The Fire Witness

106

The central door bursts open with a bang and the SWAT team storms the subway car. Windows are broken and shards shower down on the ripped-up seats and the floor. The gas cylinder falls with a thud and rolls through the car, the argon hissing as it escapes. All the inside doors are forced open.

Joona steps over moldy blankets, egg cartons, and old newspapers.

“Lie still!” someone bellows.

They search the car section by section using the light from their weapons. They go between the seats and look through the dirty Plexiglas dividers between sections.

“Don’t hit me!” screams a man inside the second section.

“Quiet!”

The SWAT team leader tapes the gas cylinder’s vent shut.

Joona rushes toward the driver’s cab.

There’s no sign of Vicky Bennet or Dante.

The car stinks of sweat and old food. The walls and windows are scratched and covered with scrawls. Someone has recently eaten grilled chicken; the greasy paper is lying on the floor among beer cans and candy wrappers. Newspaper rustles beneath Joona’s feet. The light from outside is dappled by the broken windows.

Joona reaches the driver’s cab. He’s certain the name Dennis on the key ring points to this place, where Vicky’s mother used to hide.

The SWAT team has already broken the door open, and Joona steps inside. The cramped space is empty. The walls are covered with graffiti. A syringe without its needle is lying on the instrument panel beside pieces of sooty aluminum foil and empty plastic capsules. On the small shelf beside the pedals, there’s a package of painkillers and a tube of toothpaste.

Joona keeps searching and finds a rusty food knife stuck to the foam under the ripped driver’s seat. There are more candy wrappers and an empty baby-food jar, which once held plum puree. Through the side window, Joona can see the SWAT team has captured the man in jeans. His face is heavily wrinkled and his eyes are wide with fear. He’s coughing blood into his beard. He’s yelling. His arms are bound behind his back with plastic handcuffs. He’s forced onto his stomach and the muzzle of an automatic rifle is pointed at the back of his head.

Joona keeps searching the cramped cab. His eyes fly over buttons and knobs, the microphone and the stick with its polished handle, and he doesn’t know where else to look.

Why did Vicky and her mother have keys to this place? There’s nothing here.

He’s examining the screws fastening the grille over the ventilation outlet when his glance falls on a word scratched on the wall: Mamma.

He takes a step backward and sees right away that everything scrawled on the walls are messages between Vicky and her mother. This must have been a place where they could meet in peace, and whenever they missed each other, they left messages:

Mamma, they abused me, I couldn’t stay.

I’m freezing and I need food. Have to go back, but will be here again on Monday.

Don’t be sad, Vicky. They put me in detox so I missed you.

Thanks for the candy.

Sweetie!! I’m sleeping here for a while. Uffe’s a pig!! If you can leave some money, that’ll be great!!

Merry Christmas, Mamma!

You gotta know I can’t call you back for a while.

Mamma, are you angry with me for something?