GUSTEN PERSSON LOVED EARLY mornings, and this one was no exception; the sun was shining as if it would never stop. But Gusten was already in a bad mood as he turned off Gruvgatan and drove into the employee parking area of Åstorp Construction Supply.
His vacation was over, and he had spent the entire weekend fixing the veranda without receiving so much as a smile from his wife, Inga. His old joke about “no kisses from the missus” had long since lost its lustre with her. He had heard from friends that menopause could be extra difficult for some women, but no one had said anything about how excruciating it could be for men.
He unlocked the door to Åstorp’s large warehouse and walked inside, locking the door behind him. There was still more than an hour left before the store officially opened after being closed for the two-week vacation break. If he didn’t lock the door, there was a risk that the building would be full of customers fifteen minutes before the store opened.
He started thinking about Thailand. Glenn had asked Gusten to join him there this coming winter. Apparently there were more willing — and, most importantly, cheap — girls than one could possibly imagine. Gusten had declined, feeling distaste at the thought of paying for sex. He had never done it and wasn’t about to start.
But after this weekend, he wasn’t so sure anymore. Why shouldn’t he get laid now and then? Weren’t his urges just as natural as Inga’s menopause? If things had been the other way around and men went through menopause while women just got hornier and hornier, prostitution would surely be acceptable. Yoga weekends would be replaced by sex weekends, and gossip magazines with porn. He wasn’t even sure if Inga’s issues were even related to menopause. Recently, it had felt more likely to him that she was using it as an excuse. As he went to turn off the alarm, he decided that he was definitely going to ask Glenn if he could still come along.
Employees had forty-five seconds to turn off the alarm after the door was opened. If you didn’t make it in time, the alarm would sound, bringing with it a minor hell of phone calls and codes before order was restored. Gusten hardly dared think about how much such an ordeal would cost. In his early days at the company, he had always worried that he wouldn’t make it to the box in time, so he’d run as soon as he opened the door. Over the years he developed a firm, instinctual understanding of exactly how long forty-five seconds was, and could now take his time getting to the box. It had almost become a game for him — to get as close to forty-five seconds as he possibly could.
But the alarm was already off today, which was unusual. Gusten wondered whether he had forgotten to turn it on when they’d closed up for vacation, or if someone else had already been here and opened the door before him. He definitely hadn’t seen any other cars in the parking lot. And the morning shift was not popular — in all the years he had been responsible for opening, the only time he had managed to get someone to cover for him was when he’d been off work for a month after a bypass operation.
Gusten walked further into the building and went on his usual morning rounds: turning on the ceiling lights, starting up the presentation videos, and putting merchandise back into place. He didn’t understand for the life of him why it was so difficult for customers to put things back where they’d found them. It was almost as incomprehensible as Inga’s grouchiness.
He stopped and looked at the window. It was definitely closed, but the hasps weren’t secured. He walked over and felt the window, which opened upward. The cable that ran to the alarm contact looked okay. There had been a lot of break-ins at the store over the years, but not a single one since they installed the new alarm system, which had cost several hundred thousand kronor almost three years ago. Gusten had been very sceptical at the time, thinking that it would be cheaper just to have a few thefts now and then. But they had made up the cost last spring, and since then they had been in the black.
He interrupted his rounds and walked to the office. He turned on the coffeemaker while waiting for the computer system to start up. He signed into his computer with his personal security code and checked the log. Glenn Granqvist had turned off the alarm last Thursday night at 2:33 a.m. Gusten was bewildered. Glenn, of all people? He picked up the phone and called Glenn.
Gusten listened to the Robert De Niro greeting on the machine, but didn’t leave a message. Glenn was probably still sleeping and needed a few more rings to wake up. He called again, but hung up after the sixth ring. Had he accidentally dialled the wrong number?
Gusten had Glenn’s number programmed into his cell phone, but he had called from the store’s landline. After all, this was a work call and there was no reason he should have to pay for it. He dialled Glenn’s number once more, checking each digit carefully. But he didn’t make it to the last one. Instead, his eyes were on the monitor, which had come to life and was switching from one security camera to the next.
There was a forklift in the middle of the doors and windows department, blocking the entire aisle. What was it doing there? It belonged down in Aisle C. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something odd about the angle, too. He leaned closer to the monitor in order to get a better look but it quickly switched to another camera.
Gusten couldn’t recall the last time he had run anywhere. The store had scooters to get around faster, but he always felt unsteady when he tried to balance on them, so he preferred to walk; he considered it his exercise. Now he wished he hadn’t given up so easily. The doors and windows department was at the other end of the building, and he was already seriously out of breath.
A rat scurried past him on the cement floor. They had plenty of rats, he knew that, but they usually didn’t show up in plain sight. Soon, another one appeared under a pallet of plasterboard, and went in the same direction as Gusten was running. What had happened? It occurred to him that he might be on Candid Camera, but he dismissed the thought almost immediately. This was no practical joke.
His heart was hammering like a machine gun and he was panting like a dog in forty-degree weather. He finally rounded the corner and could see the forklift, which was definitely in the middle of the aisle. Gusten assumed that this could have been what a burglar was after. And why not? Doors and triple-paned windows were some of the most expensive items the store carried.
Four more rats showed up from different directions and disappeared around the other side of the forklift. He could clearly see what he had suspected in the office: the forklift was reared back. The front wheels were hanging in mid-air, fifteen centimetres above the floor. The prongs were lowered, and he saw Glenn’s squashed boots between the wheels and the ground. He would know Glenn’s steel-toed, badass Doc Martens anywhere. But not even Doc Martens could withstand that much pressure. Gusten’s mind was swirling; he was as confused as a compass at the North Pole.
He heard a sound and it helped him regain focus. It was coming from the other side of the forklift. At first he couldn’t figure out what it was — a creaking or chirping? Then he realized the floor was full of rats, all running back and forth to something on the other side of the vehicle. He collected himself and walked around to take a look. The sight he encountered would haunt him for the rest of his life. Deep down, he had already realized that Glenn was dead, but what the rats had done shocked him.