BERZELIUS SIGHED, ignored the call and turned her cell phone facedown on the desk. She seldom, almost never, answered if the number was unlisted, and for the moment didn’t want to be disturbed.
She had left the Swedish Radio offices on foot, walked down the hill and across Järnbron, picked up her briefcase from her apartment, then drove to her office in the Public Prosecution Building. Once at her desk, she cast a glance at the computer screen and began typing.
Her cell phone rang again.
This time she picked her phone up and looked at the display, which again read Unknown caller.
Just then she heard a knock on the glass door. She looked up and saw her colleague Per Åström standing there with a wide grin. He waved hello with his whole hand.
She had come to enjoy Per, and now and then they had dinner together. Per was, practically speaking, the only social company she allowed herself. She didn’t like socializing in general, and felt no need to hang out with other people just for the sake of it. To her, conversation was meant almost exclusively for the purposes of work. When she was in the courtroom, she had no problem making long statements in order to present facts, but personal conversations were a challenge—a challenge she wasn’t interested in taking on. She wanted to keep her private life private.
Per knocked again, miming: Can I come in?
She looked at her ringing cell phone again, then at Per standing outside the door. If she let him in, she could count on wasting more precious work time—after already having lost a whole morning at the radio studio. Per rarely kept to the short version of stories, and even if he saw her look at her watch, he wouldn’t take the hint that she had other things to do besides listening to him.
The decision was simple.
She shook her head at Per as if to say “not now,” which only seemed to confuse him. So she spun her chair a half turn away from him, put her phone to her ear and answered the call. “Hello, have I reached Jana Berzelius? This is chief physician Alexander Eliasson.” The voice was remarkably calm. “Is this a good time to talk?”
She frowned.
“What is this regarding, Dr. Eliasson?” she asked.
“I’m sorry to call like this, but...I would like you to come down to the hospital.”
“Why?”
“Early this morning an ambulance was called to your parents’ house in Lindö and...”
“How is he?”
“I’m afraid that...”
“My father, how is he?”
“I’m not calling about your father.”
“I’m sorry, I thought that...”
She took a deep breath.
“I’ve been trying to reach him all morning,” the doctor said. “Your father and I have been friends for a long time, you see.”
“My father has difficulty communicating these days,” she said.
“Yes, I know, and I’m so sorry about what happened to him.”
“It was self-inflicted.”
She looked out the window, watching birds soar high over the rooftops.
“So what is it you’re calling about?”
“I’m afraid the ambulance didn’t arrive at the hospital in time.”
A few seconds passed as she tried to collect her thoughts.
“Are you talking about my mother?” she said quietly.
“Yes, I am,” the doctor said. “And I’m truly sorry, but your mother...Margaretha...has passed away.”
* * *
The sun peeked through the thick blanket of clouds, and the bare trees cast thin shadows over the asphalt. Detective Chief Inspector Henrik Levin pulled into a parking spot next to a Volvo and sat for a moment with his hands on the wheel. He looked at the police cruisers and knew that the forensic techs were already there.
Officers had searched the area and collected footage from the traffic cameras. The search for Danilo Peña, who had apparently escaped from the hospital, was in full force.
“Hello? Are you going to sit there all day?” Mia Bolander had opened the passenger door and was giving Henrik a tired look. He turned off the ignition, stepped out of the car and walked with Mia toward the main entrance.
As they walked, Henrik surveyed the area. He saw the people’s curious looks and the uniformed officers standing with their legs shoulder-width apart on either side of the rotating doors. Then he let his gaze wander over the large parking lot to the little grove of trees and stones and back to the hospital buildings.
“He’s probably long gone,” Mia said, registering his searching gaze. “But it’s fucking bold of him to walk straight out through the main entrance.”
“If that’s what he did,” Henrik said. “Four buses have left the area, twenty-odd civilian cars and two ambulances, but no one saw him.”
“Have we closed off the hospital exits?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied.
“And monitored the buses?”
“We’ve checked them. Nothing.”
“Paratransit services?”
“Nothing there, either.”
“And taxis?”
“We’ve checked with all companies, but we got nothing.”
“So how are we going to get him this time?” she asked with a sigh.
“The BOLO has already gone out. But he could just as easily still be somewhere on the hospital campus.”
“I hardly think so,” Mia said, wrinkling her nose. “And the guard?”
“He’s still missing. Danilo probably took him with him.”
With a practiced motion, Henrik lifted the plastic police tape. He held it up for Mia before he ducked under it himself and walked with heavy steps toward Ward 11.
He squinted at the bright spotlight shining from Room 38 and saw forensic technician Anneli Lindgren crouching down in the middle of the hospital room. Her white protective coverall rustled as she stood up. She pulled off her mask and nodded toward them.
Henrik stepped inside, then Mia followed. Both looked around. The air was warm, and a red handprint was visible on the floor.
“We’ve lifted footprints from Danilo Peña, so we know he got out of bed here—” Anneli gestured to the right side of the bed “—attacked the female nurse here, knocking
