Joona Linna: Stalker Part 32

'We don't know that,' she interrupts.

'OK, Joona's best,' Adam says.

Margot meets Erik's quizzical gaze.

'Joona fainted and ended up in A&E at St Gran's,' she says.

'When?' Erik asks, getting to his feet.

'Yesterday.'

Erik immediately picks up his phone and dials the number of a colleague in the hospital's intensive care unit, and waits as the call goes through.

'When can you talk to Rocky?' Margot asks, standing up.

'I'll head out there first thing tomorrow,' Erik says, as his colleague answers the phone.

57.

After a short conversation with the doctor at St Gran's Hospital, Erik accompanies the two detectives to the door. Katryna and Adam don't look at each other as they walk out into the hall, and Erik gets the distinct impression that they've had a row.

The three of them leave the house and are swallowed up by the darkness as soon as they move beyond the circle of light in front of the door. Erik hears their footsteps on the gravel path leading to the drive, then they come into view again when the insides of their cars light up. He returns to his study and sees that the fax of the emergency records has arrived, and that in line with correct procedure the patient's name and ID number have been blanked out.

Joona arrived by ambulance after a priority-1 call from the emergency command centre. Erik glances through the records of his blood pressure, heartbeat, breathing frequency, oxygenation, temperature and level of consciousness.

He was suffering from malnutrition, fever, confusion and poor circulation.

The triage nurse made the right call from the available evidence when she suspected that he was suffering from blood poisoning.

After checking his blood-gases and lactic acid, she allocated him triage level orange, the second highest level of priority.

Because of his variable vital signs, Joona Linna was placed in a room under close supervision and attached to a monitor.

While they were waiting for the results of his blood a.n.a.lysis they gave him broad-spectrum antibiotics and a colloid solution to help his circulation and fluid balance.

But Joona disappeared before the antibiotics could take effect.

He hadn't given an address.

Given his symptoms, his condition was life-threatening unless he received treatment.

Erik leaves his study and picks up his jacket in the hall. He doesn't bother to switch the lights off.

It's no longer raining. The night air is cool and the car windows are covered with condensation. He turns the windscreen wipers on and waits for them to clear the screen before he drives off.

It's close to midnight and the streets are almost empty. Beyond the yellow glow of the streetlamps, beyond the speed cameras and barriers and noise-reduction screens, the late summer night is as dark as heavy velvet.

He drives down Storngsleden, turns on to Centralvgen towards Dalhemsvgen, heading into an industrial area with high fences, then emerges into a patch of woodland.

There never used to be any beggars in Sweden, but over the past few years migrants from the EU have become visible in Swedish towns and cities. They've come here to plead for help, on their knees in the snow outside supermarkets, with outstretched hands and empty paper cups.

It's struck Erik several times that modern Swedes have reacted with unexpected generosity to this change, considering the country's dark history of discrimination and enforced sterilisation.

There are faint lights between the trees. He slows down and drives towards them, turning on to a gravel track, and the tiny monkey attached to his ignition key bounces up and down.

In a clearing he can see sheets flapping on a rope strung between two trees. Lengths of plywood have been nailed together, and covered with tarpaulin and plastic.

Erik turns round and parks with two wheels on the verge. He locks up and walks away from the car, staring in amongst the trees.

The air smells of potatoes and liquid gas. Four battered caravans are standing in a row, with crooked wooden shacks between them. Smoke is rising from a buckled oil-drum; glowing embers drift up, spreading a stench of burning plastic.

Joona Linna is here somewhere, Erik thinks. He's got advanced blood poisoning and is going to die unless he gets the right antibiotics very soon. No other person on the planet has done as much for Erik as the tall detective.

A woman with a shawl over her head gives him a wary look and hurries away as he approaches.

He carries on towards the first caravan and knocks on the door. On a beautiful rug beneath the caravan stand five shabby pairs of trainers of various sizes.

'Joona?' Erik says loudly, and knocks again.

The caravan sways slightly and then the door is opened by an old man with eyes made cloudy by cataracts. Behind him sits a child on a mattress. On the floor a woman is asleep, fully dressed in a woolly hat and a winter coat.

'Joona,' Erik says in a subdued voice.

A thickset man in a padded tunic suddenly appears behind him and asks what he wants in broken Swedish.

'I'm looking for a friend of mine, his name is Joona Linna,' Erik says.

'We don't want problems,' the man says with an anxious look.

'OK,' Erik says, and walks over to the second caravan and knocks on the door. It's covered with circular scorch marks, as if people had stubbed cigarettes out on it.

A young woman in gla.s.ses cautiously opens the door. She's wearing a thick sweater and baggy sweatpants with damp knees.

'I'm looking for a sick friend,' Erik says.

'Next house,' she whispers with a frightened look in her eyes.

A tired child has come over and pokes at Erik with a plastic crocodile.

Erik steps across two crutches lying on the ground and walks up to the third caravan. The windows are broken and covered with pieces of cardboard.

In the darkness between the trees an unshaven, tired-looking man is smoking a cigarette.

Erik knocks on the door and opens it when there's no answer. In the glow of a clock-radio he sees his friend. Joona Linna is lying on a damp mattress with a folded blanket as a pillow. An old woman in an old-fashioned quilted jacket is sitting beside him, trying to get him to drink some water from a spoon.

'Joona,' he says quietly.

The floor creaks as Erik climbs inside the caravan. The water in a plastic bucket sloshes with the movement. The carpet on the floor is wet with rain by the door, and there's a strong smell of damp and cigarette smoke. There are sc.r.a.ps of bluish-grey cloth covering the cardboard-patched windows. As Erik moves further inside he sees a crucifix on the wall.

Joona's face is emaciated, covered by a grey beard, and his chest looks unnaturally sunken. His eyes look yellow, and his gaze is so unfocused that Erik isn't sure if he's actually conscious.

'I'm going to give you an injection before we leave,' Erik says, putting his bag down on the floor.

Joona barely reacts when Erik pulls his sleeve up, wipes the crook of his arm with a swab, looks for a vein and then injects a mixture of benzyl-penicillin and aminoglycoside.

'Can you stand up?' he asks as he puts a plaster where he stuck the needle.

Joona lifts his head slightly and coughs emptily. Erik helps him get up on one knee. A tin can rolls across the floor. Joona coughs again, points at the woman and tries to say something.

'I can't hear,' Erik says.

'Crina needs to be paid,' Joona hisses, and stands up. 'She's ... helped me.'

Erik nods and takes his wallet out. He gives the woman a five-hundred-kronor note, and she nods and smiles with her lips closed.

Erik opens the door and helps Joona down the steps. A bald man in a crumpled suit stands outside and holds the caravan door open for them.

'Thanks,' Erik says.

From the other direction a blond man in a black, shiny jacket is approaching. He's hiding something behind his back.

Beside the next caravan stands a third man with a soot-stained saucepan in his hand. He's wearing jeans and a denim waistcoat, and his bare arms are dark with tattoos.

'You've got a nice car,' he calls out with a grin.

Erik and Joona start to walk towards the road but the blond man blocks their path.

'We need some rent,' he says.

'I've already paid,' Erik says.

The bald man shouts into the caravan and the old woman comes to the door and holds up the money she has just been given. The man s.n.a.t.c.hes the note, says something angrily, then spits at her.

'We have to collect rent from everyone here,' the blond man explains, showing the length of metal pipe in his hand.

Erik mutters in agreement and thinks it would be best just to try to get to the car, when Joona stops.

'Give the money back to her,' he says, pointing at the bald man.

'I own the caravans,' the blond man says. 'I own all this, every mattress, every single f.u.c.king saucepan.'

'I'm not talking to you,' Joona says, and coughs into the crook of his arm.

'It's not worth it,' Erik whispers, his heart pounding in his chest.

'For f.u.c.k's sake, we've got a deal with them,' the tattooed man shouts.

'Erik, get in the car,' Joona says, and limps over to the men.

'It costs more now,' the blond man says.

'I've got a bit more money,' Erik says, taking his wallet out.

'Don't do it,' Joona says.

Erik gives a few more notes to the blond man.

'That's not enough,' he says.

'Give it all back,' Joona tells the blond man feebly.

'It's only money,' Erik says quickly, and pulls out the last couple of notes.

'Not to Crina,' Joona says.

'Run home and hide before we change our minds,' the blond man grins, and points at them with the metal pipe.

58.

Joona stands still with his arms wrapped round him, leaning forward slightly. He sees the blond man change his grip on the pipe and move to the side. The bald man takes off his jacket and hangs it over a plastic chair.

Joona slowly raises his head and looks the bald man in the eyes.

'Give the money back to Crina,' he repeats.

The bald man grins with surprise and steps sideways into the darkness. There's a click as he unfolds the blade of a flick-knife.

'I'm going to hurt you if you don't drop the knife on the ground now,' Joona says in his melancholic Finnish accent, and takes a step forward.

The bald man crouches down and moves aside, holding the knife in a cla.s.sic hammer-grip, then reaches forward and takes a few trial stabs.

'Be careful,' Joona says, and coughs gently.