The Cruel Stars of the Night

Fifty

The smoke divers prepared themselves. They struggled into their suits and pulled out hoses of a slightly smaller dimension than the ones used from the outside.

The fire was no longer burning as intensely. All of the cubic meters of water that had been dropped over and into the house had had an effect.

Firemen on the ladder had punched two holes in the roof and sprayed in water. In the basket of a crane two men were systematically working on the west wing where the fire was most intense.

Ottosson and Berglund had arrived. They stood as close to the house as they were allowed but were not able to be of any assistance at the moment. Berglund had broken a window in Lindell’s car and searched it but had not found anything remarkable.

“Could she be in there?” Ottosson asked for the third time. He stared at the remains of a curtain fluttering in the window.

“Why haven’t they gone in yet?” he asked himself although he knew the answer.

Eskil Ryde from forensics came zooming along in his old Mazda. He got out, appraised the situation, and then turned to Ottosson.

“May the dear Lord have seen to the fact that Ann is not in there,” he said and returned to the car as quickly as he had come.

Ottosson took a few steps closer to the house. Wallin, the fire commander, came forward.

“You should watch it, Otto,” he said. “Objects can come flying.”

As if in illustration to what he had just said, a gutter pulled loose from its moorings, swung out from the wall like pendulum, and hovered there for a few moments before it crashed to the ground.

“Could someone survive in there?” Berglund asked.

“To be honest, I think it would be tough,” Wallin said.

“Have you put the word out on that Hindersten?” Ottosson asked.

Berglund nodded.

“She has a brand new red Ford, bought only a few weeks ago,” he said.

“The neighbor thinks she had a packed suitcase in the car with her,” Ottosson said.

“There’s a national alert on her,” Berglund said.

“Good,” Ottosson said.

Three smoke divers went in, Sven-OlofAndersson, David Näss, and Ludde Nilsson, who was the team leader. He placed himself by the door and was the one who maintained contact with the commander outside.

The smoke divers communicated by radio. Näss first checked the kitchen, which was relatively unharmed but covered in soot. The floor timber had burned as well as the linoleum floor.

He looked over his shoulder and saw his colleague peek into a bedroom. They stayed close. Näss quickly checked the area behind the kitchen table and then joined Andersson in the bedroom, which was burned out. An iron rod that he assumed had once been a floor lamp had bent from the heat. Of the bed only four bed knobs remained.

The next room was also a bedroom with damages similar to the first. They could not see any remains of a person in here either. With their experience, they could often form an understanding of what had happened from a cursory glance around a room. That which looked like one big burned-out hole to others could tell the smoke divers a great deal.

They kept searching. The next room had apparently been a living room, that bordered the dining room.

“There’s so damned little in here,” Andersson said over the radio.

Näss nodded. In all its sootiness and with water running down the walls, the room looked naked. They checked every nook and cranny but found nothing of interest.

They walked back into the hall. Andersson pointed to the basement door and Näss nodded.

The door was locked. The color had peeled off and curled up and revealed that it was made of steel.

“The crowbar and axes,” Näss said clipped. “We’re going to force the basement door.”

Ludde Nilsson forwarded this message to the commander. After half a minute both of the smoke divers could let loose on the door hinges. It was over in ten seconds and then they directed their flashlights into the basement. The stairs were made of wood and were still burning. Andersson sprayed water down and the flames on the steps died with a hissing sound.

“Ladder,” Näss said, “four meters.”

When they had received the ladder they went down, Näss in the lead. Adrenaline was pumping through his body. He let the beam of light play along the walls. It was smoking and burning, above all in the west part of the basement. Andersson came down after him and sprayed water in that direction.

Näss examined the ceiling. He reported to Ludde Nilsson and told him about the damage, that there was a great deal of smoke and that the risk of collapse was great.

“We’re going in,” he said and sensed in a spooky way that something terrible had happened in the basement. Every time he had this feeling at the scene of a fire the load of compressed air on his back felt heavier. The twelve, thirteen kilos felt twice as heavy.

“We have something here,” Andersson whispered, and confirmed Näss’s feeling. They walked together, first to the right and discovered the remains of a rat on the floor. It was half burned up. A little farther forward there were two more.

The water they sprayed created clouds of steam and together with the smoke this made it hard for them to pick out details.

They started to search through the basement systematically.

“Ludde, we have a body,” Nässsaid.

“Any resuscitation required?” the team leader inquired, although he could tell from his colleague’s voice that there wouldn’t be.

“Most likely negative,” Näss said.

The fire commander, Eddie Wallin, received the information. He looked over at the two police veterans. They were stamping their feet, silent, waiting for news. They had probably seen and heard everything, the commander thought, but hesitated in going over to them. Ottosson met his gaze and understood him at once. Tears, that seemed to have been lying in wait, started to run down his cheeks.

Berglund turned around and looked at the commander who was shaking his head. Berglund put his arm around Ottosson’s back. He knew what Ann meant to the old fox. Ottosson held a hand to his chest and Berglund feared he was having a heart attack.

“How are you doing?”

“Think of the boy,” he wept, and stared with tear-filled eyes at the ruins of the house.

“Let’s go to the car,” Berglund said. He had never seen his colleague cry before.

This was the worst. This wasn’t something that got better with practice. He hated it. He could take all the physical exertion in the world, strange passageways, collapses, and everything a smoke diver had to withstand, but the sight of a dead person in connection with a fire always made him weak in the knees.

Sven-Olof Andersson bent over and started to tear off the plastic bag. He knew about Näss’s weakness and urged him to check the boiler room.

The plastic had been gnawed away in many places and Sven-Olof quickly perceived that it was a male body. The rats had eaten through the fabric of what he took to be a pair of pyjamas and had gnawed the man’s shoulder.

He tore away more of the plastic and discovered that one ear had been eaten clean away.

“Ludde! What we’ve found is a man,” he said.

“Repeat!” the radio crackled.

“This is an older man who has been lying here a good while,” he said in a louder voice. “The rats have had a party.”

Näss came back and stood behind Sven-Olof Andersson’s back. “This isn’t the female cop?” he asked. “This is no female,” Andersson said.

What they’ve found is an older male,” the fire commander screamed at Ottosson and Berglund.

It was admittedly unprofessional to scream out such news at the scene of a fire but it was a spontaneous reaction. Afterwards he received numerous reprimands.

Ottosson hurried over.

“What the hell are you saying, Eddie?”

“It’s an older man, probably dead for a long time.”

There was nothing they could do to help him so they left the body and continued their task of searching the basement.

“Look at this,” Näss said, who was happy to leave the dead man behind.

Andersson looked at all the wine bottles. At the same time there was a loud boom behind them and part of the ceiling fell in. Näss immediately straightened his helmet and looked up at the ceiling of the wine cellar. There was an upside-down bathtub on the floor. The smoke divers exchanged looks. Andersson bent over and lifted the tub. A lifeless hand fell out onto the floor.

He wrenched the tub aside. Näss’s flashlight illuminated Ann Lindell’s twisted body. Andersson leaned over her.

“She’s alive,” he said.

“Start rescusitation of middle-aged female,” he said, as he checked her for possible external injuries.

Satisfied with what he observed he slid his hands under her neck and knees.

“I’ll take her up right now,” Andersson said and lifted Lindell.

With Lindell hanging over his shoulder he balanced up the ladder.Näss climbed behind him and helped him balance the load. The policewoman’s hair billowed out over his helmet.

The ambulance personnel were poised and started breathing resuscitation as soon as Andersson laid her on the stretcher.

Ottosson pushed his way forward and fell down on his knees next to Lindell.

The smoke divers returned to the house.

“And we’re lifting,” one of the emergency technicians said.

“Will she make it?” Ottosson asked.

Eddie Wallin shot him a look as the ambulance drove off with sirens blaring.