The Sandman

83

The secret investigative team, Athena Promacho, has been sitting listening to the sounds of Saga Bauer’s stomach for two hours since she arrived at Löwenströmska Hospital.

‘If anyone walked in now they’d think we were some sort of new-age sect,’ Corinne says with a smile.

‘It’s actually quite beautiful,’ Johan Jönson says.

‘Relaxing,’ Pollock grins.

The whole team is sitting with their eyes half-closed, listening to the gently bubbling, fizzing sounds.

Suddenly there’s a roar that almost breaks the big loudspeakers as Saga vomits up the microphone. Johan Jönson knocks over his can of Coca-Cola and Nathan Pollock starts shaking.

‘Well, at least we’re awake now,’ laughs Corinne, and her jade bracelet jangles pleasantly as she runs an index finger over one eyebrow.

‘I’ll call Joona,’ Nathan says.

‘Good.’

Corinne Meilleroux opens her laptop and notes the time in the logbook. Corinne is fifty-four years old, with a French-Caribbean background. She’s slim, and always wears tailored suits with silk tops under her jacket. Her face looks stern, with pronounced cheekbones and narrow temples. She wears her grey-streaked black hair tied with a clasp at the back of her neck.

Corinne Meilleroux worked for Europol for twenty years, and has been with the Security Police in Stockholm for seven years.

Joona is standing in Mikael Kohler-Frost’s hospital room. Reidar is sitting on a chair holding his son’s hand. The three of them have been talking for four hours, trying to identify any fresh details that could help pinpoint the place where Mikael was held captive with his sister.

Nothing new has emerged, and Mikael looks very tired.

‘You need to get some sleep,’ Joona tells him.

‘No,’ Mikael says.

‘Just for a while.’ The detective smiles as he switches off the recording.

Mikael’s breathing is already heavy and even as Joona pulls the newspaper out of his coat-pocket and sets it down in front of Reidar.

‘I know you asked me not to,’ Reidar says, meeting his gaze without wavering. ‘But how could I live with myself if I don’t do absolutely everything I can?’

‘I understand,’ Joona says. ‘But it could cause problems, and you have to be prepared for that.’

One whole page of the paper is covered with a digital image of how Felicia might look today.

A young woman bearing a strong resemblance to Mikael, with high cheekbones and dark eyes. Her black hair is shown hanging loose around her pale, serious face.

Large lettering announces that Reidar is offering a reward of twenty million kronor to anyone who can provide information that leads to Felicia being found.

‘We’re already getting loads of e-mails and calls,’ Joona explains. ‘We’re trying to follow them all up, but... I’m sure most of them mean well, they believe they’ve seen something, but there are still plenty just hoping to get rich.’

Reidar slowly folds the newspaper, whispers to himself, then looks up.

‘Joona, I’m doing whatever I can, I... my daughter’s been held captive for so long, and she might die without ever...’

His voice cracks and he looks away for a moment.

‘Do you have children?’ he asks, his voice barely audible.

Before Joona has time to lie, his phone rings in his jacket. He apologises, answers it, and hears Pollock’s soft voice explaining that Athena Promacho is hooked up.