the shower and begins to rub shower gel over his body.

‘I was just standing there in the shower; my legs were tired after PE, and my head was completely empty,’ Jan told Rami. ‘I wasn’t thinking about anything at all... Sometimes when you’re having a hot shower it’s as if you’re dreaming, you know what I mean? I might have been thinking about the weekend; I was going to be on my own at home because Mum and Dad were going away somewhere... When I finished and turned to reach for my towel, I suddenly smelled cigarette smoke in the air. And then I saw that someone was standing outside the shower. It was Torgny Fridman.’

Torgny is fully dressed, wearing jeans, a denim jacket, and boots.

He is standing by the shower cubicle, blocking the doorway. He looks at Jan and smiles.

Torgny is not the leader of the gang, but he is the one who most wants to impress Peter Malm. Peter is the leader; he has never bothered with Jan. But Torgny is dangerous.

He seems delighted to have a naked Year 10 pupil in front of him.

Jan stares back at him. He doesn’t do anything else. He might possibly be able to straighten up and push his way past Torgny, but in that case he would have to be someone else, not Jan Hauger.

So Jan stays where he is, and smiles.

He always smiles in threatening situations, even though he doesn’t want to. The more frightened he is, the more he smiles.

Torgny is actually smiling too, a victorious smile. He shows his teeth, grinning broadly at Jan. Then he turns his head to the right and calls to someone. He carries on smiling and calls out several names, and when he has finished there is silence for a few seconds.

Then the door of the sauna opens and his three friends emerge. The pack, the Gang of Four. Each of them is holding a glowing cigarette.

Could he push his way past them and escape?

Too late.

‘So they were sitting in the sauna?’ Rami said. ‘Why?’

‘They were hiding from the teachers,’ Jan explained. ‘They were having a secret smoke. The sauna was turned off, so they sat in there smoking and waiting for the weekend to begin. There was Torgny, Niklas, Christer, and Peter Malm. And they all walked out of the sauna, and when I saw them I moved backwards.’

But where can Jan go? He is standing in a shower cubicle, naked, in a puddle of cold water. He can’t back away through a wall.

Torgny says just one word: ‘Hauger.’

His name sounds like an accusation.

‘What are you doing here, Hauger? Are you spying on us?’

Jan doesn’t reply; he just keeps on smiling at Torgny to show that he is completely harmless. And he is, of course. Four fifteen-year-olds against one fourteen-year-old. That’s about the right level of opposition for the gang.

Torgny was the one who discovered their prey, and now he is the one who brings it down. He places his cigarette in the corner of his mouth, grabs hold of Jan’s arm and delivers a sharp kick to his shin. Jan crumples on to the tiles. Into the cold water.

He tries to get up, but feels hands on his body, holding him firmly. Not Peter Malm — he doesn’t bother — but all the others. Three pairs of hands are pushing him down.

Through the fear Jan knows that Peter is the leader. He is the master, the others are his savage dogs. Jan tries to make eye contact.

Don’t let them loose, he thinks.

‘What shall we do with him?’ Torgny asks.

‘Do something cool,’ says Peter.

Torgny nods; he has an idea: ‘We’ll stub out our fags on him!’

Peter stands back and carries on smoking as his subordinates put out their cigarettes. One by one, on Jan’s skin. It turns into a competition to find the best place.

Christer stubs out his cigarette on Jan’s chest, between the nipples.

Niklas goes for a testicle. ‘Did you hear that?’ he shouts. ‘It made a hissing noise! Did you hear it?’

Peter Malm nods and takes another drag on his cigarette.

Torgny smiles and takes his time.

Eventually he chooses the place where the skin is thinnest, on the throat.

At that point Jan closes his eyes.

‘The worst thing isn’t the pain,’ Jan said to Rami. ‘I mean, of course it hurts, it’s a bit like a nail going through your skin... but that passes.’

‘So what is the worst thing?’

‘It’s the smell. It kind of lingers. You can smell burnt flesh... and it’s your own.’

As he talked about it the smell was there again, as if it were still inside his nostrils after a whole week.

He had known he was going to die there in the shower. Alone with the Gang of Four — there was no hope for him.

The cigarettes have been stubbed out. Jan has brownish-red circles on his skin, like fresh birthmarks. The hands holding him down loosen their grip slightly; the fingers are beginning to tire.

Soon. Soon it will be over, he thinks. They’ll go in a minute.

But then Peter Malm issues a new order: ‘Chuck him in the sauna.’

‘Fanfuckingtastic!’says Torgny. ‘We’ll lock him in!’

‘What are you talking about?’ says Niklas. ‘There’s no lock.’

Disappointed silence. Jan keeps quiet too.

‘Chuck him in there anyway,’ says Peter; it is obvious from the tone of his voice that he is starting to get bored. ‘Chuck him in and we’ll get out of here.’

The grip on Jan’s arms tightens once more. They are assuming he will fight back, and he does. This is the final battle, but he loses it in no time. Six hands drag him towards the sauna, and Peter holds the door open.

For just a second Jan’s thigh presses against Torgny as they struggle, and he realizes that Torgny has a rock-hard erection.

Then Jan is hurled into the sauna. He lands on his back on the duckboards, and the door slams shut.

Silence.

The light is on inside the sauna, and a faint smell of cigarette smoke still lingers in the air.

Jan can hear their laughter through the door.

‘Time to turn up the heat, Hauger!’

The light goes out. The Gang of Four have switched it off.

Torgny is still shouting. ‘We’re taking your clothes.’

Niklas chips in, ‘We’re going to chuck them in the pond, Hauger, so everybody will think you’ve drowned!’

Jan doesn’t respond. He lies there like a mouse in the darkness. Silent, waiting.

He knows that the Gang of Four are holding the door shut, but they’re bound to leave at some point. Sooner or later torturing a little Year 10 kid is going to get boring, it’s going to start feeling like hard work, and then they’ll give up. That’s what he’s waiting for.

The black metal heater inside the sauna begins to make a series of clicking noises, and he realizes they’ve actually done it; they’ve turned the control outside the door from OFF to ON. But how high have they set the temperature? Fifty degrees? Sixty? Or much hotter?

It doesn’t matter. They’ll go soon.

Eventually everything goes quiet outside the door, and Jan feels brave enough to move.

He gets to his feet. The sauna is already warmer. Not hot, but warm.

He listens again, places the palm of his hand against the door, and pushes.

‘I couldn’t open it,’ he said to Rami. ‘It should have just swung open, but it wouldn’t move. They’d jammed it somehow. So I was locked inside the sauna, and the heater was clicking away... It was getting hotter and hotter.’

Jan saw street lights shimmering up ahead of him, and knew that he was on his way out of the forest.

He had been wandering around in a state of rising panic for forty-five minutes now, searching among the fir trees and even down by the lake, but he had found no trace of William. A five-year-old shouldn’t have been able to get this far, but then William could have gone in absolutely any direction.

Jan had lost control. He was tired, slightly angry, and increasingly desperate. Sometimes he thought the child was hiding from him, that he was standing behind a tree giggling to himself.

Why had William clambered out of the bunker? Didn’t he realize he was safer in there than out in the forest? He had plenty of food and drink, and he would have been locked in there for less than forty-eight hours. Then Jan would have let him go, whatever happened.

His plan. His carefully thought-out plan.

Jan stopped in the middle of the undergrowth. His shoes were soaking wet, he felt empty and exhausted.

Locked inside a bunker — with only a toy robot for company. Jan looked around him and suddenly felt how wrong the whole thing had been. It had to stop now. There had to be a happy ending.

He stood there for a long time on the edge of the forest, wondering what to do. He felt safe there because nobody could see him, but eventually he moved out from among the trees and headed down towards the street lights. This was a residential area with long rows of apartment blocks and large, asphalt-covered inner courtyards, all ready for the coming winter. There were lights showing in many of the windows, but the streets were deserted.

Jan walked along the nearest pavement, looking around all the time. He felt the urge to call out William’s name, but clamped his lips firmly together.

If I were five years old, he thought, and the glow of the street lights had lured me out of the forest, where would I go?

Home, of course. When you have been locked up and then you escape, you want to go home.

But Jan knew where William lived, and it was in a completely different part of Nordbro. It was unlikely that he would be able to find his way there.

A few hundred metres away there was a main road, and Jan made his way towards it. What he really wanted was to go home too, go home and go to bed, but then he would be leaving William. Not just leaving, but abandoning him.

Up ahead he could see a bus stop, with a few teenagers hanging around. On the same side of the road a family was out for a walk, a man and his two children going towards the town centre.

No, it wasn’t a family. As Jan got closer he could see that the smallest child was actually a dog, a long-legged poodle on a short lead. And the other... the other child was a little boy with fair hair.

The man holding the boy’s hand looked like his grandfather, a pensioner in a cap, ambling along between the boy and the poodle. The boy wasn’t wearing a hat, but he was dressed in a dark-blue padded jacket with white reflector strips.

Jan recognized it, and broke into a run.

‘William!’

His shout made the boy stop and look around. The man tugged at his hand, but the boy pulled away, wanting to stop and see who was calling his name.

Jan was out of breath by the time he reached them. He bent down. ‘Do you remember me, William?’

The boy looked at him without moving. Everything had stopped dead. The man holding William’s hand was staring at Jan in surprise, and even the poodle had turned around and was standing there motionless.

Then William nodded. ‘Lynx,’ he said, his voice slightly hoarse.

‘That’s right, William... I work at Lynx.’ Jan looked up at the man and tried to sound trustworthy and totally in control of himself. ‘My name is Jan Hauger, I work at William’s nursery. He’s been missing... We’ve been looking for him.’

‘Oh, right. I see. My name is Olsson.’ The man appeared to relax. He let go of William’s hand and pointed back down the road. ‘He just turned up here a little while ago, when Charlie and I were out for our walk. He seemed to be lost, so I said we’d go and look for his parents.’

Jan looked at William, who was staring at the ground. He seemed slightly listless, but healthy. Not undernourished. His left hand was clutching Roboman’s plastic arm.

‘Great,’ Jan said. ‘But they live quite a long way from here, so I think we’d better ring for some help.’

‘Help?’ said Olsson.

‘I think we need to ring the police. They’re looking for William.’

‘The police?’ The man looked worried, but Jan nodded and took out his mobile. He rang the emergency number, and waited.

The man started to move away with the poodle, but Jan held up his hand. ‘You and Charlie need to stay here,’ he said as firmly as possible. ‘I think they’re going to want to speak to you as well.’

Obviously. Jan was in no doubt about the man’s intentions towards William, but he knew the police would look at things very differently. As a thank you for taking care of William, Olsson would presumably be interrogated on suspicion of child abduction.

‘Emergency — which service do you require?’

‘Police,’ said Jan. ‘It’s about a missing boy — he’s been found.’

As he was waiting to be put through he looked down at William. Jan smiled at him, trying to look calm and reliable. He wanted to reach out and pat the boy on the head, but resisted the impulse.

‘All’s well that ends well,’ he said. ‘I think we’d better stay away from the forest in future.’

42

The rattling ascent in the old hospital lift takes an hour — or at least that’s how it feels to Jan. He holds the claustrophobia at bay by keeping his eyes closed and picturing Rami; he conjures up her face and remembers her eyes beneath that blonde fringe. She was the only one he could talk to about the Gang of Four.

But the floor and the walls are shaking, and he is constantly reminded of where he is. If one of the cogs were to break and the lift were to get stuck between floors... He doesn’t want to think about that. The drumbeats reverberate inside his head.

Suddenly the lift comes to an abrupt halt. Everything falls silent.

Jan switches off the Angel’s torch and reaches out to the door in front of him. At first it won’t move. The fear sinks its claws into him immediately, but then the door slowly gives way and slides open.

It stops after about forty or fifty centimetres; there is something heavy in the way. Jan peers out. There is a faint light, but all he can see is grey metal.

Slowly he begins to manoeuvre his way out. It feels as if he has woken up inside a coffin in a big house, just like Viveca in Rami’s book.

His upper body is out now, and he can see that there is a metal cupboard in the way. The room beyond it seems to be some kind of medical storeroom, with bandages and packs of tablets on the shelves. The light is coming in through a narrow pane of glass in the door.

There isn’t a sound.

Jan tentatively lowers his feet to the floor next to the cupboard, then he stands up and looks over at the exit. Three steps and he is there, reaching out his hand.

The door opens from the inside. He pulls it three or four centimetres towards him, feels fresh air come pouring in, and listens carefully. He still can’t hear a thing.

St Psycho’s is sleeping.

Jan tugs the door further towards him. He sees a long, wide corridor with pale-yellow walls. The glow of the ceiling lights is subdued, perhaps because it is night time. There isn’t a soul in sight. He can smell disinfectant, so there must be cleaners around somewhere.

And patients.

And security guards, of course. Rettig and Carl and their friends.

Jan pulls himself together and steps out of the storeroom. The corridor extends in both directions, with rows of closed doors on both sides. The black hands on a large, round clock above the door are showing quarter to twelve.

Jan tucks a couple of the pieces of paper he has left into the lock to keep the door open. Then he moves along the vinyl floor, as quietly as possible.

Suddenly he feels like a fourteen-year-old again, back in the corridors of the Unit. There is the same silence, the same cold walls and closed doors.

A surprising sense of calm descends on him. Being here in the Corridor of the Closed Doors is almost like coming home.

He looks to the right and begins to count the unmarked doors. The seventh looks just like the rest — but to Jan’s eyes it seems to shine with a greater luminosity, and it is waiting for him just seven or eight metres away.

He moves along slowly, past all the other doors. On each one there is a steel handle, with a small metal hatch beside it.

He has almost reached his goal. Should he knock on Rami’s door, or try to open it?

Jan makes a decision: he will knock.

‘Excuse me? Who are you?’

The sound of a voice makes him jump.

He has been caught. A security guard has opened the door at the far end of the corridor, and is staring at him. But it isn’t Rettig or Carl — this is a middle-aged woman.

She takes a couple of steps towards him. ‘Where have you come from?’

Jan blinks, desperately searching for an answer. ‘From the laundry.’

‘You’re not supposed to be here,’ the woman says. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I got lost,’ Jan says.

The woman stares, but doesn’t say anything else; suddenly she turns and hurries away. To fetch help?

Jan needs to get away.

He glances at Rami’s door one last time. So close, but there is nothing he can do right now. There is nothing he can give her.

No — maybe there is one thing.

He opens the small metal hatch in the wall next to her door and peers inside. The box is empty apart from a couple of sheets of paper. A menu, and information about a forthcoming fire drill.

Quickly he unclips the Angel from his belt and slips it into the box, hiding it beneath the sheets of paper. Then he closes the hatch.

The corridor is still empty, and Jan rushes back to the storeroom. He removes the pieces of paper that were keeping the door open, but pushes one of them right into the lock to hold the catch pressed in. As he silently closes the door he hears heavy footsteps in the corridor. The guards are on their way.

The lift is just as cramped as before, but this time he clambers inside without hesitation. He presses the button on the far right, and the lift clunks into life.

Jan keeps his eyes closed all the way down.

When the lift stops he quickly opens the hatch; he is impatient and less tentative now. It is well after midnight, and he wants to get out of the hospital.

He gropes his way along, out of the laundry and through the tiled rooms. He has no Angel to help him this time, but somewhere up ahead he can see a flickering light.

And he can hear singing — is someone singing hymns down here?

He fumbles his way forward, staring down at the tiled floor. Where are the bits of paper? He can’t see them in the darkness.

The light grows stronger as he shuffles down the long corridors. Eventually he turns a corner and sees a doorway filled with light; there are candles burning in a couple of wooden sconces on the walls.

He is standing in a narrow room with a bank of wooden benches. A few grey sacks have been thrown on the floor. It’s a small chapel, and right at the front he sees an altarpiece — an old, cracked image of a woman with a gentle smile. He moves closer and is able to read the name PATRICIA painted in angular letters on the frame of the picture.

Patricia, the hospital’s patron saint.

He turns away — but the grey sacks have begun to move.

They are patients. Three men in grey tracksuits, with grey faces. One older man with heavy jowls, and two younger men with shaved heads. They are staring at Jan, their expressions blank and empty. Perhaps it’s because of the medication.

The older man points to the altar. His voice is mechanical. ‘Patricia needs peace and quiet.’

‘So do we,’ says one of the others.

‘Me too,’ Jan says quietly.

‘Do you live here?’ one of the patients asks.

‘Yes,’ Jan replies. ‘I live down here.’

The older man nods, and Jan takes a step past the three men. Slowly and carefully. Rettig has warned him. But the patients remain motionless, and Jan goes back out into the corridor.

Eventually he finds one of his scraps of paper on the floor. And then another. They show him the way, and he hurries along, following the white trail. He hears voices in the chapel behind him — the men have started singing hymns again. Jan speeds up, heading towards the end of the corridor.

Into another corridor, around several corners in this labyrinth — and at last he is back in the safe room.

He shuts the steel door behind him, then scurries along the familiar corridor, past the animal pictures and up the stairs. His adventure is over.

The last thing he does at the top of the stairs is to listen for footsteps from down below. But no one is pursuing him.

He closes the door and breathes out, but he can’t relax. He checks on the children, and has a terrible shock.

Only one head is visible in the beds. It is Leo’s. Mira’s bed is empty.

Jan is utterly panic-stricken; he can’t move. You let them down. Another child is missing. Missing, missing—

Then he hears the toilet flush in the bathroom.

Mira is almost six; she has learned how to go to the toilet on her own, without calling for an adult. She emerges from the bathroom and walks straight past him, still half asleep. She hasn’t even noticed that he wasn’t there.

‘Goodnight, Mira,’ he says behind her.

‘Mm,’ she replies, and gets back into bed.

A few minutes later she seems to have dropped off, and Jan is gradually able to wind down. He removes the other Angel from the children’s room and puts it in his locker. If things work out this will be his link to the hospital. A way of transmitting secret messages.

43

‘Is everyone feeling ok?’ Marie-Louise asks.

There are a few indistinct mumbles.

The response is muted. Winter is on its way. It is late autumn, a weary grey Monday morning at the Dell, with an excess of darkness and very little light.

Jan says nothing, but no one seems to notice his silence. His night shift actually finished an hour ago, but in spite of his tiredness he has stayed on to attend the morning meeting. He wants to know if his visit to the hospital has been discovered — if Dr Högsmed has sent over a report about an intruder. The security guard was quite a long way from him, she can’t possibly have seen his face all that clearly, but...

Marie-Louise doesn’t mention it. She is behaving exactly the way she always does, except that she is slightly more subdued. Perhaps it’s because of the autumn darkness outside the window.

Lilian is positively drooping. Her head is bent over her coffee cup so that the red hair covers her face; she seems to be half asleep. When Marie-Louise turns to her, Lilian doesn’t look her in the eye.

‘Lilian,’ Marie-Louise says tentatively. ‘What’s that?’

‘Sorry? What’s what?’

Lilian raises her head and Jan sees that she still has the snake on her cheek. Her weekend tattoo.

‘On your cheek... Have you painted something on your cheek?’

‘This?’ Lilian runs her fingers over her face, and seems surprised when she notices that her fingertips are slightly black. ‘Oh, sorry, that was for a party... I forgot to get rid of it. Sorry. I’m really sorry.’ She coughs loudly and suppresses a belch, and the smell of alcohol spreads across the table.

Marie-Louise frowns. ‘Lilian, could I have a word with you in private?’

Lilian closes her mouth. ‘What for?’

‘Because you are far from sober.’ Marie-Louise’s voice is no longer gentle.

Lilian looks at her for a few seconds, then she gets up and leaves the table, her lips tightly pressed together. She walks out of the room after pausing to address the others: ‘I am not drunk,’ she mutters. ‘I am hung-over.’

Marie-Louise follows her. ‘Back in a moment.’

Both women seem to have repaired to the cloakroom; that’s where their voices are now coming from. The conversation begins as a quiet discussion, but the volume rapidly increases. Marie-Louise’s voice remains controlled, but Lilian responds with loud questions.

‘Can’t a person go out and relax after work? Wind down a little bit? Or are we all supposed to dedicate our lives to the kids, just like you’ve done?’

‘Calm down please, Lilian — the children can hear you...’

‘I am fucking calm!’

Around the table you could hear a pin drop. Hanna and Andreas keep their eyes lowered, and Jan can’t think of anything to say.

The tirade continues: ‘You’re sick, that’s your problem! You need to get some help!’

Is that Lilian or Marie-Louise? Jan can’t tell; the voice that is yelling is too shrill.

‘And you’re so fucking perfect! I just can’t do it any more, I can’t be like you... The nut jobs can look after their own fucking kids!’

That must be Lilian, Jan realizes.

Marie-Louise’s response is cold and curt: ‘Lilian, you’re hysterical.’

Hysteria is no longer an acceptable term, Jan hears Dr Högsmed saying inside his head.

The quarrel is making Andreas look ill; he shudders and gets to his feet. ‘I’ll go and see to the children.’

He goes into the playroom and soon Jan hears jolly nursery rhymes from the CD player, drowning out the loud voices from the cloakroom.

But like most arguments, this one soon comes to an end. After a few moments the front door slams shut; there is a brief silence, then Marie-Louise is back, smiling once more.

‘Lilian has gone home for the day,’ she says. ‘She’s going to have a little rest.’

Jan nods without speaking, but Hanna asks softly, ‘Is she getting any help?’

Marie-Louise stops smiling. ‘Help?’

‘To cut down on her drinking,’ Hanna says calmly.

Jan can feel the tension in the air.

Marie-Louise folds her arms. ‘Lilian is not a child. She is responsible for her own actions.’

‘But the employer also has a certain level of responsibility,’ Hanna insists. She sounds as if she is quoting from some legal document when she goes on: ‘If an employee is drinking too much there should be a treatment plan for their rehabilitation.’

‘For their rehabilitation,’ Marie-Louise repeats. ‘Well, doesn’t that sound marvellous?’

Hanna doesn’t look amused. ‘Is there a rehabilitation plan for Lilian?’

Marie-Louise stares at her. ‘There are many eyes on us here, Hanna,’ she says eventually. ‘Just bear that in mind.’

Then she turns and walks out of the staffroom.

There are only the two of them left at the table now. Hanna rolls her eyes at Jan, but he shakes his head.

‘Now she’ll think you’re a troublemaker,’ he says quietly.

Hanna sighs. ‘I care about Lilian. Don’t you?’

‘Well yes... obviously.’

‘So why does she drink so much? Have you given it any thought?’

Jan hasn’t given it any thought. ‘To get drunk,’ he says eventually.

‘But why does she want to get drunk?’

Jan shrugs. ‘I suppose she’s unhappy. But there’s unhappiness everywhere, isn’t there?’

‘You don’t know anything... you just don’t understand,’ Hanna says, getting to her feet.

Jan stands up too. It feels good to leave the table, and equally good to think that he can soon go home. This has not been a pleasant Monday morning; the feelgood meeting was more about feeling bad.

He just wants to go home and get some sleep. He wants to be normal. He wants to look to the future, make a life for himself.

Never to be shut in again, he thinks.

He has no one to make a life with. Perhaps that is the worst thing of all. Not having someone to listen.

Rami had climbed off her bed and sat down on the floor next to Jan. In the end his story about the Gang of Four had captured her attention.

‘Had they locked you in the sauna?’

‘Not locked... there was no lock,’ he said. ‘But they’d jammed something up against the door. I didn’t know what it was, but it wouldn’t move. It was rock-solid.’

‘So you were trapped in the heat,’ Rami said.

He nodded.

‘How did you get out, then?’

‘I didn’t,’ Jan said. ‘It was Friday... Everyone had gone home.’

The silence in the sauna goes on and on. No doors slam. No caretaker pokes his head around the door and shouts ‘Hello?’ into the empty shower room.

The door refuses to move.

And the sauna is hot now. The air could get hotter, but it is hot enough already. As hot as the desert. Forty degrees perhaps, or fifty.

All he can do is grope around in the darkness, feeling his way across the pine floorboards. His hand touches a plastic bucket; he hears the water lapping against the sides.

There is wood everywhere inside a sauna. Bare wood on the floor and on the walls, with long planks fixed to the walls at two different levels. That is where you sit when you are having a sauna, or a crafty smoke.

Jan sits on the lower plank for a while. He is sweating now.

Someone is bound to come.

Then he stops thinking for a while; his head feels kind of empty. The skin on his bottom is a bit sore, but he is calmer now. The Gang of Four have gone.

No one else comes. There isn’t a sound outside the door.

And it just keeps on getting hotter and hotter.

Jan was sitting on the floor in Rami’s room with his head bowed. She was holding his hand and he could feel her beside him, but in his mind he was alone. He was still inside the sauna.

‘I was unlucky,’ he said. ‘It was Friday, and the gym wasn’t due to open again until Monday.’

‘So what happened?’ Rami asked.

Jan looked at her. ‘I don’t know.’

He didn’t really remember very much, but now he started to think back. What did he actually do? How do you survive several days in a hot sauna?

Bang on the door. Keep on banging and banging, until you are quite sure that no one is coming. Peter Malm and his gang won’t be coming back. They have jammed the door and cleared off; they have already forgotten you.

Then you can try shouting and banging on the door for a little bit longer, until you eventually give up. Your hands are aching and smarting; they are full of splinters from the coarse wood of the sauna door.

Fumble around and realize that you can actually see a little bit in the darkness — a faint strip of light is showing underneath the door, and there is a tiny shimmering patch in an air vent just below the ceiling. So you are not completely blind. You can see your hands in front of you like patches of pale grey.

You reach out and climb upwards. The heat increases as you get closer to the ceiling. Suddenly your fingers are touching something, something cylindrical, with a smooth metallic surface.

A beer can. Here in the near darkness it is impossible to see what brand it is, but you can hear the liquid slopping about when you pick it up. It feels as if it is about half full, but when you bring it up to your nose a sour, disgusting smell emanates from the little hole in the top. Someone has left it on the bench in the sauna; it could have been there for days, or even weeks.

Put the can down. Sit on the top bench and think. Try to think. How are you going to get out?

Don’t expect anyone in the Gang of Four to come back and open the door; that’s not going to happen.

Don’t expect your parents to come looking for you either. They were supposed to be going away with your younger brother, to stay with some aunt. They might ring you, but when you don’t answer they will just assume you are at a friend’s house — even though you don’t have any friends that you might visit. They live in a dream world where their son is happy at school, and you don’t want to wake them from their dream.

No. You just have to assume that you are trapped in here, presumably until Monday morning. At least it was meatballs with mashed potato for lunch in the school canteen today, and you sat at a table all by yourself and ate ten of them.

You won’t get any more food until Monday.

You should be pleased that you don’t have any clothes. Standing naked in the shower room was horrible, you felt like a little frozen piglet out there, naked and surrounded by the Gang of Four in their new sweatshirts and expensive jeans. But in here you won’t miss your clothes at all.

It is pretty hot up on the wooden bench. Frying tonight. The heat rises, and you are sweating more and more.

Climb down and sit on the lower level with your feet on the floor. It’s a little bit cooler down here.

Sit there and bow your head.

Don’t think, just wait.

Close your eyes.

Carry on waiting.

Raise your head and wonder whether you might run out of air. It is difficult to breathe... is that because of the heat, or is there some other reason? You once read a story about someone who was buried alive in a coffin, and almost died from lack of oxygen. A sauna is a kind of coffin.

You take a deep breath and sniff the air — does it smell bad? Not yet. Fresh air is probably coming in through the gap at the bottom of the door, and through the vent up by the ceiling. Not much, but you hope it will be enough.

Lie down on the bench.

Close your eyes.

Don’t think.

Just wait.

Wait...

Wake up with a start!

Have you been asleep?

It is still dark. How much time has passed since they shut you in? You have no idea. You have a watch with a luminous face that your grandmother gave you for your tenth birthday, but it is in the pocket of your trousers in the changing room.

Unless of course the Gang of Four really did take your boots and clothes with them and chucked them in the pond.

The sauna is still switched on.

The sweat is pouring off your body in the heat. You are incredibly thirsty.

Slide down on to the floor and crawl over to the bucket; it is there so that people can throw water on to the hot stones and fill the sauna with steam. There is actually a little water left in the bottom.

Don’t be too hasty. You have no idea how long this water has been standing here. Every explorer knows that stagnant water can be poisonous, but in the end you scoop up a little and have a drink. It’s not good. It’s lukewarm and it tastes stale, but you have another drink. And another.

Then you put down the bucket, because you need to ration your resources.

‘Ration your resources’: that sounds like an adventure story with a hero, but you are no hero. You are completely powerless, you cannot breathe. You curl up on the floor and wait and wait and wait. The gym is a short distance away from the school, on the outskirts of town — nobody passes here by chance.

You cannot hear a thing apart from a slight rushing sound in your ears, and from time to time a faint clicking from the heater. You get to your feet and bang on the door anyway, you shout and bang and shout. The door is thick and solid; it doesn’t move a millimetre.

Then you curl up again, but the floorboards are getting hotter and hotter. Underneath the benches there is a cement floor which should be cooler, but you don’t want to crawl in there. You know how filthy it must be. Thousands of people have sat on the benches up above, year after year, their sweat trickling down on to the floor. They have spat through the gaps in the benches, dropped their snuff, shed hairs and flakes of skin.

But you have to get away from the heat, and eventually you crawl in there anyway. You are a naked little piglet, crawling in among the damp filth beneath the benches. And it is cooler. It’s dirty, but you can breathe.

You wait on the cement floor, dreaming of a friend. A tough guy. A man who begins to realize that something is wrong. Perhaps you arranged to meet at a restaurant in town — why haven’t you turned up? You don’t know his name, and you don’t have any paper to draw his picture, but you start to conjure up this man inside your head.

He is known as the Secret Avenger. The Secret Avenger chooses not to reveal himself, he blends into his surroundings. If you look carefully you will see him there, but in a crowd he is invisible.

You know that the Secret Avenger has grown tired of waiting. He gets up from the table, pays for his whisky and decides to go looking for you. He transforms himself. He becomes the Righteous Avenger, with burning eyes and fists of steel. You know exactly what he looks like. Be careful, Torgny!

You lose consciousness, then come round.

You are not sweating as much now, but you are just as thirsty as before. You crawl over to the bucket and drink a little more water. By the sound of it there are perhaps ten or eleven gulps left in the bottom of the bucket. You drink three, then lie down on the cooler cement once more.

You close your eyes, dreaming in the darkness. Time passes. Sometimes you raise your head and you really believe that the Secret Avenger is on his way, that he has somehow tracked down the Gang of Four and beaten them up in order to find out what they have done with his best friend — but most of the time you know that no one is coming to save you.

You sleep, and you have no control over your dreams this time. Afterwards you cannot remember whether they were peaceful out-of-body experiences or nightmares, but at least they can’t have been any worse than lying awake in the darkness.

Sooner or later you are awake again, and totally dehydrated. You have no idea if it is morning, but breakfast consists of a little water from the bottom of the bucket. It is slightly gritty, with hairs floating around in it, but you drink it anyway. Every last drop.

Is that a rumbling noise? You put down the bucket and listen. No, it isn’t the Secret Avenger opening the door. Perhaps it was a car driving past the back of the gym.

You are going to die here in the sauna. You know that now. There is no more water. It is a little bit like lying in a dark desert. A night of tropical heat. Your body is gradually drying out.

Is it possible to drink sweat? It doesn’t really matter, because you are so dehydrated that you have stopped sweating — there is just a greasy film coating your skin.

Is it possible to drink urine? You are naked and you need to pee, so it isn’t difficult to test the theory, all you have to do is let a little bit trickle into your hand.

It tastes bitter, but you drink a mouthful anyway. One mouthful. That’s all you can get down.

You crawl over to the door. The gap at the bottom is tiny, but you push your face up against it and try to see out. The lights are still on. The shower room looks just the same as it always does, with its shiny tiled floor. Out there the whole world is going about its business as if nothing terrible has happened, as if the Gang of Four does not exist.

Eventually, at some point when you are almost unconscious, you slowly clamber up to the top bench and the beer can — the one that is half full of some unidentified liquid. And you drink that too. It is warm and sour and slightly viscous, but you drink and drink and empty the can. You are too thirsty to care what is sliding down your throat.

When it is all gone you swallow again, hard.

Clamp your lips together, you mustn’t be sick. You must retain the liquid in your stomach, otherwise you will die.

But by now you want to die. So why do you go on fighting here in the darkness, minute by minute?

You lie down on the floor again. Is it Saturday or Sunday? You have given up, you simply lie there.

‘Perhaps I died right there on the floor,’ Jan said. ‘Perhaps the Unit is heaven.’

Somehow he had ended up lying on the floor, with his head on Rami’s lap. He looked up at her, but she shook her head.

‘You didn’t die.’

She bent her head and opened her mouth. Jan saw the tip of her tongue and was expecting the second kiss of his life, but Rami was aiming for his eyes.

She closed his eyelids with her tongue, first the right, then the left.

And when his eyes were closed she pushed her tongue into his mouth. This kiss felt better than the first one, like a journey across the vault of heaven. He felt her upper body pressing against him. It was soft, not hard as he had expected.

Rami released his lips eventually, exhaled with a gentle sigh and looked at him. ‘But somebody rescued you in the end?’

Jan nodded without speaking. He wanted to lie here for the rest of his life; he didn’t want to think about the sauna.

At long last you hear noises through the wooden door; someone is moving around in the changing room.

You open your eyes. The sauna is still as hot, but you are shivering.

More noises. Shoes stomping across the tiled floor.

‘Hello?’ a man’s voice calls out.

You try to stand up and manage to get to your knees, but then you run out of strength. You fall forward, straight into the door. Your arms and your forehead hit the wooden panel and you stay there, leaning against the door, trying to bang on it.

The door opens.

It happens so quickly that you lose your balance and fall down on to the tiles.

The air in the shower room is ice-cold. The shock is so great that you lose consciousness again in a dark wave of nausea; there is nothing you can do about it. It lasts for only a few seconds, because when you open your eyes the man is still standing there. The man who has set you free.

A tennis player. He has grey hair and a bushy grey moustache, and he is wearing a white tracksuit. He is holding a broom in his hand — gradually you realize that the Gang of Four must have jammed the door shut with the broom handle before they took off.

The man is looking at you in amazement, as if you have performed some kind of trick by popping out of the sauna. ‘What were you doing in there?’ he asks.

You cough and take great gulps of air, but you do not answer him. Your throat is too dry. You simply crawl past your saviour across the tiled floor, past his white shoes, and slowly drag yourself to your feet.

You appear to be alive.

You stagger over to the washbasin by the entrance and turn the cold-water tap with a shaking hand. Then you drink, and drink and drink. Five deep gulps, six, seven. In the end your stomach starts to hurt; the water is too cold.

‘Did someone shut you in?’ The tennis player isn’t prepared to give up. He is waiting for an answer. Explanations.

But you shake your head and totter out of the shower room.

At last you are free. You are so cold you are shaking now, but you have no intention of going back to stand under a hot shower. You just want to see if your clothes are still here.

They are. Your jeans, T-shirt, jumper and jacket are still there in one of the lockers — the gang didn’t take them. You pull on the thin cotton T-shirt first, then the woolly jumper.

Then you pick up your jeans. You will put them on in a minute and head out into the winter, but you want to find your watch first.

The tennis player has followed you into the changing room. ‘What’s your name?’

You don’t answer that question either, but you look at him and ask in a hoarse voice, ‘What day is it today?’

‘Sunday,’ he says. ‘We’ve got a match shortly.’

You take out the watch. It is one thirty-five.

One thirty-five on Sunday afternoon.

Close your eyes and work it out. You have been locked in the sauna for almost two days — forty-six hours.

Was it a happy ending for all concerned? Jan assumed so. William Halevi had been found, and his parents could relax after two days of torture.

The staff at the nursery were also feeling better. Everyone except Sigrid, who was still signed off sick a week after William’s disappearance. Jan heard that she was having some kind of counselling for post-traumatic stress.

And he was interviewed again by the police.

They didn’t actually come out with it in so many words, but they suspected something. The day after William had been found, two plain-clothes officers came to Jan’s apartment and looked around; he let them carry on. There was nothing to see. He had been back in the forest the previous evening, cleaned out the bunker, and thrown away or burned everything that had been inside it.

Two days later he was asked to go down to the police station. The interview was conducted by the inspector who had spoken to him earlier. She was no more cheerful on this occasion.

‘You were the last person to see the boy in the forest, Jan. And you were the one who found him.’

‘That’s not true,’ Jan said patiently. ‘That pensioner found him... I can’t remember his name now.’

‘Sven Axel Olsson,’ said the inspector.

‘That’s it... anyway, he was the one who was looking after William. And I just happened to see them.’

‘And before that?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Where do you think William had been before you and herr Olsson found him?’

‘I don’t know... I haven’t really thought about it. I suppose he was wandering around in the forest.’

The inspector looked at him. ‘William says he was locked up.’

‘Oh? In what kind of room?’

‘I didn’t say it was a room.’

‘No, but I assume...’

‘Have you any idea who could have locked him up?’

Jan shook his head. ‘Do you believe him?’

The police officer didn’t reply.

There was an unbearable silence in the interview room. Jan had to make a real effort not to break it and start babbling and speculating about various theories, which would be interpreted as some kind of confession.

But his mind was wandering and he had to say something, so he asked, ‘How’s Torgny doing now?’

‘Who?’ said the inspector. ‘Who’s Torgny?’

Jan stared at her. He had said the wrong name. ‘William, I mean William. How’s he doing? Is he back with his parents?’

The inspector nodded. ‘He’s fine. All things considered.’

In the end he was allowed to leave, but the inspector didn’t apologize. The only thing Jan got was one last long stare from her.

He didn’t care. William was back with his parents, safe and sound, and he himself was free. He could leave the police station and go wherever he wanted, but he walked out into the fresh air with a feeling of disappointment.

It had all gone so quickly. He had intended it to last longer — for forty-six hours.

44

Legén is drinking yellowish wine out of a cracked coffee mug. He pours a generous mug for Jan too; they are sitting among the mess at Legén’s kitchen table. ‘There you go.’

‘Thanks.’

Jan is thirsty, but not for lukewarm yellow wine. He takes the mug containing the liquid and wonders how he is going to empty it without his neighbour noticing.

Legén’s apartment is filthy and chaotic, but Jan actually enjoys these quiet sessions. He rang his neighbour’s doorbell after work because he wanted someone to talk to. But to what extent does he trust Legén? How much is he actually prepared to tell him?

‘I think there’s snow on the way,’ he says.

‘Yes,’ says Legén. ‘This is the time for chopping wood. We used to have a shed when I was little, but we kept all kinds of stuff in it, so there wasn’t any room for the wood. But you could sit inside the shed and have a bit of peace and quiet...’

The wine is making his neighbour quite talkative.

But eventually he runs out of steam, and Jan ventures, ‘I went down to the hospital cellar and had a look around on Sunday... I saw some of the patients.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ says Legén. ‘There’s always been a fair amount of activity down there.’ He takes a deep swig of his wine. ‘But I was never worried. We just got on with things in the laundry, for almost thirty years. The dirty laundry came down and we sent it back up... We found all kinds of things. Wallets, bottles of pills, all sorts.’

‘There’s a chapel in the basement,’ Jan says. ‘Did you know that?’

‘Yes, but we never went in there,’ Legén replies. ‘They kind of please themselves when the bosses have gone home.’

When Jan gets back to his apartment he tries to do some drawing; he wants to finish The Princess with a Hundred Hands. It is the last book without proper pictures, Rami’s fourth book.

He completes four drawings and colours three of them in, then he gives up. Instead he takes out his old diary.

He leafs through it slowly, reading his teenage thoughts and almost remembering how things used to be in those days — and when he reaches the middle of the book he finds an old item that he cut out of a local newspaper.

He remembers the cutting too. He came across it six years after the events at Lynx. It is a picture from the sports pages; there had been a junior football tournament, and the winning team was photographed after the final. A dozen boys are assembled for the camera, and in the middle stands the goalkeeper with the ball under his arm, smiling at Jan beneath his fringe.

William Halevi. His name is mentioned in the caption, but Jan recognized his face even before he read it.

He gazes at the picture for a long time. William looks happy, relaxed and unmarked by any bad memories from his time in the forest. He was eleven years old when the picture was taken, he played football, he seemed to have plenty of friends. His life would turn out well.

Jan can’t know that, but he hopes it’s true.

He gets up. The Angel is sitting on the shelf in the hallway. One of the Angels — the transmitter. He left the receiver inside St Psycho’s. The standby button glows brightly; he has put new batteries in. He has thought about switching it on from time to time, but he knows that the distance from the receiver is too great. He would need to get much closer.

Jan stares at the Angel and thinks things over for another minute or two. Then he fetches his rucksack and his outdoor clothes. Dark outdoor clothes.

He doesn’t cycle tonight, nor does he catch the bus. He goes on foot. He chooses the same route as he took last Sunday: a long detour through the forest and across the stream that flows past the hospital complex, then round to the slope at the back, a couple of metres from the fence.

Clouds are scudding by above the hospital grounds.

Jan is close. It is dark now, the darkness of November, and there is no need to hide among the fir trees. He can go right up to the top of the slope, above the stream. Slinking along like a lynx.

The fence around St Patricia’s is lit up like a stage by the floodlights, but deeper in the grounds he can see broad patches of shadow. Pale lights are showing in some of the narrow windows, but most have the blinds drawn. The patients are hiding themselves.

Jan feels as if he is being watched — but not by eyes. By the hospital itself.

St Psycho’s immutable stone façade is staring coldly at him, and he shudders. He would like to retreat back into the forest, but continues along the edge of the slope to a large rock left behind by glaciation. There is a well-trodden path here, which means that people have been walking past the hospital for many years, perhaps stopping to wonder what kind of monsters are locked up in there.

‘Haven’t you brought any bananas for the monkeys?’

Jan remembers Rami shouting at a group of middle-aged men in suits who had come to the Unit one evening on some kind of study visit. Perhaps they were politicians. Every single one had looked at her with fear in their eyes, and scuttled off down the corridor.

The Angel’s range is three hundred metres. Jan is less than three hundred metres from the hospital now, he hopes, but he is safe from the floodlights. The pre-school is to the left behind the hospital complex, but it is hidden by the fence and the conifers. Jan looks at his watch: quarter past nine. Time to get started. He puts down his rucksack and unzips it. He takes out the Angel and switches it from standby to transmit.

He leans against the rock and thinks. He doesn’t know what to say, and he doesn’t know if Rami is listening over there. And he can’t say her name, in case the Angel has ended up in the wrong hands.

But at last he raises the microphone to his lips. ‘Hello?’ he says quietly. ‘Hello, squirrel?’

No one replies. Nothing happens.

He looks over at the hospital, silently counting the windows. Fourth floor, seventh from the right. It is one of the windows with a light on, if he has counted correctly. A pale ceiling light. A bulb protected by some kind of mesh, so that no one can smash it?

He takes a deep breath and tries again: ‘If you can hear me, give me some kind of sign.’

He looks at the window, expecting to see a figure step into the light behind the bars. That doesn’t happen, but something else does — the light suddenly goes out. The window is in darkness for a few seconds, then the light comes on again.

Jan feels an icy chill run down his spine.

‘Did you do that, squirrel?’

The light goes out again, this time just for a couple of seconds, then it comes back on.

‘Good,’ Jan says into the Angel. ‘Turn the light out once for yes, twice for no.’

The light goes out again. He has made contact.

‘Do you know who I am?’

The light goes off immediately.

‘Jan Hauger... I’m the one who’s been sending you letters. And I was in the room next door to you years ago. In the Unit.’

The light doesn’t go off this time, but of course he hasn’t asked a question.

‘And your name is Maria Blanker?’

Yes.

‘But you used to have a different name?’

Yes.

‘Alice Rami? Was that your name?’

Yes.

At last. Jan lowers the Angel. He is speaking to Rami at long last.

What can he say now? He has so many questions, but none that can be answered with a yes or no.

The seconds tick by, the drums reverberate inside his head. Jan feels stressed by his own indecisiveness, and blurts out one more question: ‘Rami, can we meet up again? Just you and me?’

Standing in front of a six-metre-high fence, it is a ridiculous question. But the light goes off for a few seconds, then flashes on again.

‘Good... I’ll be in touch soon. Thanks.’

What is he thanking Rami for? He looks over at the hospital, at all those glowing windows, and he feels chilled to the bone, but most of all he feels shut out. Right now he would like to be sitting in there too, together with Rami.

He sets off back through the forest. Back home, where he will try to finish the picture book so that he can show all four of them to her. When they meet.

Who is Rami now? She is the Animal Lady. She has created Jan so that he will find his way over the fence and help her to get away from the house of stone. Away from the Animal Lady’s desert island, away from the forest where the poorly witch lies dying.

Jan sat close to Rami and she held on tightly to his arm, just above the bandages around his wrist. They were holding on to each other. He had finished telling her about the days in the sauna, and about jumping into the pond. He didn’t feel much better, but at least he had done it.

And Rami had listened, as if his story meant something. Then she had asked quietly, ‘Have you told anyone else about this?’

He shook his head. ‘But I’m sure they think I have,’ he said. ‘One of them... Torgny, he rang me three days ago. He was scared, I could hear it in his voice. They probably think I’ve told on them already, but I haven’t.’ Jan looked down at the floor and went on: ‘I know they’ll be waiting for me at school when I go back... They’re just going to start on me all over again.’

He fell silent. He was sitting here feeling terrified at the mere thought of the Gang of Four. He was cowering behind the fence in the Unit, knowing that the gang were out and about on the streets, happy and free. They had each other, they had loads of friends. He had only Rami.

‘And it would be OK,’ he said. ‘I sometimes think it would be nice if there was a button you could press so that everything just ended. I didn’t really struggle much when they threw me in the sauna... I thought I deserved it, I suppose.’

‘No,’ said Rami.

‘Yes,’ said Jan.

The room was utterly silent for a moment, then Rami suddenly said, ‘I’ll take care of them.’

‘But how?’

‘I don’t know yet... When I get out of here.’

‘When will that be?’

‘Soon.’

Jan looked at her. Rami was unlikely to be talking about being let out of the Unit — she was talking about running away.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I know people.’

She got up and walked over to one of the black curtains. ‘I found this in the storeroom,’ she said.

She lifted the curtain, and Jan saw an old black telephone on the floor.

‘Does it work?’

She nodded. ‘Is there anyone you want to ring?’

Jan shook his head. He had no one to ring.

‘I usually speak to my sister in Stockholm,’ Rami went on. ‘I can ring anyone I like.’

She sounded so certain, and it was catching.

‘I’ve got the school yearbook,’ he said. ‘There are pictures of them, with names and addresses.’

‘OK.’

Jan looked at her, wanting to say something honest and profound, but Rami went on: ‘There’s something you can do for me too.’

‘What?’

‘I’ll show you... Come with me.’

She led him out into the corridor, looked around and headed towards the staffroom. It was six thirty; the day staff had gone home and the door was closed. Next to the door a series of colour photographs and names were pinned up, under the heading DEPARTMENT 16 — THE TEAM.

Rami pointed to a picture of a smiling woman with a fringe swept to one side, and big glasses. ‘That’s her.’

Jan recognized her; she was the woman Rami had called the Psychobabbler, the one she had fought with in the TV room. Underneath the picture was her name and job title: Emma Halevi, Psychologist.

‘She interrupted our gig,’ said Jan. ‘And she locked you in the Black Hole.’

‘Yes,’ said Rami. ‘And then she took my diary.’

Jan nodded; he remembered.

‘She read it,’ Rami said. ‘I had a book like the one I gave you... I’d filled fifty pages, but she took it.’

Jan looked at the picture. He could hear Rami’s quiet voice in his ear: ‘I’m going to run away tomorrow. When I’m gone, I want you to do something to the Psychobabbler... creep in and piss on her desk, scribble graffiti all over her door, or something. Make her feel scared.’

‘OK,’ Jan said.

‘You’ll do it?’

He nodded slowly, as if he were agreeing to undertake a secret mission. He would make the Psychobabbler feel really, really scared, for Rami’s sake.

45

‘Am I supposed to feel sorry for the patients?’ Lilian says, laughing over her beer. ‘They do a pretty good job of that all on their own, the lot of them. They sit up there behind the wall feeling sorry for themselves, insisting that they’re innocent.’

‘Do they?’ Jan asks.

‘Of course. Every paedophile and murderer is entirely innocent, you must know that... No one behind bars ever accepts responsibility for anything.’

Jan doesn’t agree, but he says nothing.

He has gone down to Bill’s Bar the evening after Lilian’s quarrel with Marie-Louise. Lilian was sitting there, of course, at a table towards the back of the bar. And of course there was a large glass of beer in front of her, and the way in which her head was swaying over it like a cobra hypnotized by a snake charmer suggested that it wasn’t her first.

She didn’t notice Jan when he walked in. She was not alone; Hanna was sitting opposite her, with a glass of water in front of her. As usual they looked as if they were sharing secrets, whispering to each other with their heads close together.

The bartender tonight is called Allan. They are not friends — Jan hasn’t managed to make a single friend here in Valla — but he has got to know the names of the bartenders.

Jan orders an alcohol-free beer. He wonders whether to sneak off and sit in a different part of the bar, but no doubt Hanna would spot him on the way. And why should he creep about?

He goes over to join his colleagues. ‘Evening,’ he says.

‘Jan!’ Lilian beams at him; she seems glad of the interruption.

Hanna’s expressionless eyes reveal nothing. She gives a brief nod, and Jan sits down.

‘What are you drinking?’ Lilian asks.

‘Alcohol-free,’ he says. ‘I have to work tomorrow, so I can’t...’

‘Alcohol-free?’ Lilian gives a husky laugh and picks up her glass. ‘There’s plenty of alcohol in here!’

Jan doesn’t raise his glass in return; both he and Hanna look on in silence as Lilian tips her head back and empties half the contents of her glass.

Then she lowers her head, and Jan can see that she’s not in good shape this evening. Lilian stares into her drink, then embarks on the same tirade about the hospital that Jan heard the very first time they met at Bill’s Bar.

She starts talking again about the ‘luxury hotel’, as she calls it. ‘I was curious about the people in there when I first arrived, but I’ve never felt sorry for them. I mean, if a person claims he’s innocent, says he didn’t murder or attack someone... Well, how can you cure them, in that case?’

Nobody answers her. She has another swig. Jan thinks her expression is beginning to resemble the drugged eyes of the patients down in the basement chapel at St Psycho’s.

Lilian puts down her glass. ‘I need a wee.’

She has problems getting up — the edge of the table seems to be holding her back — but eventually she wobbles away.

Jan and Hanna watch her go.

‘How many has she had?’ Jan asks.

‘No idea. She was already well on the way when I got here, but... She’s had three since then.’

Jan merely nods.

‘I feel sorry for her,’ Hanna goes on.

‘I feel sorry for lots of people,’ Jan says. ‘Leo, for example.’

‘So you said.’ Hanna looks at him. ‘You think about the children a lot, don’t you?’

‘I care about them.’ Then Jan remembers that he has told Hanna about William’s disappearance, and is afraid that what he says might sound suspicious. He adds, ‘We all care about the children, Hanna.’

‘We do.’

‘Oh? But you care more about Ivan Rössel, don’t you?’

She shakes her head. ‘No. Well yes, I mean I care about Ivan, but... You don’t understand what this is about, Jan.’

‘No. It’s nothing to do with me, anyway.’ He has already finished his beer, and gets to his feet. Perhaps he might as well go home.

But Hanna seems to make a decision. She leans across the table and lowers her voice. ‘It’s about Ivan Rössel... and Lilian.’

‘Lilian?’

Hanna looks at him as if she is gathering strength before making some kind of revelation. ‘I made contact with Ivan for Lilian’s sake.’

Jan sits down again. ‘Sorry... what did you say?’

‘Ivan knows things. And I’m trying to get him to tell me.’

‘Tell you what?’

‘That’s better!’ a voice calls. ‘Did you miss me, kids?’ Lilian is back, with another beer. She sways and beams at them. ‘There was a girl crying her eyes out in the toilets,’ she says, sitting down next to Jan. ‘There’s always somebody howling in the Ladies, isn’t there, Hanna? Why do they do that?’

Hanna has clammed up. She glances at Jan, then says, ‘Time we made a move.’

Lilian looks surprised. ‘Already?’

Hanna nods. ‘I’m calling a taxi... We’ll drop you off.’

‘But... but what about my drink?’

‘We’ll help you.’ Hanna reaches for the glass, takes a couple of swigs and passes it to Jan. ‘Here.’

He’s not keen, but he takes a sip of the bitter liquid.

‘OK, Lilian, time to go.’

Fifteen minutes later they are helping their colleague into a taxi outside the bar. Hanna directs the driver to a small terraced house in an area just north of the centre; the lights are on, and Jan catches a glimpse of a man in his forties peering out at the taxi from the kitchen window.

Jan recognizes him; he is the man who walked Lilian to the pre-school one evening.

‘You’re so good to me... so kind...’

Lilian thanks them several times for bringing her home, hugs Jan, kisses Hanna on both cheeks and eventually totters off towards her front door.

‘OK.’ Hanna turns to the driver. ‘Back to the town centre, please... to the Casino Bar.’

‘Casino?’ says Jan.

‘It’s not a casino. That’s just the name.’

The Casino Bar is on a back street, in a less well-populated area than Bill’s Bar, and the clientele consists mainly of men. Jan suspects that this is usually the case. A few men in their fifties are slumped in front of a widescreen TV by the bar staring morosely at an Italian football match, as if their team were losing. The remaining tables are mostly empty.

Hanna asks for two glasses of juice and sits down as far away as possible from the bar, in a corner where there is no one else around.

‘Bill’s Bar isn’t... safe,’ she says. ‘I saw people from St Psycho’s in there.’

‘Oh? What do they look like?’

‘Vigilant.’

There is a brief silence, then Hanna goes on: ‘Ivan Rössel needs contact with someone... Is that wrong?’

‘Maybe not,’ Jan says. He suddenly remembers something that Dr Högsmed said about his patients, and adds, ‘But if you follow someone who is lost in the forest, you can easily get lost yourself.’

Hanna clamps her lips together. ‘I’m not lost. I know what I’m doing.’

‘And what are you doing?’ Jan asks. ‘With Ivan, I mean.’

Hanna looks away. ‘I’m trying to get him to... to tell me things.’

‘What things?’

‘Whatever he knows about John Daniel.’

‘John Daniel...’

Jan vaguely recognizes the name. From some newspaper?

‘John Daniel Nilsson disappeared six years ago,’ Hanna explains. ‘He went up in smoke after a school dance in Gothenburg, during his last year at high school. No one has seen him since, but Ivan has... has hinted that he knows something about John Daniel.’

Jan nods; he remembers now. He was living in Gothenburg at the time, only five or six blocks from the school where the dance took place. Rössel was suspected of being involved in his disappearance, but has never confessed.

‘But what has John Daniel got to do with you?’

‘Not with me. With Lilian. I told you.’

Jan looks at her. ‘So Lilian is involved?’

‘John Daniel was her younger brother. She took the job at the pre-school to try and make contact with Ivan Rössel. And she managed it in the end, once she asked me for help... But it’s turning out to be the ruin of her.’

46

Jan stays up reading crime reports on the internet until half past two in the morning in order to find out more. He discovers that John Daniel Nilsson was nineteen years old when he disappeared from the school dance on the outskirts of Gothenburg. One of his friends had smuggled in some vodka, and John Daniel had got drunk and been sick. He had gone outside alone at about eleven thirty, either to try and sober up or to go home — no one knew for certain — and he hadn’t been seen since. The family had searched for him, along with the police and lots of volunteers, but John Daniel had vanished without a trace.

It remained an unsolved mystery. Rössel was a suspect, but had stayed silent. Until now, when, according to Hanna, he had begun to hint that he had been the last person to see the boy alive.

Jan goes on reading until his eyes begin to smart, and he starts to see William Halevi’s boyish face in front of him, instead of the missing nineteen-year-old. He shuts down the computer and goes to bed.

The following morning he goes to work with a heavy head. Lilian is already there, and they nod wearily to one another.

‘Everything OK, Lilian?’

‘Mm,’ she mumbles.

She looks hung-over, and she probably is, but Jan looks at her differently today. Lilian is the sister of a missing boy. She is a victim.

He is about to broach the subject tactfully, but then he hears Marie-Louise shout from the kitchen, ‘Jan? Could you go up and collect Matilda?’

‘No problem.’

He knows the drill. Everyone must be kept busy.

He spends all day taking children up to the visitors’ room in St Patricia’s and collecting them, but these excursions down the stairs and along the underground corridor are just part of his daily routine now. He doesn’t give them a second thought.

But with Leo it isn’t just routine. Jan brushes the boy’s shoulder with his fingers as they travel up in the lift for his hour-long visit with his father. ‘What are you going to do?’ Jan asks.

‘Play cards,’ Leo replies.

‘Are you sure?’

Leo nods. ‘Dad always wants to play cards.’

‘Ask him to tell you a story.’

Leo looks uncertain.

Jan feels no sense of joy or confidence when he gets back to the Dell, and he doesn’t get the chance to speak to Lilian today. She doesn’t talk to him either, doesn’t even look at him; she is always with the children. But she doesn’t play with them, she simply sits and watches them with tired eyes, or pats one of them on the head with a limp hand.

Hanna also seems to be avoiding Jan, and spends most of her time in the kitchen.

Marie-Louise is the only one who wants to talk to him. ‘It’s a relief, isn’t it?’

‘What is?’ he asks.

‘Knowing we don’t have to do any more night shifts. Knowing that the children are all taken care of... that we’ve found good homes for all of them. I’m so pleased.’

‘Will they be OK?’

‘Oh yes, I’m sure they will.’

‘I’m just a bit worried about Leo... He’s so restless.’

‘Leo will be fine too,’ Marie-Louise says firmly.

Jan looks at her. Will all the children really be all right? Most children are, but not all of them. Some children turn into adults with mental-health issues, some end up in poverty, some turn to crime. Those are the statistics; there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

But does that mean their work at the Dell is pointless?

At quarter to six Jan is in the kitchen. All the children have been picked up, and he has put a final load in the dishwasher. The working day is over, and when he hears Lilian close her locker in the cloakroom, he rushes to finish off what he is doing. He turns out the light and manages to get away a minute or so later, just after Lilian has left.

He locks the front door and hurries after her.

It is November now, with a frost and a biting wind. Out in the street he can see a figure in a dark jacket heading towards the town centre. He breaks into a jog and catches up with her.

‘Lilian?’

She turns around without stopping and looks wearily at him. ‘What?’

His first impulse is to ask if she fancies going to Bill’s Bar, but he stops himself. He doesn’t want to go there any more. ‘Could we have a little chat?’ he asks.

‘What about?’

Jan looks around. Over by the wall two figures emerge through the steel door; he can’t see their faces, but assumes that they are security guards who are heading home after their shift. And there are several people waiting at the bus stop. Eyes watching, ears listening.

‘Let’s just walk for a bit,’ he says.

Lilian doesn’t look pleased, but goes with him anyway. They pass the bus stop, and after a little while he says, ‘We could talk about the pre-school... about what we could do for the children.’

Lilian gives a tired laugh. ‘No, thanks. I just want to go home.’

‘Shall we talk about Hanna, then?’

Lilian doesn’t respond; she just keeps on walking, so Jan asks, ‘Or about Ivan Rössel?’

She stops dead. ‘Do you know him?’

Jan shakes his head and lowers his voice. ‘No, but Hanna’s told me a few things.’

Lilian glances over at the hospital. ‘I can’t talk here,’ she says after a moment. ‘Not now.’

‘We could meet later.’

She seems to be thinking things over. ‘Are you free tomorrow evening?’

Jan nods.

‘Come round to my place at eight.’

‘Can we talk then?’ Jan says. ‘About everything?’

Lilian nods, then looks at her watch. ‘I’ve got to get home, my older brother is waiting. My husband’s gone...’

She starts walking, but turns her head. ‘Do you want to know why we split up?’

Jan says nothing, but she carries on anyway: ‘He thought I was too obsessed with Ivan Rössel.’

47

The first snowflakes of winter are big and wet, and start falling on the Dell after lunch on Thursday. They land heavily on the ground around the pre-school, covering the sandpit and the swings like a dirty-grey fluffy blanket.

Jan watches the falling snow through the window, but with none of the excitement he used to feel when he was little. These days the winter weather just means even more layers of clothes on the children: vests, woolly socks, snowsuits and hats with ear flaps — it takes longer and longer to get them outside. They end up looking like little barrels, or little fabric robots lumbering across the playground.

He helps them get ready and goes out. Andreas and Marie-Louise are still working as a team, joking and laughing behind him. Hanna and Lilian are already outside, and have stopped for a cigarette break. They are not laughing; they are whispering, their heads close together.

Marie-Louise and Andreas. Hanna and Lilian.

Jan feels excluded from both pairings, so he turns his attention to the children as usual.

‘Look at me!’ they shout. ‘Look at me!’

The children want to show how clever they are, playing on the swings and jumping around and building fragile sandcastles in the middle of the sandy, snowy slush. Jan helps them, but glances over at Lilian and Hanna from time to time, wishing he could hear what they are talking about.

When Marie-Louise comes outside the conversation stops, cigarettes are stubbed out and Lilian and Hanna help to gather the children together. But Jan sees them exchanging looks as they go back inside, like conspirators.

Marie-Louise doesn’t appear to notice anything; she stands on the steps with Jan, smiling at the children as they stomp back indoors. ‘They’re so good,’ she says.

Then she looks over at the wall surrounding the hospital and stops smiling. ‘Were you ever afraid when you were little, Jan?’

He shakes his head. Not when he was little. He was never afraid, not even of the atomic bomb, until he met the Gang of Four. ‘What about you?’ he asks.

Marie-Louise also shakes her head. ‘I lived in a small town when I was little, and nobody bothered to lock their doors,’ she says. ‘There were no burglars or muggers in those days... no dangerous criminals at all. Well, nobody talked about them, anyway. But there was an asylum in the middle of the town, and the mad people were allowed out sometimes... They wore strange clothes, so you could always tell where they came from. They looked nice, and I thought it was fun to say hello to them on the bus; they were always so pleased to have someone to talk to. Everyone else used to sit there, stiff as pokers, staring straight in front of them when some confused old soul got on, but I thought they were nice.’ She looks at Jan and adds, ‘So I used to say hello, and the old men would cheerfully say hello back.’

‘That’s nice,’ Jan says.

Marie-Louise gazes over at the high wall again, and almost seems to be talking to herself. ‘But such terrible things happen these days... There are such dangerous people in the world.’

‘Or we’re just more frightened,’ Jan says.

But Marie-Louise gives no indication that she has heard him.

That evening Jan makes another attempt to contact Rami. He pretends to set off home in the darkness at the end of the working day, but kills time walking around the nearby residential area instead, waiting for things to quieten down around the hospital. Then he goes up to the big rock above the stream. He puts down his rucksack, takes out the Angel and switches it on, keeping his eyes fixed on the hospital.

Fourth floor, seventh from the right. There is a light on, but no sign of anyone behind the bars.

Jan tries to make contact anyway. ‘Squirrel?’ he says quietly.

Nothing happens. The light stays on.

Jan speaks into the microphone several times, but there is no response. If Rami isn’t there, or if she’s asleep, then why is the light on? Is it always on?

In the end he switches off the Angel and makes his way back down the slope. He feels like a failure, rejected by everyone this Thursday evening. Perhaps not quite everyone — the children still like him, but if he plays with them too much, it looks odd.

Jan doesn’t want to look odd. That would attract Marie-Louise’s attention, just as Lilian has done.

He thinks about the quiet conversations between Hanna and Lilian over the past week, whispering voices that fell silent as soon as he walked into the room.

He heads back towards the town, but he isn’t going home. He is going round to Lilian’s tonight, to talk about Ivan Rössel.

48

Jan rings the doorbell and waits. He listens. He can hear the sound of voices inside Lilian’s house, but it could well be the murmur of a television.

It is Lilian’s older brother who opens the door. Jan doesn’t know his name. The man greets him with a nod and calls over his shoulder, ‘Minty?’

The television is turned down. Lilian’s voice says something incomprehensible, and her brother continues: ‘Your little friend is here.’

He turns and leaves the house without looking at Jan again.

‘You’re called Minty?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Why?’

Lilian shrugs her shoulders. ‘I eat a lot of mints. To keep my breath fresh.’

Her voice is lifeless, but at least she isn’t drunk. She has led Jan into the kitchen, and opens the fridge. He can see green bottles inside, but Lilian takes out a carton of milk.

‘Hot chocolate?’

‘Yes, please.’

She puts a pan of milk on the stove, and Jan sits down at the kitchen table. Party-Lilian from Bill’s Bar is nowhere to be seen; she looks more exhausted than ever as she sits down and hands him a full mug.

‘So Hanna’s told you about Ivan Rössel,’ she says.

‘Yes.’

‘And she’s told you he’s in St Psycho’s?’

Jan nods. ‘I’ve read a bit about him too.’

‘Of course you have — he’s a celebrity.’ Lilian sighs. ‘But the victims never become famous... No one wants to talk to a person who just cries all the time, I expect that’s why. So we withdraw and grieve, while the murderers turn into stars.’

Jan says nothing, but she goes on: ‘Have you spoken to Marie-Louise about this?’

‘No... only to Hanna.’

‘Good.’ Lilian seems to relax, and picks up her mug. ‘That’s good... Marie-Louise would inform the hospital immediately if she knew what was going on.’

Silence descends on the little kitchen.

‘And what is going on?’ Jan asks.

Lilian appears to be considering what to tell him. ‘A meeting,’ she says eventually. ‘We’re going to have a meeting with Rössel. Hanna has arranged it, along with one of the security guards at the hospital.’

‘A meeting about what?’

‘We want answers. We want to persuade Rössel to start talking. About John Daniel.’

‘Your brother,’ Jan says quietly.

Lilian frowns sadly. ‘He went missing.’

‘I know... I read about John Daniel too.’

She sighs again. ‘We want to know why it happened,’ she says, staring down at the kitchen table. ‘But there are no answers. Everything is just... darkness. And you think you must be dreaming — I felt like that for months six years ago, when John Daniel first disappeared. And then when I realized that I was awake and he was still gone, I thought I’d get over it, but you don’t get over it, it just gnaws away at you the whole time... And it’s worse for my dad. He believes that John Daniel is still alive. He sits there waiting by the phone, every single day.’

Jan listens and lets her talk; he feels like a psychologist. Like Tony. ‘But Rössel hasn’t admitted anything, has he?’ he prompts.

Lilian shakes her head. ‘Rössel is a psychopath. He lacks the capacity to feel guilt, so he admits nothing. He tells half-truths, then retracts them. The only thing he wants is attention... It’s like a game to him.’

‘Do you hate him?’

She gives him a sharp look, as if the answer is obvious. ‘John Daniel died; his life lasted just nineteen years. But Rössel has never been punished. He is looked after, he gets free food and accommodation. Life is good over there in St Patricia’s.’

Jan thinks of those long, empty corridors. ‘Are you sure about that?’

Lilian nods firmly. ‘Oh yes, especially for a celebrity like Rössel. He’s cared for, and he has peace and quiet. Medication, therapy, every kind of support you can think of. The doctors want to bathe in the reflected glow of his fame. But John Daniel, he...’ She looks down at the table. ‘He was murdered and his body lies hidden somewhere. And my life has been shortened as a result... That’s what grief and hatred do to you. You dry up.’

Jan almost asks, Is that why you drink so much? But he doesn’t. He has an idea of what Lilian has been through and how she feels about Rössel — he has felt something similar when it comes to Torgny Fridman and the Gang of Four.

‘So you’re working at the pre-school because of John Daniel?’

‘Yes. I thought I’d be able to make contact with Rössel myself, but I couldn’t do it. In the end I asked Hanna if she would help me, and she was more successful.’

‘But aren’t you worried about her?’

‘Because she goes up to the hospital? She doesn’t actually meet Rössel, they just exchange letters. There’s no risk involved.’

Jan doesn’t say anything, and eventually Lilian goes on: ‘Hanna is the only one who knows who I am... that I’m related to John Daniel. I never spoke to the press after it happened; my parents did all that. They posed for the media, holding up school photos and weeping straight into the camera. They begged anyone who knew anything to contact the police. But no one ever did. And now we’ve been forgotten.’

Jan thinks about everything Hanna has told him, and asks, ‘So what does Rössel want? Is he hoping to escape?’

Lilian presses her lips tightly together. She has more energy now. ‘Rössel will never be free. He might think so, but it’s not going to happen. He’s just going to talk to us.’

‘When?’

‘Next Friday evening, when there’s a fire drill at St Patricia’s. They’re going to practise a full evacuation, so all the patients will have to leave their rooms. The corridors will be pretty crowded.’

Jan remembers the elderly patients down in the basement chapel. Their vacant expressions.

‘And what will happen to Rössel?’ he asks.

‘Hanna’s contact... Carl... he’s going to let Rössel into the visitors’ room.’

‘Where you’ll be waiting?’

‘We’re meeting him in there, and he’s going to tell us where John Daniel is buried.’

‘Do you really believe that?’

‘I know it,’ says Lilian. ‘He’s promised Hanna.’

Jan wants to say something, but he hesitates. ‘Things can go wrong,’ he says quietly at last.

‘Yes, but we won’t be taking any risks with Rössel,’ Lilian says. ‘There will be four of us, me and my brother and two friends. We’ve gone over every single thing. I’ve let my brother into the Dell a couple of times just to suss things out.’

‘At night?’

Lilian nods.

‘The children have seen him,’ Jan says.

‘Oh?’

‘Mira saw a man standing by her bed one night... You’re not being as careful as you think.’

‘We’re careful enough.’ Lilian looks at him. ‘So now you know. Are you with us?’

‘Me? What do you mean?’

‘We might need some help. Someone to keep watch.’

‘Maybe,’ he says eventually. ‘I’ll have to give it some thought.’

On the way home he thinks back to what Lilian said about the fire drill. The patients will have to leave their rooms. The corridors will be pretty crowded. And of course Rami will be let out of her room, just like all the others.

Jan has booked a slot in the laundry room in his apartment block the following morning. He puts a white wash in one machine and a dark wash in the other, and switches them on.

On his way back upstairs he stops by the sign that says LEGÉN. He shouldn’t go bothering his neighbour any more, but Jan has realized that he actually likes the man. Legén is just himself.

He rings the doorbell and after a minute or so Legén appears.

Jan waves. ‘Morning, it’s only me. How are things?’

‘Fine.’

Legén simply stands there; he doesn’t invite Jan in, but nor does he close the door.

‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’ Jan asks. He feels as if it is time he returned his neighbour’s hospitality.

But Legén just scratches the back of his neck as he considers the invitation. ‘Is it a dark roast?’

‘Er... I think so,’ Jan says.

‘OK.’

Legén picks up a plastic bag from the floor and walks straight out of the door, as if he has been waiting to be asked for a long time. Jan leads the way up the stairs and into his apartment.

‘Bit crowded in here,’ says Legén, looking with curiosity at all the furniture.

Jan sighs. ‘It’s not mine.’

He goes into the kitchen, and a few minutes later the coffee machine is bubbling away. Legén is sitting at the table, and Jan has even managed to produce some biscuits.

‘How’s the wine coming along?’ he asks.

‘Good... It’s going to be pretty strong stuff.’ Legén sounds pleased with himself.

Jan takes a sip of his coffee and wonders how old Legén actually is. Seventy, perhaps. After all, he retired from St Patricia’s four or five years ago, so that should be about right.

They drink their coffee in silence, then Jan looks at the clock. It is five past ten — he’s forgotten all about his washing. ‘You stay there,’ he says to Legén.

When he opens the door of his apartment, he sees an elderly lady on the landing. A neighbour. She is small and thin, and she is carrying an overflowing laundry basket. She has obviously booked the slot after Jan, and she doesn’t look pleased.

‘I’m really sorry... I wasn’t keeping an eye on the time.’

The woman merely nods. Jan hasn’t even managed to close his front door, but suddenly she says, ‘So you’re friends, you and him?’

‘Him?’

‘Verner Legén.’

‘Friends?’ Jan says quietly so that Legén won’t hear. ‘I don’t know about that, but we’ve had the odd chat.’

‘And you’ve been inside his apartment?’

‘Yes... I borrowed some sugar from him.’

He smiles, but his neighbour doesn’t smile back. She just stares at him. ‘Did he have any weapons in there?’

‘Weapons?’

‘Knives, guns...’ she says. ‘I mean, that’s the sort of thing you worry about, as a neighbour.’

Jan doesn’t understand, but shakes his head.

‘No, I suppose he’s quietened down these days,’ the woman says to herself. ‘He’s getting on a bit, after all.’

There is an awkward silence. The woman sets off down the stairs to the laundry room, but Jan doesn’t move.

In the end he has to ask the question: ‘Has Legén had weapons in the past?’

She stops. ‘Not here, well not as far as I know, anyway.’

‘But somewhere else?’

The woman looks at him closely. ‘Haven’t you heard what he did in Gothenburg?’

‘No?’

‘He murdered a whole load of people. Went crazy. Ran around and stabbed them out in the street, one after another.’

Jan listens; it’s all he can do. He is incapable of moving.

‘Legén? He killed people?’ he finally brings himself to ask.

The woman nods. ‘Everybody in the building knows about him.’ She sighs and adds, ‘Nobody wants him living here. They should have kept him in St Psycho’s... That’s where they locked him up.’

Jan stares at her. ‘But he used to work there, surely? In the laundry?’

The woman nods again. ‘Later on, yes. But they have former patients working there, as I understand it... They’ve got quite a mixture of nutcases and doctors up there.’

His neighbour sighs yet again, and carries on down the stairs with her laundry basket.

Jan follows her and quickly collects his own laundry. Then he goes back upstairs, and notices that his door is ajar. He forgot to close it.

Did Legén hear the entire conversation with his neighbour?

He stops in the doorway, wondering what to do, but eventually he walks in.

Legén is still sitting at the kitchen table; he has topped up his coffee cup. He looks at Jan. ‘You’re back, then,’ he says.

He has also lit his pipe, but he doesn’t look happy. ‘I heard what the old bag said. The whole bloody place could hear her.’

Jan doesn’t know what to answer; he can’t stop looking at Legén’s hands, holding the pipe and the coffee cup. The hands that held the knife when he ran amok in the street.

At last Jan opens his mouth to say something. ‘Were you happy up there at the hospital?’

Legén continues to suck on his pipe, so Jan goes on: ‘I mean... you were there for a hell of a long time.’

‘My whole life,’ says Legén, puffing on his pipe. ‘But I didn’t murder anyone. No, nein, nyet... I was in there because of my mother.’

Jan looks at him.

‘My mother was immoral, as they said back then... in the thirties she had children by several different men, and she liked to party in the street, if I can put it that way. And she wasn’t ashamed of it. So she was the one they locked up; in those days St Patricia’s was a mental hospital and a kind of general institution. I was a child, I was just taken in with her. And that’s where I stayed.’

‘So you never... stabbed anyone?’

‘That’s just gossip,’ Legén says. ‘People will always talk... there’s no end to it.’

Jan nods without speaking. Trust people, he thinks.

He sits down at the table. ‘I’ve got a question. If the fire alarm goes off up at the hospital, what happens in the laundry?’

‘We’ve practised this,’ Legén replies, as if he still works there. ‘We know what to do... If the smoke doesn’t kill us, we turn off the machines and go up to the main entrance.’

‘You don’t use the lift?’

‘No one uses the lift. Not if there’s a fire.’

After a brief silence, Legén puts down his pipe and takes a litre bottle of pale-yellow wine out of his plastic bag. He places it in front of Jan. ‘Try this,’ he says. ‘It’s not the best batch I’ve ever made, but it’s not bad... And it all ends up as piss anyway.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Are you going to get someone out?’ Legén asks after a brief silence.

‘Not at all.’ The denial is automatic. ‘No, I just want to—’

‘If you do,’ Legén interrupts, ‘choose someone who deserves it. Some of the people in there ought to be allowed to change places with some of the lunatics out here.’

Rami’s escape attempt didn’t succeed — Jan knew that as soon as he heard screams and shouts and the sound of breaking glass out in the corridor.

He listened but did nothing; he just stayed in his room and carried on working on his comic strip about the Secret Avenger. The shouts and screams were followed by a huge crash further down the corridor, then the sound of running footsteps.

Jan went over to the door. He heard another door slam shut, then even more loud voices. A whole chorus of them.

Then silence.

Jan waited a little while longer before peering cautiously into the corridor. Everything was quiet and deserted, but when he went and knocked on Rami’s door, there was no reply.

This time he knew immediately where they had taken her, so he went down to the cellar. To the locked door of the Black Hole.

‘Rami?’ he called.

He could just hear her voice through the door: ‘Yes.’

‘What happened?’

‘One of the ghosts saw me and told on me. So I hit her.’

Jan assumed she was talking about the pale girls. ‘So they caught the squirrel,’ he said.

‘They caught me straight away,’ she said. ‘I didn’t even manage to get outside... I bit them, but there were four of them. Just like your gang.’

Jan didn’t know what to say. We can’t win, Rami. That was what he always used to think, at least before he met her.

‘How long do you have to stay in there?’

‘They didn’t say. Years, maybe... But it doesn’t matter, because I know what I’m going to do when they let me out.’

Jan didn’t ask any more questions, because he knew that Rami would never give up. He sat outside the door and waited, just to provide support. Eventually he spoke again. ‘If you do it again... I’m coming with you.’

‘Are you?’

‘Yes.’

And it was true — he didn’t want to leave the security of the Unit, but he would go anywhere with Rami.

‘Do you know where I’m going to go?’

‘Where?’

‘To Stockholm. That’s where I have to go... my older sister lives there.’

‘OK,’ Jan said.

‘We’ll form a band when we get there. We can play in Sergels Torg in the city centre, and use the money we get to make recordings... and we’ll never, ever come back here.’

‘And what about the pact?’ Jan asked.

Rami seemed to be thinking things over. ‘You can fulfil your part of the bargain later... and I’ll fulfil mine, if you give me your address.’

‘OK. I have to go now, Rami... I’ve got a counselling session.’

‘With your psychobabbler?’

‘Yes... but it’s OK, he listens.’

‘I listen too,’ said Rami.

‘I know.’

‘Will you come and see me tonight? If they let me out?’

‘I...’ But he couldn’t go on. He could only say the last three words silently to himself: love you, Rami.

‘Why do you lock us up?’ Jan asked.

‘Lock you up?’ Tony said.

‘Down in the cellar. There’s a locked room.’

‘It’s only if someone is violent. For their own sake... so they don’t harm themselves. They just have to stay in there for a little while, until things calm down... just as everybody has to stay in here for a little while.’

Jan didn’t respond, so the psychologist leaned forward. ‘How are you feeling now, Jan?’

‘Fine.’

‘Have you made some friends here?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Good. And what about those self-destructive thoughts you were having? Have they gone now?’

‘I think so,’ he said.

‘So maybe it’s time you went home, then?’

They wanted to get rid of him, Jan realized. He had been here for a little while. They probably needed his room for someone else. ‘Don’t know,’ he said.

‘You don’t know. But you can’t stay here, can you?’

Jan didn’t answer.

But if Rami’s escape plan didn’t work, it was a tempting thought: to stay behind the fence for the rest of his life, never have to face the world again. Never have to face the Gang of Four.

‘It’ll be good to get home,’ Tony said. ‘You can go home, go back to school... make friends and start living. And think about what you want to be.’

‘What I want to be?’

‘Yes... what kind of job would you like to do?’

Jan thought this over. He had never really considered it, but he replied, ‘Maybe I’d like to be a teacher.’

‘Why?’

‘Because... I’d like to look after children. To protect them.’

After the session Jan drifted around the corridors. It was almost time for dinner, and he could hear voices from the TV room. He went down to the cellar, but the door of the Black Hole was wide open. They had let Rami out.

Fifteen minutes later she came into the dining room, after everybody else, when Jan was already eating at a table by the window. But Rami went and sat on her own at a corner table. That’s the way things had been over the past few days — the more time they spent together, the less often they ate together. It was as if their liaison had to be kept secret from everyone else in the Unit.

But she looked at him from time to time, across the tables. Both of them knew what they wanted.

Jan went back to his room after dinner and stared at the white wall.

You’re going home soon.

But he didn’t want to go home. There were no friends waiting for him at home, just the Gang of Four.

He heard the door of Rami’s room open and close about half an hour later.

He waited a bit longer. At nine o’clock the lights in the corridor were dimmed, and at quarter past nine he crept out of his room to Rami’s door. He could hear a low murmuring from inside; Rami was talking on the stolen telephone. Jan waited until everything went quiet, then he knocked.

She opened the door a fraction, saw who it was and let him in.

‘Who were you talking to?’ Jan asked.

‘My sister. She says she’s waiting for me. She needs me.’

‘So you’re off to Stockholm?’

‘You already know that.’

‘When?’

‘First thing tomorrow... Are you coming with me?’

Jan nodded, and took out a piece of paper. ‘This is my address,’ he said. ‘They’re saying I have to go home, so just in case... I’m not allowed to stay here.’

Rami tucked the piece of paper in the pocket of her jeans. ‘Do you want to stay here?’ she asked.

‘Sometimes... Everything’s so calm in here. And you’re here.’

She held out her arms, and he went to her.

‘We’ll take care of the Psychobabbler and the Gang of Four,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘I promise.’

49

Crazed attack by mountain lake.

Jan is sitting in his apartment reading the headline in an old newspaper cutting; he reads it over and over again.

Crazed attack. He thinks about the term. An attack carried out by a crazy person. Someone else. Not the person who writes the words, and not the person who’s reading them.

Someone else. But who?

It’s Friday evening and he’s back from work. There is exactly one week to go until the fire drill, and Lilian is still determined to go ahead with her plan to take Ivan Rössel to task in the visitors’ room. She and Hanna have started whispering to Jan as well now, not only to each other. Now he knows what is going on, they obviously want to be sure he is with them.

Jan has only promised not to tell on them, nothing else.

As he was cycling past the hospital on his way home, he saw Dr Högsmed striding along by the wall. The doctor recognized him and raised his hand; Jan waved back with a smile, and watched him disappear through the steel door. Perhaps he was going up to his office to try out the hat test on someone.

Högsmed is probably a good psychiatrist, Jan thinks, but he has no idea what goes on in the hospital at night. He doesn’t know about the secret route from the pre-school, or the secret letters and the meetings in the visitors’ room. Högsmed thinks that everything at St Patricia’s is ticking along nicely, just the way he and the board have planned it.

But Jan believes the desire to kick against routine is part of human nature; both children and adults are constantly tempted to bend the rules.

A week to go. Time cannot be stopped.

Jan feels stressed by the ticking clock, just like when he was at Lynx.

He takes out the old diary again — the one Rami gave him in the storeroom at the Unit. He looks at the picture on the front, the Polaroid Rami took the very first time they met. He is surprised at how young and healthy he looks, bearing in mind how close to death he had been the day before the picture was taken. First almost completely dehydrated in the sauna, then drugged with sleeping tablets, bleeding from wounds inflicted with a razor, and almost drowned in a pond. And yet he is staring straight into the camera, with his head up.

The diary contains not only his own memories and thoughts. There are also some folded newspaper cuttings, and perhaps they are the reason why he has kept the diary. He has taken them out and read them from time to time, late at night.

The first is an entire page, with a big black and white picture of a rock jutting out several metres above the shining surface of a lake, with that headline, CRAZED ATTACK BY MOUNTAIN LAKE, followed by a subheading: Two boys killed on camping trip.

Jan has read the article time and time again over the past fifteen years or more, and he practically knows it by heart at this stage.

The article continues for two more columns, with comments from a detective inspector and a certain amount of speculation.

There is another cutting from the following day:

It seems likely that a hit and run driver is responsible for the condition of a 16-year-old boy who was found in a shallow ditch outside Nordbro early on Wednesday morning. The boy was unconscious and was suffering from head injuries, multiple lacerations and several broken bones. He was taken to the emergency department at the Western Hospital, but has yet to regain consciousness.

The police are not ruling out a connection between this tragic event and the double murder of two teenage boys near a mountain lake just a few kilometres away.

‘Evidently these three boys were on an overnight camping trip together when someone attacked them with a knife,’ says Inspector Hans Torstensson.

He was not prepared to comment or speculate on the suggestion that the same person might have murdered the two boys, then deliberately driven into the third boy as he tried to flee from the scene of the crime along the main road.

‘The investigation will continue until all the outstanding issues are resolved.’

Did anyone else remember those events after fifteen years, Jan wonders? The families of the boys would remember, of course, but they have probably moved on by now. Parents and siblings have gritted their teeth and gradually come to terms with their grief — unless they are like Lilian, of course. The police will definitely have put the investigation on the back burner, in spite of the inspector’s assurances. They will have put the final details of the unsolved crimes in some file and archived the whole thing.

Perhaps it is only Jan who still wonders what happened.

Two murdered, one severely injured.

But by whom?

The questions about the identity of the perpetrator have been in Jan’s mind all these years, long after the sense of relief faded away.

Jan has not written in the diary for about a week now, so he turns to a clean page and begins to write a situation report to himself. He writes about the Dell, about the staff and about his secret excursions to the hospital. Finally he writes:

He could never confess these thoughts to Rami face to face. But he wants to talk to her, as soon as possible.

He looks at the clock. It is quarter past nine. Not too late for a little outing on his bike.

Lilian has her preparations to make before the fire drill, and so does Jan.

50

Black clouds have gathered in the night sky, hovering above the hospital and releasing a fine drizzle over the forest. Jan wipes the ice-cold drops of water from his forehead, crouches down in the undergrowth and tries to find some shelter under a birch tree.

He takes out the Angel. The hospital looms up in front of him; Jan has a friend in there, so the rain and cold don’t matter at all.

‘Are you there, squirrel?’ he whispers into the microphone, his gaze fixed on the forbidding façade. Fourth floor, seventh from the right.

The light goes off, then comes back on again.

A clear signal — Rami is back in her room.

Jan slowly exhales, and asks, ‘Do you still want to get out?’

The light flashes off and on. Yes.

‘As soon as possible?’

Yes.

Both responses are instant, with no hesitation. The woman who is answering him is definitely not drugged or confused.

‘I want to see you too, I want to hear what happened after you left the Unit. I waited for an answer from you, but it never came... I just know you fulfilled your part of the pact. You stopped the Gang of Four.’ Jan pauses for a moment, gathers his thoughts, then goes on: ‘But how did you do it? You told me you knew people who could take care of them, and I’ve wondered all these years... Who was it?’

The Secret Avenger, he thinks. But who was the Secret Avenger?

There is no answer, of course. The light stays on.

‘I didn’t feel sorry for Niklas, Peter and Christer. I just couldn’t. And now there’s only one member of the Gang of Four left. His name is Torgny, Torgny Fridman. I told you about him fifteen years ago. He owns an ironmonger’s shop back in Nordbro, where I grew up. And he’s got a wife and a child and a successful life... but I find it difficult to forget what he did.’

The light in the window doesn’t go off, but he believes that Rami is listening.

‘There’s something else I need to tell you... I qualified as a classroom assistant ten years ago. And in one of my first temporary posts I was looking after a little boy called William... When I saw William’s mother, I recognized her. She was the Psychobabbler from the Unit, your psychologist. You remember her, don’t you? You asked me to do something to her. To punish her.’

Silence. Jan has reached the heart of his confession. He had meant to sound triumphant, but his voice lacks strength, as if he were apologizing. ‘So... so one day when we were in the forest, I lured William away from the rest of the group and locked him up in an old bunker. He was fine in there, as far as possible, anyway. It was much worse for his parents... for the Psychobabbler. She was worried for a long time.’

The confession is over, but Jan has one thing left to say: ‘Your escape route, Rami. Listen carefully.’ He keeps his eyes fixed on the window, and goes on: ‘During the fire drill next Friday evening, all the patients will be let out of their rooms. I presume you already know about it?’

The light flashes.

‘You need to move away from the others. There’s a storeroom on your floor, not far from your room. The door won’t be locked — I’ve jammed the catch with a bit of paper. And inside the storeroom, behind a cupboard, there’s an old laundry lift. It goes straight down to the basement.’

The light flashes. Rami understands.

‘I’ll be waiting for you down there,’ Jan says. ‘Then we can make our way out together.’

Can he really make that promise? He doesn’t want to think about the things that could go wrong; he is just waiting for an answer.

And it comes: the light flashes one last time.

‘Good... See you soon, Rami.’

Jan switches off the Angel. He is glad to leave the forest; it is a lonely place. But soon he won’t be lonely any more.

Twenty minutes later he is ringing Lilian’s doorbell. This time there is no sign of her brother. Lilian lets him in, but only as far as the hallway. She is on edge, and not in the mood for small talk.

‘Have you made up your mind?’

Jan nods, with the memory of Rami’s light flashing off and on still in his mind. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘You’re with us?’

He nods again. ‘I can stand guard inside the pre-school,’ he says. ‘When you go up to meet Rössel in the visitors’ room, I’ll wait there.’

‘We need a driver too,’ Lilian says. ‘You’ve got a car, haven’t you?’

‘I have.’

‘In that case we’d really like to use it to get everyone there at the same time, and to get back home afterwards,’ Lilian says.

She is focused now, and sober. Jan hears footsteps upstairs; someone is moving around up there.

‘And you’re going to talk to Rössel about your brother?’ he says. ‘That’s all?’

‘That’s all.’

Lilian looks him in the eye. Jan suddenly remembers what Dr Högsmed said about how difficult it is to cure psychopaths.

‘Why do you think Rössel has agreed to meet you? Does he want to confess in order to make himself feel better? Because he’s become a good person?’

Lilian lowers her head. ‘I don’t care what Rössel has become. Just as long as he tells the truth.’

At the feelgood meeting Marie-Louise reminds everyone about Friday’s fire drill. ‘It’s going to be quite a big thing, with the police and rescue services involved,’ she says. ‘But it’s in the evening, so it won’t affect us. The pre-school will remain closed, as usual.’

Not completely closed, Jan thinks.

He catches a quick glance from Lilian across the table. She looks tired and tense this Monday morning, and she smells of strong mints.

The working week begins, crawling by one day at a time, and suddenly it is Friday.

The last child Jan collects from the visitors’ room is Leo.

From the lift, Jan catches a glimpse of the father: a short, burly man in a grey hospital sweatshirt who glances over at the lift before he goes back through the door leading to the hospital. The last thing he does is to raise his arm to his son, and Leo waves back.

The boy is calm and quiet on the way back to the Dell.

‘Do you like going to see your daddy?’ Jan asks as they step out of the lift.

Leo nods. Jan places a hand on his shoulder and hopes that St Patricia will watch over him when he grows up. The saint, not the hospital.

Marie-Louise smiles at Jan as he hands Leo over to his foster parents.

‘You do a really good job with the children, Jan,’ she says. ‘You never get nervous, like the girls.’

‘Which girls?’

‘Hanna and Lilian... they’re always on edge when they have to go up to the hospital, but I suppose it’s hardly surprising.’ She smiles at him again. ‘None of us is used to that sort of person.’

‘That sort of person... You mean the patients?’

‘Exactly. The ones who are locked up in there.’

Jan looks at her smile, but can’t bring himself to smile back. ‘I’m used to them,’ he says. ‘I know them.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I was locked up too, when I was a teenager.’

The smile disappears. Marie-Louise raises her eyebrows, and Jan goes on: ‘I was in the child psych unit. We used to call it the Unit, short for Child and Adolescent Mental Health Unit. But it was a secure institution, just like St Patricia’s. Those who were dangerous and those who were afraid were all locked up together inside the Unit.’

Marie-Louise manages to close her mouth; she seems to be having difficulty working out what to say. ‘But why?’ she asks eventually. ‘Why were you in there?’

‘I was one of those who was afraid,’ Jan says. ‘I was afraid of the world outside.’

There is an awkward silence in the kitchen.

‘I didn’t know,’ Marie-Louise says at last. ‘You never mentioned it, Jan.’

‘It just never came up... but I’m not ashamed of it.’

Marie-Louise nods understandingly, but he feels she is looking at him with new eyes. He catches her glancing at him several times with a wary expression. It seems as if Jan has destroyed her confidence in him — he has let her down by revealing the cracks in his soul.

But it doesn’t matter any more. Cracks let in the light.

The last thing he does at the end of the working day is to take Rami’s picture books and his own diary out of his rucksack and put them away safely in his locker. There isn’t much room in there among his jacket, umbrella and books, but he manages to squash them in.

When Rami comes out of St Psycho’s tonight he will open the locker and show her all the picture books. And the new ink drawings.

Because Jan is going to help her escape from the clinic. This time it’s going to work.

Jan knew there was only one way out of the Unit that wasn’t locked: the window above the cooker in the kitchen. The staff wanted to be able to air the room to get rid of the smell of cooking. The kitchen was at the back of the building and had no internal door, but there was almost always someone there during the day, so if you wanted to escape, you would have to be up early.

Jan woke at six. He had set his alarm, and when it started to buzz and he opened his eyes, he felt a long, slender body beside him.

Rami was lying there, her eyes wide open.

Jan quickly pushed his hand down to feel the sheet underneath him, but it was dry.

Rami kissed his forehead. ‘Stockholm,’ she said.

Jan just wanted to lie there, to forget about running away. But he nodded, and they got up.

They didn’t switch on the light; they got dressed and crept out into the corridor like two grey shadows. Jan was carrying a little bag containing a few clothes and his diary, with his bedspread tucked underneath his arm; Rami was behind him with her own bag and something large and black. The guitar case, Jan realized.

‘Are you taking that with you?’ he whispered.

She nodded. ‘I told you... We’re going to sing and play on the streets of Stockholm to make some money.’

Jan couldn’t sing, but he didn’t say anything. All the doors were closed, including the door to the staffroom at the end of the corridor. Jan looked at it for a long time as they crept past. The kitchen was empty and in darkness.

Rami put down the guitar case and slid back the bolts securing the window. She pushed it wide open, and the icy morning air swept in.

She took a deep breath. ‘Stockholm,’ she said again, as if it were a magical place.

She quickly climbed up on to the hob and jumped out of the window. Outside there was a paved patio area with a wooden table and chairs.

Jan watched as Rami picked up one of the chairs and carried it across the grass to the fence. Halfway there she looked back over her shoulder and he nodded to her — but remained standing by the window.

Shit, he thought.

Then he spun around without even thinking and raced back into the corridor. He ran to the right, towards the bedrooms, but stopped outside the closed door of the staffroom. He raised his fist and banged on the door, three times.

He didn’t know if anyone was in there, and he didn’t wait to find out. He went straight back to the kitchen.

Rami was waiting for him outside the window. ‘Where have you been?’

‘I went to the toilet,’ he lied.

Then he climbed up on to the windowsill and jumped out.

‘The table,’ he said.

Jan and Rami had gone over their escape plan in advance; they each grabbed one end of the table on the patio and carried it across to the fence. Then Rami put the chair on top of the table, and Jan climbed up and hurled the brown bedspread at the top of the fence. Twice he missed, but the third time the thick fabric covered the barbed wire and stayed there.

It was bitterly cold by the fence, but Jan was sweating. He quickly glanced back at the Unit and saw that all the windows were in darkness except one: the light had just been switched on in the staffroom.

He could make out two figures in the room: a young female auxiliary whose name he didn’t know, and Jörgen, who was pulling on his shirt. They must have slept together, just like Jan and Rami.

Jan looked at her again. ‘You first.’

She was lighter than him, and leapt up at the fence from the chair. Rami was a squirrel now, and got a good grip on the wire through the bedspread. She got one leg over the barbed wire, swung the rest of her body over the top and landed on the other side.

They looked at each other through the fence. Jan picked up the guitar and managed to throw it over to her.

She nodded. ‘Your turn.’

Jan jumped up. He was no squirrel, but he managed to hang on through sheer willpower. The barbs had begun to poke through the bedspread, scratching the palms of his hands, but he managed to clamber right up to the top.

At that moment he heard the sound of banging on the window behind him — they had been seen.

A door opened, someone shouted at them.

Jan swallowed nervously but didn’t look around; he swung himself over and dropped to the ground.

They were on the other side of the fence. They gathered up their things and set off along the path, side by side. It was ten to seven; there wasn’t anyone around, but the sun was just beginning to rise.

From this point their plan was less sure — they had just wanted to get away. Jan had hardly any spare clothes, and only fifty kronor in his pocket.

‘We’re free!’ Rami said, then she yelled, ‘Stockholm!’ at the top of her voice.

This was the first time Jan had seen Rami excited, almost happy. Her cheeks were rosy; he smiled at her, and suddenly knew what it meant to enjoy being with one special person.

He was fourteen years old, and head over heels in love.

The staff from the Unit caught up with them only ten minutes later. The paths in the surrounding area were deserted; the search party had no problem spotting Jan and Rami.

The sound of an engine broke the silence of the morning.

A small white car appeared from the back of the Unit, swung around and picked up speed.

Rami stopped smiling. ‘It’s them!’

The cumbersome guitar case was slowing her down, so Jan took it off her and they broke into a run. The path curved to the left and followed a small stream; tarmac and water meandered along side by side for another hundred metres, then there was a narrow wooden bridge.

‘This way!’ Rami shouted.

On the other side there was a grove of trees, and beyond the trees they could just see the town centre.

Jan didn’t need to say a word — he and Rami ran towards the bridge, then across it.

She was faster, and was halfway to the trees by the time the car pulled up on the other side of the water. Jan was slower; he had too much to carry. He turned his head and saw Jörgen leap out of the driver’s seat. The girl was getting out of the passenger seat; she looked more hesitant.

The Secret Avenger would have blown up the bridge, but Jan didn’t have any dynamite.

Jörgen was already halfway across, and his strides were twice as long as Jan’s.

It was all over, they weren’t going to make it. Jan had known it all along, really.

‘Rami!’

She didn’t stop, but she did slow down and look at him. A slim figure in the morning light, the love of his life.

Jan’s lungs were hurting. He had hardly any strength left, but managed another ten or twelve loping steps towards her.

‘Here!’ he panted, handing over the guitar case. He shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out the fifty-kronor note. ‘Take this... Now run!’

There was no time, but Rami leaned forward, pressed her cheek against his and whispered, ‘Don’t forget the pact.’

Then she flew across the grass with a fresh burst of energy and disappeared among the trees. The guitar case seemed weightless in her hand.

Jan took a few steps after her, but he had lost the impetus, and a couple of seconds later two hands seized him by the shoulders.

‘OK, that’s it.’

Jörgen was also out of breath after the chase, but his grip was firm, and Jan made no attempt to resist. They walked back across the bridge, back towards the Unit.

‘Are you going to lock me up in the Black Hole?’

‘The Black Hole?’

‘That place down in the cellar... where you lock people up.’

‘No, I shouldn’t think so,’ said Jörgen. ‘It’s only those who bite and scratch who end up down there. And you’re not going to start fighting us, are you, Jan?’

Jan shook his head.

‘Was it you who banged on the door just now?’

Jan nodded.

‘Why did you do that?’

‘Don’t know.’

Jörgen looked at him. ‘Why? Did you want to get caught, Jan?’

He didn’t reply.

They walked towards the car, but Jan kept looking over his shoulder. Jörgen’s colleague had disappeared among the trees.

Once he had settled Jan in the back seat of the car, Jörgen went back across the bridge, shouting to her.

It was quiet in the car; Jan could hear the sound of his own breathing.

Did you want to get caught? he wondered. Did you want Rami to get caught?

After a minute or so he saw the auxiliary emerge from the trees, shaking her head at Jörgen. They stood talking by the bridge for a little while; Jan saw Jörgen take out his phone and call someone. Then they returned to the car.

‘OK, let’s go,’ said Jörgen.

They drove back to the Unit. Back to safety inside the fence.

Jan was locked up, and he was happy.

He knew that Rami was equally happy to be free.

51

Waiting in the darkness, fifteen years after their flight from the Unit.

Jan is alone, but not for much longer. He is standing down in the hospital basement, waiting for Rami. He has made his way in via the laundry, and is by the old lift in the little storeroom.

It is twenty past ten on Friday night, and Jan is really supposed to be up in the Dell. That is where Lilian thinks he is, but he has left his post and entered the hospital through the safe room. He knows his way around down here now, and the laundry was completely deserted when he arrived, just as Legén had said it would be. The only unusual sign was a series of small yellow lights flashing on a panel on the wall; perhaps they were something to do with the impending fire drill.

Jan listens for the sound of shuffling steps behind him, or voices raised in song from the chapel. But all is silent in the underworld.

He is the only one here — and soon Rami will be here too. At least he hopes so, and if he closes his eyes he can hear her singing: Me and Jan, Jan and me, every night, every day...

He blinks and gives himself a shake; he must remain alert.

The drums had been pounding inside his head when Jan drove Lilian and three men to the Dell half an hour earlier.

One of the men was Lilian’s taciturn older brother. The others didn’t introduce themselves, but they looked as if they were a few years younger than Lilian. Jan assumed they were friends of her missing brother, John Daniel.

Hanna wasn’t around this evening, and without her Lilian seemed even more tense than usual. She had put on some make-up, Jan noticed: red lipstick and dark eyeshadow. It looked ridiculous, and who was it actually for? Was it for Carl, the security guard, or for Ivan Rössel?

Jan parked in the shadows beneath a large oak tree, a short distance away from the pre-school. Well away from the hospital’s CCTV cameras.

No one spoke as they got out of the car.

Lilian quickly smoked one last cigarette in the street, then she unlocked the door and led the way into the darkness of the pre-school. She didn’t switch on the light, but turned to Jan. ‘So you’re staying here, Jan? Is that OK?’

He nodded.

‘Ring me straight away if anyone comes.’

Jan nodded again, and Lilian managed a strained smile. She fetched a key card from the kitchen, opened the door and disappeared down the stairs. The three silent men followed her, and Jan closed the door behind them.

So four people will be meeting Ivan Rössel in the visitors’ room. That means he will be at a disadvantage when Carl smuggles him out of the secure unit. Jan hopes that Lilian and her family will be able to establish some kind of rapport with Rössel, get him to talk — but there’s nothing he can do to help.

He has his own meeting to think about.

Once Lilian and the men had gone, Jan waited for fifteen minutes in the cloakroom by the door leading down to the basement. Nothing whatsoever happened. He went over to the window and gazed up at the hospital. The lights were on, but there wasn’t a soul in sight.

Eventually he went into the kitchen and picked up the second key card. He opened the door; the light was still on down in the basement.

It was time.

Jan stands motionless in the laundry, thinking about what he will say to Rami when the lift door opens.

Hi Alice. You’ve escaped from the Black Hole — welcome.

And then what? Should he tell her that he’s been thinking about her all these years? That he fell in love with her during those very first days in the Unit? He was so in love with Rami — but so scared of the outside world that he tried to get the staff to stop them the morning they ran away.

Jan had been caught, but Rami made it. She must have managed to catch the train to Stockholm and her sister, because she didn’t come back to the Unit during the week Jan remained there.

And nobody mentioned her either — she was no longer their problem.

The following week Jan was discharged. He hadn’t spoken to his psychologist after the escape attempt, but abracadabra — Tony must have decided he was fit to leave.

‘You’re going home,’ Jörgen had said when he opened Jan’s door. All Jan could do was pack his clothes, the diary Rami had given him, and the comic strip he had started about the Secret Avenger and the Gang of Four.

He had to put the drum kit back in the storeroom, of course, but he took the sticks with him.

Jan walked out of the Unit with his little bag and was picked up by his father, who wasn’t smiling. ‘So they’ve finished taking you apart, have they?’ was all he said.

Jan didn’t reply, and they drove home in silence.

The next Monday Jan went back to school. He hardly slept the night before; he lay awake thinking about the school corridors and the Gang of Four. He could see himself scuttling along the walls like a little mouse.

He walked to school alone, just like before. He still had no friends. It didn’t matter.

His classmates stared at him, but nobody asked how he was feeling or where he had been for the last few weeks.

Perhaps they all knew. That didn’t matter either.

Sooner or later Jan would run into the Gang of Four in the corridor, he knew that. But somehow the fear had gone. It was spring, late April, and the end of the school year was in sight. Jan took one day at a time. In the evenings he got out his drumsticks and played quietly on a telephone directory, or carried on with his drawing.

There was no sign of life from Rami — no phone calls or postcards from Stockholm.

The last week in May was traditionally given over to a range of activities, and the older students went out on trips and excursions.

On the Thursday morning when Jan got to school he saw groups of pupils standing around in the corridors. He heard whispered conversations about something terrible, a crazed attack.

‘Is it true?’ people were asking. ‘Is it really true?’

Nobody spoke directly to Jan, but eventually he picked up the fact that something had happened in the forest outside the town. Someone had died. Had been killed.

Then a teacher told the class that two students had been murdered, and after that there were even more rumours flying around, and several newspaper articles about the crazed attack. The buzz continued until the summer holidays.

Jan took in everything that had happened with a kind of bleak astonishment. He couldn’t quite believe that the Gang of Four had been virtually obliterated, that Torgny Fridman was the only one left.

It was their pact. Somehow Rami had managed to fulfil her side of the bargain.

But Jan never heard from her again, and it was over five years before he saw the name RAMI in the window of Nordbro’s only music shop. Her debut album had just been released, and when he went in to buy a copy he saw that one of the songs was entitled ‘Jan and Me’.

It was a sign from her — it had to be.

He had started working at the Lynx nursery by then, and that August when he saw the psychologist Emma Halevi and her son William walking across the playground, the Unit and the Psychobabbler were the first things he thought about.

And the next thing was the pact.

Memories of his teenage years make Jan realize something down in the laundry room: not once during the autumn has he wondered why Rami is locked up in St Psycho’s.

What has she done to end up here, on a secure ward?

He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t really want to think about it now. All he can do is wait for her.

A noise breaks the silence — a wailing sound. Sirens approaching the hospital. The sound is coming from the road and is getting louder and louder through the thick walls.

Fire engines?

Jan notices that a different light has started to flash over on the panel: a red dot below the yellow ones. Some kind of alarm?

He looks at his watch. The fire drill seems to have started early.

Suddenly his mobile starts to buzz in his pocket. Jan gives a start, but quickly takes it out.

‘Hello?’ he says quietly, expecting to hear Lilian’s voice. What is he going to say to her?

But it is a different voice, and it sounds worried: ‘Jan... it’s Marie-Louise.’

‘Hi,’ Jan says, clutching his phone tightly. ‘Is everything OK?’

‘Not really... something’s happened. I’m trying to ring everyone, but hardly anyone is answering... I was just wondering, have you seen Leo? Leo Lundberg?’

‘No... why?’

‘Leo has run away from his new family,’ Marie-Louise explains. ‘He was playing out in the garden before dark, but when his foster parents went out to call him in, he wasn’t there.’

Jan listens, but he doesn’t know what to say. He finds it difficult to think about the children right now, but he has to say something. ‘Leo is my favourite.’

Marie-Louise doesn’t say anything at first; it’s as if she doesn’t understand. ‘The most important thing is to find him,’ she says after a moment. ‘Where are you, Jan? Are you at home?’

Jan feels as if he has been somehow caught out, and lowers his voice even more. ‘Yes. Yes, I am.’

‘OK, well at least you know what’s happened. The police are looking for Leo too; get in touch with them or with me if... if you see anything.’

‘Of course I will. Speak to you soon.’

Jan ends the call and is able to relax a little. He thinks about Leo, about the boy’s anxiety and restlessness. It’s unfortunate that he’s run away, but the police are involved and there is nothing Jan can do. All he can do is wait here, for Rami’s sake.

And just a few minutes later he hears a different noise: a dull clanking in the underworld, a noise that gets louder and louder.

It’s coming from the mechanism of the laundry lift.

Jan’s pulse rate increases and he takes a couple of steps towards the hatch in the wall. It doesn’t move, but the clanking keeps on getting louder. The lift is on its way down.

It stops behind the hatch with a thud, then everything goes quiet. Slowly the hatch begins to move. There is someone inside the lift, someone who wants to get out.

Jan’s heart is pounding; he steps forward. ‘You’ve made it,’ he says. ‘Welcome.’

He sees an arm appear, then a denim-clad leg. But they don’t move. The arm and the leg simply dangle there, apparently lifeless.

‘Rami?’

Jan takes a final step towards the lift and reaches out his hand — but suddenly everything is moving too fast for him. The hatch flies open with a crash, and Jan doesn’t have time to get out of the way. It hits him in the chest; the pain is instant and crippling.

Something hisses, the air is suddenly full of white mist. And Jan can’t breathe.

He closes his eyes and coughs and jerks back, but his legs give way and he falls backwards on to the floor.

Tear gas, someone has sprayed tear gas in his face.

A body is shoved out of the lift, heavy and inert, and lands next to him like a sack of potatoes.

Jan’s eyes are streaming but he blinks and tries to look up. He sees the body beside him, the staring eyes.

A man. A security guard. There is a wide gap in his throat; it has been cut. Jan touches him, and his hand is covered in warm blood.

He recognizes the guard: it’s Carl. The drummer from the Bohemos and Ivan Rössel’s escort — but he’s dying.

‘Carl?’

Or perhaps he’s already dead. Carl isn’t moving, and he’s bleeding heavily from the wound in his throat. The blood looks black; it has poured down over his T-shirt.

Jan blinks again, trying to see clearly in spite of the tear gas. In the laundry lift something is moving. A shadow.

There is another person inside the lift, he realizes; someone who has managed to squeeze in and travel down to the cellar along with the dying guard.

The shadow slithers out into the storeroom and straightens up: a tall figure dressed in hospital clothes — a grey sweatshirt, grey cotton trousers and white trainers.

A patient.

But this is not Alice Rami. The body is too tall and broad, the hair is too dark.

This is a man.

He leans over Jan in a miasma of smoke, tear gas and something else — lighter fluid, or petrol.

He makes a sudden movement towards Jan, twists his hands and pulls. ‘Relax,’ the man says quietly.

Jan is unable to move his arms. There is a plastic loop around his wrists, some kind of handcuff.

The man slips a canister into his pocket and hauls Jan to his feet. His face is in shadow, but Jan can see that he is armed with something more than tear gas. In his right hand he is holding a short knife.

No, not a knife. It’s a razor, with a jagged edge.

‘I know who you are,’ the man says. ‘I’ve heard you talking to me.’

His voice is hoarse, but calm and clear. It is only his movements that are rapid and jerky as he tugs at Jan.

‘You’re going to help me get out of here.’

Jan blinks at him. ‘Who are you?’

The man quickly brings his left hand up beneath his chin, and there is a click. ‘Look.’

A white beam flashes on in the darkness, lighting up his face — and Jan recognizes him.

It is Ivan Rössel, with the other Angel in his hand. He is several years older than he was in the newspaper pictures, with dark furrows lining his long, narrow face. The curly hair is halfway to his shoulders, and is dark grey now.

Jan coughs. ‘Rami,’ he whispers, looking at the Angel. ‘I gave that to Alice Rami.’

‘You gave it to me,’ Rössel says.

‘Rami was supposed to come down in the lift and—’

‘Nobody else is coming down,’ Rössel interrupts him. ‘There’s just you and me.’

Then he gives Jan a shove and holds the razor blade against his throat. ‘Come along, my friend,’ he says. ‘We’re going to get out of here... and we’re going to hide that in the lift.’

Rössel points to Carl’s body. ‘Grab hold of his arms.’

Another shove, and Jan begins to move, as if he were in a trance. He reaches out with his bound hands and manages to get a grip on the dead guard’s upper body. He bundles it back into the laundry lift.

‘Push him in.’

Jan leans into the lift, struggling with the heavy body. Lifeless arms, dangling legs. It all has to go in.

He notices Carl’s belt. The clip for the tear-gas canister is empty, but next to it there are a number of white plastic loops, ready to slip over someone’s wrists.

As Jan pushes the body into the lift, he removes a couple of these from Carl’s belt and tucks them under his jumper, without Rössel spotting anything. He steps back, and Rössel slams the hatch shut.

‘Let’s go.’

There is nothing Jan can do. He is forced to walk ahead of Rössel, out of the laundry, through the tiled rooms. It is impossible to stop; Rössel keeps shoving him hard in the back, and he can feel the razor blade against his throat every time Rössel moves his right hand.

Jan moves through the basement like a sleepwalker. His eyes are hurting, his hands are covered in blood.

What has happened? How can this have happened?

Ivan Rössel was squeezed inside the lift along with Carl. And Carl was dead, slaughtered by Rössel.

And Rami? She was the one who was supposed to come down in the lift, but...

‘Don’t get lost,’ Rössel says as he pushes Jan through a doorway. ‘Follow the bits of paper if you don’t know the way.’

But Jan does know the way. They carry on along the corridors without meeting anyone. Then straight through the safe room, and out into the corridor leading back to the pre-school, where the lights are still on.

Jan stops by the lift. He turns his head. ‘They’re waiting for you in the visitors’ room,’ he says. ‘You do know that, don’t you? A family... They want to talk to you about their missing brother, John Daniel...’

Rössel shakes his head. ‘They don’t want to talk,’ he says. ‘They were going to kill me up there, that was the plan. Carl sold me down the river.’

‘No, they just want to know where—’

‘They were going to murder me, I know it.’ Another shove, and Rössel moves him away from the lift and over towards the stairs. ‘You’re the only person I trust right now, my friend. And we’re going to get out of here.’

Rössel’s voice remains quiet and clear. A teacher’s voice, accustomed to giving instructions and providing explanations.

He nudges Jan up the stairs to the door of the Dell. ‘Open it.’

Jan hesitates, but takes out the key card and opens the door.

They walk past the staff lockers, where Rami’s picture books lie hidden. And Jan’s diary. He was going to show them all to her tonight; he had been so looking forward to it.

Andreas has left a cap and a raincoat hanging on a hook; Rössel puts them on. Then he kicks open the front door and leads Jan outside. The night air is cold, colder than before, but it soothes Jan’s eyes.

He blinks away a few tears and looks around. Red and blue lights are flashing over in the hospital car park. Police cars, fire engines, ambulances. The fire drill is well under way — if it is actually a drill, of course. Rössel does smell of smoke.

Rössel doesn’t stop; he doesn’t even glance across at the vehicles. ‘Have you got a car?’ he asks.

Jan nods. It is parked within sight of the pre-school, and it isn’t locked.

Once they reach the Volvo Rössel pats down Jan’s trousers and removes his mobile phone. It disappears into the raincoat pocket.

A swift slicing movement with the razor blade, and suddenly Jan is able to move his hands.

‘Into the car, my friend.’ Rössel opens the driver’s door, bundles Jan behind the wheel and chucks the Angel on the seat next to him. He slams the door and climbs into the back seat, behind Jan.

The stench of Rössel — smoke and petrol and tear gas — is acrid within the confines of the car.

‘Drive,’ he says.

Rami? Jan thinks, gazing at his hands on the wheel.

‘I can’t drive. I can’t see a thing.’

‘You can see the road. Drive away from the hospital. Just keep going straight ahead until I tell you otherwise.’

Jan makes one last effort to understand what has happened: ‘Where’s Rami?’

‘Forget her,’ says Rössel. ‘There is no Rami in the hospital. It was me you were talking to. All the time.’

‘But Rami must have—’

Rössel presses the razor against his windpipe. Jan can feel the blade trembling.

‘Drive. Otherwise you’ll end up like Carl. Ear to ear.’

Jan doesn’t say another word. He starts the car and puts his foot down.

Rössel keeps the razor just below Jan’s chin, and it is this threat that takes Jan away from St Patricia’s, away from the wall and the Dell. Away from the chance of ever seeing Alice Rami again.

Away from the lights of the town, and into the darkness.

52

Jan is driving a murderer through the night. A murderer who is holding a razor to his throat. But a murderer who somehow cares about him, Jan realizes: Rössel reached out and turned up the heat, then asked, ‘Too hot?’

‘No.’

The gentle hum of the heater is quite soporific. Out on the streets it is bitterly cold, but inside the car it’s as warm as a summer’s day. The razor blade is still in place.

‘Turn right here,’ Rössel says.

Jan turns right. His eyes are still smarting, but his vision is gradually improving.

There are few cars out and about; the only vehicles they meet are a couple of taxis.

‘Straight on,’ Rössel instructs. Jan drives straight on.

They head away from the centre and through the middle of a deserted industrial estate. Jan doesn’t attempt to think, he just drives, and eventually they are on the motorway that leads to Gothenburg. That too is almost deserted.

‘Put your foot down.’

A lorry thunders past on its way out of town, and the lights of farmhouses are visible among the trees on both sides of the road, but these are the only signs of human life tonight. It is Friday, and people are at home. There is no police surveillance on the motorway.

‘We’re out of town now,’ Rössel says. ‘Out in the country.’

Jan doesn’t say anything. He maintains a steady speed, but after ten minutes Rössel leans forward with a new order: ‘Pull in over there.’

Jan sees the entrance to a lay-by and picnic area, illuminated by a couple of lights but with no sign of any other cars. He pulls in and brakes immediately; he wants to keep the car close to the lights, and Rössel doesn’t object.

‘Switch off the engine.’

Jan obeys, and there is silence inside the car. Total silence.

Rössel lets out a heavy sigh, then says, ‘The smell has gone now... The hospital smell.’

But Jan is still aware of the acrid stench of tear gas and lighter fluid from Rössel’s clothes, and asks quietly, ‘What happened back there?’

Rössel takes a deep breath. ‘There was a real fire,’ he says. ‘I’d managed to smuggle some thinner out of the paint shop, and a lighter. I poured the lot on the floor in the corridor and set fire to it.’

The razor moves away a fraction when Rössel is speaking, so Jan asks another question: ‘Then what?’

‘Chaos, of course. It wasn’t a drill any more. It’s always chaos when their plans don’t work. But I kept calm and went to the storeroom. It wasn’t locked, so all I had to do was walk in. But I had to change my plans at the last minute.’ He sighs again. ‘Someone tried to stop me.’

‘His name is Carl.’

‘I know that. But he doesn’t need a name now.’

Jan keeps quiet. It occurs to him that Rössel hasn’t used his name either. Not once.

Rössel shuffles in his seat. ‘There is no smell, not any more. It’s the loneliness that smells in a hospital... Long corridors of loneliness, like in a monastery.’ He leans forward. ‘And you, my friend? Are you lonely too?’

Jan looks out at the empty lay-by. He resists the impulse to move his head — the razor is too close to his throat again. ‘Sometimes.’

‘Only sometimes?’

Jan could say anything, but he tells the truth: ‘No... often.’

Rössel seems satisfied with the answer. ‘I thought so... You smell of loneliness.’

Jan turns his head slowly. No sudden movements.

‘I was waiting for someone else tonight,’ he says. ‘Her name is Rami. Alice Rami.’

‘There is no Rami in the hospital.’

‘She calls herself Blanker in there... Maria Blanker, on the fourth floor.’

Rössel sounds irritated. ‘You know nothing,’ he says. ‘Maria Blanker is not Rami. She’s her sister. And Blanker’s room is on the third floor.’

‘Rami’s sister?’

‘I know everything,’ says Rössel. He sounds very certain, sitting behind Jan. ‘I listen, I read letters, I put the pieces of the puzzle together... I know everything about everybody.’

‘I wrote letters to Maria Blanker. And she replied.’

‘Who knows where letters end up? You wrote letters, but it was me you were writing to. I gave Carl some money, he let me read the letters, and I read and read... Your letter was different, I was curious. So I wrote back and told you my room was on the fourth floor. You left that little machine in my letter box, and you called out to your squirrel. I replied with the light... Off, on, off, on. You remember?’

Jan remembers. Rössel’s words are beginning to sink in.

No Rami. Only Rössel, all along.

What did he put in the letters? What did he tell him via the Angel?

Everything. Jan thought he was talking to Rami, so he talked about everything. He had so much to tell her.

‘So it’s all over now,’ he says.

He is empty and exhausted. But he doesn’t move; he can still feel the razor against his skin just below his right ear.

‘It isn’t over at all,’ Rössel says. ‘It just goes on and on.’

Suddenly he lowers his arm. The razor disappears and Jan hears Rössel let out a long breath, then say quietly, as if he is talking to himself, ‘That feeling just now, an open road in the darkness... The feeling of freedom. I’ve had walls and fences around me for five years. And now I’ve left it all behind.’

Jan turns his head a fraction. ‘And all those people who wrote you letters... have you left them too?’

‘Of course.’

‘Including Hanna Aronsson?’

‘Ah yes, Hanna.’ Rössel sounds smug. ‘She’s not here, is she? She’s somewhere else tonight.’

Jan understands. Rössel has fooled everyone.

He’s a psychopath. He lacks the capacity to feel guilt, Lilian had said. The only thing he wants is attention.

Jan tries to imagine Rössel as a teacher. With such a soft voice, he must have inspired confidence in the classroom. And not only there; many people he encountered in the street, on his camping holidays, out in the country, must have thought he was trustworthy. Totally harmless.

Hi, my name’s Ivan; I’m a teacher making the most of the summer holidays... Listen, I don’t suppose you could help me carry this table into my caravan? It’s that one just over there, on its own. Yes, a coffee table, it would be brilliant if we could get it inside... I know it’s late, my friend, but perhaps you’ve got time for a cup of coffee afterwards? Or something stronger? I’ve got beer or wine... Of course, you go in first. Careful, it’s dark in here, you can hardly see a thing. That’s it, go straight in...

Jan shivers, in spite of the heat inside the car.

He hears Rössel moving behind him, then his voice very close to Jan’s ear: ‘We’ll be on the move again soon, driving down the open road... We’re going on a trip together, you and I.’

Jan has only one thought in his mind, and in the end he has to come out with it: ‘We ought to go back to the hospital.’

‘Why?’

‘Because... because the people up there will be worried if they know you’re out.’

Rössel lets out a cough, or perhaps a chuckle. ‘They’ve got other things to think about right now.’ He pauses, then goes on: ‘But this is what I’m talking about, the freedom of the open road. I want to do things out here. Write books, confess my sins... You know I promised to show everyone where a missing boy is hidden? That would be a good thing, wouldn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Jan says. ‘That would be a good thing.’

‘Or... or we could do other things. Things nobody wants to talk about. The things you think about all the time.’

Jan’s mouth is dry; he listens to the soft voice and feels Rössel’s words crawl inside him. But he turns his head and faces the back seat. ‘You don’t know me.’

‘Yes, I do. I know you. You told me everything. And that’s good. It’s nice not to have any secrets.’

‘I haven’t—’

But Rössel interrupts him: ‘So now you have to choose.’

‘Choose what?’

‘Well, you want to do things, don’t you?’

‘What things?’

‘There are fantasies you want to be a part of,’ says Rössel, pointing to the Angel on the front seat. ‘I heard your dreams... Someone hurt you deeply when you were young, and you have dreamed of revenge ever since.’

Jan gazes at the empty road, with Rössel’s voice in his ear: ‘If you could choose between good and evil... between saving a family and taking revenge for the hurt that was inflicted on you, which would you choose?’

Jan says nothing. The car feels very cold now, and the darkness comes crowding in.

‘It is opportunity that creates an avenger,’ Rössel goes on. ‘But before the opportunity comes along, the fantasies must exist... fantasies like yours.’

‘No.’

‘Yes. You dream of locking someone up. A boy.’

Jan quickly shakes his head, but doesn’t speak.

The darkness is complete, and the road and the night are calling.

‘Not a boy,’ he says.

‘Yes,’ Rössel says. ‘The fantasy runs through your mind like a film, doesn’t it? We all have our favourite fantasies.’

Jan nods; he knows.

‘Fantasies are like a drug,’ Rössel’s soft voice continues. ‘Fantasies are a drug. The more we fantasize, the stronger they grow. We want to hurt someone. Carry out an evil ritual. You can never escape from those thoughts. Not until you do something about them.’ He leans forward again. ‘Which would you choose?’ he asks. ‘Would you choose to do good or evil?’

Choose?

Jan lowers his gaze. ‘I can’t choose.’

‘But you must,’ Rössel says. ‘Atonement or revenge? Look out at the road; soon we will come to a fork. You have to choose now.’

Jan blinks.

He looks out at the dark road. He closes his eyes.

Choose now, he thinks.

53

Jan hardly needs to press down on the accelerator or move the steering wheel — the Volvo obeys him anyway. It glides along on the crown of a black highway. Away from St Psycho’s. Heading east along the open road.

He and the Secret Avenger sail past Swedish towns and villages that sound a bit like a nursery rhyme: Vara, Skara, Hova, Kumla and Arboga. The coniferous forest grows denser on either side of the road.

During the journey Jan tells the Secret Avenger about the revenge he wreaked on the Gang of Four. He thinks he knows what happened now.

It was early summer, fifteen years ago... you had gone off with your caravan, travelling around the inland forests. You were looking for a good place to camp... A fairly remote spot, as usual. And suddenly you came to a small lake deep in the forest. The only sign of human life was a little tent on the other side of the lake.

You went for a walk to get to know the area, then settled down inside your caravan. Perhaps you had a few drinks as twilight fell. A few more drinks, and you started to feel curious about who actually was in the tent. So you took a stroll over there.

It turned out to be three boys celebrating the end of the school year. You told them you were a teacher, in order to try and establish some kind of rapport. They laughed at you, called you a paedo. So you lumbered back to your caravan and drank even more. And after midnight you went back to the tent, but this time you were carrying a knife...

The Secret Avenger doesn’t say anything. He merely listens as Jan describes his attack on two of the boys, and how the third boy tried to get away along the road — but the Secret Avenger got into his car and eventually caught up with him.

‘I don’t remember any of that,’ says the Secret Avenger, ‘but you could well be right.’

‘Yes.’ Jan nods to himself. ‘But one of them is still around.’

‘Still around,’ says the Secret Avenger, brandishing the razor. ‘For the time being.’

Jan drives and drives; he doesn’t stop until they are approaching Nordbro. He pulls into a car park and switches off the engine, and they sleep in the car for a few hours. No one disturbs them.

The light slowly creeps over the horizon. It is dawn, then morning.

Jan wakes behind the wheel; he rouses the Secret Avenger and starts the car.

It is half past nine when they reach the town where Jan grew up. The streets are icy and deserted. It is Saturday morning.

The car heads towards the town centre, until Jan brakes and steers left at a sign marked NORTH. He knows where they are going; he turns the wheel and the car glides through the town as if it were on rails. No one can stop them now.

And then they have arrived. A sign says, CAUTION — CHILDREN PLAYING! This is an ordinary residential street, and this is where Jan’s enemy lives with his wife and his little boy.

Number seven. A brown box just like all the rest.

Jan pulls up on the opposite side of the street. From here you can see in through the kitchen window of number seven. There is a light on, but the only person visible is a woman in a dressing gown. She is sitting at the breakfast table with her head bowed.

Torgny Fridman’s wife knows nothing about fantasies. She carries on eating, alone.

‘We missed him,’ the Secret Avenger says.

Jan starts the car again, and this time he follows the signs to the town centre. Inside his head he can hear the pounding of drums.

They park on a side street close to Fridman’s shop. Jan does everything right; he buys a parking ticket, then adjusts his jacket and runs a hand through his hair so that he will look neat and tidy.

The Secret Avenger pulls his hat down over his eyes and reaches out his hand. ‘Give me the car keys... Just in case we need to make a quick getaway.’

Jan hands them over. Together they walk along the street, around the corner and into the ironmongery. The doorbell jingles cheerily as they walk in, but no one turns to look at them. It is still early, and there is only one customer in the shop.

And an ironmonger. Torgny Fridman is standing behind the counter showing the customer a range of leaf rakes. He picks up the rakes one by one and makes ridiculous little movements to demonstrate how they should be used.

Jan silently heads off to the right, towards the bigger tools made of iron and steel. They are weapons, every single one of them. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the Secret Avenger walking towards the hunting knives.

There are seven large axes left; the wooden shaft on this one is almost a metre long. Jan reaches out and picks it up. He feels the weight of the steel.

The fantasy about the final battle against the Gang of Four has been played out so many times inside his head, but the Secret Avenger has always taken the leading role. Until now.

Jan walks up to the counter with the axe and waits calmly while the other customer pays for his rake and leaves the shop. It takes a minute or so, then at last Jan is standing in front of Torgny with the axe in his hand. Torgny smiles, just as he would at any customer.

Jan is not smiling. He has spent enough time kow-towing to Torgny in his life.

‘I’ve gone for this one,’ he says, placing the axe on the counter.

Torgny nods. ‘Good choice,’ he says. ‘Are you planning to chop some wood before the winter sets in?’

He doesn’t have time to say any more, because suddenly there is the sound of feet running across the floor behind Jan. Small feet.

‘Daddy! I’ve finished the cats, Daddy!’

Jan turns his head and sees the little boy, Torgny’s son, racing towards them with a colouring book in his hand.

‘Good boy, Filip,’ Torgny says. ‘Daddy won’t be long!’ He nods to Jan again, and asks the usual question: ‘Will that be all?’

‘No.’ Jan places one hand on the axe. ‘Don’t you remember me?’

Torgny looks unsure. ‘I don’t think I—’ he begins.

But Jan interrupts him. ‘Jan Hauger.’

Torgny shakes his head. ‘That will be three hundred and ninety kronor, please.’

He has picked up a bag for the axe, but Jan keeps his hand on it.

‘I wanted to die rather than face you and your friends again.’

A kind of mask begins to fall from Torgny’s face as Jan goes on. The shopkeeper’s mask is disappearing, and behind it there is confusion. Jan wants to lure out the fifteen-year-old Torgny, the bully who must still be in there somewhere.

He carries on talking, as if he were addressing a child. ‘You and your gang burned me with cigarettes.’

Torgny listens, but says nothing.

‘Then you locked me in the sauna and turned up the heat.’

The shopkeeper opens his mouth at last. ‘Are you saying I did that?’

‘You and three others.’

‘But why?’ Torgny asks.

Jan doesn’t answer the question. The drums are pounding.

‘I know you remember me,’ he says instead. ‘It was you, Peter Malm, Niklas Svensson and Christer Vilhelmsson.’

Torgny nods, and Jan continues: ‘Your friends... the ones who died in the forest.’

‘I remember,’ Torgny says. ‘I know what happened.’

Jan glances sideways. He senses that the Secret Avenger is standing somewhere behind him.

‘Christer stabbed Niklas and Peter to death,’ Torgny goes on quietly. ‘In their tent.’

Jan stares at him.

Torgny raises his voice slightly and begins to speak more quickly. ‘They’d gone camping during the last week of the school year. I wasn’t with them so I don’t know everything, but there was some sort of quarrel. Peter started it; he always wanted to push people, try to break them. Christer couldn’t handle it... In the end he snapped, and he had a knife with him. He killed Niklas and Peter while they were asleep, then Christer took off through the forest and ran straight in front of a car.’

Jan shakes his head. ‘It wasn’t Christer Vilhelmsson who killed them. It was...’

‘It was Christer,’ Torgny insists. ‘He always hung around with us, but he got picked on the whole time. He was right at the bottom of the pecking order.’

‘I was at the bottom of the pecking order,’ Jan says.

‘No.’ Torgny shakes his head. ‘You were nothing to us. You just happened to get in the way.’

Jan opens his mouth to speak, but suddenly turns around. The Secret Avenger has disappeared.

Torgny is also looking around the shop. ‘Filip? Where’s Filip?’ he asks.

Jan lets go of the axe and backs away from the counter. He bumps into someone, another customer, but he doesn’t stop. He breaks into a run.

Out into the autumn chill. There are more people on the streets now, with unfamiliar faces.

Jan spots his Volvo as it pulls out of its parking space. He can see the Secret Avenger sitting behind the wheel, and a little head is sticking up on the seat beside him. A five-year-old boy.

Jan picks up speed. He races across the road, shouting and waving, but the Secret Avenger doesn’t even glance in his direction. The car moves out into the traffic and away from Jan.

‘Rössel!’

The child in the passenger seat seems to hear Jan’s shout; he turns his head and looks back, but the car doesn’t stop.

Jan knows where the Secret Avenger is heading: to the bunker by the lake. He is taking the boy to the room with the concrete walls, and he is going to lock him up inside it. Not for two days this time, but for much longer. Weeks, months, perhaps for ever. This was what Jan had fantasized about, wasn’t it? The final revenge on the Gang of Four: stealing away one of their children.

‘Rössel!’ he yells. ‘Stop!’

People are looking at him, but he doesn’t care. He runs along the pavement as fast as he can. He sees the Secret Avenger slow down and stop, but only for a red light. The Volvo is indicating right; soon it will turn off and disappear for ever with Torgny’s son. Without a trace.

There is nothing Jan can do, and now he is regretting everything. Regretting everything he has been fantasizing about for so long. He closes his eyes, with just one thought in his head: wrong choice.

54

Jan is driving the car, looking out at the motorway through the windscreen. He has fantasized about one route through the night, but he has made a different choice. He will not go back to Nordbro with Rössel, he will not go and see Torgny, he will not take away his son.

It was a fantasy that he allowed to play out to its conclusion, but all desire for revenge has left him now. He knows that every violent fantasy ends in the same way when it becomes reality: with fear and regret and loneliness.

He and Rössel have been travelling along the motorway for almost an hour, and they have reached the suburbs of Gothenburg. Rössel has directed him here, and when Jan chose the route the razor was removed from his throat.

‘I knew you would make this choice,’ Rössel says. He is still sitting in the back seat like a king; then he leans forward. ‘We’re on the right road. We’re going out into the forest... we’re going to find a grave there. That’s what I promised.’

‘Yes,’ Jan says. ‘But what about afterwards? Are you going back to the hospital?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘I mean, there are psychologists at St Patricia’s, aren’t there? They can help you.’

Rössel bursts out laughing. ‘Psychologists,’ he says, sounding as if he is talking about vermin. ‘Psychologists want answers they can’t have. They ask about my childhood, whether there’s a history of mental illness in the family... They want to find a good reason why I used to travel around with my caravan in the summer picking up teenagers, but there are no reasons. The world is incomprehensible... So do you know why I did it?’

‘No,’ says Jan. ‘And I don’t want to...’

‘I took them because I was evil, of course,’ Rössel goes on. ‘Because I am the son of Satan, and I want to be the master of life and death... Or maybe it was just because the ones I chose were defenceless and drunk, while I was strong and sober. Or then again, maybe I’m innocent, who knows? Only time will tell.’

Jan wants to stop this, and looks in the rear-view mirror. ‘Were you ever in the forests around Nordbro?’ he asks. ‘Did you ever camp up there?’

‘Nordbro? No, I never went that far north.’

Jan wonders if Rössel is lying. Probably not. Perhaps the truth lies in the simple answer that came from Jan’s subconscious, put into words by a fantasy figure; perhaps one member of the Gang of Four killed two of the others.

The world is incomprehensible, and dark. So Jan keeps on driving, his hands gripping the wheel. But the petrol gauge is dipping into the red zone — he didn’t think of this before they set off. He sees a Statoil sign beside the motorway, and points to it. ‘We need petrol.’

There is no reply from the back seat. When he looks in the mirror he sees that Rössel is leaning back with his eyes closed; the razor is beside him, and he has one hand on the tear-gas canister.

Jan turns off for the service station, slowly pulls in between two HGVs and stops by a pump under the stark neon light.

He takes his credit card from his wallet and steps out into the cold. As he moves away from the car he feels the plastic loops pressing against his stomach. The restraints he took from Carl and hid under his jumper — they’re still there. Would he use them on Rössel if he got the chance?

And if a patrol car slid into the petrol station now, would Jan alert the police? If he did, Rössel would be taken into custody and Jan would be free.

But Lilian’s brother would never be found.

And that is why they are here.

Jan unhooks the nozzle and tries to think, glancing into the car every few seconds. Rössel’s head and face are hidden by the roof of the car, but he can see the body in its grey trousers on the back seat. It is completely motionless. Has Rössel really fallen asleep?

He carries on filling up the car and looks around. The ranks of shiny petrol pumps are standing to attention in the neon light, and a short distance away a lorry is moving off with a muted hissing sound.

The pump clicks. The tank is full, and Jan replaces the nozzle.

Another quick glance into the car — but the back seat is empty.

Rössel is gone, along with the razor and the tear gas.

Jan looks around. The parking area is deserted. There isn’t a soul in sight, but there are plenty of HGVs ten or twelve metres away, parked so close together that they form a labyrinth on the tarmac.

Has Rössel sneaked in between them?

Jan leaves the car and moves cautiously towards the trucks. He crouches down and tries to look underneath them, but he can’t see any grey trousers moving on the other side.

He has a bad feeling in his stomach as he slowly walks back to the car.

‘Here I am,’ a voice says behind him.

Jan stops dead and turns around.

‘Did you think I’d done a runner?’

Jan shakes his head. He and Rössel understand one another. They are going to the grave now, and neither of them is about to pull out. Whatever happens afterwards.

‘Where were you?’

Rössel is holding a couple of spades with sharp edges under one arm, and something shiny in his other hand. A bottle. ‘I was doing a bit of shopping,’ he says. ‘I bought the spades, then I went over to the trucks. They’ve come from all over Europe... and sometimes the drivers are carrying booze. So I bought a bottle.’

He holds it up, and Jan sees that it is vodka.

‘And what did you use for money?’

‘I used yours.’ Rössel is offering Jan a small object — his own wallet. ‘You left this in the car.’

Jan takes the wallet. ‘I don’t need alcohol.’

Rössel opens the bottle and takes a swig. He isn’t smiling. ‘Yes, you do. Tonight we need both spades and spirits.’

They drive on through the night. Rössel is more subdued now, but he is still giving directions from the back seat. He points: ‘Left here.’

A roundabout, then a narrower road. Gothenburg is a big place and this is a part of the city Jan is not familiar with, but he can see a chain of jagged hills in the distance and thinks they are somewhere north-east of the centre, around Utby.

‘Turn right here,’ Rössel says, taking a swig of vodka. ‘Then right again.’

Jan obeys. He finds himself driving along a long, straight road where both the lights and the houses become more and more sparse. A white road sign flashes past: TRASTVÄGEN.

The sign is the last indication of their proximity to the city; after that there are no more buildings, only the road. It turns into a forest track leading upwards, climbing steep slopes covered with dark bushes and trees.

‘Here,’ Rössel says quietly. ‘We can’t drive any further... park here.’

Jan stops the car. He switches off the engine and turns on the interior light.

In the rear-view mirror he sees Rössel drinking deeply from the bottle, closing his eyes as he swallows.

‘Medicine,’ he says, passing the bottle to Jan.

Jan takes a small sip, no more. He looks down at the side pocket on the car door and sees pens and a few sheets of paper. He has an idea, and reaches for a pen and a sheet of paper. He shows them to Rössel. ‘Draw a map,’ he says.

‘A map?’

Jan nods. ‘We can leave it here... just in case we get lost in the forest.’ He remembers how he memorized the area around the Nordbro lake nine years ago, and says, ‘You do remember the way to the grave, don’t you?’

This is the first time he has asked Rössel to do something. He waits in silence.

But Rössel shakes his head. ‘I can’t... I can’t draw.’

‘I can,’ Jan says. He draws two parallel lines on the paper and writes Trastvägen. ‘This is where we are now... So where are we going?’

Rössel hesitates. ‘Draw a path,’ he says eventually. ‘Up to the left.’

Jan begins to draw. The line winds its way onwards, and Rössel explains about the differences in level, streams and large rocky areas. Jan was right — the entire landscape is preserved inside Rössel’s head. He has thought about this place a great deal.

‘There, put a cross there on that ledge.’ Rössel seems more eager now as he points at the map. ‘And write that... I just happened to meet the boy on a park bench, and I took him into the forest and buried the body up in the hills.’

The confession, Jan thinks. A written confession for Lilian and her family, at long last.

Jan finishes writing and shows the map to Rössel, who looks at the piece of paper and nods.

‘Good,’ Jan says quietly, and places the map on the passenger seat.

‘Let’s go,’ Rössel says. He climbs out of the car and Jan does the same. Their night’s work is waiting.

The spades are waiting too. Jan opens the boot and takes out an old blanket. He also has the Angel with him; it will be their only source of light in the darkness.

Rössel straightens up; he seems resolute now. He leads them over a ditch, away from the track and up through the undergrowth, between rocky outcrops and towering firs.

The last of the light is left behind. The wilderness begins.

After perhaps three hundred metres of moving between the trees they reach a chaotic mass of angular shadows. Jan holds up the Angel and sees shining blocks of granite, polished by glaciation thousands of years ago and piled up at the bottom of a sheer rock face. Somewhere in the darkness he can hear the sound of rushing water.

‘Are we climbing up there?’

‘No, it’s impossible.’ Rössel shakes his head. ‘We have to go round... It’s not as steep.’

They find a small path that snakes around the blocks and heads upwards at an angle. Rössel leads the way; he appears to be moving through his memory map, and shows no hesitation as he leans forward to climb the steep slope.

Jan follows a few metres behind him. The image of Carl’s dead body is in his mind, and he prefers to have Rössel in front of him while the razor is still around.

After twenty metres Rössel stops to catch his breath. ‘I carried the boy all the way up here,’ he says. ‘That was hard work.’

‘Was John Daniel still alive then?’ Jan asks. ‘Did you kill him here?’

‘I didn’t kill him.’ Rössel turns to face him; he sounds tired now. ‘He died in my car, because of all the booze he’d knocked back during the evening. He threw up and choked on his own vomit in the boot. It wasn’t my fault.’

Jan looks at him. ‘He would have lived if you’d left him alone. Like the others.’

Rössel shrugs his shoulders. ‘He could have stayed sober.’

He doesn’t say any more, but as they continue their ascent Rössel’s head is constantly moving to and fro in the darkness, as if he is searching for enemies.

There is a ledge a few metres higher up and Rössel disappears behind it. Jan makes a final effort and follows him. The ground levels out here. They have reached a broad plateau high above the forest, part of a longer chain of hills.

Rössel is standing there waiting for him, with a spade in his hand. He looks over at a solitary pine tree growing on the plateau. ‘This is where I came that night,’ he says. ‘I’d done some walking around here... I knew the area. The last time was after a terrible winter storm, and I noticed that a small pine tree had been blown over up on the top of the hill. It had been torn out by the roots, leaving a gaping hole underneath.’

Jan holds up the Angel and sees that the hilltop is some fifteen or twenty metres wide. On the far side it falls away sharply, down to the spot where the granite blocks are piled up at the bottom.

There is plenty of undergrowth and low bushes up here, and the pine tree. Its roots have somehow managed to re-establish themselves. The pine is growing tall and straight, although the needles at the top don’t look very healthy. But there is no hole where the roots were originally torn out.

‘Where is he?’ Jan asks.

‘Here.’ Rössel walks over to the tree, his voice flat and mechanical now. ‘I carried the body up here and dumped it in the hole underneath the roots. Then I managed to push the tree back upright, and the body was nowhere to be seen.’

Jan shines the beam of the Angel at the top of the tree. ‘It’s dying.’

‘It is now.’

Jan doesn’t say any more; he merely watches as Rössel takes a step away from the pine and opens out the blanket.

‘Start digging there... Right next to the trunk.’

Jan looks at the uneven ground. He is thinking about roots and secrets and different choices.

Then he picks up the spade, drives it into the ground and begins to dig. His body is full of energy now; he needs energy, because the ground is so hard. There aren’t many stones, but the spade must hack its way through tightly packed earth and tough root systems.

Rössel is still holding the other spade, but he is staring at the ground on the far side of the tree.

Jan keeps on digging, building up a pile of earth next to the trunk; a wide hole is opening up in front of him. From time to time he picks up the Angel and directs its beam at the hole, but he can see nothing yet.

‘Keep going,’ Rössel says.

Some of the roots are so thick that Jan can’t chop through them, so he digs out the earth around them and carries on downwards.

When he finally stops for a rest and looks at his watch, it is quarter to one. His arms are aching, but he keeps on digging.

Another slender root is sticking out of the earth — at least that’s what he thinks, until he sees that it is something else.

A yellowish bone.

The spade stops in mid-air as Jan stares down. He picks up the Angel again, and in the light he sees more bones. Bones and scraps of frayed material.

Rössel also sees the find, and nods. ‘Good... keep going.’

Jan hesitates. ‘I might damage him.’

‘It,’ says Rössel. ‘It’s only a body.’

Jan doesn’t answer; he bends his back and carries on. As carefully as possible he clears away the earth from around the bones; more and more pale fragments begin to appear. Slowly he reveals the shape of a skeleton, but the roots of the tree have grown during the passing years, and many bones have been broken or are missing.

After perhaps half an hour a large grey stone comes away from the damp wall of earth and rolls down into the bottom of the hole.

No, not a stone, Jan realizes — it’s a skull. He doesn’t want to look any closer, but he can see that bits of skin are still attached, like old paper.

Rössel says nothing; he simply climbs down and begins to gather up all the loose bones. He passes them up one by one, and Jan carefully lays them on the blanket. The round skull is placed there too.

Eventually there are no more bits to hand over.

‘Is that it?’ Jan asks.

‘That’s it,’ Rössel replies, taking a last swig from the bottle. ‘We just need to finish this off now.’ He clambers out of the grave, leans on the spade and smiles at Jan.

‘Finish this off?’

There is no answer to Jan’s question, but suddenly he hears the sound of rustling in the undergrowth behind him.

Boots.

Rössel glances in the direction of the noise. ‘Welcome,’ he says.

‘Hi, Ivan,’ a subdued voice replies in the darkness. It’s a woman’s voice; she sounds tired and out of breath.

Jan turns his head, holds up the Angel and sees someone he recognizes coming up the slope.

‘Hi, Jan.’

It is Hanna Aronsson, and she is moving slowly. She is carrying something: she has a small, limp body in her arms. With a blindfold around its eyes.

A sleeping child, or perhaps a child who has been drugged.

A boy.

55

Fifteen seconds later Jan is lying slumped on the ground.

Rössel has knocked him down, and it happened very quickly. One whirling blow with the spade in the darkness as Jan was staring at Hanna Aronsson, trying to understand why she was here. And who is the boy?

Rössel stepped forward and aimed at Jan’s right leg. The steel spade hit him just below the knee, the leg gave way and Jan went down in a flash of pain and nausea.

He loses consciousness.

Seconds pass, perhaps minutes.

‘Did everything go OK up there?’ He can hear Rössel’s voice.

And Hanna’s reply: ‘Yes, but I had to wait a while until he was outside on his own.’

‘Good,’ Rössel says.

The voices and the cold slowly bring Jan round, and when he looks up he can see a faint light. The Angel is lying in front of him, switched on, and in its glow he can just make out Rössel and Hanna like two shadows, a few metres away.

‘And he didn’t see you?’ Rössel asks.

‘No. Nobody saw me.’

Rössel has lowered the spade; he seems to be relaxing. He takes three steps towards Hanna and kisses her on the cheek, touches her blonde hair. ‘I’ve wanted to do that for so long,’ he says.

But his movements look stiff. His hands are unused to intimacy.

Jan has also recognized the boy: it is Leo. Leo Lundberg. Five years old, missing and the focus of a police search — Jan remembers Marie-Louise’s call, telling him that the boy had disappeared from his foster parents’ garden.

The blindfold covering Leo’s eyes is wide and black. He is breathing, but doesn’t appear to be awake; his body is heavy and inert in Hanna’s arms.

Jan watches as Rössel takes Leo and lays him down next to the hollow by the pine tree. ‘This is where he will lie,’ Rössel says. ‘Down here.’

It is like watching a shadow play. Jan feels dazed and somehow distant, but the pain in his leg is beginning to ease. He tries to sit up.

Rössel notices and turns to him. ‘Don’t move.’

Jan slowly shakes his head and sits up anyway. He tries to get Hanna to meet his gaze. ‘What are you doing?’ he asks. ‘Why have you brought Leo here?’

‘We didn’t bring him,’ Rössel says. ‘You did.’

Jan stares at him. ‘Me?’

‘This is the scene of the crime, this is where it all ends,’ Rössel says. ‘You even drew a map... A map with a confession, admitting what you’d done. It’s in the car, waiting for the police.’

Jan listens and looks at Hanna again, still trying to make eye contact. ‘What are you doing here, Hanna?’

But she merely glances at him, then looks away; in the light of the Angel her expression is blank, her eyes empty. ‘Sorry,’ she says, lowering her gaze. ‘But you were a perfect fit... You can save Ivan if you take the blame for the crimes he’s suspected of.’

‘I’m not taking the blame.’

‘Yes, you are. You’ve abducted boys in the past.’

Jan understands. Hanna has chosen him; he is a murderer who will be found dead next to an old victim and a new victim, while she and her Ivan disappear into the night. Rössel can be back at the hospital in an hour, and with a bit of luck no one will have noticed that he’s been gone.

Folie à deux. Shared psychosis. Or love over the wall. Jan recalls Dr Högsmed’s warning about getting too close to a psychopath, and looks at Hanna. ‘You got lost in the forest,’ he says.

She shakes her head. ‘I know what I’m doing. I’m here to set Ivan free... and you would do exactly the same for your Rami.’

Jan doesn’t answer.

Leo, he thinks. How is he going to save Leo?

‘Do it now, Hanna,’ Rössel says, offering her the spade. ‘Show me how strong you are.’

Hanna looks at the spade for a long time, then she closes her eyes. She doesn’t move. ‘I can’t,’ she says quietly.

‘It’s only a body.’ Rössel is still holding out the spade. ‘It can’t feel anything.’

‘I can’t do it.’

Only Jan is looking at Leo. He is still lying on the ground by the hole, but Jan suddenly notices that he is moving. The little boy can’t see because of the blindfold, but whatever Hanna has used to knock him out, chloroform or something similar, is starting to wear off.

But not quickly enough. Jan must keep talking: ‘There’s no way Rössel is going to be released, Hanna. He killed a guard tonight during his escape... He slit Carl’s throat.’

She looks sharply at Rössel. ‘Is this true?’

‘I did what I had to do,’ he replies. ‘And now it’s your turn.’

Hanna stays put; she is staring at the spade. ‘No.’

‘Yes,’ says Rössel in a louder voice.

Jan can see Leo stretching in the shadows on the ground; he isn’t fully awake, but he’s getting there.

A metre or so from Jan’s leg is the Angel, the only light on the hillside. And even closer, right next to him, he can see his spade.

Rössel sighs and gets out the bottle again. He takes a swig and nods. ‘I’ll take care of it.’

Jan reaches out and closes his fingers around his spade as Hanna looks at Rössel once more.

‘Ivan, we don’t need to—’

He cuts her off abruptly. ‘I’m going to do it now.’

But Jan’s time has come, and he finally takes his chance. In one single rapid movement he is on his knees, raising the spade with both hands like a long, slender club.

‘Leo!’ he yells to the boy. ‘Run! Just get away from here!’

Leo is on his feet. He has begun to move.

Jan strikes. The spade comes crashing down and there is a crunching noise from the Angel. The light goes out.

The autumn night sweeps in; it is almost pitch dark now. The only discernible light is coming from the buildings far below. Jan has already dropped the spade, and he shouts again, ‘Run towards the lights, Leo!’

The drums are pounding inside his head, several beats per second. There isn’t much time now.

He sees a small body disappearing into the darkness, running away. Leo has torn off the blindfold.

‘Run!’

Jan gets to his feet, using the spade for support.

‘Don’t move!’ Rössel bellows.

He is standing in front of Jan like a black shadow, with his own spade raised high above his shoulders. And then he strikes, two hard blows that shake the handle of Jan’s spade; the third blow knocks it out of Jan’s grasp, and it clatters away across the stones.

But Rössel’s spade is also useless — the handle has split and cracked in the middle. He tosses it away and takes something else out of his pocket, holding it up in front of him.

Not the tear gas, but the razor.

‘Jump,’ Rössel says.

Jan backs away holding his hands up in front of him, but his leg is still hurting and won’t obey him properly. He stumbles over a stone or a root, dangerously close to the sheer drop. He tries to pretend that there is solid ground everywhere, but the dizziness is taking hold.

Rössel moves forward with the razor at the ready. He makes a rapid swiping movement and the back of Jan’s hand burns with pain and begins to bleed. Several veins have been slashed.

Rössel holds the blade up even higher. ‘Jump,’ he orders again. ‘You might survive.’

But Jan doesn’t move any further backwards. He looks at Rössel’s outstretched hand, the hand holding the razor, and fumbles under his jumper. He has no weapon, of course, but he does have the plastic loops he took from Carl. Thin, strong loops that can catch something and hold it fast.

He removes one of the loops and reaches out.

Rössel isn’t fast enough. Jan grabs hold of his hand and manages to slip the loop over both their hands. All he has to do now is pull, and his own wrist is firmly attached to Rössel’s. Jan can now control the razor, and keep it away from him.

Rössel is breathing hard in the darkness, tugging and jerking. He tries to transfer the razor to his left hand so that he can cut himself free, but Jan grabs hold of that hand too.

They are holding on to each other like a couple about to start dancing, and there is no escape: Jan is trapped by Rössel and Rössel is trapped by Jan.

Rössel keeps on fighting, but Jan won’t let go.

He closes his eyes. He hopes that Leo got away. That he heard Jan’s shouts and ran down the slope, heading towards the lights.

‘Give up,’ Rössel says. ‘Before you die.’ He is breathless and his voice has lost all trace of softness. The predator has emerged, the beast that has been hiding behind the self-possessed teacher.

Jan is finding it impossible to regain his balance, and Rössel cannot let him go. Jan opens his eyes. They are moving inexorably towards the sheer drop. He and Rössel, bound together in a macabre embrace. They are both panting, breathing in time with one another.

‘Your turn, my friend!’ Rössel shouts.

Jan is losing the battle, he is on the point of being hurled out into the void. And there is nothing to hold on to. Only Ivan Rössel.

He turns to look for help. Leo has gone, and there is just one lone figure by the pine tree. Hanna is standing motionless in the undergrowth, watching them. She is frozen to the spot; she can do nothing.

But Leo got away. He fled from the predator, out of the forest. He is strong, he will make it.

Jan is happy with that victory.

He feels the edge of the solid ground beneath his feet, but he does not hesitate. Just one small step backwards into the darkness.

One step, and he takes Rössel with him over the edge.

56

‘Is everyone feeling all right?’ Marie-Louise asks.

No one responds to her gentle query.

Hanna is as quiet as her colleagues this morning. She has no words. She has come back to work and is trying to look calm, even though she can hardly breathe. So much has gone wrong. She feels as if she is sitting in the middle of a storm, with no idea of when it will pass.

It is Wednesday now. The Dell has remained closed since the chaotic fire drill, and meanwhile the rumours about St Patricia’s have been growing. There have been newspaper articles about what happened, reports on the radio, and the TV news has shown pictures of the closed hospital gates.

Marie-Louise doesn’t ask any more questions. She turns her head. ‘Dr Högsmed is here today to give us an update and fill in one or two gaps. I think we all need some kind of...’ She falls silent, unable to find the right words. ‘Doctor,’ she says.

‘Thank you, Marie-Louise.’

Högsmed has been sitting at the table with his head bowed, as if he has hardly slept over the past few days. But now he straightens his back and begins to speak: ‘So... We had rather a dramatic start to the weekend. Dramatic and tragic. As you know we had scheduled a major fire drill for Friday night, but it became rather more complicated than we had intended. This was because a real fire was discovered on the fourth floor, just before the actual drill was due to begin.’

The doctor pauses. There is absolute silence around the table. Hanna looks out of the window at St Psycho’s.

‘As a consequence of this fire,’ Högsmed goes on, ‘a certain amount of confusion arose with regard to the dividing line between the actual emergency and the drill. This meant that we had very poor control over some areas, and the patients were able to wander around freely. Possibly as a result of this chaos there was a fatal attack on one of the security guards on the fourth floor, followed by the escape of the man who started the fire. One of our most dangerous patients.’

Ivan, Hanna thinks. Was he dangerous? Yes. But he was also loving and considerate. She sits quietly at the staffroom table with Andreas. They are the only two who have turned up today. The chairs on either side of Hanna are empty.

One of them is Lilian’s, of course, but she has been signed off due to ill health.

The other chair was Jan Hauger’s.

Hanna had seen Jan fall over the edge of the precipice high above the forest, along with Ivan — two dark figures locked together, neither of them prepared to let go.

She had stood there frozen to the spot; she had closed her eyes and waited for the dull thud of bodies hitting the rocks, and after a second or two the thud came.

The forest was silent. Then Hanna heard something in the darkness: the sound of whimpering from down below.

‘Ivan?’ she had shouted over the edge.

The whimpering continued, but the voice sounded like Jan’s. Then it stopped.

Hanna had turned and fled. Leo was gone; he had already run off into the night, and she decided to let him be. Kidnapping him and trying to put the blame on Jan Hauger had been Ivan’s idea, not hers. She was glad Leo had got away.

She had stumbled down through the trees to her rented car, then driven back to Valla on the motorway.

By three o’clock she was home. She had locked the door, then flushed the gloves, the syringe and the empty ampoule of Valium down the toilet; anything that could link her to Leo’s abduction had to go. Then she had gone to bed, repeating the same mantra over and over again in her head.

Nothing. She knew nothing. Nothing about the fire. Nothing about Ivan Rössel. Nothing about Jan Hauger and his obsession with Alice Rami.

But what was going to happen now? The lack of certainty almost drove her mad.

She had called Lilian on Saturday morning.

Lilian’s voice was subdued when she answered the phone. Hanna tried to sound perfectly normal, and asked what had happened on Friday night.

‘Nothing,’ Lilian said. ‘Nothing at all. Rössel never came to the visitors’ room. Nobody came... so in the end we went home.’

‘What a shame,’ Hanna said.

She didn’t know what else to say. She didn’t really want to speak to Lilian at all, but there was one question she had to ask: ‘Have the police called you?’

‘No,’ Lilian said. ‘Why would they do that? Do they suspect something?’

‘I shouldn’t think so,’ Hanna said quickly.

But of course that was exactly what she thought. After all, the grave that had contained the remains of Lilian’s brother was open now. When the police found Ivan’s and Jan’s bodies, they would also find John Daniel, and his family would be informed. They would know, at long last. Hanna cared only about making sure she wasn’t involved.

Nothing, she knew nothing.

Lilian was quiet for a moment, then she went on: ‘But Marie-Louise called last night; did she speak to you as well?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you know Leo Lundberg was missing.’

‘Yes.’

‘And what about you? Do you have anything to tell me, Hanna?’

‘No, nothing,’ Hanna said. She quickly put down the phone and let out a long breath.

Nothing.

She had gone back to her lonely bed and thought about Ivan. She had been obsessed with him for months, dreamed of helping him, getting him out of St Patricia’s at any price. But they had managed only a few brief conversations in the visitors’ room, supervised by Carl, who was always ready to accept a bribe. They had made love once, on the mattress down in the safe room.

Now Ivan was gone. She missed him.

But she realized that she actually missed Jan Hauger too.

Högsmed has paused in his account of the weekend’s events. He takes a deep breath and continues: ‘So we had a number of incidents on the same night. But eventually we managed to bring the situation under control, and all the patients are now accounted for... with the exception of the person who escaped. He was found dead, in the company of’ — the doctor glances sideways at Marie-Louise — ‘the person we suspect of helping him to escape. I am talking about your colleague, Jan Hauger. He is being treated in hospital; his injuries are severe, but he will live.’

No one speaks. Everyone seems to be holding their breath — including Hanna.

Jan is alive.

She hears the doctor sigh heavily, then he adds, ‘Staff recruitment falls within my remit, and of course I take full responsibility for the appointment of Jan Hauger.’

Marie-Louise looks down at the table, and chips in with a comment: ‘It wasn’t easy to tell. Jan seemed reliable in many ways, but there were a number of... warning signs. He recently told me he’d had mental-health issues in the past. He had apparently spent some time in a psychiatric unit when he was a teenager.’

Dr Högsmed continues his account. He tells them about Leo Lundberg’s disappearance from his foster family’s garden on Friday evening, and the ensuing police search — until he suddenly appeared at a farmhouse outside Gothenburg late that night. This meant that he hadn’t run away; he had been abducted in a car.

Finally Högsmed explains that the police found Jan Hauger unconscious at the bottom of a sheer drop in the forest, not far from the location where Leo turned up. The patient Jan had helped to escape was lying underneath him, dead. They had left Jan’s car down on the track, together with a written confession.

‘We are assuming this was a kind of suicide note,’ the doctor says. ‘Hauger and the patient had dug up a grave in the forest, but they let the child go... before throwing themselves off the precipice together.’

Silence once more. They probably all knew this already, but they still seem shocked. Andreas looks utterly devastated, and Hanna hopes her own expression is equally sorrowful.

‘How’s Leo?’ Marie-Louise asks.

‘He is unharmed. He doesn’t remember much, and perhaps that’s just as well,’ Högsmed says. ‘He only remembers that someone came up behind him in the garden when he was playing on the swing, and grabbed hold of his arms. The doctor found a needle mark on his arm, so no doubt some kind of sedative was involved, but he’s feeling fine now, under the circumstances.’

Hanna’s fists are tightly clenched under the table. What has Leo told the police? What does he remember about what happened in the darkness above the forest? He was drugged and blindfolded — so surely he won’t remember her? And if Jan recovers, will he be able to talk? Will anyone believe him?

She has to say something, and leans forward. ‘I’ve just remembered something.’

Everyone is looking at her, and she goes on: ‘It was just something Jan Hauger told me ages ago, and I don’t know if it means anything... but he said he took a group of children out on an excursion in the forest one day, and he separated one of the boys from the rest and left him out there.’

‘Oh?’ Högsmed says quickly. ‘And when was this?’

‘It was when he was working at some nursery or other... it sounded as if it was years and years ago.’

Marie-Louise stares at her for a long time. ‘You should have spoken to me about this, Hanna.’

‘I know, but I thought... I thought it was some kind of weird joke. I mean, Jan always seemed so reliable, didn’t he? And the children really liked him. Didn’t they?’

Högsmed looks at her and clears his throat. ‘This is highly confidential,’ he says, ‘but the police went to Hauger’s apartment over the weekend. They found a number of suspicious items, including a large number of drawings depicting extremely violent incidents and revenge fantasies. And one of Hauger’s neighbours used to work in the hospital; apparently Hauger had been asking questions about various escape routes.’

Hanna bows her head. ‘Poor Jan,’ she says quietly.

The others are looking at her oddly.

‘I just mean... he should have got some help. We should have been more vigilant.’

‘Disturbed antisocial tendencies are very difficult to spot,’ Högsmed says. ‘Even we professionals sometimes miss the signs.’

A final long silence.

He looks down at his papers. ‘Well... that’s all I wanted to say, really.’

‘Thank you so much, Doctor.’ Marie-Louise clasps her hands together and smiles at Hanna and Andreas. ‘I’m sure you must have questions, but we can deal with those later. Time to look forward. The children will be here soon.’

Hanna quickly gets to her feet. She pretends that this is an ordinary working day.

And it is an ordinary working day, an ordinary day at the beginning of the long winter. Apart from the fact that Jan and Ivan are gone, and Lilian is off sick.

As Hanna leaves the room she hears the front door slam shut.

The children, she thinks, and prepares to continue playing the role of the conscientious pre-school teacher.

Little Josefine has arrived, dressed in a warm dark-green snowsuit and with a foster parent in tow.

Josefine gives Hanna a big smile; she has lost yet another front tooth over the weekend. ‘It’s snowing!’ she shouts.

‘Is it?’ Hanna looks out of the window. Josefine is right; big white snowflakes are swirling through the air. Perhaps the snow will lie for a while this time.

‘Good,’ she says, smiling at Josefine. ‘In that case maybe we can go out and play in the snow when the others arrive. We’ll make snow angels! But perhaps you could go into the playroom in the meantime?’

Josefine takes off her outdoor clothes and scampers off.

Hanna begins to relax.

‘Excuse me...’ a voice behind her says. ‘Have you seen any handmade books around here?’

Hanna turns around. ‘Sorry?’

She realizes that it is Josefine’s foster mother who has asked the question. Or her legal guardian, perhaps. The woman seems to be in her thirties; her grey woolly hat is pulled well down over her forehead, and she is wearing narrow, black-framed glasses.

Hanna looks at her with curiosity. She has only seen this woman on the odd occasion in the past; Josefine is usually brought to the Dell and picked up by an older man.

‘I left some books here last summer,’ the woman goes on. ‘Four slim books... I wrote them for my older sister, but she wasn’t allowed to have them.’

Hanna knows exactly what she is talking about — Jan’s picture books. But she shakes her head. ‘Sorry. I don’t think I’ve seen them... but you’re welcome to have a look.’

‘Really?’

‘Of course. Come on in.’

The woman takes off her shoes and unbuttons her jacket.

Hanna has to ask, ‘Is your name Alice Rami?’

The woman nods and straightens her back, but her expression is wary. Her gaze is very direct. ‘How do you know that?’ she asks.

‘Because... I’ve heard of you.’ ‘Oh?’

The woman is not smiling, but Hanna goes on anyway: ‘You were a musician, weren’t you?’

Alice Rami grimaces. ‘For a little while, many years ago.’

‘What happened?’

Rami sighs. ‘A lot of things happened. My sister was ill; she just kept on getting worse and worse, and I wasn’t feeling too good either. So I stopped playing.’

She is talking about her older sister, Hanna realizes. Maria Blanker.

‘But she’s getting the care she needs now?’ Hanna asks.

Alice Rami nods, and Hanna wants to ask why her sister is locked up inside St Patricia’s. But that would probably be too intrusive. Instead she asks, ‘Do you think she’ll be out soon?’

‘We’re hoping so,’ Rami says quietly. ‘For Josefine’s sake.’

‘Good.’ She nods to Rami with a sympathetic look on her face. ‘I know what it’s like to wait for someone.’

‘Are you waiting too?’

‘I was. I was waiting for a man... a very special man.’

There is a brief silence, then suddenly Hanna hears voices behind her. Marie-Louise and Dr Högsmed have emerged from the kitchen. Högsmed is asking something about a staff locker, and Marie-Louise replies, ‘Yes, he did have one... But we keep a set of spare keys.’

Hanna looks at Rami again. Here she is — the woman Jan Hauger has been waiting for all through the autumn. But in the wrong place, which is slightly ironic.

Jan was never in contact with Alice Rami. He never got the answers to his questions, but perhaps Hanna can try? If she and Lilian aren’t friends any more, perhaps Rami could be her friend? She feels lonely now. Abandoned.

‘We can look for the books together, if you like.’

Hanna hears a rattling sound behind her and looks around. Marie-Louise has opened Jan’s locker; it was stuffed full, and several things have fallen out on to the floor: a raincoat, a small bicycle pump and a number of books.

Hanna doesn’t want to look at Jan’s possessions. She turns back to Alice Rami, and goes on: ‘We can check in the book boxes in the playroom.’

But Rami is no longer listening to her. Her gaze is fixed on a point to Hanna’s right. ‘There they are,’ she says.

Hanna looks around. Rami is looking at the picture books — they are lying on the floor in front of Jan’s locker. And when Hanna looks more closely she recognizes them, of course: The Animal Lady, The Witch Who Was Poorly, Viveca’s House of Stone and The Princess with a Hundred Hands.

Four stories about loneliness.

Hanna is still standing in the hallway, and before she can stop her Rami goes into the staffroom and over to the locker. She bends down between Marie-Louise and Dr Högsmed and picks up the books, one by one.

She leafs through them. ‘Someone has been drawing in these,’ she says quietly. ‘Do you know who’s done these drawings?’

Rami looks up, but Hanna cannot say anything. She can only shake her head, even though she can clearly see Jan Hauger’s face in front of her.

There is a fifth book on the floor; it was lying underneath the others, and Hanna hasn’t seen it before.

An old, black notebook with a picture on the cover: a faded Polaroid that has been stuck on. The photograph shows a boy with blond hair, staring into the camera from a hospital bed.

Rami picks up the notebook. She straightens up and looks at it for a long time. ‘I recognize this too,’ she says eventually. ‘I was the one who took this picture... a long, long time ago.’

She opens the book and reads a name: Jan Hauger. She looks up. ‘Does he work here?’

Marie-Louise looks troubled. ‘No,’ she says quietly. ‘Unfortunately he isn’t with us any more... Did you know him?’

Rami nods, without saying anything further.

Hanna can feel the panic welling up in her stomach. She wants to say something, but Rami just keeps looking through Jan’s diary, staring at the drawings and densely written pages with a look of incredulity on her face.

She keeps hold of the book, and smiles affectionately.

‘Oh yes, I knew him. We were friends, Jan and me.’

Acknowledgements

Thanks to Kajsa Asklöf, Roger Barrett, Katarina Ehnmark Lundquist, Ann Heberlein, Rikard Hedlund, Kari Jacobsen, Cherstin Juhlin, Anders Parsmo, Ann Rule, Åsa Selling and Bengt Witte, who directly or indirectly helped with this novel.