the window with his back to the radiator. His face looks oddly relaxed, and he doesn’t look up when they walk in.
Gunnarsson pulls up a chair and sits down in front of Daniel. After a while he swears, and crouches down next to the grieving man.
‘I need to talk to you,’ he says. ‘We have to find Vicky Bennet … she’s suspected of committing the murders at the Birgitta Home, and—’
‘But I …’
Gunnarsson stops talking abruptly as Daniel whispers something, and waits for him to go on.
‘I didn’t hear what you said,’ he says.
The doctor stands and watches them in silence.
‘I don’t think it was her,’ Daniel whispers. ‘She’s a sweet girl, and …’
He raises his glasses and wipes the tears from his cheeks.
‘I know you’re governed by an oath of confidentiality,’ Gunnarsson says. ‘But is there any way you could help us find Vicky Bennet?’
‘I’ll try,’ Daniel mumbles, then purses his lips together tightly.
‘Does she know anyone who lives near the Birgitta Home?’
‘Maybe … I’m having trouble sorting my thoughts out …’
Gunnarsson groans and shifts his position.
‘You were Vicky’s counsellor,’ he says sternly. ‘Where do you think she’s gone? Let’s ignore any question of guilt, because we really don’t know. But we’re fairly certain that she’s kidnapped a child.’
‘No,’ he whispers.
‘Who would she go to? Who would she get to help her?’
‘She’s frightened,’ Daniel replies in a shaky voice. ‘She curls up under a tree and hides, that’s … that … What was the question?’
‘Do you know of any particular hiding place?’
Daniel starts to mutter about Elisabet’s heart, saying he was sure it was because of the problems with her heart.
‘Daniel, you don’t have to do this if it’s too difficult,’ the doctor says. ‘I can ask the police to come back later if you need to rest.’
Daniel shakes his head quickly and tries to breathe calmly.
‘Give me a few places,’ Gunnarsson says,
‘Stockholm.’
‘Where?’
‘I … I don’t know about—’
‘For fuck’s sake!’ Gunnarsson exclaims.
‘Sorry, I’m sorry …’
Daniel’s chin trembles, and the corners of his mouth droop as tears well up in his eyes, and he turns away and starts to sob loudly, his whole body shaking.
‘She murdered your wife with a hammer and …’
Daniel hits the back of his head against the radiator so hard that his glasses fall into his lap.
‘Get out of here,’ the doctor says sharply. ‘Not another word. This was a mistake, there won’t be any further conversations.’
The car park outside the district hospital in Sundsvall is almost empty. The long building makes a desolate impression in the gloomy light. Dark brown bricks interspersed with white windows that look blind to the world. Joona walks straight through some low bushes towards the main entrance.
The reception counter in the foyer is unstaffed. He waits for a while at the darkened desk until a cleaner stops.
‘Where’s the pathology department?’ Joona asks.
‘Two hundred and fifty kilometres north of here,’ the cleaner says good-naturedly. ‘But if you want the pathologist, I can show you the way.’
They walk together through deserted corridors, then take a large lift down into the bowels of the hospital. It’s cold, and the floor has cracked in several places.
The cleaner pulls open a pair of heavy metal doors, and at the far end of the corridor is a sign: Department of Clinical Pathology and Cytology.
‘Good luck,’ the man says, and gestures towards the door.
Joona thanks him and carries on along the corridor alone, following the tracks left on the linoleum floor by trolley wheels. He passes the laboratory, opens the door to the post-mortem room, and walks straight into the white-tiled space with a stainless-steel table at its centre. The light from the fluorescent lamps is overwhelming. A door hisses, and two people wheel a trolley in from the cold store.
‘Excuse me,’ Joona says.
A thin man in a white coat turns around. A pair of white-framed pilot’s glasses glint in the light. Senior pathologist Nils ‘the Needle’ Åhlén from Stockholm, and a very old friend of Joona’s. The man next to him is his young apprentice, his dyed dark hair hanging in clumps over the shoulders of his coat.
‘What are you doing here?’ Joona asks cheerfully.
‘A woman from National Crime called and threatened me,’ the Needle replies.
‘Anja,’ Joona says.
‘I got really scared … she snapped at me and said that Joona Linna couldn’t be expected to go all the way up to Umeå to talk to a pathologist.’
‘But we’re taking the opportunity to go to Nordfest seeing as we’re here,’ Frippe explains.
‘The Haunted are playing at Club Destroyer,’ Nils smiles.
‘I can see why that would sway the balance,’ Joona says.
Frippe laughs, and Joona notices the worn leather trousers beneath his coat, and the cowboy boots with bright blue shoe covers over them.
‘We’re done with the woman … Elisabet Grim,’ Nils says. ‘The only thing of any real note is probably the wounds to her hands.’
‘Defence wounds?’ Joona asks.
‘Yes, but on the wrong side,’ Frippe says.
‘We can take a look in a while,’ Nils says. ‘But first it’s time to give Miranda Ericsdotter a bit of attention.’
‘When did they die – can you say?’ Joona asks.
‘As you know, body temperature sinks …’
‘Algor
