Lars Kepler - The Sandman

Saga is standing in the empty flat together with the two police chiefs. Her heart is beating hard and every fibre of her being is screaming at her to say no.

‘Is this illegal?’ she asks, and feels that her mouth has gone dry.

‘Yes, of course... and it’s extremely confidential,’ Carlos replies seriously.

‘Extremely?’ she replies, the corner of her mouth curling into a smile.

‘At National Crime we’ll be declaring it confidential, so that the Security Police can’t see the file.’

‘And I’ll make sure that it’s declared confidential by the Security Police so National Crime can’t see it,’ Verner goes on.

‘No one will know about this unless there’s a direct request from the government,’ Carlos says.

The sun is shining through the dirty window, and Saga looks out at the panelled façade of the neighbouring building. A chimney vent is glinting at her and she turns back towards the two men.

‘Why are you doing this?’ she asks.

‘To save the girl,’ Carlos says with a smile, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

‘And I’m supposed to believe that the heads of National Crime and the Security Police are working together to—’

‘I knew Roseanna Kohler,’ Carlos interrupts.

‘The mother?’

‘We were in the same class at Adolf Fredrik School, we were very close... we... it’s been very tough, very...’

‘So this is personal?’ Saga asks, taking a step back.

‘No, it’s... it’s the only right thing to do, you can see that for yourself,’ he replies, gesturing towards the folder.

When Saga’s expression doesn’t change, he goes on:

‘But if you want me to be honest... Obviously it’s hypothetical, but I’m not sure we would have had a meeting quite like this if it wasn’t personal.’

He starts fiddling with the mixer tap on the sink. Saga watches him, and gets the strong impression that he’s not telling her the whole truth.

‘In what way is it personal?’ she asks.

‘It’s not important,’ he replies quickly.

‘You’re sure?’

‘What’s important is... that we actually do this, it’s the right thing to do, the only right thing... because we believe the girl can still be saved.’

‘So we’re sending in an agent as quickly as we possibly can – that’s all, no large-scale operation,’ Verner says.

‘Obviously we don’t know if Jurek Walter’s going to say anything, but there’s a chance... and everything suggests that it’s our only chance.’

Saga stands perfectly still with her eyes closed for a long while.

‘What happens if I say no?’ she asks. ‘Will you let the girl die in that damn capsule?’

‘We’ll find another agent,’ Verner says simply.

‘Go ahead, then,’ Saga says, and begins to walk towards the hall.

‘Do you want to think about it?’ Carlos calls.

She stops with her back to the two police chiefs and shakes her head. Light filters through her thick hair with the interwoven ribbons.

‘No,’ she replies, and walks out of the flat.

Saga takes the underground to Slussen, then walks the short distance to Stefan’s studio on Sankt Paulsgatan. At Södermalmstorg she buys a bunch of red roses, wondering if Stefan might have bought roses for her.

She feels relieved to have declined the difficult task of infiltrating Jurek Walter and the secure psychiatric unit.

She strides up the steps and unlocks the door, she can hear the sound of the piano and smiles to herself. She goes in, sees Stefan sitting at the piano and stops. His blue shirt is unbuttoned. He has a bottle of beer beside him and the room smells of cigarette smoke.

‘Darling,’ she says after a brief pause. ‘I’m sorry... I need you to know how sorry I am about what happened yesterday...’

He goes on playing, softly, radiantly.

‘Forgive me,’ she says seriously.

Stefan’s face is turned away, but she has no trouble hearing what he says:

‘I don’t want to talk to you right now.’

Saga holds out the bouquet towards him and tries to smile.

‘Sorry,’ she repeats. ‘I know I’m difficult, but I—’

‘I’m playing,’ he interrupts.

‘But we need to talk about what happened.’

‘Just go,’ he says loudly.

‘I’m sorry I—’

‘And close the fucking door behind you.’

He stands up and points towards the hall. Saga drops the flowers on the floor, goes up to him and pushes him in the chest, so hard that he has to take a step back, knocks over the piano stool and pulls his score down. She follows him, ready to hit him again if he hits back, but Stefan just stands there with his hands by his side, looking her straight in the eye.

‘This isn’t working,’ he says simply.

‘I’m a bit off balance right now, that’s all’ she says.

He picks the piano stool up and gathers his music together. Fear rises within her and she takes a step back.

‘I don’t want you to be upset,’ he says with an emptiness in his voice that transforms her fear into panic.

‘What is it?’ she asks, suddenly feeling sick.

‘This isn’t working, we can’t be together, we...’

He falls silent and she tries to smile, tries to function, but her forehead has broken out in a cold sweat and she feels giddy.

‘Because I was difficult last night?’ she manages to say.

Stefan glances up at her unwillingly.

‘You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, the most beautiful woman in the world... and you’re smart and funny and I ought to be the happiest man alive... I’m probably going to regret this for the rest of my life, but I think we should break up.’

‘I still don’t understand,’ she whispers. ‘Because I got angry... because I disturbed you when you were playing?’

‘No, it’s...’

He sits down again and shakes his head.

‘I can change,’ she says, and looks at him for a moment before going on. ‘But it’s already too late, isn’t it?’

When he nods she turns and leaves the room. She goes out into the hall, picks up the old stool from Dalarna and throws it at the mirror. The splinters fall to the floor, shattering again as they hit the hard tiles. She shoves the front door open and runs down the stairs, straight out into the radiant blue winter light.

Saga runs along the pavement, between the buildings and the bank of snow lining the road. She breathes in the icy air so deeply that it hurts her lungs. She crosses the road, runs across Mariatorget, then stops on the other side of Hornsgatan and gets some snow from a car roof and presses it to her hot, stinging eyes, then runs the rest of the way home.

Her hands are shaking as she unlocks the door. She lets out a lonely whimper as she steps into the hall and closes the door behind her.

Saga lets the keys fall to the floor, kicks off her shoes and walks straight through the flat to her bedroom.

She picks up the phone, dials the number, then stands and waits. After six rings she is put through to Stefan’s voicemail. She doesn’t listen to his message, just throws the phone at the wall as hard as she can.

She staggers, leans forward and grabs the chest of drawers.

Still fully dressed, she lies down on the double bed and curls up like a foetus. She knows all too well when she last felt like this. When she was little and woke up in her dead mother’s arms.

Saga Bauer can no longer remember how old she was when her mother got ill. But when she was five she realised that her mum had a serious brain tumour. The illness changed her mum in terrible ways. The poisoned cells made her distant and increasingly irritable.