Anders Roslund - The Beast

Ewert took charge of the plastic bags with the weapons. So Lund had been armed, prepared to defend himself.

‘Fancy that young idiot going for life. Banging up someone who rid the land of an armed crazy, out hunting little girls.’

Sven took the bags with the photos and piece of paper. He looked at them under the light and was still staring at the amateurish images when he started to speak.

‘New photos, these. Little girls, same ones on both pics. Photographed outside the nursery school where Lund was lurking when he got shot. Seems that the girls went to that school. We’ll confirm it of course, but it’s likely.’

Ewert wanted to see.

‘Christ, look at this. Lund must’ve made a note of their names. It looks like he wanted two victims this time too.’

He looked at the photographs once more. Two little girls, about the same age as Marie Steffansson, blonde hair bleached by the summer sun, sitting on the edge of a sandpit, smiling towards life. He cackled, as he had when speaking to Ågestam earlier that day.

‘What have we got here? Proof that Steffansson saved the lives of two children by killing Lund. It’s thanks to the accused that two sweet six-year-olds can still smile today.’

Then he did the weird thing that Sven had observed before, slapped the body on the trolley, pinched it and shook it a bit, mumbling inaudibly with his head turned away.

Bengt Söderlund and his family were spending the summer holidays at home for the fifth year running. Once they’d tried Gotland, the lovely island everyone talked about, but never again. Hiring the cottage was expensive, it rained all the time, there was nothing to do and the week they had paid for seemed endless. The following year they hired a cottage in Ystad on the south coast instead, but the whole place was windy and dead flat. They travelled around a bit but Osterlen looked just the same, so that was that, no need to go back for more. Two years in a caravan, but what with gridlocked roads and kids who wouldn’t go to sleep that was a wash-out, and then, to cap it all, that stay on Rhodes in a nightmare heatwave lasting the entire fortnight, well, thanks, but no thanks. They had figured a city break in Stockholm might be a good idea, but even that was a disappointment; the place was packed with crazed townies, the types who walk up escalators.

They had agreed that enough was enough. Staying at home meant Bengt could keep an eye on the business. It was good for family life too. They could take the kids swimming in the lake, go for walks in peace, even get some sex in peace when the girls were away on sleepovers with their friends. And they could see more of their own friends, drink coffee in the garden, have folks round for supper once in a while.

Bengt and Elisabeth were drinking morning coffee when Ove and Helena came strolling past their open kitchen window. They waved. Come in! Time for elevenses, coffee and cinnamon rolls, two each. Ove and Helena were easy to get on with. Almost ten years ago now, things had become tense for a while, just a silly episode at a party when Ove and Elisabeth had ended up doing rather more than holding hands. The coolness between the couples lasted until it dawned on everyone that Tallbacka was too small to hide in. They had a shouting match, it cleared the air and afterwards they tacitly agreed to bury the whole affair. Both Ove and Elisabeth had had a bit too much to drink, but it had been a harmless fling; neither had had the slightest intention of ruining their marriages.

Ove had brought a morning paper and over the coffee and buns the four of them started talking about the case that dominated that national news. Now that the Russian plane accident had been sorted, the headlines were all about the paedophile who had killed a little girl, and the dad who then shot his daughter’s killer. They could all engage with this; the girl and the dad were part of every family in the land.

In fact, since the first reports of the crime, they had talked about this story whenever they’d met. All, that is, except Elisabeth. She fell silent every time, and when they asked her why, she said they were getting far too excited and far too angry and it was no good. They tried to persuade her, but when she still would have none of it, they carried on regardless. Getting excited was no crime, and if she wasn’t interested, too bad.

Now it was all cosy and familiar.

Bengt poured the coffee, dark-roast, its scent filling the kitchen. There was real cream with it, and the buns of course, saved since yesterday to give them the dry, crispy crust that made them especially nice to dunk in coffee.

Then he pointed at the passport photo of Fredrik Steffansson that the papers had used since his arrest.

‘That guy. I’d have done the same. Wouldn’t have thought twice.’

Ove soaked a piece of bun in his mug.

‘Me too. You know, if you’ve girls in the house that’s it, you’ve to think like he did.’

Bengt examined the page in the paper closely.

‘But I wouldn’t have done it just because of what he said, you know, because he was thinking of other kids. I would’ve done it for me. To get my own back.’

He looked at the people round the table to gauge their reactions. Both Ove and Helena nodded. Elisabeth stuck her tongue out.

‘Are you crazy? What’s that for?’

‘I’m fed up with you lot. All you ever do is jabber on and on, morning, noon and night. Flasher-Göran, paedophiles, always the same stuff. Every time we meet. Hate, hate, hate.’

‘Bugger off then. You don’t have to stay.’

‘I mean, listen to you! It’s just crap. Revenge for what? All Göran ever did was stand naked next to the flagpole. He didn’t touch anyone. What’s the harm in that?’ Elisabeth breathed out in a sob, and after clearing her throat to steady her voice, her eyes were still shining with tears. ‘I don’t seem to know you any more. You sit in my kitchen pretending to care, but you’re just spoiling for a fight. I’ve had enough! You’re pathetic!’

Helena put her mug down and grasped Elisabeth’s hand.

‘Hey, Elisabeth. Calm down.’

Defiantly, Elisabeth pulled her hand away.

‘Let her piss off if that’s what she wants. She must like them, the paedophiles. Eh? Is that it?’ Bengt raised his voice and turned to his wife. ‘I’ve worked my whole life, slaved like a fucking dog. And the society I live in locks up someone who’s saved children’s lives! But I don’t deserve any better. Is that how you see it?’

He turned to the window and spat. And heard a door open.

He knew just which door.

‘Fuck’s sake. That’s him, that sodding pervert. He’s going out.’

Flasher-Göran was locking his front door. Bengt looked round at Elisabeth.

‘Pathetic? Wasn’t that what you said?’

Then he stuck his head out through the window.

‘You deaf or something?’ he roared. ‘I don’t want to see you. Stay inside. Filthy swine!’

Göran looked towards the familiar voice, and continued walking down the gravel path to the gate. Bengt snapped his fingers, twice.

His Rottweiler came padding along obediently.

‘Baxter. Come.’

The dog ran up to the window to stand by his master. Bengt grabbed its collar, held it, then let go with a sudden command.

‘Baxter! Go! Get him!’

The big dog leapt out through the window, ran across the lawn and jumped the fence to the garden next door, barking loudly as it went. Göran heard it and realised what was happening. His heart started thumping with fear. He ran. The garden shed was the nearest safe place. His stomach was out of order, he couldn’t control it, he shat himself, ran the last bit with faeces trickling down his legs, grabbed the door handle, got inside, pulled the door shut. The dog threw itself against the door, barking excitedly.