Читать книгу The Fire Witness - Ларс Кеплер - Страница 24

The floor creaks as Joona walks into the small house, stepping over the threshold. There are three girls in the cramped room. The youngest of them can’t be more than twelve years old. Her skin is pink, and her hair coppery red. She’s sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall watching television. She whispers to herself, then hits the back of her head against the wall several times, closes her eyes for a few seconds, then goes on watching the television.

The other two don’t even seem to notice her. They’re just sitting back on an old corduroy sofa leafing through old fashion magazines.

A psychologist from the regional hospital in Sundsvall is sitting on the floor next to the red-haired girl.

‘My name is Lisa,’ she says tentatively, in a warm voice. ‘What’s your name?’

The girl doesn’t take her eyes off the television. It’s a repeat of the series Blue Water High. The volume is turned up loud, and the screen is casting a chilly glow across the room.

‘Have you heard the story of Thumbelina?’ Lisa asks. ‘I often feel like her. The size of someone’s thumb … How are you feeling?’

‘Like Jack the Ripper,’ the girl replies in a high voice without taking her eyes from the screen.

Joona goes and sits in an armchair in front of the television. One of the girls on the sofa stares at him wide-eyed, but looks down with a smile when he says hello. She’s got a stocky build, her fingernails are badly bitten, and she’s wearing jeans and a black top with the words ‘Razors cause less pain than life’ on it. She’s wearing blue eyeshadow, and has a sparkly hairband around her wrist. The other girl looks slightly older, and is wearing a ripped T-shirt with a horse on it, and a white pearl rosary necklace. She has old injection scars in the crook of her arm, and a khaki jacket rolled up to form a pillow behind her head.

‘Indie?’ the older girl asks in a subdued voice. ‘Did you go in and look before the cops came?’

‘I don’t want nightmares,’ the larger girl says languidly.

‘Poor little Indie,’ the older one teases.

‘What?’

‘You’re scared of nightmares then …’

‘Yes, I am.’

The other girl laughs: ‘So fucking self—’

‘Shut up, Caroline,’ the red-haired girl cries.

‘Miranda’s been murdered,’ Caroline goes on. ‘That’s probably a bit worse than—’

‘I just think it’s nice not to have to deal with her,’ Indie says.

‘You’re so sick,’ Caroline smiles.

‘She was fucking sick, she burned me with a cigarette and—’

‘Stop bitching!’ the red-haired girl snaps.

‘And she hit me with a skipping rope,’ Indie goes on.

‘You really are a bitch,’ Caroline sighs.

‘Sure, I’m happy to say it if it makes you feel better,’ Indie teases. ‘It’s really sad that an idiot’s dead, but I—’

The little red-haired girl hits her head against the wall again, then closes her eyes. The front door opens, and the two girls who ran off come in with Gunnarsson.