The Fire Witness

120

Gun in hand, Joona sneaks inside, bending low behind the large machinery. He can smell the sweet odor from the rinsed floor and the rubber mats. He realizes that he didn’t stop to give the county communications center an address. They have probably reached the slaughterhouse area by now, but it might take them some time to find Vicky.

A memory flashes through his mind, a merciless memory of seconds during which lives change and time compresses. Joona is eleven years old and the school principal has come to his classroom, taken him out into the hall, and told him what happened. The principal’s cheeks are wet with tears.

Joona’s father was a policeman and was on patrol. He’d gone into an apartment and had been shot in the back. His father had been on his own. Against regulations.

Joona has no time to wait for reinforcements.

In front of him, pneumatic knives and casing pullers covered in dirty membranes are hanging from a rack above a stainless-steel roller conveyor. He keeps moving forward. He can hear the voices more clearly.

“No, he has to wake up first.” A deep, wheezing male voice.

“Give him a minute.”

Joona recognizes Tobias’s voice with its innocent, boyish tone.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Another voice, also male.

“I wanted to keep him quiet,” Tobias replies.

“He’s practically dead,” says the wheezing voice. “I won’t pay until I know he’s all right.”

“We can only stay two more minutes,” says a third male voice. He is serious.

Joona creeps toward the voices. As he reaches the end of one conveyor, he can see the boy lying on a gray blanket spread on the floor. He’s dressed in a stretched-out blue sweater, corduroy pants, and tiny sports shoes. His face has been washed, but he is filthy and unconscious.

A large, heavyset man is standing beside the boy. His beer belly protrudes from a leather vest, and he’s sweating so heavily that it’s running down his face. He stamps his foot with irritation and tugs at his white beard.

Joona feels a drop hit him. A hose clip is loose and drops of water are falling from it. They run over the tiled floor to the drain.

The large man starts to pace, while constantly looking at his watch. Then he squats beside the boy.

“Let’s take a few pictures,” comes another voice, a new one.

Joona does not know what to do. Besides Tobias, there are at least four men and he can’t tell whether they are armed or not.

He really would like a SWAT team to appear right now.

The large man’s face shines as he pulls the shoes from Dante’s feet.

The small, striped socks come off with the shoes. The boy’s heels hit the blanket.

As the man’s huge hands start to unbuckle the boy’s pants, Joona can’t stand to watch any longer.

He doesn’t bother to hide as he heads for the cutting counter with its freshly sharpened knives of various lengths, thicknesses, and blade edges.

He keeps his gun pointed to the floor.

Joona knows he isn’t following regulations. He just can’t wait any longer. He heads directly for the men.

“What the hell!” yells the heavyset man.

He lets go of the boy but remains squatting.

“You are under arrest for kidnapping,” Joona says as he kicks the huge man in the chest.

The man falls backward from the blow. He can’t stop his fall and crashes into buckets of trimmings, rolls over the floor grate, and knocks a box of ear protectors down before he lands in the heavy skinning machine.

Joona hears the click of a safety being released and feels a muzzle being pushed against his spine between his shoulder blades. He stands absolutely still as he knows the bullet would go right through his heart if it left the weapon that instant.

A man of about fifty comes up to Joona from the side. He has a blond ponytail and is wearing a brown leather jacket. He moves as softly as a bodyguard and he’s pointing a sawed-off shotgun at Joona.

“Shoot him!” someone shouts.

The fat man is on his back, panting heavily. He rolls over and tries to get up but stumbles. He rights himself against the machine and gets to his unsteady feet. Then he disappears from Joona’s line of sight.

“We can’t stay here,” Tobias is whispering.

Joona tries to see what’s in the reflections on the gleaming metal of the cutting board and the hanging knives, but it’s impossible to make out how many men are behind him.

“Hand over your gun,” a calm voice says behind him.

Joona lets Tobias take his pistol. His colleagues must be near by now. He must not take any risks.