Read Online Box 21 by Anders Roslund, Börge Hellström - Free Book Online

direction of the decorous façade.
     
‘I don’t like physical abuse cases anywhere, but it’s worse in this sort of place. Which is as a rule where they happen.’
     
He looked around. An ambulance and two police cars with their chilly blue lights rotating. Maybe ten or so curious neighbours standing about near the parked cars, not crowding in on the place, decent enough to show a little proper respect, something that didn’t always happen. The street door was held open by a rope tied to a bicycle rack. Ewert and Sven walked along the flagged path and into the lobby. Large wrought-iron numerals set into the wall near the doorway said ‘1901’. So it was built at the turn of the century. Satisfied, Ewert nodded to himself and started to study the list of tenants’ names. Four of them on the fifth floor: Palm, Nygren, Johansson, Löfgren.
     
Couldn’t be more Swedish. Only to be expected, given the kind of place it was.
     
‘Do you spot anybody familiar, Sven?’
     
‘No.’
     
‘They don’t exactly put it on show.’
     
‘You?’
     
‘No idea.’
     
Pretty poor lift, narrow with a folding grid gate, room for three, no more than 225 kilos. A uniformed policeman stood guard, an older man whom Ewert hadn’t seen around for a long time.
     
I always forget how many idiots there are in the force, he thought. Like this one. If you don’t clap eyes on them day in and day out, these sad bastards fade from your mind.
     
He smiled grimly while he observed the man.
     
Legs well apart, the stance of a cop on the telly, a cop with an important mission, keeping an eye on things as the music builds up, with lots of long notes from the string section. He might even click his heels if you asked him a question, and he’d almost certainly spell words aloud when working on a report. In short, the sort who should be allowed to guard lifts, but not much else. That sort.
     
The constable didn’t return Ewert’s smile, because he sensed the contempt. He deliberately addressed Sven when he started on his account.
     
‘We were called about an hour ago, sir. An extremely drunk pimp. And a badly beaten prostitute.’
     
‘That so?’
     
‘Yes. Some neighbours phoned the police, but by then he’d already beaten her black and blue. She’s unconscious. She needs to go to hospital. And there’s one more in there. Another prostitute, by the look of her.’
     
‘Beaten up too?’
     
‘Don’t think so. He didn’t get round to her, I suppose.’
     
Ewert listened in silence while Sven talked to the idiot guarding the lift, but eventually he couldn’t take it any more.
     
‘Alerted an hour ago! Exactly what are you waiting for?’
     
‘We aren’t allowed in. Apparently it’s Lithuanian . . .er, territory.’
     
‘What? When someone is being physically abused, you go straight in!’
     
Five bloody flights. Ewert had a problem breathing, every step cost him. He should have used the lift, but his temper had flared up and he had run past that flaming imbecile on guard duty. He heard voices discussing the case above him, getting louder as he climbed. Two ambulance men and a paramedic seemed to be conducting a case conference on the fourth-floor landing. They exchanged brief nods as he passed them. Only one more flight.
     
He was gasping for breath and out of the corner of his eye he saw that Sven was catching up with light steps. Ewert couldn’t give up now and forced his legs to move. They didn’t want to. He could hardly feel them.
     
There were four doors on the top-floor landing. One of them had a gaping hole in the panel and was guarded by three uniformed men. He didn’t recognise any of them, but further back he saw the familiar face of Bengt Nordwall, in civvies like himself and Sven. Barely twenty-four hours hadpassed since Ewert and Bengt had met on that rain-sodden morning outside the happy family home where Ewert had been given breakfast and caring attention. It was rare for their paths to cross at work, and Ewert stared at his friend, feeling