Marked For Life. Emelie Schepp
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the sequence again. The boy was wearing a dark hooded sweater that hid his face well. He walked with his head down and both hands stuck inside the big pocket on his stomach.
Ola sighed. He rubbed his hand over his face and up through his hair. Just a child on his way somewhere. He let the footage continue and leaned back with his hands clasped behind his head.
When the counter showed 20:00, he still hadn’t seen anything. No movement. Not a single person. Not a car had passed during those two hours. Only the boy. At that moment, Ola realized what he had seen. Only the boy.
He got up so fast from the chair that it fell backward onto the floor with a crash.
* * *
“You seem to be in a good mood.”
Gunnar gave a start when he heard Anneli Lindgren’s voice. She stood in the doorway with her arms folded over her chest. Her hair was tied back in a tight ponytail that accentuated her clear blue eyes and high cheekbones.
“Yes, I’ve just been promised the call logs,” he said. “It helped when I made a fuss.”
“Well now, is that all it takes to put you in a good mood?” said Anneli.
“Yes, it is, I can tell you. Shouldn’t you be on your way?” Gunnar said.
“Yes, but I’m waiting for some support. It’s a big house to work through. I can’t get through it all on my own.”
“I thought you liked working alone.”
“Sometimes, sure. But you tire of it after a while. Then it’s nice to have company by your side,” Anneli said and tilted her head.
“But you don’t have to go through everything again. Just take what’s of interest.”
“Well, that’s obvious. What do you take me for, huh?” Anneli straightened her head and put her hand on her waist.
“And talking about going through things,” said Gunnar, “I’ve been tidying in the storage room and found some stuff that belongs to you.”
“You’ve been tidying the storage room?”
“Yes. What of it?” Gunnar said and shrugged his shoulders. “I needed to get rid of some junk and I found a large cardboard box with ornaments in it. Perhaps you’d like them back?”
“I can fetch them later in the week.”
“No, better if I bring the box to work. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see if those lists have arrived as promised.”
Anneli was just about to leave the room when she almost bumped right into a stressed Ola Söderström in the doorway.
“What is it?” said Gunnar.
“I think I’ve found something. Come and see!”
Gunnar got up from his desk and followed his colleague Ola into the computer room.
Ola, twenty years his junior, was tall and thin with a pointed nose. He was dressed in jeans, a red checked shirt and, like every other day of the year, a cap. Regardless of the temperature on the thermometer, be it minus or plus thirty degrees Celsius, he had his cap on. Sometimes it was red, sometimes white. Sometimes striped, sometimes with a check pattern. Today it was black.
Gunnar had told Ola many times that he should avoid wearing headgear during working hours, but he finally gave up because his irritating hat was trivial compared with Ola’s skill with computers.
“Look at this.” Ola pressed some keys and the recorded tape started to play. Gunnar saw the little boy on the film.
“He turns up at exactly 18:14,” said Ola. “He cuts across the street and seems to be on his way up toward Östanvägen, toward Hans Juhlén’s house.”
Gunnar observed the boy’s movements. Stiff. Almost mechanical.
“Play it again,” he said when the boy disappeared from view.
Ola did as he was told.
“Freeze it there!” said Gunnar and moved closer to the screen. “Can you zoom in?”
Ola pressed some keys and the boy came closer.
“He’s got his hands in that hoodie pocket. But the pocket is bulging too much. He must have something else in there,” said Gunnar.
“Anneli did find the handprints from a child,” said Ola. “Could it be this boy?”
“How old?” said Gunnar.
Ola looked at the figure. Although he was dressed in a large hooded sweatshirt, you could still make out the size of his body under it. But it was his height that decided the matter.
“I’d guess eight, perhaps nine,” said Ola.
“Do you know who’s got a child of that age?”
“No.”
“Hans Juhlén’s half brother.”
“Shit.”
“Zoom in closer.”
Ola zoomed in another step.
Gunnar put his face right up to the screen so he could examine the bulging pocket better.
“Now I know what he’s got in his pocket.”
“What?”
“A gun.”
* * *
Henrik Levin and Mia Bolander were driving from Norrköping toward Finspång. They sat in silence, deep in their own thoughts as they passed a road sign that told them they had five kilometers to go.
Henrik pulled over to the side of the road so he could look up the address he wanted on the GPS navigator. The digital map showed that they had 150 meters to go to their final destination, and the navigator’s voice told him to keep driving straight ahead at the next roundabout. Henrik followed the directions and approached the given address, which was in the Dunderbacken district.
Mia pointed to an empty parking space next to a recycling station that was overflowing with discarded paper and packages. Somebody had put an old radio in front of the green bins.
“So this is where he lives, the half brother,” said Mia. She got out of the car, stretched and yawned out loud. Henrik got out and slammed the car door on his side.
A few people were standing and talking to each other in the grassy area between the low-rise apartment buildings. Nearby a couple of children played with a bucket and spade in a sand pit next to a set of swings. The chilly April weather had made their cheeks rosy. A man, presumably the father, sat on a bench next to them, fully occupied with his cell phone. A woman in an ankle-long winter coat was approaching them on the sidewalk with shopping bags in each hand. She stopped and said hello to a long-haired man who was unlocking a yellow Monark bicycle in a bike stand.
Henrik and Mia walked across the grass and looked for the right building number. They entered number thirty-four. A thinly-dressed man was standing in the entrance hall; he took a few steps to one side and walked back and forth, more or less as if he were impatiently waiting for somebody.
Mia glanced quickly at the list of residents next to the elevator and read the name for the third floor. Lars Johansson. Then they walked up the stairs and rang the doorbell.
Lars opened immediately. He was only wearing underpants and a pale football jersey adorned with the Norrköping team’s emblem. He was unshaven and had dark rings under his eyes. While he massaged his neck, he looked with surprise at the two police officers standing in front of him.
“Are you Lars Johansson?” Henrik asked.
“Yes, what’s this about?” said Lars.
Henrik introduced himself and Mia and showed his warrant to enter.
“And I was thinking that you came