Читать книгу The Fire Witness - Ларс Кеплер - Страница 45

The conference room at the Hotel Ibis is busy, and Joona waits in the breakfast room while the prosecutor talks to the anxious staff about another room for the interviews. A television screen is shimmering from a metal frame near the ceiling.

Joona calls Anja and reaches her voicemail. He asks her to find out if there’s a pathologist in Sundsvall.

The television news is starting to cover the murders at the Birgitta Home and the latest dramatic developments. They show pictures of the police cordon, the red buildings and the sign to the home. The perpetrator’s suspected escape route is shown on a map, and a reporter stands in the middle of Highway 86 talking about the abduction and the police’s unsuccessful roadblocks.

Joona gets to his feet and is walking towards the television as the voiceover reports that the mother of the missing boy has chosen to give the kidnapper a message in a live broadcast.

Pia Abrahamsson appears on the screen. Her face looks drawn as she sits at a kitchen table with a sheet of prompts in her hand.

‘If you’re hearing this,’ she begins, ‘I understand that you have been the victim of injustice, but Dante has nothing to do with that …’

Pia looks directly at the camera.

‘You have to give him back,’ she whispers, her chin trembling. ‘I’m sure you’re kind, but Dante is only four years old, and I know how frightened he is … he’s so …’

She looks at the sheet of paper as tears run down her cheeks.

‘You mustn’t be mean to him, you mustn’t hit my little …’

She bursts into racking sobs and turns her face away before they cut back to the studio in Stockholm.

A forensic psychiatrist from Säter Hospital is perched at a tall table, and explains just how serious the situation is to the newsreader: ‘I haven’t had access to the girl’s medical records, of course, and I don’t want to speculate as to whether she may have committed the two murders, but the fact that she’s been living in this particular care home means that it’s very possible that she’s seriously mentally unstable, and even if—’

‘What are the dangers?’ the newsreader asks.

‘It’s possible that she doesn’t care about the boy at all,’ the psychiatrist explains. ‘She might forget about him altogether at times … but he’s only four years old, and if he suddenly starts to cry or call for his mother she could get angry and dangerous …’

Susanne Öst comes into the breakfast room to fetch Joona. With a small smile she offers him a cup of coffee and some cake. He thanks her and follows her to the lift, and they head up to the top floor. They walk into an uninspiring bridal suite, with a locked minibar and a Jacuzzi perched on battered gold paws.

Tuula Lehti is lying on the wide bed watching the Disney Channel. The responsible adult from the Victim Support Service nods to them. Susanne closes the door, and Joona pulls out a chair with a pink velvet seat and sits down.

‘Why did you tell me that Vicky goes to see someone called Dennis?’ Joona asks.

Tuula sits up and clutches a heart-shaped cushion to her stomach.

‘I thought that’s what she does,’ she says simply.

‘What made you think that?’

Tuula shrugs her shoulders and looks back at the television.

‘Did she ever talk about someone called Dennis?’

‘No,’ she smiles.

‘Tuula, I really do need to find Vicky.’

She kicks the bedspread and pink satin duvet onto the floor, then turns back to the television.

‘Am I going to have to sit here all day?’ she asks.

‘No, you can go back to your room if you want,’ the support person says.

‘Sinä olet vain pieni lapsi,’ Joona says in Finnish. You’re only a small child.

‘Ei,’ she replies, and looks him in the eye.

‘You shouldn’t have to live in institutions.’

‘I like it there,’ she says blankly.

‘Nothing bad ever happens to you?’

Her neck flushes and she blinks her white eyelashes.

‘No,’ she says bluntly.

‘Miranda hit you yesterday.’

‘Oh, yeah,’ she mutters, and tries to squeeze the cushion.

‘Why was she angry?’

‘She thought I’d been poking about in her room.’

‘Had you?’

Tuula licks the heart-shaped cushion.

‘Yes, but I didn’t take anything.’

‘Why were you poking about in her room?’

‘I poke about in everyone’s rooms.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s fun,’ she replies.

‘But Miranda thought you’d taken something from her?’

‘Yeah, she was a bit cross …’

‘What did she think you’d taken?’

‘She didn’t say,’ Tuula smiles.

‘What do you think it was?’

‘I don’t know, but it’s usually pills … Lu Chu pushed me down the stairs once when she thought I’d taken her fucking benzos.’

‘And if it wasn’t drugs – what might she have thought you’d taken?’

‘Who cares?’ Tuula sighs. ‘Make-up, jewellery …’

She sits on the edge of the bed again, leans back, and whispers something about a studded necklace.

‘What about Vicky?’ Joona asks. ‘Does Vicky fight as well?’

‘No,’ Tuula smiles again.

‘What does she do, then?’

‘I shouldn’t say, because I don’t know her. I don’t think she’s ever spoken to me, but …’

The girl falls silent and shrugs.

‘Why not?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘But you must have seen her when she’s angry?’

‘She cuts herself, so you don’t …’

Tuula stops and shakes her head.

‘What were you going to say?’

‘That you don’t have to worry about her … she’ll kill herself soon, then you’ll have one less problem,’ Tuula says without looking at Joona.

She stares at her fingers, mutters something to herself, then stands up abruptly and walks out of the room.