The Sandman

81

Saga is sitting quite still inside the van, gazing out of the window. The chains attached to her handcuffs rattle in time with the motion of the vehicle.

She hasn’t wanted to think about Jurek Walter. She’s actually managed to keep her distance from what she knows about his murders since she accepted the mission.

But that’s no longer possible. After three days of monotony at Karsudden Hospital, the Prison Service decision to transfer her is being put into practice. She’s on her way to the secure unit of Löwenströmska Hospital.

Her encounter with Jurek is drawing closer.

In her mind’s eye she can clearly see the photograph that was at the front of his file: his wrinkled face and those clear, pale eyes.

Jurek worked as a mechanic and lived a solitary and withdrawn life until his arrest. There was nothing in his flat that could be linked to his crimes, yet he was still caught red-handed.

Saga had been drenched with sweat by the time she finished reading the reports and looking at the photographs of the crime scenes. One large colour picture showed the forensics team’s numbered signs in the clearing, as well as a heap of damp soil, a grave and an open coffin.

Nils Åhlén had produced a thorough forensic record of the woman’s injuries, after she’d been buried alive for two years.

Saga feels travel-sick and looks out at the road and trees flitting past. She thinks about how malnourished the woman was, and about her pressure sores, frostbite and lost teeth. Joona had described how the weak, emaciated woman had tried to climb out of the coffin time after time, but how Jurek kept pushing her back down.

Saga knows she shouldn’t be thinking about this.

A shudder of anxiety slowly spreads out from her stomach.

She tells herself that under no circumstances must she let herself feel afraid. She’s in control of the situation.

The van brakes and the handcuffs rattle.

The plastic barrel and the coffin had both been equipped with air tubes leading up above ground.

Why couldn’t he have just killed them outright?

It’s incomprehensible.

Saga moves on to considering what Mikael Kohler-Frost had said about his captivity in the capsule, and her heart beats faster as she thinks of Felicia alone there, the little girl with the loose plait and riding hat.

It has stopped snowing, but there’s no sign of the sun. The sky remains overcast and blind. The van leaves the old main road and slowly turns right as it enters the hospital grounds.

A woman in her forties is sitting in the bus shelter with two shopping bags in her hands, taking deep drags on a cigarette.

Government approval is required to establish a secure unit, but Saga knows that the legislation allows plenty of leeway for the institutions to conduct their own evaluations.

Ordinary laws and rights cease to apply inside those locked doors. There’s no real scrutiny or supervision. The staff are lords of their own Hades, as long as none of their patients escape.