He's driving fast along the black road, not letting himself think that it might be too late, that time has already run out.

He has to fit the pieces of the puzzle together.

There are always questions to ask, answers still to find.

Nelly keeps repeating herself the whole time, returning to old patterns, he thinks.

There has to be a farm in Roslagen that Nelly somehow has access to.

The farm didn't belong to her family, but her grandfather may have managed it, Joona reasons. He was also a priest, and the Swedish Church owns a great deal of land and forest, and a large number of properties.

As he drives, Joona tries to think through the case again and consider everything he had read and seen long before he knew that Nelly was the person Rocky called the unclean preacher.

Everyone makes mistakes.

He needs to find something that can connect a farm in Roslagen with the video featuring Jackie.

Joona thinks about the yellow raincoat, the narcotic substances, the collection of trophies, and the way she clearly marked the places she took them from on the bodies, then about her completely ignorant husband out in Bromma, her expensive clothes, hand cream, the jar of nutritional supplements, and then he picks up his phone and calls Nils hlen.

'You've climbed up onto a very precarious branch,' hlen says. 'That escape from prison wasn't exactly-'

'It was necessary,' Joona interrupts.

'And now you want to ask me something,' hlen says, and clears his throat.

'Nelly takes iron pills,' Joona says.

'Maybe she suffers from anaemia,' hlen replies.

'How do you get anaemia?'

'A thousand different ways ... everything from cancer and kidney disease to pregnancy and menstruation.'

'But Nelly takes iron hydroxide.'

'Do you mean iron oxide-hydroxide?'

'She's got speckled hands,' Joona says.

'Freckles?'

'Blacker ... proper pigment change, and-'

'a.r.s.enic poisoning,' hlen interrupts. 'Iron oxide-hydroxide is used as an antidote to a.r.s.enic ... and if she's got dry, speckled hands, then ...'

Joona stops listening when he finds himself thinking about one of the photographs he left on the floor of his hotel room.

A picture of a two-millimetre-long splinter that looks like a blue bird's skull.

The fragment had been found on Sandra Lundgren's floor. It looked ceramic, but actually consisted of gla.s.s, iron, sand and chamotte clay.

He drives past a big red barn, and thinks that the little bird's skull was a tiny shard of slag, a by-product of gla.s.s production.

'Gla.s.s,' he whispers.

The ground around old gla.s.sworks is often contaminated with a.r.s.enic. They used to use great quant.i.ties of the poisonous semi-metal as a refining agent, to prevent bubbles and to h.o.m.ogenise the gla.s.s.

'A gla.s.sworks,' Joona says out loud. 'They're at a gla.s.sworks.'

'That could fit,' Nils hlen says, as if he had been following Joona's internal thought process.

'Are you sitting at your computer?'

'Yes.'

'Search for an old gla.s.sworks in the vicinity of Finsta.'

Joona is driving along beside a lake that shimmers in the darkness behind the trees and bushes as he hears Nils hlen hum while he taps at his keyboard.

'No ... all I'm getting is one that burned down in 1976, Solbacken gla.s.sworks in Rimbo, used to make sheet gla.s.s and mirrors ... the land is owned by the Swedish Church, and-'

'Send the address and coordinates to my phone,' Joona interrupts. 'And call Margot Silverman.'

Joona brakes sharply and turns hard right, locking the wheels. He puts the car into reverse, throwing up a shower of grit, veers backwards into the road, changes gear and puts his foot down again.

137.

Gasping with pain, Erik pokes the copper pipe through the roof of the cage, uses one bar as a pivot and tries to prise the next one up. The lever is still a bit too short, even though he hangs off the end with the whole of his weight. There's a crash as the pipe slides out. Erik falls to the floor, hitting his good arm against the mesh.

Breathing hard, he gets up and switches the torch on, and sees that he's managed to bend the metal another few centimetres.

He listens out for noises from the tunnels, but he hasn't heard anything since Nelly chased after Jackie.

Erik has scanned the cellar with the torch, but hasn't been able to find a better tool than the length of copper pipe he managed to drag towards the cage.

The welded joints of the cage are all solid and carefully made, but with the help of the pipe he's succeeded in bending one of the bars in the roof to the point where he's starting to believe it might be possible to break it. It could take hours, days, even, but it isn't completely impossible.

He pushes the pipe through the mesh in the roof, then stops.

Shuffling steps are approaching along the pa.s.sageway. Erik pulls the pipe back and hides it under the mattress, picks up the torch and listens. There's someone there, he heard right, there are footsteps approaching.

He switches the light off and thinks that he has to play along, no matter what happens. He hasn't got a choice, it would be far too easy for Nelly to kill him in the cage.

He waits in total silence, listening to the crunching footsteps and the sound of breathing in the room outside the cage.

'Erik?' Jackie whispers.

'You have to get away from here,' Erik whispers quickly.

He switches the torch on and sees that Jackie is standing a metre away from him. Her face is dirty and b.l.o.o.d.y, she's gasping for breath and seems to be in a very bad way.

'Nelly's dead,' Jackie says. 'I killed her.'

'Are you hurt?'

She doesn't answer, takes a couple of steps towards him, reaches the mesh and sticks her hand in. He strokes her fingers and shines the light up at her to look at her injuries.

'Can you manage to get out and fetch help?' he asks, stroking the hair from her blood-streaked face.

'I've got the key,' she says, and coughs weakly.

She leans against the cage, pulls the chain over her head and gives him the key.

'I killed her,' she gasps, and sinks to the floor. 'I killed another human being ...'

'It was self-defence,' Erik says.

'I don't know,' she whispers, and her face dissolves into tears. 'It's impossible to know ...'

Erik reaches his hand out beside the hatch, puts the key into the padlock, turns its and hears the click as the loop slides out of the casing.

He climbs out with the torch in his hand, and hugs Jackie on the floor. Her breathing is erratic and shallow.

'Let me look at the wound to your back,' he whispers.

'Don't worry about that,' she says. 'I need to get home to Maddy, just give me a few moments ...'

Erik shines the torch at the peeling walls, the table and shelf.

'I think the door to the kitchen is locked, but I'll go up and check,' he says.

'OK,' Jackie nods, and makes another attempt to stand up.

'Stay where you are,' Erik says, and heads up the steep steps.

On the brown, anti-slip linoleum there are b.l.o.o.d.y boot-prints. He gets up to the heavy metal door, jerks the handle down and pulls and pushes the door, but it's locked.

He yanks the handle and looks round with the torch to see if the key's on a hook anywhere, but can't find anything and goes back down to Jackie. She's managed to rise from the floor, leaning on the mesh of the cage with one hand.

'The door's locked,' Erik confirms. 'We'll have to get out through the tunnels.'

'OK,' she replies in a quiet voice.

'I think she killed the police officers who came,' he says. 'They will come and find us, but we have no idea how long that's going to take, and you need to get to hospital straight away.'

'We walk,' she pants.

'You can do it,' Erik says, putting her hand on his shoulder. 'I've got a torch, I can see where we're going.'

He leads her into the pa.s.sageway, round an armchair and a small padded footstool. Some old window frames are leaning against the wall and dusty light bulbs sit in yellowed sockets.

They cross another pa.s.sageway with steep steps leading downwards, and pa.s.s a toppled cupboard, treading carefully across the broken gla.s.s.

In the light of the torch and with Erik's help, getting through is straightforward, and they emerge into a large room with long tin washbasins, rows of taps, and cubicles with crumbling plaster.

On the ceiling there are empty strip lights with no coverings. The cables are just hanging down. A large trough full of soil stands in the middle of the floor. Rust has eaten through the green metal of the trough, and the stick that Jackie used to guide herself is lying on the floor beside it.

They carry on through the room into a corridor lined with dented clothes lockers. There's a water-pipe attached to the ceiling, but one end has come loose and is hanging down like a spear, curving under its own weight.

Erik shines the torch along the narrow pa.s.sageway. The walls have collapsed and parts of the ceiling have fallen in, the pa.s.sage is full of bricks, grit and wood, all the way up to the ceiling.

Erik opens a door and they carry on along a different tunnel, turn right, go through a rounded arch and are suddenly out in the fresh air.

They're standing in a large room, and a sharp wind is blowing. The roof has gone, and the tall chimney is visible against the dark sky. The light of the torch shimmers off a huge metal extractor hood. The tiled floor is dirty and cracked.

Tall weeds are growing through an aluminium ladder lying on the ground in front of a huge oven. Erik barely has any strength left in his injured arm, but he manages to lift the ladder and pull it free of the weeds. He shoves some fallen bricks and gravel aside with his foot and props the ladder up against the wall.

He helps Jackie to climb up, and follows right behind her. She slips and he drops the torch when he catches her. It clatters down between the rungs, hits the ground and goes out abruptly.

The pain in his arm is throbbing as though it's trapped in a piece of machinery by the time they emerge into the tall gra.s.s growing around the ruins. Jackie is leaning hard against Erik as they make their way through thistles and low bushes. An empty police car is parked up, its headlights shining straight at the yellow house. They walk past it, across the rough yard and out onto the track, away from the house.

138.

Joona is driving as fast as he can on the poor roads. Margot has organised a police operation, but he can't risk them getting there too late. The Norrtlje Police haven't been able to get any response from their patrol car in the area.

The headlights sweep across the field as he swerves onto the narrow gravel track through the forest. The tyres slide across the loose surface, unable to get any grip, but he steers into the skid and manages to overcome it. He puts his foot down again and the car thunders along the uneven track.

Two deer run across ahead of him and he brakes and sees them leap through the light and disappear among the trees.

The car judders, slowing almost to a halt as it hits a deep puddle, throwing up a cascade of water on both sides.

Joona pulls out of a bend and accelerates again. The white light stretches out along the straight track by the side of the field, forming a glowing tunnel through the darkness.