Lars Kepler - The Sandman

‘OK,’ she says to herself, and she runs across the wet floor with the knife in her hand, then up the steps and through the open gate.

She tugs at the door leading to secure forensic psychiatric Ward 30. It’s locked, it’s the middle of the night. She bangs on it a few times, then carries on along the corridor.

‘Hello,’ she calls out. ‘Is there anyone here?’

The doctor’s other shoe is lying on the floor in the harsh glare of the fluorescent ceiling light.

Saga runs on, and sees movement up ahead, through several panes of glass at different angles. It’s a man, standing and smoking. He flicks the cigarette away, then disappears off to the left. Saga runs as fast as she can, towards the glassed-in exit and the passageway leading to the main hospital building. She turns the corner and suddenly notices that the floor beneath her feet is wet.

The light is blinding her, and at first it looks like the floor is black, then the smell of blood becomes so tangible that it’s all she can do not to throw up.

There’s a large puddle, and footsteps lead away from it towards the entrance.

In an almost dreamlike state she carries on, and sees the young doctor’s head. It’s lying discarded on the floor, beside the rubbish bin against the wall to her right.

Jurek aimed and missed, she thinks, as she starts breathing far too quickly.

She keeps moving forward, out over the dry floor, while her thoughts drift hollowly, unable to make sense of things.

It’s impossible to understand that this is happening.

Why has he taken the time to do this?

Because he didn’t just want to get out, she tells herself. He wanted revenge.

Suddenly she hears heavy steps from the passage leading to the main building. Two guards are running towards her, with bulletproof vests, guns and black clothing.

‘We need doctors to the secure unit,’ Saga calls.

‘Lie down on the floor,’ the younger one says, walking closer.

‘It’s only a little girl,’ the other one says.

‘I’m a police officer,’ she says, throwing the knife away.

It bounces across the vinyl floor and stops in front of them. They look at it, open their holsters and draw their service pistols.

‘Down on the floor!’

‘I’m lying down,’ she says quickly. ‘But you’ve got to warn—’

‘Fuck,’ the younger one exclaims when he sees the head. ‘Fuck, fuck...’

‘I’ll shoot,’ the other one says in a shaky voice.

Saga slowly gets down on her knees and the guard hurries over, pulling the handcuffs from his belt. The other guard moves aside. Saga holds out her hands and stands up.

‘Nice and fucking slow now,’ the guard says in a jagged voice.

She shuts her eyes, hears boots on the floor, feels his movements and takes a little step backwards. The guard leans forward to cuff her hands, and Saga opens her eyes at the same moment as she throws a right hook. There’s a crunch as she hits him hard above his ear. She swings round and meets the jolt of his head with her left elbow.

The only sound is a brief thump.

Saliva sprays from his open mouth.

The two blows were so hard that the guard’s field of vision shrinks to a pinpoint of light in a tenth of a second.

His legs give way and he doesn’t notice Saga snatching his pistol from him. She releases the safety catch and fires before he hits the floor.

Saga shoots the other guard twice, right in his bulletproof vest.

The shots echo in the narrow passageway and the guard staggers back. Saga rushes over and knocks the pistol out of his hand with the butt of hers.

The gun clatters across the floor towards the bloody footprints.

Saga kicks both his legs out from under him, and he falls flat on his back with a groan. The other guard rolls over onto his side, clutching his face with one hand. Saga grabs one of their radios and takes a few steps away.

Joona is wrenched from his dreams by the sound of the phone ringing. He hadn’t even realised he was dozing off, just plunged straight into deep sleep while Disa was changing into her work clothes. The bedroom is dark, but the glow from his phone is casting a pale elliptical shape on the wall.

‘Joona Linna,’ he answers with a sigh.

‘Jurek’s escaped, he’s managed to get out of—’

‘Saga?’ Joona asks, leaping out of bed.

‘He’s killed loads of people,’ she says, a note of hysteria in her voice.

‘Are you hurt?’

Joona walks through the flat, adrenalin coursing through him as the realisation of what Saga’s saying sinks in.

‘I don’t know where he is, he just said he was going to hurt you, he said—’

‘Disa!’ Joona cries.

He sees that her boots are gone, opens the front door and calls her name down the stairwell, his voice echoing in the darkness. He tries to remember what she said just before he fell asleep.

‘Disa’s gone to Loudden,’ he says.

‘Sorry to—’

Joona cuts the call off, pulls his clothes on, grabs his pistol and holster and leaves the flat, not bothering to lock it behind him.

He runs down the stairs and out onto the pavement, then off towards Dalagatan where Carlos parked his car. As he runs he calls Disa. No answer. It’s snowing heavily, and when he sees the snow piled up along the edge of the pavement, he wonders if he’s going to have to dig the car out.

His path is blocked by a bus passing so close that the ground shakes. The wind is blowing fresh snow from a low, wide wall.

Joona rushes over to the car, gets in and drives straight through the bank of snow, scraping the side against a parked car and putting his foot down.

As he accelerates past Tegnérlunden and down towards Sveavägen, the loose snow flies off the car in soft clouds.

Joona is suddenly aware that everything he’s afraid of is going to flare up like a firestorm tonight.

The transition is instant, from one moment to the next.

Disa is alone in her car, on her way out to Frihamnen.

Joona can feel his heart pounding against his holster. Snow is falling heavily on the windscreen.

He’s driving very fast now, thinking of how Disa’s boss called and asked her to look at something that had been found. Samuel’s wife Rebecka got a call from a carpenter, asking her to go out to their summer house earlier than arranged.

The Sandman must have mentioned Disa in the letter that Susanne Hjälm gave Jurek. His hands are shaking as he brings up Disa’s name in his contacts and calls again. As the phone rings, he feels sweat trickling down his back.

She doesn’t answer. Joona turns sharply into Karlavägen and drives as fast as he possibly can.

It’s probably nothing, he tries to convince himself. He just has to get hold of Disa and tell her to turn round and drive home. He’ll hide her away somewhere until Jurek has been recaptured.

The car slides on the brown slush on the tarmac and a lorry swerves violently out of his way. He calls again. Still no answer.

He heads past Humlegården as fast as he can. The road is lined with grubby banks of snow, and the streetlamps reflect off the wet tarmac.

He calls Disa again.

The traffic lights have turned red, but Joona turns right into Valhallavägen. A cement-mixer swerves out of his way, and a red car pulls up sharply with a shriek of brakes. The driver blows his horn as Disa suddenly answers.

Disa drives carefully over the rusty railway tracks and carries on into the huge harbour of Frihamnen with its ferry and container traffic. The night sky is low and full of swirling, falling snow.

The yellow glow of a hanging streetlight sways across a hangar-like building.

People are walking with their heads bowed to stop the snow getting in their eyes, to protect themselves from the cold. Far off through the snow she can just make out the large Tallinn ferry, lit up but as indistinct as a dream.