FABIAN HAD BEEN BEDRIDDEN for over twenty-four hours now and recognized that he would not survive another day of rest. A few more hours, and he would likely die of boredom. It didn’t matter how much the hospital personnel nagged him about the importance of rest: the murder of Claes Mällvik — the latest twist in the case — would not give him a moment of peace.
Tuvesson also wasn’t making it easy for him to relax. She had done all she could to hide her helplessness, but her eyes had given her true feelings away: deep down, she had given up hope of solving the case. It didn’t matter to Fabian that he was officially off the investigation and stuck in hospital; it was now up to him to figure out how everything was connected — or if it even was connected.
He really wanted to leave the hospital, but his back pain was too severe. He couldn’t even get out of bed. He was paying the price for his walk down to the emergency department. He gave in and took pills to alleviate the pain; a numbing calm spread through his body. With any luck he would now be able to focus on his work — because, pain or no pain, he was going to work.
A messenger had dropped by his house to pick up his computer, cell phone charger, and some underwear. He had managed to convince the station receptionist, Florian Nilsson, to send over everything from his desk at the station to the hospital. One of the nurses helped him obtain a power bar, a shelving unit on wheels, a work lamp, and a foldable tray table that made an excellent bed desk.
He plugged the charger in and turned on his phone first. There was a message from Sonja: On the train. Theo didn’t want to come. Gave him 500 kr. so he doesn’t starve while you’re in the hospital. Please call and make sure everything’s okay. Sonja.
He called Theodor right away, but there was no answer. He called Sonja instead and tried to tell her how he was feeling, but she was only interested in knowing whether he’d spoken to Theo. He explained that he had only just got his phone charger, and promised to try again as soon as they were done talking. “Then I think we should hang up now,” she said.
Fabian really didn’t want to hang up and so he asked how she and Matilda were doing. Sonja said they’d been to the Gröna Lund amusement park with her sister and the cousins, and they’d had a wonderful time. “Listen, I have to go now. Call Theo.”
“I love you,” he said, and waited for her response.
“Call me as soon as you’ve talked to him.”
Fabian dialled their new home number and listened to the phone ring again and again, echoing slowly into the ether. He tried Theodor’s cell again, but the voicemail came on after only three rings. He was probably playing video games in his room. Fabian promised himself he would try to get Theo to leave his room more, to help him do something other than imaginary killing.
An officer wearing a uniform that was at least two sizes too small opened the door.
“We have a delivery here for you — just a couple of things from the station.”
The messenger came in with a box stuffed full of binders and documents, and handed him a sheet of paper to sign.
“I don’t suppose you have the phone number of your colleague who was at my house about an hour ago picking up a computer and some other things?” Fabian asked while signing the paper.
“Pålsjögatan 17?”
Fabian nodded.
“Let me check,” he said, looking up the information. “It was Jocke the Rocker.” He found the number on his phone and showed it to Fabian, who punched the number into his own cell and dialled it.
“Hello?”
“Is this Jocke?”
“Yes. What’s this about?”
“My name is Fabian Risk. You picked up a computer and a few other things from my house earlier today... Pålsjögatan 17.”
“Listen, I’m done with work for the day.”
“I just have a quick question.”
He heard an exaggerated sigh on the other end.
“Was my son at the house when you were there? He’s fourteen and has dark, shoulder-length hair.”
“No idea. But someone was blasting Marilyn Manson as loud as it’s supposed to be heard.”
“Thanks, that’s all I wanted to hear.” Fabian hung up and felt sudden relief, something he never thought Marilyn Manson at the highest decibel would ever bring him.
Twenty minutes later, his phone flashed with a new text message: Hey Dad. Saw you called. I was out getting a kebab, just about to pay. When are you coming home?
He typed a response: As soon as the doctors let me go. My phone is back on now, so just let me know if anything happens, or even better, why not come visit A . He sent the text and wrote another: Honey, just heard from Theo. He’s apparently eating kebabs ’til they come out his ears. Kisses. F.
He put down his phone. Finally, he could get to work.