The one-eyed woman did not like the police.
This was made abundantly clear, and he wished he had introduced himself as a family member instead.
‘So what?’ she said. ‘I could see the girl was sick, so I rang for an ambulance. What’s it got to do with you?’
‘We’re really more interested in the man,’ explained Barbarotti. ‘He said he was her father when he checked in, is that right?’
‘That was what he said, yes,’ the woman agreed truculently, and lit a cigarette.
‘How did he behave when he got back? After the girl had been taken off to hospital, I mean?’
‘Behave?’
‘Yes,’ said Barbarotti. ‘What did he say? What did he do?’
‘Has he broken the law? Why are you asking me this?’
Barbarotti thought for a moment. ‘He’s dead,’ he said. ‘We’re looking into the circumstances of his death and some others. Please just answer my questions. This will only take five minutes if we do it here and now, four hours if I have to take you to the police station.’
That did the trick. To some extent, anyway. ‘You don’t say?’ she said irritably, taking a couple of drags on her cigarette. She tapped the ash into a sort of bowl on the desk in front of her. The bowl looked like half a shrivelled brain and Barbarotti hoped it was an imitation, but couldn’t be entirely sure.
‘Yeah well, he came storming in here,’ she went on. ‘He was in a right state. He shouted: where’s the girl? Luckily there was another client in here – a retired boxer, his name’s Bausten, he sleeps here now and then. He strong-armed the old guy into a corner and told him to shut up.’
‘I see,’ said Barbarotti. ‘And what then?’
She took another drag on her cigarette and shrugged.
‘Well, then he went off to their room. I thought it would be best to leave him alone. Half an hour later I saw him drive off.’
‘And he didn’t come back?’
‘No, he didn’t. I checked the room a bit later. There was no one there, but he’d paid in advance, so I wasn’t worried.’
‘And you’ve no idea where he was heading next?’
‘None at all.’
Barbarotti paused for thought again.
‘And the girl?’ he asked. ‘Can you tell me anything about her?’
‘She was completely out of it,’ said the one-eyed woman. ‘An overdose or something, I don’t know.’
‘It wasn’t an overdose,’ said Barbarotti. ‘Did the man ask which hospital they took her to?’
‘No.’
‘He didn’t say where he was going?’
‘No.’
‘Is there anything else you want to add?’
‘Not a word.’
Bloody hell, thought Gunnar Barbarotti. I hope Backman is having better luck.
Eva Backman observed the girl, who had just opened her eyes. The thought ran through her mind that she looked like a sparrow.
‘So this is you?’ she said.
‘What?’ said the girl.
Her voice was just a whisper and Backman took the cup of water that was on the bedside table and helped her drink a little.
‘So you’re Anna Gambowska?’
‘Yes . . . yes, I am. Who are you?’
‘My name’s Eva Backman,’ said Backman. ‘I’m a police inspector from Kymlinge in Sweden. Do you know where you are?’
‘Police?’
‘Yes. Do you know where you are?’
Anna Gambowska looked around cautiously. ‘I . . . I must be in hospital.’
Backman nodded. ‘Quite right. Do you know which one?’
She shook her head.
‘You’re in the Gemejnte Hospital in a town called Maardam.’
‘Maardam . . .’ whispered the girl. ‘He talked about Maardam.’
‘Who?’
No answer.
‘Who talked about Maardam?’
‘Valdemar.’
‘Valdemar Roos?’
‘Yes . . .’ An anxious, restless look came into Anna’s eyes. ‘Where is he?’
Eva Backman put a hand on her arm. She made eye contact and held it for a few seconds before she replied, deciding not to beat about the bush.
‘We think he’s dead, Anna.’
‘Dead? Valdemar’s . . . dead?’
‘Yes, it looks quite likely.’
‘How . . . I mean . . . how did he die?’
‘If he is dead, he chose that path himself.’
At first she did not seem to fully understand, but then she nodded. She closed her eyes and seemed to be clenching her jaw. Backman waited quietly. When the girl opened her eyes again they were brimming over with tears, and she did nothing to stop them. She simply let them flow, keeping her hands clasped on her chest as she lay there. She looked almost as if she was praying. After a while, Backman passed the girl some tissues, and she dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose.
‘I . . . I can understand it,’ she said. ‘Yes, I really can.’
‘You mean you can understand Valdemar doing that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you tell me why you’re in hospital?’ asked Eva Backman. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
The girl thought about this, her eyes scanning Backman’s face as if looking for something. Some kind of reassurance . . . or confirmation.
‘You can trust me,’ said Eva Backman. ‘I know almost everything that’s happened, but I’d just like hear it from you, as well.’
Anna Gambowska nodded again and dried her eyes.
‘He hit me on the head,’ she said. ‘Steffo did, I can’t remember it but that must have been what happened. Then, when I woke up, Steffo was dead, it was just Valdemar and me, and we . . . well, we ran away, you could say. I mean, we couldn’t stay there . . . we just couldn’t.’
‘But Steffo hit you over the head with an iron bar?’
‘Yes . . . yes, I’m sure of that bit. Even if I don’t remember the actual blow.’
‘How did he die?’ asked Backman.
She looked as if she was thinking and then she cautiously shook her head.
‘I don’t know. I’ve tried and tried, but it won’t come back. He chases me out of the house with that iron bar in his hand . . . I’ve got this dim picture of him putting his hand up ready, but it keeps fading away . . .’
‘Do you know how he died?’ asked Backman.
‘A knife,’ said Anna Gambowska. ‘Valdemar said he was stabbed in the stomach and bled to death.’
‘Who was holding the knife?’
‘Valdemar said he did it.’
‘But?’
‘But I don’t know. I’ve got this feeling I had a knife in my hand . . . so maybe . . . it’s all so fuzzy, sometimes I think I just dreamt it all, but of course that can’t be—’
Eva Backman cut in, taking hold of her hand.
‘Anna,’ she said. ‘You can forget that. It was Valdemar who killed Steffo, just like he said.’
‘Are you sure?’ the girl asked.
‘I’m sure,’ Eva Backman confirmed. ‘Are you tired?’
She nodded and attempted a smile. ‘Yes, quite tired.’
‘I just need to ask you one more thing. Do you remember anything about getting a puncture, you and Valdemar?’
‘A puncture?’
‘Yes.’
‘No, I don’t remember that. But we drove such a long way and I . . . I was asleep a lot of the time. It’s because of my head, I think . . .’
‘You don’t remember Valdemar talking to a police officer while he was changing the wheel?’
Another shake of the head. ‘No . . . no, I’m sorry . . .’
‘Tell you what,’ said Backman, releasing her hand. ‘I think you need to rest now. If I come back this afternoon or tomorrow to talk to you a bit more, would that be OK?’
‘That’ll be OK,’ said Anna Gambowska. ‘Am I going to . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘Am I going to get better?’
Eva Backman smiled at her. ‘The doctor says you will.’
‘Does my mum know I’m here?’
‘We’re trying to arrange for your mum to come tomorrow. Your little brother, too. Then you can all fly home together when you’re strong enough.’
‘Thank you,’ said Anna Gambowska, and closed her eyes. ‘Thank you so much. And I’m so sorry that Valdemar . . .’
Then she ran out of words.
Backman stood up. A tough junkie bitch? she thought. Pull the other one.