Lars Kepler - The Sandman

‘No,’ Joona replies.

‘He’s utterly psychotic, and—’

‘No, he was never that,’ Joona interrupts.

‘All I know is what it says in the forensic medical report,’ Verner says. ‘They wrote that he was schizophrenic, psychotic, prone to chaotic thinking and extremely violent.’

‘Only because that’s what Jurek wanted it to say,’ Joona replies calmly.

‘So you think he’s healthy? Is that what you mean, that there’s nothing wrong with him?’ Verner asks. ‘What the hell is this? Why wasn’t he interrogated, then?’

‘He was sentenced to solitary confinement,’ Carlos says. ‘In the verdict of the Supreme Court—’

‘It must be possible to get round the terms of the sentence,’ Verner sighs, stretching out his long legs.

‘Maybe,’ Carlos says.

‘And I’ve got some very skilled people who’ve interrogated people suspected of terrorist—’

‘Joona’s the best,’ Carlos interrupts.

‘No, I’m not,’ Joona responds.

‘It was you who tracked down and apprehended Jurek, and you’re actually the only person he spoke to before his trial.’

Joona shakes his head and looks out at the deserted garage through the tinted window.

‘I’ve tried,’ he says slowly. ‘But it’s impossible to fool Jurek. He isn’t like other people, he isn’t unhappy, he doesn’t need sympathy, he won’t say anything.’

‘Do you want to try?’ Verner asks.

‘No, I can’t,’ says Joona.

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’m frightened,’ he replies simply.

Carlos looks at him uncertainly.

‘I know you’re only joking,’ he says nervously.

Joona turns to face him. His eyes are hard, and as grey as wet slate.

‘Surely we’ve no reason to be scared of an old man who’s already locked up,’ Verner says, scratching his head slightly nervously. ‘He ought to be scared of us. For God’s sake, we could rush in, pin him down on the floor and scare the shit out of him. I mean, seriously fucking tough.’

‘It won’t work,’ Joona says.

‘There are methods that always work,’ Verner goes on. ‘I’ve got a secret group who were involved in Guantanamo.’

‘Obviously, this meeting has never taken place,’ Carlos says hurriedly.

‘I very rarely have meetings that have,’ Verner says in his deep voice, then leans forward. ‘My group knows all about waterboarding and electric shocks.’

Joona shakes his head. ‘Jurek isn’t scared of pain.’

‘So we just give up?’

‘No,’ Joona says, leaning back and making his seat creak.

‘So what do you think we should do?’ Verner asks.

‘If we go in and talk to Jurek, the only thing we can be sure of is that he’ll be lying. He’ll steer the conversation and once he’s found out what we want with him, he’ll get us to start bargaining, and we’ll end up giving him something we’ll only regret.’

Carlos looks down and scratches his knee irritably.

‘So what does that leave us with?’ Verner asks quietly.

‘I don’t know if it’s even possible,’ Joona says. ‘But if you could place an agent as a patient in the same secure psychiatric unit as—’

‘I don’t want to hear any more,’ Carlos interrupts.

‘It would have to be someone so convincing that Jurek would want to talk to them,’ Joona goes on.

‘Bloody hell,’ Verner mutters.

‘A patient,’ Carlos whispers.

‘Because it would be enough to have someone who might be useful to him, someone he could exploit,’ Joona says.

‘What are you saying?’

‘We need to find an agent who’s so exceptional that they can make Jurek Walter curious.’

The punchbag lets out a sigh and the chain rattles. Saga Bauer moves nimbly to one side, follows the movement of the bag with her body and strikes again. Two blows, then an echo that rumbles off the walls of the empty boxing gym.

She’s practising a combination of two quick left hooks, one high, one low, followed by a hard right hook.

The black punchbag sways, and the hook creaks. Its shadow crosses Saga’s face and she punches again. Three rapid blows. She rolls her shoulders, moves backwards, glides round the punchbag and strikes once more.

Her long blonde hair flies out with the rapid movement of her hips, flicking across her face.

Saga loses track of time when she’s training, and all thoughts vanish from her head. She’s been on her own in the gym for the past two hours. The last of the others left while she was doing her skipping. The lamps above the boxing ring are switched off, but the bright glow from the drinks machine is shining through the doorway. There’s snow swirling outside the windows, around the dry cleaners’ sign and along the pavement.

From the corner of her eye Saga sees a car stop in the street outside the boxing club, but she carries on with the same combination of blows, trying to increase their power the whole time. Drops of sweat hit the floor next to a smaller punchbag that has come off its support.

Stefan walks in. He stamps the snow from his feet, then stands quietly for a moment. His coat is undone, showing the pale suit and white shirt beneath.

She goes on punching as she sees him take off his shoes and come closer.

The only sounds are the thump of the bag and the rattle of the chain.

Saga wants to go on training, she’s not ready to break her concentration yet. She lowers her brow and attacks the bag with a rapid series of punches even though Stefan is standing right behind it.

‘Harder,’ he says, holding the bag in place.

She throws a straight right, so hard that he has to take a step back. She can’t help laughing, and before he’s managed to regain his balance she punches again.

‘Give me some resistance,’ she says, with a hint of impatience in her voice.

‘We need to leave.’

Her face is closed and hot as she fires off another salvo of punches. She finds it so easy to succumb to desperate rage. Rage makes her feel weak, but it’s also what makes her keep fighting, long after others have given up.

The heavy blows make the punchbag tremble and the chain rattle. She slows herself down, even though she could carry on for ages yet.

Panting, she takes a couple of easy steps backwards. The bag continues to swing. A light shower of concrete dust falls from the catch in the ceiling.

‘OK, I’m happy now.’ She smiles at him, pulling off her boxing gloves with her teeth.

He follows her into the women’s changing room and helps her remove the strapping from her hands.

‘You’ve hurt yourself,’ he whispers.

‘No problem,’ she says, looking at her hand.

Her washed-out gym clothes are wet with sweat. Her nipples are showing through her damp bra, and her muscles are swollen and pumped with blood.

Saga Bauer is an inspector with the Security Police, and she’s worked with Joona Linna of the National Criminal Investigation Department on two big cases. She’s not just an elite-level boxer, but a very good sniper, and has been specially trained in advanced interrogation techniques.

She’s twenty-seven years old, her eyes are blue as a summer sky, she has colourful ribbons plaited into her long, blonde hair, and is almost improbably beautiful. Most people who see her are filled with a strange, helpless sense of longing. Just seeing her is enough to make people fall helplessly in love.

The hot shower creates steam that mists up the mirrors. Saga stands solidly with her legs apart and her arms hanging by her sides as the water washes over her. A large bruise is forming on one thigh, and the knuckles of her right hand are bleeding.

She looks up, wipes the water from her face and sees Stefan standing there watching her with a perfectly neutral expression.