Marked For Life. Emelie Schepp

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ see if you can find anything new. Anything at all would do in the present situation.”

CHAPTER NINE

      AT FIRST THE girl had cried hysterically. But now she felt calm. She had never felt like this before. Everything happened as if in slow motion.

      She sat with her now heavy head bent over her thighs, her arms hanging limply from her sides, almost numb now. The engine in the van in which they were traveling growled weakly. Her thighs were stinging. She had wet herself when her captors had gripped her hard and pushed a needle into her arm.

      Now she looked slowly up toward her left upper arm at the little red mark. It was really tiny. She giggled. Really tiny. Teeny weeny. The syringe was also really tiny.

      The van jerked and the asphalt turned into gravel. The girl leaned her head back and tried to balance its weight so that she wouldn’t bang herself against the van’s hard interior. Or against somebody else. They were sitting tightly packed, all seven. Danilo, who was next to her, had cried too. The girl had never seen him cry before, only smile. The girl liked his smile and always smiled back at him. But now he couldn’t smile. The silvery bit of tape was stuck hard over his mouth, and he breathed in what air he could through his dilated nostrils.

      A woman sat opposite them. She looked angry. Terribly, terribly angry. Grrrr. The girl laughed to herself. Then she sank down again with her head against her thighs. She was tired and most of all wanted to sleep in her own bed with the doll that she had once found at a bus stop. The doll with only one arm and one leg. But it was the finest doll the girl had ever seen. The doll had dark curly hair and a pink dress. She missed her doll dreadfully. The doll was still back there with Mama and Papa. She would fetch her later, when she came back to the container.

      Then everything would be all right again.

      And they would go back.

      Home.

CHAPTER TEN

      THE SECURITY CAMERA film had just arrived by messenger from the security firm. Ola Söderström opened the package and quickly inserted the little hard disk into his computer. He immediately started looking through the images, which gave a good overview of Östanvägen. Unfortunately the rotating camera lens didn’t reach all the way to Hans Juhlén’s house. Judging by the angle, the camera must have been about two meters above the ground, perhaps three, and provided an adequate coverage so that you could register everything on the street. The quality was good and Ola was pleased with the sharpness. He fast-forwarded past Sunday morning. A woman with a dog walked by, a white Lexus left the street and then the woman with the dog came back again.

      When the clock counter showed 17:30, he slowed down the speed. The empty street looked cold and windy. The overcast weather made it hard to detect any movements and the street lighting was of poor quality.

      Ola was wondering whether it was possible to adjust the brightness so that he could see the scene more clearly, when he suddenly caught sight of a boy.

      He froze the image. The counter showed 18:14.

      Then he let the recording continue. The boy cut across the street quickly and then vanished out of view.

      Ola reversed the disk and looked at the sequence again. The boy was wearing a dark hooded sweater that hid his face well. He walked with his head down and both hands stuck inside the big pocket on his stomach.

      Ola sighed. He rubbed his hand over his face and up through his hair. Just a child on his way somewhere. He let the footage continue and leaned back with his hands clasped behind his head.

      When the counter showed 20:00, he still hadn’t seen anything. No movement. Not a single person. Not a car had passed during those two hours. Only the boy. At that moment, Ola realized what he had seen. Only the boy.

      He got up so fast from the chair that it fell backward onto the floor with a crash.

      * * *

      “You seem to be in a good mood.”

      Gunnar gave a start when he heard Anneli Lindgren’s voice. She stood in the doorway with her arms folded over her chest. Her hair was tied back in a tight ponytail that accentuated her clear blue eyes and high cheekbones.

      “Yes, I’ve just been promised the call logs,” he said. “It helped when I made a fuss.”

      “Well now, is that all it takes to put you in a good mood?” said Anneli.

      “Yes, it is, I can tell you. Shouldn’t you be on your way?” Gunnar said.

      “Yes, but I’m waiting for some support. It’s a big house to work through. I can’t get through it all on my own.”

      “I thought you liked working alone.”

      “Sometimes, sure. But you tire of it after a while. Then it’s nice to have company by your side,” Anneli said and tilted her head.

      “But you don’t have to go through everything again. Just take what’s of interest.”

      “Well, that’s obvious. What do you take me for, huh?” Anneli straightened her head and put her hand on her waist.

      “And talking about going through things,” said Gunnar, “I’ve been tidying in the storage room and found some stuff that belongs to you.”

      “You’ve been tidying the storage room?”

      “Yes. What of it?” Gunnar said and shrugged his shoulders. “I needed to get rid of some junk and I found a large cardboard box with ornaments in it. Perhaps you’d like them back?”

      “I can fetch them later in the week.”

      “No, better if I bring the box to work. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see if those lists have arrived as promised.”

      Anneli was just about to leave the room when she almost bumped right into a stressed Ola Söderström in the doorway.

      “What is it?” said Gunnar.

      “I think I’ve found something. Come and see!”

      Gunnar got up from his desk and followed his colleague Ola into the computer room.

      Ola, twenty years his junior, was tall and thin with a pointed nose. He was dressed in jeans, a red checked shirt and, like every other day of the year, a cap. Regardless of the temperature on the thermometer, be it minus or plus thirty degrees Celsius, he had his cap on. Sometimes it was red, sometimes white. Sometimes striped, sometimes with a check pattern. Today it was black.

      Gunnar had told Ola many times that he should avoid wearing headgear during working hours, but he finally gave up because his irritating hat was trivial compared with Ola’s skill with computers.

      “Look at this.” Ola pressed some keys and the recorded tape started to play. Gunnar saw the little boy on the film.

      “He turns up at exactly 18:14,” said Ola. “He cuts across the street and seems to be on his way up toward Östanvägen, toward Hans Juhlén’s house.”

СКАЧАТЬ