The Sandman - Ларс Кеплер Joona Linna

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the day concentrating on familiarising himself with the new routines, with a doctor’s round up on Ward 30, individual treatment plans and discharge tests, but his mind keeps going back to the letter in his pocket and what Jurek had said.

      At ten past five Anders leaves the criminal psychology ward and emerges into the cool air. Beyond the illuminated hospital precinct the winter darkness has settled.

      Anders warms his hands in his jacket pockets, and hurries across the pavement towards the large car park in front of the main entrance to the hospital.

      It was full of cars when he arrived, but now it’s almost empty.

      He screws up his eyes and realises that there’s someone standing behind his car.

      ‘Hello!’ Anders calls, walking faster.

      The man turns round, rubs his hand over his mouth and moves away from the car. Senior Consultant Roland Brolin.

      Anders slows down as he approaches the car and pulls his key from his pocket.

      ‘You’re expecting an apology,’ Brolin says with a forced smile.

      ‘I’d prefer not to have to speak to hospital management about what happened,’ Anders says.

      Brolin looks him in the eye, then holds out his left hand, palm up.

      ‘Give me the letter,’ he says calmly.

      ‘What letter?’

      ‘The letter Jurek wanted you to find,’ he replies. ‘A note, a sheet of newspaper, a piece of cardboard.’

      ‘I found the knife that was supposed to be there.’

      ‘That was the bait,’ Brolin says. ‘You don’t think he’d put himself through all that pain for nothing?’

      Anders looks at the Senior Consultant as he wipes sweat from his upper lip with one hand.

      ‘What do we do if the patient wants to see a lawyer?’ he asks.

      ‘Nothing,’ Brolin whispers.

      ‘Has he ever asked you that?’

      ‘I don’t know, I wouldn’t have heard, I always wear earplugs.’ Brolin smiles.

      ‘But I don’t understand why …’

      ‘You need this job,’ the Senior Consultant interrupts. ‘I’ve heard that you were bottom of your class, you’re in debt, you’ve got no experience and no references.’

      ‘Are you finished?’

      ‘You should give me the letter,’ Brolin replies, clenching his jaw.

      ‘I didn’t find a letter.’

      Brolin looks him in the eye for a moment.

      ‘If you ever find a letter,’ he says, ‘you’re to give it to me without reading it.’

      ‘I understand,’ Anders says, unlocking the car door.

      It seems to Anders as if the Senior Consultant looks slightly more relaxed as he gets in the car, shuts the door and starts the engine. When Brolin taps on the window he ignores him, puts the car in gear and pulls away. In the rear-view mirror Brolin stands and watches the car without smiling.

       6

      When Anders gets home he quickly shuts the front door behind him, locks it and puts the safety chain on.

      His heart is beating hard in his chest – for some reason he ran from the car to the house.

      From Agnes’s room he can hear Petra’s soothing voice. Anders smiles to himself. She’s already reading Seacrow Island to their daughter. It’s usually much later before the bedtime rituals have reached the story. It must have been a good day again today. Anders’s new job has meant that Petra has risked cutting her own hours.

      There’s a damp patch on the hall rug around Agnes’s muddy winter boots. Her woolly hat and snood are on the floor in front of the bureau. Anders goes in and puts the bottle of champagne on the kitchen table, then stands and stares out at the garden.

      He’s thinking about Jurek Walter’s letter, and no longer knows what to do.

      The branches of the big lilac are scratching at the window. He looks at the dark glass and sees his own kitchen reflected back at him. As he listens to the squeaking branches, it occurs to him that he ought to go and get the shears from the storeroom.

      ‘Just wait a minute,’ he hears Petra say. ‘I’ll read to the end first …’

      Anders creeps into Agnes’s room. The princess-lamp in the ceiling is on. Petra looks up from the book and meets his gaze. She’s got her light brown hair pulled up into a ponytail and is wearing her usual heart-shaped earrings. Agnes is sitting in her lap and saying repeatedly that it’s gone wrong and they have to start the bit about the dog again.

      Anders goes in and crouches down in front of them.

      ‘Hello, darling,’ he says.

      Agnes glances at him quickly, then looks away. He pats her on the head, tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, then gets up.

      ‘There’s food left if you want to heat it up,’ Petra says. ‘I just have to reread this chapter before I can come and see you.’

      ‘It all went wrong with the dog,’ Agnes repeats, staring at the floor.

      Anders goes into the kitchen, gets the plate of food from the fridge and puts it down on the worktop next to the microwave.

      Slowly he pulls the letter out of the back pocket of his jeans and thinks of how Jurek repeated that he was a human being.

      In tiny, cursive handwriting, Jurek had written a few faint sentences on the thin paper. In the top right corner the letter is addressed to a legal firm in Tensta, and simply constitutes a formal request. Jurek Walter asks for legal assistance to understand the meaning of his being sentenced to secure psychiatric care. He needs to have his rights clarified, and would like to know what possibility there is of getting the verdict reconsidered in the future.

      Anders can’t put a finger on why he suddenly feels unsettled, but there’s something strange about the tone of the letter and the precise choice of wording, combined with the almost dyslexic spelling mistakes.

      Thoughts about Jurek’s words are chasing round his head as he walks into his study and takes out an envelope. He copies the address, puts the letter in the envelope, and sticks a stamp on it.

      He leaves the house and heads off into the chill darkness, across the grass towards the letter-box up by the roundabout. Once he’s posted the letter he stands and just watches the cars passing on Sandavägen for a while before walking back home.

      The wind is making the frosted grass ripple like water. A hare races off towards the old gardens.

      He opens the gate and looks up into the kitchen window. The whole house resembles a doll’s house. Everything is lit up and open to view. He can see straight into the corridor, to the blue painting that has always hung there.

      The door to their bedroom is open. The vacuum cleaner is in the middle of the floor. The cable is still plugged into the socket in the wall.

      Suddenly Anders sees a movement. He gasps with surprise. There’s someone in the bedroom. Standing next to their bed.

      Anders is about to rush inside when he realises that the person is actually standing in the garden at the back of the house.

      He’s simply visible through the bedroom window.

      Anders runs down the paved path, past the sundial and round the corner.

      The man must have heard

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