Lars Kepler - The Sandman

‘It does help,’ Joona insists.

‘What can I do for you, then?’ she asks, stopping outside the door.

‘I need to know about the progression of Legionnaires’ disease for—’

‘He’s going to be fine,’ she interrupts, opening the door.

‘Yes, but what if he hadn’t been treated?’ Joona says.

‘How do you mean?’ she asks, looking into his grey eyes.

‘We’re trying to find his sister,’ Joona says. ‘And it seems likely that she was infected at the same time as Mikael...’

‘In that case it’s serious,’ Irma says.

‘How serious?’

‘Without treatment... obviously it depends on her general condition, but she’s probably got a high fever by now.’

‘And then what?’

‘She’ll be coughing already, and having trouble breathing... it’s impossible to say with any degree of accuracy, but by the end of the week I’d say she’ll be at risk of brain damage and... well, you know that Legionnaires’ disease can be fatal.’

The following morning Saga is even more worried about what happened in the dayroom. She has no appetite, and just sits on her bed until lunchtime.

Her mind won’t let go of her failure.

Instead of building up trust she has once again managed to unleash conflict. She has beaten up another patient and Jurek Walter has been blamed.

He must hate her now, and is bound to want revenge for what he’s been subjected to.

She isn’t particularly scared, seeing as the security in the ward is so high.

But she’ll have to be very careful.

Prepared for anything, while never betraying any sign of fear.

When the door whirrs and the lock clicks, she gets up and walks out into the dayroom without letting any other thoughts into her head. The television is already on, showing three people sitting in a cosy studio talking about winter gardens.

She’s first into the dayroom, and gets up on the running machine at once.

Her legs feel clumsy, her fingertips numb, and with every step she takes the plastic leaves of the palm shake.

Bernie is shouting from inside his room, but soon falls silent.

Someone’s cleared up the blood from the floor.

Suddenly Jurek’s door opens. His entrance is preceded by a shadow. Saga forces herself not to look at him. With long strides he walks across the floor, heading straight for the running machine.

Saga stops the machine, gets off and steps aside to let him pass. She manages to see that he has black scabs on his lips, and his face is ashen and grey. He climbs heavily onto the machine, then just stands there.

‘You got the blame for what I did,’ she says.

‘You think?’ he asks without looking at her.

When he starts the machine she sees that his hands are shaking. The whining, swishing sound starts up once again. The whole machine moves with every step he takes. She can feel the vibrations through the floor. The palm containing the microphone is swaying and moving a tiny bit closer to the running machine with each step.

‘Why didn’t you kill him?’ he asks, glancing at her.

‘Because I didn’t want to,’ she replies honestly.

She looks into his pale eyes and feels the blood pumping round her body as the realisation that she’s in direct contact with Jurek Walter catches up with her.

‘It would have been interesting to watch you do it,’ he says quietly.

She can feel him looking at her with unfeigned curiosity. Maybe she should go and sit on the sofa, but she decides to stay a while longer.

‘You’re here, which means you’ve probably killed people,’ he says.

‘Yes, I have,’ she replies after a pause.

He nods. ‘It’s inevitable.’

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Saga mumbles.

‘Killing is neither good nor bad,’ Jurek goes on calmly. ‘But it feels strange the first few times... like eating something you didn’t think was edible.’

Saga suddenly remembers the time when she killed another person. His blood squirted up over the trunk of a birch tree with a sort of jerky rapidity. Even though there was no need, she fired a second shot and watched through the telescopic sight as the bullet struck within a centimetre or so above the first.

‘I did what I had to do,’ she whispers.

‘Just like yesterday.’

‘Yes, but I didn’t mean for you to get the blame.’

Jurek stops the machine and stands there looking at her.

‘I’ve been waiting for this... quite a long time, I have to say,’ he explains. ‘Stopping the door from closing again was nothing but a pleasure.’

‘I could hear your screams through the walls,’ Saga says quietly.

‘Yes, those screams,’ he replies gloomily. ‘They were the result of our new doctor giving me an overdose of Cisordinol... They’re nature’s reaction to pain... Something hurts, and the body screams, even though there’s no point... and in this instance it actually felt like an indulgence... Because I knew that the door would have closed again otherwise...’

‘What door?’

‘I doubt they’re ever going to let me see a lawyer, so that door is closed... but there might be others.’

He looks her in the eye. His gaze is strangely pale; she’s reminded of metal.

‘You think I can help you,’ she whispers. ‘That’s why you took the blame for what I did.’

‘I can’t let the doctor become scared of you,’ he explains.

‘Why?’

‘Anyone who ends up here is violent,’ Jurek says. ‘The staff know that you’re dangerous, it says so in your medical notes, and in the forensic psychiatrist’s report... But that’s not what anyone sees when they look at you.’

‘I’m not that dangerous.’

Even though she hasn’t said anything she regrets – she’s only told the truth, and hasn’t revealed anything – she feels peculiarly exposed.

‘Why are you here? What have you done?’ he asks.

‘Nothing,’ she replies curtly.

‘What did they say you’d done... in court?’

‘Nothing.’

A flash of a smile flickers in his eyes.

‘You’re a real siren...’

In the attic flat, the members of Athena Promacho are eavesdropping on the conversation in the dayroom as it happens.

Joona is standing next to the large speaker listening once again to Jurek Walter’s voice, his choice of words, phrasing, the nuances in his voice, his breathing.

Corinne Meilleroux is sitting at the desk, transcribing the conversation onto her laptop so they can all see the words on the big screen. The regular clicking sound of her long fingernails is soothing.

Nathan Pollock’s silver-streaked ponytail is hanging down over the waistcoat of his suit. He’s making notes as Johan Jönson monitors the audio quality on his own computer.

The group is completely silent while the conversation in the dayroom is going on. The sun is pouring through the balcony doors that look out onto glistening, snow-topped roofs.

They hear Jurek Walter tell Saga she’s a real siren, then he leaves the room.

After a few seconds of silence, Nathan leans back in his chair and claps his hands. Corinne is just shaking her head, impressed.

‘Saga’s brilliant,’ Pollock mutters.

‘Even if we haven’t found out anything that could lead us closer to Felicia,’ Joona says, turning to face the others, ‘contact has been established, which is seriously good work... and I think she’s made him curious.’

‘I have to admit, I was a bit worried when she let herself be provoked by the other patient,’ Corinne says, squeezing some lime into a glass of water and passing it to Pollock.

‘But Jurek deliberately assumed responsibility for the attack,’ Joona says slowly.