Читать книгу The Silenced - Литагент HarperCollins USD, J. F. C. Harrison, Professor J. D. Scoffbowl - Страница 9

A monotonous four-hour drive—that was what Julia’s Saturday afternoon had consisted of so far. Back roads, fir forests, and wildlife fences.

This wasn’t how she had imagined the weekend. She had been planning to work out, finish the book she never seemed to get to the end of, go to the movies, or do one of the other things that got her through weekends when she wasn’t working. Instead she was sitting behind the wheel, glancing at Amante as he watched the GPS bubble on the screen of his smartphone.

“Turn right here.” Amante pointed toward an anonymous-looking side road. “One kilometer of country road, then we’re there.”

“Okay.”

She wondered how he’d found out the address of the nursing home; she’d even asked him about it when she picked him up outside his apartment. But, as usual, all she got in response was that tentative little smile.

About half an hour earlier they had stopped at a gas station to look at the map and see what Amante’s smartphone could tell them about their destination. The satellite picture showed what looked like a manor house with two wings. Surrounding the main building was a large park that stretched all the way down to a small lake. If you zoomed in really close, you could just make out the walls and fences surrounding the entire property. But as they approached the facility, none of that was visible apart from a section of wall, a security lodge, and a large metal gate. All you could see from the gate was tall, well-established trees in the park beyond.

Julia drove slowly into the visitors’ parking lot and turned the engine off.

According to Google, the home had originally been built as a sanatorium. Over the years it had been an adult education college and an old people’s home. According to one five-year-old article, it had been sold and turned into a nursing home, but that was about it. It wasn’t even possible to find a phone number for the main switchboard, so, whatever they were doing there, they were keen to avoid publicity—which seemed fairly logical if they were treating patients with PTSD. The female security guard behind the glass hatch was similarly welcoming.

“Sorry.” The speaker fixed in the reinforced glass gave the guard’s voice a metallic clang. “All visits need to be authorized in advance. Those are the rules.”

Amante raised his ID higher, pressing it against the glass.

“Like I said, we’re police officers, and we’re conducting an investigation. It’s extremely important that we see David Sarac.”

“If it’s that important, then you should have spoken to the senior consultant and got him to arrange a visit. Anyway, you’re not a police officer; it says you’re a civilian investigator on your ID.”

Amante took a sharp breath, but Julia put her hand on his shoulder before he could say anything else. Arguing with a guard was never a good idea. She recognized the type all too well. Low-level employees who were given a tiny bit of power and made the absolute most of it. She stepped forward and held her own ID up against the glass just as Amante had done.

“I’m a police officer,” she said. “And, like my partner just said, it’s very important that we see one of the patients here. His name is David Sarac.”

The guard leaned closer to the glass. Read her name on her ID. “Look here, Detective Inspector … Gabrielsson. You see those signs?”

She pointed to a yellow rectangle with black lettering hanging above her head. Then at another one a short distance away on the heavy metal gate.

“This is a secure site. That means no unauthorized access. Under any circumstances. And seeing as neither you nor your colleague appear on the list of names, that means you aren’t authorized, whether you’re police officers or not. Those are the rules. People have lost their job for less.”

“What sort of nursing home gets classified as a fucking secure site?”

Amante’s sudden outburst took Julia by surprise. She squeezed his arm and got him to shut up. The guard glared at him.

“We look after soldiers here: people who have been in wars. According to the Security Police, that makes it a potential target.”

Amante opened his mouth to reply, but Julia squeezed his arm again, harder this time. What was wrong with him?

“Rules are rules,” she said to the guard. “Obviously we appreciate that you’re just doing your job. You’ll have to excuse my colleague: the case we’re investigating is pretty serious. A lot of pressure.”

She looked over toward the metal gate. The sign on it was bright yellow, but it was already bleached by the sun. And the barbed wire on top of the wall didn’t look new.

“We’ll call the senior consultant and come back tomorrow.” She bustled Amante a couple of steps toward the car before she turned round again. “By the way, how long has the home been classified as a secure site?”

“Since sometime last winter,” the metallic voice replied.

“Do you remember which month?”

The guard glared at Julia, then at Amante.

“Early March. Why?”

“Oh, no reason. Just curious. Thanks for your help.” She nodded to Amante to get in the car. She didn’t say anything until the doors were closed. But he beat her to it.

“Coming here was a long shot—I said that before we set off—but maybe if we wait until it gets dark—”

“And do what?” Julia interrupted. “Climb over the wall? Break in through a door? Smash a few windows at random?” She shook her head. “We have no idea what the inside of the building is like. And if our suspicions are right and Sarac is our dead body, then we’re looking for someone who isn’t even in there.”

Amante looked suddenly sullen. “Sorry I dragged you up here for nothing. We could have waited till Monday, I could have asked my contact to get hold of the senior consultant’s number. I got carried away …”

Julia held up a finger to get him to stop talking. The metal gate was slowly swinging open. A car drove out, followed by another one. Then a motorcycle. The vehicles stopped and a man in uniform emerged from the security lodge to check the backseats and trunks. He even insisted on looking behind the motorcyclist’s visor and seeing some ID before he allowed them to leave.

The vehicles passed their parked car. Two men in the first car, a lone woman in the second one. It wasn’t possible to determine the gender of the motorcyclist. All three vehicles turned left at the junction a short distance away.

“They’re very conscientious with their exit checks,” Julia muttered. She looked at the time. Quarter past five. Probably a change of shift. Suddenly she had an idea. She turned the key in the ignition and roared off, following the three other vehicles.

They caught up with the motorcycle just before the small village that consisted of little more than a cluster of bungalows and a gas station. The motorcycle turned off at the gas station and pulled up at its little hot dog stand. Without saying anything to Amante, Julia got out of the car. She walked toward the stand, but when she was almost there she pulled out her phone and pretended to take a call. The biker, a man in his fifties, had taken his helmet off and was chatting to the attractive woman in the stand—she was maybe half his age—before she put together his order. The smell of fast food reminded Julia that it had been a while since she had eaten anything.

She waited until the man had gotten his food, put his helmet back on, and driven off before walking up to the window.

“Hello,” she said.

The woman behind the counter returned the greeting.

“Regulars, eh?” Julia said, nodding toward the disappearing motorbike. “I’ve just come from the nursing home. It was the staff who told me to come here.”

She smiled, trying to come across as friendly and unthreatening as she read the menu.

“Well …” The young woman hesitated over her reply, but Julia’s smile seemed to convince her. “You could say that. Some of them stop off here practically every night.”

“Best place for an evening burger, the girl in the gatehouse said. You probably know her: fair hair, keeps herself in shape. Maybe a little grumpy?”

“Mia. Yes, she can be a bit sullen.” The young woman gave a wry smile and Julia reflected it back to her.

“Mia—that was it. Smart too. You seem to know what’s going on as well. Who works where and so on.”

“This is a pretty small place: everyone knows everyone else. The doctors live in town, but most of the other staff up there come from around here.”

“You don’t happen to know if anyone’s left recently?” Julia said. “Someone who maybe lost their job last winter, something like that?”

Another long shot, based on something Security Mia had said. People have lost their job for less. But Julia could tell from the evasive look in the young woman’s eyes that she’d guessed right.

She leaned over the counter and held out her police ID. She saw the woman’s eyes open wide.

“It’s vital that we talk to that person, right away.”

* * *

The man looking out from the gap in the door was wearing underpants, a T-shirt, and a grubby dressing gown, even though it was late afternoon. His eyes were red and a cloying, burned smell that Julia recognized all too well drifted out across the crooked front steps. She cautiously took hold of the door handle from the outside.

“Eskil Svensson?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Food delivery from Isa in the kiosk.” She held up the plastic bag and let it dangle from her forefinger. The smell from it made her stomach rumble.

The man in the robe seemed just as hungry as she was. He reached out one hand for the bag without letting go of the door with the other.

At that moment Julia tugged the door toward her, which made the man lose his balance and tumble out onto the porch, where he landed at their feet. Before he had time to react, she put one knee against the back of his neck and twisted his arm behind his back. Then she winked at Amante.

“Police,” he said, sounding rather breathless. “We’d like to ask you some questions.”