Killer's Island Page 2

  “The boy, is the boy all right?” Maria grabbed hold of a white coat. She had to know.

  “Is he your son?”

  Maria shook her head.

  “He’s in intensive care. The police want to talk to you later.” The woman’s voice was soft and calm. Do healthcare staff have to take an oral exam before they’re offered a job? The quieter and calmer they sound, the more serious the situation. One can see it in their eyes. Only there does the truth leak out. At times of utter silence one knows death has showed up; death is beginning its struggle with life.

  Maria was helped to crawl over into a bed. “They stabbed me with needles!”

  “We’ll take you for an X-ray in a minute.” Two voices talking. No one heard her. The bed started rolling along.

  “I could be infected. My blood.” Fear cut through her body. “I could be infected!” Still they could not hear. The bed took off. The blinding lights along the girders flashed by overhead. White coats swished past, silent as shadows in a dream. Only the hushing of fans and the scraping and singing of the bed’s wheels against the concrete floor could be heard. “I’ve been stabbed with a goddamn syringe!” Maria tried to make eye contact with the auxiliary just as he was greeting a passing colleague. “I may have been infected with HIV!”

  CHAPTER 2

  WHEN MARIA WOKE UP, Commissioner Tomas Hartman was sitting at her side looking tired, his shirt creased and his curly gray hair standing on end. It took a moment for Maria to realize where she was. She took shallow little breaths.

  “How long have you been sitting there?” Maria looked at her watch. It was quarter past seven in the morning. The white coats were changing shifts – old faces disappearing and new ones coming in. Spick-and-span, middle-aged Lotta had gone home just as Maria had worked out from her tag what her name was; she was replaced by young Daniel with Rasta dreadlocks.

  “A few hours. They called in the night.”

  “The boy! How’s the boy doing?” She clenched her fists hard round the mattress and steeled herself. “I have to know.”

  “He’s in intensive care.” Hartman paused, to see how Maria was taking it.

  “I want to know!”

  Hartman gripped her hand, closed his eyes to compose himself and then looked directly at her. “Several of his ribs are broken. Bleeding lungs. He’s unconscious. Those kicks to his head… they’re not ruling out more internal bleeding. He’s been moved to the operating room.”

  That was the point when she started crying. Hartman caressed her hair with his big, awkward hand, trying to calm and comfort her just as he’d comforted his own children when they were small. No words. Just being there. A secure presence, listening.

  “But he’ll pull through?” she entreated. “He’s got to pull through!”

  Hartman slowly shook his head.

  “The doctors don’t think there’s much hope. He’s very badly injured. Are you up to telling us what happened?”

  Maria sat up in bed with great effort and started talking. As she began to re-live what had happened, she had to confront her fear. She wept. Again and again, Hartman had to ask her to repeat and be more clear.

  “Why did they have to hurt him?” Maria looked her chief in the eye but she didn’t expect an answer. “Why? There used to be a sort of cowboy’s code of honor. You didn’t hit someone who was smaller than you, if you had a fight it was one against one. What happened to all that? Do you know what was going on before I turned up, why did they go for him?”

  “No. I’ve spoken to his parents. At around nine o’clock last night he said good-bye to his friend Oliver. He only had a few hundred yards to walk, his mother lives one block away. Another two minutes and he would have been safe.”

  “So close… and yet they knew nothing about it.” said Maria, thinking about her own son. You had to give your children freedom so they grew up – which meant letting go of your need to protect them from every possible danger.

  “What else do you remember? What did they look like?”

  “They were wearing balaclavas. One of them was taller than the others. He seemed to be the one making the decisions. He was also the one really laying into the boy, kicking him, while I was watching. They didn’t sound like they came from Gotland. The tall one had a sort of mixed dialect.” Maria fell silent and her eyes grew large and black. “They stuck a blood-filled syringe into me. ‘Welcome to hell,’ he said. I may be infected.”

  “What has the doctor said about that?”

  “They don’t know about it yet. They’re concentrating on my injuries; no one listens to me. I can’t make them listen, I don’t have the strength for it. And they’re all in such a hurry.”

  “So I’ll speak to them. Rest now, will you. I’ll take care of it.”

  A new face popped up in the doorway. “The police told me you were stabbed with a used syringe. There’s an infection specialist on his way, he’ll have a word with you about it.” The nurse disappeared with her cart into the next room. Maria sat up on the edge of the bed. Her belly ached, also her back and head. Her chest was full of cutting knives. In fact, everything hurt absolutely everywhere, except her right arm. She stood up and tottered across the floor with a spinning head, then grabbed the door frame and felt close to passing out. She lay down on the bed again. Far off she saw someone moving toward her down the corridor: it was Jonatan Eriksson, the infection specialist who’d taken such good care of them when Emil was ill. How wonderful to see him. The tears came streaming again. Here, in this alienating hospital world, was a familiar face. Someone to trust.

  “Maria! How are you?” He sat in the chair Hartman had just vacated, gripping her right hand and, with his other hand, gently patting her left arm. His face came up close. She smiled at him, feeling her swollen lips tightening.

  “I look a wreck, don’t I? I’ve been better, I have to say. We have to stop meeting like this, Jonatan.”

  The joke amused him, his face widening into a big smile. “We have to stop meeting in hospitals, you mean. I came as soon as I heard what had happened. Do you know who he is, the guy who stabbed you?”

  “No. He was tall, he wore a mask. Gray or green eyes. One of his friends seemed under the influence of drugs. His pupils were tiny, as if he was on morphine. He slouched. The one who stabbed me wasn’t high, as far as I could see. He stabbed me many times, it was like he was in a fury. There was blood in the syringe. He did it on purpose. There were three of them. I couldn’t do anything.” Maria felt her fear surging back, more intensely every time she put words to her experience. Flashing images passed through her mind: the needle as it punctured her skin. “Am I going to die now?”

  Jonatan shook his head. “The risk of HIV infection is minimal. There’s a greater risk of hepatitis B and C. In which case your liver could take a bit of a beating. The first thing we do now is to test you for antibodies, then we check if you already had the disease. Then we’ll give you a quick vaccination against hepatitis B, also immunoglobulin. After that you shouldn’t have to worry too much.”

  “But what if I get HIV?”

  “We’ll give you an HIV test now to make sure you weren’t already infected with it, then we’ll test you again in three months’ time, and then again in six months. We’ll test you in the same way for hepatitis. The last test will be in nine months.”

  “God! Do I really have to wait nine months to know if I’ve been infected? Is there no quicker way?”

  “I can understand it’s stressful. But if you’re HIV-negative after three months it’s extremely unlikely for you to have the infection. The six month check-up is just to be on the safe side.”

  “Three months.… But there are medicines, aren’t there… inhibitors? People with HIV get inhibitors so they live longer.” Jonatan had made an exception before, when Emil was ill and wasn’t allowed visitors. Surely he would also help her this time, even if it were against the rules?

  “These aren’t risk-free medicines, you don’t take them unless you have t
o. If we knew that the guy who stabbed you had HIV or if you test positive, we’ll give you an inhibitor, but not until then.”

  “But we don’t know who he is! What if we don’t catch him? And surely there’s a difference between just being stabbed with a blood-filled syringe and actually being injected with the blood.”

  “Of course the amount of blood does make a difference. But for the moment I want us to wait and see. For your sake, Maria. If you were my own wife I’d do exactly the same.” He looked into her eyes, looked at her earnestly and with warmth until she dared take the mental leap into trusting him.

  “Okay.… How is your wife, actually?” Maria had thought of them sometimes, particularly about what Jonatan had told her in confidence, that his wife was having serious problems with alcohol.

  “We don’t live together any more. She moved in with another man who drinks just the way she does. I can’t do anything about it… nothing. She won’t live very long if she carries on.… I really don’t want sympathy, I just want to be clear about the realities of the situation. I wasn’t able to deal with it, I couldn’t be there to help her through it. If you want to meet for a coffee some time… and to talk… you know where I am.”

  “I’d like that.” She meant it.

  “And how have things been with you?” he asked, his expression indicating that he was expecting confidences, not platitudes.

  “There’s a man I love…” Maria grew silent. It was not easy explaining her relationship with Per Arvidsson.

  “But.… I think I can read between the lines… and there’s a ‘but’…”

  “But… it’s not entirely uncomplicated. His name is Per Arvidsson, he’s a policeman. Remember that policeman who was shot while he was on duty? Physically Per’s back to normal. But he gets depressed sometimes. He’s gone back to work, part-time. He just separated from his wife; the children spend every other weekend with him. We see each other sometimes but he’s not up to a relationship, and he can’t cope with my children, they’re too demanding for him. Everything is too much on their terms. So we see each other on the weekends when we don’t have our children staying and we try to think of things to do together. He doesn’t even know for sure if he loves me.… Everything just feels empty, he says.”

  “Is that enough for you?” Jonatan looked at her very attentively. “Sometimes I think people try to be satisfied with the crumbs from the table because that’s all they feel they’re worth.… That’s how it was for me. I always wanted something wholehearted, not just a bit of affection now and then when she needed consolation. Now that she’s moved out I wonder how things could have ended up like they did.”

  “What Per gives me is good enough… if that’s all he’s got for now. He’s getting better. I’m hoping it’ll work itself out if he can have the time he needs.”

  “Take care of yourself, Maria. And call me.” He kept his eyes fixed on her for a long time, until she felt a tingling sensation in her body. There was a kind of tension between them. It had been there from the first moment a few years ago when she blew up at him over the telephone – as a result of a confusion. That seemed an eternity ago. To her own chagrin, she felt herself blushing.

  He noticed, and let go of her hand. “I appreciate your friendship,” he said as if he’d read her thoughts and didn’t want to cause her any more embarrassment. After all, he’d just made it clear he was free and this might be misconstrued as an unsubtle come-on.

  A nurse stuck her head in between the curtains separating the beds.

  “Jonatan. They’re looking for you at the ward. Did you turn off your pager?”

  He rummaged in his breast pocket. “Must have left it in the staff room. See you again, Maria. Promise. Call me when you want to.”

  “How long do I have to stay here?” she called out down the corridor as he was walking away.

  “If it was up to me you could go home after we’ve finished the tests. But you have a couple of broken ribs and the surgeon may want to keep you here for a while to make sure there’s no bleeding or perforations to the lungs.” Maria saw a final glimpse of his white coat as he swung round the corner.

  As soon as she was by herself, her thoughts started churning. Again and again she ran through her harrowing ordeal, trying to remember more details. The tall guy had worn steel toe-toed boots, Dr. Martens. Kilroy jeans. A guy with money? Or loaded, big-spending parents? His age was difficult to tell. The other two had spoken in a dialect that was probably from somewhere around Västerås. Thick sounds.

  Shit, Roy, maybe we should leave it now, get out of here. So the tall guy went by the name of Roy. Hartman was cross-checking against well-known local criminals and gangs. He would also be calling for witnesses on the radio and the local television news – asking them to come forward. What a waste of time to lie here waiting! She wanted to help, but she knew she wouldn’t be allowed to take part in the investigation. Not now that she was directly involved.

  “The boy’s parents want to talk to you. They’re in the intensive care unit, if you feel you’re up to it.” The nurse with the cart of needles again. “I just have to take a bit more blood and then you can get out of bed.” She clamped Maria’s right arm with a blue cuff and looked for a suitable vein. Her skin turned blotchy and a vein swelled in the crook of her arm. Maria looked away and tried to breathe slowly and deeply. She’d never been afraid of needles before. Now the mere sight of one made her tremble uncontrollably. She burst into tears. Then cursed her own sensitivity and had a go at the nurse, who was trying to comfort her.

  The intensive care unit was bathed in blinding, white light. Maria passed a group all in green and clipboards in their hands, like a detachment of Roman soldiers with shields. At the far end of the corridor stood a muscular man in his forties. His eyes had something hunted in them, his eyelids were swollen and his sparse hair bathed in sweat. He came to meet her.

  “Linus’s dad.” He offered his hand and fought back the tears. “I could kill the pigs who did this to my son. Do you understand? I could kill them! No punishment could ever be enough. Fucking bloody lunatics!”

  “I can understand the way you feel.” Maria backed away from his terrible wrath. No doubt about it, if he ran into them now he would be capable of killing them.

  “I’m going to find out who they are and I’m going to kill them!”

  “Calm yourself down, Ulf, think about what you’re saying.” A buxom woman in a pastel-hued dress tried to put her arm round him. “Taking revenge won’t bring Linus back. I wouldn’t want you to go to prison. You have to calm down. You’re scaring me, Uffe.”

  The woman started to cry. His words had lashed like a whip.

  “It’s your goddamn fault! If he’d been with me there’d have been different ground rules. You think you’re nice when you let him stay out as late as he likes, it’s goddamn sloppy. If he’d lived with me this would never have happened.”

  “Ulf.” Her voice was pleading. “Please stop.”

  He blocked her attempt to put her arms round him, holding out his hand and stepping back.

  “This is all your goddamn fault, Katarina!”

  Maria went between them. It was unbearable hearing them arguing.

  “How is Linus?”

  “Don’t you know!” Ulf stared at her with deranged eyes. “He’s dead! Dead! I’m going to get hold of the fuckers who did this if it’s the last thing I do. I don’t give a damn if I end up in prison. I asked for you because I want to know exactly what happened. Do you know who they are?”

  “No. I didn’t know… he was dead.” The information came as a shock, even though she should have been prepared for it. “I’m so sorry. The last I heard before I came here was that he was on his way into an operation. Can we sit down somewhere and have a quiet talk?” Maria’s legs were scarcely capable of holding her up; the pain in her chest was almost unbearable. She mustn’t pass out. Not now. Not make a nuisance of herself.

  “He died almost three hours ago. They didn�
�t even have time to prepare him for the operation. A rib punctured his pericardial sack.” The woman’s voice broke up in a new fit of weeping. “And even if they had managed to save his life he would have stayed on life support. He wouldn’t ever have woken up again, the doctor said. The damage to his head… led to inner bleeding. He’d never talk again, or eat or move.…”

  “Stop it, stop for God’s sake, Katarina! I can’t listen to this any more.” Ulf turned away and walked off with long quick strides, as if it were possible to run away from the words.

  They sat down at a table in the room set aside for next of kin. Ulf immediately bounced up and started pacing to and fro before them.

  “Damn it!” He crunched his fist into the doorframe. “Damn!”

  “I’m so sad for you. It’s so hideous, I don’t know what to say.” Maria put her arm round Linus’s mother, who looked back at her with deep gratitude. “Is there any chance that Linus knew these men? Any kind of situation where he might have run into them?”

  “Not a goddamn chance.” Ulf started criss-crossing the floor again. “Linus didn’t have a lot of friends at all. Mostly he just sat at home.” Katarina glanced at Ulf, checking to see whether it was advisable to add anything to his statement. “He had serious asthma and couldn’t hang around with the other boys in the class or play football or things like that. Any kind of physical exertion made it worse. I was so happy he had Oliver to play computer games with, so he wasn’t completely on his own. I tried to think of things we could do together, but it’s not ideal. A boy of his age should be with his friends, not his mom. I did all I could to encourage him to meet people of his own age.” She gave her husband a long-drawn gaze, which seemed to say: thanks for letting me finish without interrupting, and explain myself.