Saga Bauer looks at her watch and says they have to go. Daniel Marklund makes a halfhearted joke about manning the barricades, but there is fear in his eyes.
“We’re going to hit you hard,” Saga says. “Hide that knife. Don’t make any resistance. Give up at once, hands high, and don’t make any sudden moves.”
She and Joona leave the tiny room.
Daniel watches them go, and still sitting in the desk chair, dumps the bayonet knife into the wastebasket.
Joona and Saga wend their way through the labyrinthine headquarters of the Brigade and exit onto Hornsgatan. Saga rejoins Göran’s task force. They’re gathered in Nagham Fast Food and are chowing down on french fries. Their eyes are shining and hard as they wait for orders.
It comes two minutes later as fifteen heavily armed security police pour from four black trucks. The SWAT team forces all the entrances open and floods the inside with tear gas. Once they trample in, they find five young people sitting on the floor with their hands over their heads. They’re led outside cuffed with plastic strips.
The security police take the Brigade’s weapons into custody: one old military pistol, a Colt, as well as a decorative rifle, a shotgun with its barrels bent, and a carton of cartridges. Additionally four knives and two throwing stars. They were fairly poorly armed.
Driving along Söder Mälarstrand, Joona picks up his mobile phone and calls his boss. After two rings, Carlos answers, pressing the Talk button with his pen.
“How do you like the Police Training Academy, Joona?” he asks.
“Not there.”
“I know, since—”
“Penelope Fernandez is still alive.” Joona interrupts him. “She’s running for her life.”
“Who says so?”
“She says so. She left a message on her mother’s answering machine.”
Carlos’s end of the connection falls silent. Then he draws a deep breath.
“Okay. She’s alive. All right … what else do we know? She’s alive, but—”
“We know that she was alive thirty hours ago at the time she made the call,” Joona says. “And that someone is after her.”
“Who?”
“She wasn’t able to say, but—if it’s the same man I ran into, we absolutely don’t have any time to lose.”
“You’ve said you believe this man is a professional killer.”
“I’m absolutely sure of that. The man who attacked Erixson and me was a professional hit man … a grob.”
“A grob?”
“Serbian for ‘grave.’ These guys are expensive. They usually work alone. They’re well paid to follow orders precisely.”
“It all seems a bit far-fetched.”
“But I’m right,” Joona says doggedly.
“You always say that, but how has Penelope got away from this kind of killer? It’s been two days,” Carlos says.
“If she’s still alive, it’s because his priorities have shifted.”
“You still think he’s searching for something?”
“Yes,” Joona replies.
“What is it?”
“Don’t know for sure, but maybe a photo …”
“Why do you think so?”
“That’s my best theory at the moment.” Joona quickly relates what he found at Penelope’s apartment: the books taken out of the shelf, the picture with the lines of poetry, Björn’s quick visit and how he held his hand over his stomach when he was leaving, the palm print on the glass door, the bits of tape, and the corner of a photograph.
“So you think the killer is after that photo?”
“I believe he started in Björn’s apartment. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he poured out petrol and turned the neighbour’s iron on high. The alarm went to the fire department at five past eleven that morning and before they could even get the fire under control, the entire floor had been destroyed.”
“That evening he kills Viola.”
“He probably assumed that Björn had taken the photograph on the boat so he followed them, went on board, drowned Viola, and then searched the entire boat with the intention of sinking it afterwards. Something made him change his mind. He left the archipelago, returned to Stockholm, and searched through Penelope’s apartment—”
“You don’t think he found the photograph, do you?” asks Carlos.
“Either Björn has it on his person or it is hidden at a friend’s place or in a safe-deposit box. Any place at all, really.”
Silence on the line. Joona can hear Carlos breathe deeply.
“But if we find it first,” Carlos says, thinking out loud, “and this killer finds out we have it, then all of this is over.”
“That’s right,” Joona says.
“Because … if we on the force, we the police, see it, then it’s not a secret anymore. It will cease being something to kill over.”
“I only hope it’s that easy.”
“Joona, I can’t … I can’t take this case away from Petter, but I presume—”
“—that I’ll be busy lecturing at the Police Training Academy,” Joona says.
“That’s all I need to know,” Carlos says with a laugh.
On the way to Kungsholm, Joona checks his voicemail and finds a number of messages from Erixson. In the first, Erixson says he can keep working from the hospital. Thirty minutes later, he asks if he can’t be part of the work on the ground, and twenty-seven minutes later he yells that he’s going crazy without anything to do. Joona calls him and after two rings, he hears Erixson’s tired voice go “Quack.”
“So I’m too late?” Joona asks. “You’re already crazy?”
Erixson hiccups as a reply.
“I don’t know what you know,” Joona says. “But we’re in a big rush. Yesterday morning Penelope Fernandez left a message on her mother’s answering machine.”
“Yesterday?” Erixson was immediately alert.
“She said someone was chasing her.”
“Are you on the way here?” Erixson asks.
There’s noise on the line and Erixson asks someone to leave him alone. Joona hears a woman’s strict voice telling him it’s time for physical therapy and Erixson hissing back that he’s on a private call.
Erixson pumps Joona for information, and Joona obliges. He explains that Penelope and Björn were not together in the apartment on Sankt Paulsgatan the night before Friday. She was picked up by taxi at exactly 6:40 a.m. and was driven to the television station to be part of a debate. A few minutes after the taxi left, Björn entered the apartment. Joona tells Erixson about the palm print on the glass door, the tape, and the corner ripped from a photograph. He says he’s convinced that Björn had waited for Penelope to leave the apartment so he could get the photo quickly without her knowledge.
“And I believe that the person who attacked us is a hit man and he was looking for that photograph when we surprised him.”
“Maybe so,” Erixson whispers.
“It wasn’t his priority to kill us. He just wanted to get out of the apartment,” Joona says.
“Otherwise we would be dead.”
“We can conclude that the hit man doesn’t yet have this photograph,” Joona continues. “If he’d found it on the boat, he wouldn’t have bothered with Penelope’s apartment.”
“And it’s not at her place because Björn had already taken it.”
“My theory is that his attempt to blow up the place means that the man behind all this doesn’t really need the photo in his hand, he just wants it destroyed.”
“But why would such a photograph hang on the door of Penelope’s living room? And why is it so damned important?” asks Erixson.
“I have a few theories,” Joona says. “Most likely Björn and Penelope took a photograph of something and left it in plain sight because they didn’t realise that it was documenting evidence and what that evidence really meant.”
“That’s right,” Erixson chortles.
“As far as they knew, the photo wasn’t something they needed to hide, let alone that someone would murder for it.”
“But then Björn changes his mind.”
“Maybe he figured something out. Maybe he realised that it’s dangerous and that’s why he went to get it,” Joona says. “There’s still a great deal we don’t know. Now we’ve just got to slog along through routine police work.”
“Exactly!” Erixson exclaims.
“Can you gather everything you can find—all the telephone calls made this past week? All text messages? All bank withdrawals? All that stuff: receipts, bus tickets, meetings, activities, working hours—”
“I sure as hell can!”
“On the other hand, maybe you should just forget about all that,” Joona says. “Isn’t it time for your physical therapy?”
“Are you pulling my leg?” Erixson says, hardly able to hold back his indignation. “What is physical therapy anyway but hidden unemployment?”
“But you really ought to rest,” Joona teases. “Maybe another tech guy—”
“I’m flipping out just sitting here!”
“You’ve only been on sick leave for six hours.”
“I’m climbing the walls!”