The Complete Game Trilogy: Game, Buzz, Bubble. Литагент HarperCollins USD
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of the early part of it, when the firemen rolled the car the right way up and cut the roof off to get them out. She remembered fragments of a trip in an ambulance, probably to St Göran’s Hospital. An oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, a plastic collar round her neck. Pain in her head, chest and face. People in white and green coats. The sounds of running and urgent shouting. Occasionally she thought she could hear familiar voices among all the strangers, but she wasn’t altogether sure. She made an effort to hear what they were saying, but no matter how hard she tried the words merged together into a single monotonous mumble. The world didn’t start to get clearer until she was eventually wheeled into a room in the hospital, whichever one it was, and the doctor started to examine her.
‘Lucky’ was one of the first things that sank in properly. ‘You were lucky, Rebecca.’
She didn’t really understand what he meant.
What did he mean, lucky?
Someone had smashed their windscreen and it was only thanks to Kruse’s decisive action that they hadn’t collided with the Prime Minister’s car and everything had gone completely to hell.
Then they had crashed through the barrier and the car was so badly wrecked that they had to be cut out of it.
So exactly what did this idiot mean when he said she was lucky?
‘Concussion, but fairly mild, a couple of minor cuts to your scalp and face that will need stitches, and a few cracked ribs. But that’s pretty much it. Considering what happened, you were lucky,’ he concluded, simultaneously answering her question.
‘My partner?’ she managed to say, although it felt like her head and mouth were full of cotton-wool. ‘How’s Kruse?’
‘I’m afraid he wasn’t quite as fortunate. Sometimes it isn’t always a good thing to be big and heavy, and car accidents are precisely one such occasion.’
The doctor adjusted his glasses and gave her a knowing look. Her head suddenly felt like it was about to burst and for a moment she considered pulling out her Sig and asking him again, considerably less politely this time. But she bit her tongue and waited patiently for the answer.
He leafed through his notes.
‘Head injuries, broken arms and ribs are what we’ve got so far. Your partner is still in intensive care. It looks as if the roof crumpled mainly on his side.’
He looked up and smiled.
‘Like I said, you were …’
‘Lucky,’ she interrupted, and suppressed another urge to draw her gun, this time to blow his head off.
Flashing blue lights, handcuffs, then the plain-clothes arrived and it was the backseat of an unmarked police car. They must have been very close by.
He suddenly remembered that a lot of cops used to stop for coffee at the Shell garage not far away.
Typical of his miserable fucking luck!
Both of the detectives were thickset men, with shaved heads and bull-necks. One of them beside him, the other at the wheel.
‘So, you’re the sort who throws stones at police cars, are you?’ the gorilla next to him said as soon as they had set off.
HP didn’t answer, now if ever was a time to keep quiet. His head ached and he felt like he was going to be sick. The pain in his lower arm was hardly helped by the fact that his hands had been bent up behind his back.
The cops grinned and exchanged knowing glances in the rear-view mirror. They turned off the motorway and headed into Kungsholmen. Next stop, Police Headquarters in Kronoberg.
Bollocks!
Everything had gone completely to hell. He’d been careless and not looked round properly. And had missed that fucking idiot who rammed him. How stupid could you be?
He gulped a couple of times to suppress the urge to throw up. Now he had to keep quiet and ask for a lawyer as quickly as possible. He knew the routine. There was no point talking to the orcs in the car, they didn’t have any say in anything.
‘What’s the matter, can’t you speak?’ the same gorilla said in a mocking tone which for some reason made HP feel even more uneasy.
He stuck to his strategy and kept quiet.
‘No problem, lad,’ the cop chuckled, giving his colleague in the driver’s seat another look in the mirror.
The blow came out of nowhere, it must have been a left-hook and he had no way of defending himself. Wham, right on his cheekbone, and his head thudded into the side-window.
‘What the f …!’ he managed to say before the next blow struck. A right-hook this time, straight at the middle of his face, and he felt his nose crack.
‘This can’t be happening, this only happens in films!’ he managed to think before the third punch blurred his vision.
When he came round they were already down in the garage, and they were dragging him out of the car. Metal doors, a lift, a couple of blue-shirts hurrying past, then a long, brightly-lit corridor with beige plastic flooring. Doors, voices, a lot of rushing about, and finally a small interview room.
The handcuffs were removed and the belongings that they had taken off him when he was arrested were emptied onto the table. House-keys, ID card and a few crumpled twenty-kronor notes, as well as the mobile, of course.
Blood was trickling from his nose and one of the gorillas tossed him a wad of paper tissue before sitting down on a chair opposite.
HP managed to pull himself together and regain some of his devastated self-confidence.
‘I want a lawyer,’ he said, but the last word sounded more like ‘doyer’ because of his swollen nose.
The gorilla grinned.
‘Didn’t you hear, I want a lawyer.’ This time slightly less nasal as he rubbed the red marks on his wrists.
The gorilla stood up quickly and HP twitched instinctively on his chair. The cop saw his fear and grinned. He wagged a fat, hairy index finger towards HP.
‘I think you should shut up, my friend,’ he said exaggeratedly slowly, and there was no mistaking the underlying threat.
HP decided to heed his advice and revert to his original plan. Besides, the lead interviewer ought to be along soon, then all this shit would be over.
Sure enough, the door opened a couple of minutes later and another man came in, also in plain-clothes. This one was shorter, wore glasses and was considerably skinnier than the two gorillas, and it was immediately obvious who was in charge.
He glanced at HP’s swollen face and then gave the hairiest ape a disdainful look.
‘You can go now, Wiklander. Haven’t you and Molnar here got a report to write up?’
The gorilla muttered something but went out at once, giving HP the evil eye on the way.
HP nodded happily. This bloke was more to his taste.
‘Bolin, duty officer,’ he said by way of introduction. ‘And you’re Henrik Pettersson, known as HP, is that right?’
HP nodded again.
‘I’m going to turn on the tape-recorder now and we’ll do the introductions once more, but this time I want you to answer verbally, have you got that?’
HP shrugged. He wasn’t planning on saying more than just one sentence.
Bolin started the tape-recorder that was on the table in front of them.
‘Interview with Henrik HP Pettersson concerning suspicion of attempted murder and grievous bodily harm against a public official at the junction of Drottningholmsvägen and the Essinge motorway. Lead interviewer Detective Inspector Bolin, interview commenced at 23:12. Right, Henrik, can you tell me your response to our suspicions?’
HP