Читать книгу The Fire Witness - Ларс Кеплер - Страница 30

The forest flickers past, and raindrops patter against the large windscreen. Danish lorry driver Mads Jensen can see a woman standing in the middle of the road two hundred metres away. He swears to himself and blows the horn. He sees her flinch at the noise, but she makes no attempt to get off the road. The driver sounds the horn again, and the woman takes a slow step forward, raises her chin, and looks up at the approaching lorry.

Mads Jensen brakes, and feels the heavy articulated trailer pushing against the old Fliegel cab. He presses the brake pedal harder, the drive-shaft creaks, and the whole vehicle shudders before finally coming to a stop.

The engine winds down, and the rumble from the pistons becomes more audible.

The woman just stands there, three metres from the front of the lorry. Only now does the driver see that she is dressed as a priest under her denim jacket. A small rectangle of her white collar stands out against her black shirt.

The woman’s face is open and remarkably pale. When their eyes meet through the windscreen, tears start to run down her cheeks.

Mads Jensen puts the hazard lights on and gets out of the cab. The engine is radiating heat and a strong smell of diesel. When he walks around to the front of the vehicle the woman is leaning against one of the headlamps, gasping for breath.

‘What’s happened?’ Mads asks.

She looks up at him, wide-eyed. The amber glare of the hazard lights pulses over her.

‘Do you need help?’ he asks.

She nods, and he tries to lead her around the cab. The rain is getting harder, and it’s quickly getting dark.

‘Has someone hurt you?’

She resists, then goes with him and climbs into the passenger seat. He closes the door behind her and hurries around to get in the driver’s seat.

‘I can’t stay here, I’m blocking the whole road,’ he explains. ‘I have to move, is that OK?’

She doesn’t answer, but he sets the truck moving and switches on the windscreen wipers.

‘Are you hurt?’ he asks.

She shakes her head and claps one hand over her mouth.

‘My son,’ she whispers. ‘My …’

‘What are you saying?’ he asks. ‘What’s happened?’

‘She took my son …’

‘I’ll call the police. Is it OK if I call the police?’

‘Oh, God,’ she moans.