guy I know from the yacht club. But I doubt either of them would be prepared to testify. All I did was pay what the Italians call a tangente. A sort of service charge, you could say.”
“Did you learn that on Lampedusa? You know, that Italian island in the southern Mediterranean,” she added, unable to stop herself.
He looked at her for a few seconds. His smile faded. He walked over to the sink and put his cup down.
“I learned lots of things on Lampedusa. More than I would have wanted.” He turned his back on her as he rinsed the cup under the tap. Julia waited for him to go on, but Amante seemed to have clammed up.
“What do we do now?” The question was aimed at herself as much as him.
He turned the tap off and turned around.
“That was what I was thinking of asking you. As soon as the Security Police open the bag and discover that the head’s missing, all hell’s going to break loose. The smart option would be to go out to the Forensic Medicine Unit right away, pay the guy to sneak the head into one of the cold storage units, and forget the whole thing.”
She looked at him, aware that he could easily have done that without her involvement.
Amante smiled faintly again and glanced at the time. “Or we wait until ten o’clock before we decide what our next step’s going to be.”
“Why ten o’clock?”
“Because that’s when we get to see what our dead man looked like.”
* * *
Sarac was standing perfectly still in the darkened doorway. He resisted the temptation to reach out for the light switch he could see on the wooden wall. The forest behind him was dark and silent. The narrow unpaved track he had followed from the main road was only just visible at the edge of the trees on the far side of the turnaround. In the distance he could hear a raven call. The ghostly sound echoed between the trees, fading into a distant rumble. Unless it was just in his head.
The wind blowing off the ice-covered inlet cut straight through his clothes. He shivered and stepped in through the door. The soles of his boots scraped against the concrete floor. The smell inside made him think about the house on the island, and he waited for the usual accusing whispers. But for the time being the voices seemed to have fallen silent. Maybe the dead were huddled together in the darkness. Waiting for whatever was going to happen.
What was going to happen?
He didn’t really know. All he knew was that he had reached the end of the road. That the whole Janus affair was going to end here, this evening, one way or another. That everyone involved would finally have to face up to the consequences of their actions.
The rumbling in his head grew louder. The winter thunder was getting closer. Then his thoughts were interrupted by another sound. A real one this time. It sounded as if someone was approaching. Taking cautious, creaking steps through the snow outside on the path. Sarac felt his heart beat faster.
Soon, he thought. Soon it will all be over.
A dark shape appeared in the doorway. Clearly visible against the white snow.
“David Sarac?” he heard a low voice say. And at that moment he knew how it was all going to end. The voice was firm, clear, not unfriendly. This was someone who had made up their mind. Then he saw a weapon aimed toward him. Saw it being raised. He closed his eyes.
Debts I can’t escape till the day I die.
Time to pay his debts. Pay for his betrayal. Some things were simply too broken to be fixed.
“H-Here,” he whispered. “I’m here.”
A lightning flash, a frozen gust of wind right through his chest. The roar of winter thunder drowning his thoughts. Then nothing more.
* * *
The face on the screen looked real. Everything was where it should be, the proportions looked right. The nose, neither large nor small. The mouth with its hard, pursed lips, and the skin stretched across the cheekbones. The short, dark hair, the thin eyes. Even the eyelashes and brows were perfect, down to the last hair. Yet there was still something about the picture that wasn’t quite right, something Julia couldn’t put her finger on. But that didn’t really matter. A clump of ice had formed in her stomach, its chill spreading throughout her body.
“A computer simulation will never be entirely accurate,” Amante said over her shoulder. “The program uses measurements from the CAT scan—the size and angles of the bones in the face, eye sockets, and nose. Then it adds supplementary information such as hair and skin color. It all comes together to form an image that ought to be fairly close to reality. The only thing the program can’t provide is—”
“Humanity,” Julia said, turning toward him. “You’re right: it’s not a hundred percent. But I still recognize him.”
She took a deep breath. All hell is going to break loose now. A shit-storm of biblical proportions.
“That”—she tapped the screen where the photofit of their dead man stared back at them with empty eyes—“that’s Detective Inspector David Sarac.”
The smell coming from the kitchen woke Minister of Justice Jesper Stenberg. Bacon and eggs, freshly brewed coffee. Those thick American pancakes that the girls loved to drown in maple syrup.
He got out of bed and pulled on his robe. It was just past ten o’clock. He had slept for almost eight hours. Eight hours of deep sleep, just the way it should be. It had been several months since he last had any nightmares, which was as good a sign as any that his brain had moved on. That he’d put everything that happened last winter behind him.
In the bathroom he splashed his face with water. Tried out some of his most reliable facial expressions. Interest, concern, pensiveness. Everything seemed to be working and he winked at his own reflection.
As he walked down the stairs he heard voices from the kitchen. Karolina and the girls, of course, but among them a male voice that he’d hoped to avoid. But after the previous evening that was obviously a vain wish.
“Good morning, Jesper,” his father-in-law said.
“Good morning, Karl-Erik. Morning, darling.” He glued on a polite smile, kissed his wife on the cheek, and took the cup of coffee she held out to him.
“We thought you deserved to sleep in,” Karolina said. “You did well yesterday—didn’t he, Daddy?”
“Absolutely. The papers are unanimous in saying you did an excellent job. Even the opposition papers’ lead articles express reluctant admiration.”
Stenberg took a sip of coffee. Walked around the kitchen and kissed his two children on the head.
“We saw you on television yesterday,” his youngest daughter said, looking up from her iPad.
“And
