53

       sunday, december 13 (feast of st lucia): morning

      Simone blinks blindly in the daylight, but it’s difficult to focus. A number of figures seem to be staring at her. Fragments of a conversation further away reach her, and she recognises her father’s terse, stringent tone. It’s his voice that makes her think of the smell of coffee when she was getting ready for school, with the morning news on the radio.

      Only now does she realise that it is the police who have stormed the house. A neighbour must have seen the light from Kennet’s flashlight and called them.

      A cop, about twenty-five, yet with lines and blue circles beneath his eyes, is looking at her with a strained expression. His head is shaved, revealing a bumpy skull. He rubs the back of his neck with his hand.

      “Name?” he demands coldly.

      “Simone Bark,” she says, her voice still unsteady. “I’m here with my father—”

      “I want your name, not your life story,” the man says rudely.

      “Take it easy, Ragnar,” says one of his colleagues.

      “You’re a fucking parasite,” he goes on, turning to Simone. “But that’s just my opinion of people who get off looking at blood.”

      He snorts and turns away. Her father is speaking in an even tone, and he sounds very tired. She sees one of the officers walking away with his wallet.

      “Excuse me,” says Simone to a female officer. “We heard someone down in the—”

      “Shut up,” says the woman.

      “My son is—”

      “Shut up, I said. Tape her mouth. I want her mouth taped.”

      The officer with the shaved head takes out a roll of broad tape, but he stops when the front door opens and a tall blond man with sharp grey eyes walks in.

      “Joona Linna, National CID,” he says, in his singsong lilt. “What have you got?”

      “Two suspects,” replies the female officer.

      Joona looks at Kennet and Simone. “I’ll take it from here,” he says. “This is a mistake.”

      Two dimples suddenly appear in Joona’s cheeks as he tells them to release the suspects. The female officer goes over to Kennet and removes the handcuffs, apologises, and exchanges a few words with him, her ears bright red. The officer with the shaved head stands in front of Simone, rocking back on his heels and staring at her.

      “Let her go,” says Joona.

      “They resisted violently and I injured my thumb,” he says.

      “Are you intending to arrest them?” asks Joona.

      “Yes.”

      “Kennet Sträng and his daughter?”

      “I don’t give a shit who they are,” the officer says aggressively.

      “Ragnar,” his colleague says again, in an attempt to quiet him, “take it easy. He’s one of us.”

      “It’s illegal to enter the scene of a crime—”

      “Just calm down,” says Joona firmly.

      “But am I wrong?” he asks.

      Kennet has come over, but says nothing.

      “Am I wrong?” asks Ragnar again.

      “We’ll talk about this later,” replies Joona.

      “Why not now?”

      “For your own sake.”

      The female officer comes over to Kennet again, clears her throat, and says, “We’re very sorry about all this.”

      “It’s OK,” says Kennet, helping Simone up from the floor.

      “The cellar,” she says, almost inaudibly.

      “I’ll take care of it,” says Kennet, turning to Joona. “There are one or more persons in a hidden room in the cellar, behind the wardrobe with life jackets in it.”

      “Listen carefully,” Joona calls to the others. “We have reason to believe that the suspect is in the cellar. I will be leading this operation throughout. Be careful. It is possible that a hostage situation could arise, and in that case I will be the negotiator. The suspect is a dangerous individual, but fire is to be directed at the legs in the first instance.”

      Joona borrows a bullet-proof vest and quickly shrugs it on. Then he sends two officers round to the back of the house and gathers a team around him. They listen to his rapid instructions and then disappear with him through the doorway leading to the cellar. The metal staircase clangs loudly beneath their weight.

      Simone is afraid that her whole body is shaking, so Kennet wraps his arms around her. He whispers to her that everything will be fine, but the only thing Simone wants to hear is her son’s voice from the cellar; she prays that she will hear him calling to her any second.

      After only a short while Joona returns, the bullet-proof vest in his hand. “He got away,” he says tersely.

      “Benjamin, where’s Benjamin?” asks Simone.

      “Not here,” replies Joona.

      “But the room—”

      She moves toward the cellar doorway. Kennet tries to hold her back, but she yanks her hand away and pushes past Joona and down the iron steps. With three spotlights on stands filling the space with light, the cellar is now as bright as a summer’s day. The stepladder has been moved and is now under the small open window. The wardrobe has been pushed to one side and a police officer guards the entrance to the secret room. Simone walks slowly toward him. She can hear her father behind her, but she doesn’t understand what he is saying.

      “I have to,” she says faintly.

      The officer raises a hand and shakes his head.

      “I’m