Read Online Box 21 by Anders Roslund, Börge Hellström - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anders Roslund, Börge Hellström
Tags: Fiction, General, Fiction - General, Noir fiction, Mystery & Detective, Police, Revenge, Criminals, Sweden, Human Trafficking, Prostitutes, Stockholm (Sweden), Police - Sweden, Criminals - Sweden, Human trafficking - Sweden, Prostitutes - Sweden, Human trafficking victims
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almost let down.
They shook hands briefly, as was their habit.
What are you doing here? Ewert asked.
Russian. The guy in there doesnt speak anything else.
Bengt Nordwall was one of a handful in the force who could speak Russian. He went on to explain a little more.
A pimp was beating the shit out of one of his whores and she kept screaming to high heaven. When the police arrived they broke the door down and came face to face with that lowlife you can see over there.
Bengt pointed at a man just inside the doorway, apparently standing watch over the badly damaged door. He was in his forties, short and fat and flabby. His shiny grey suit looked expensive, but didnt suit him and didnt fit him either.
Then he waves his diplomatic passport at the lads and claims that the flat is Lithuanian territory and that the Swedish police have no right of entry. He wont hand over the woman and refuses to admit our medic. Or any other doctor, except one from the Lithuanian embassy. The victim seems to be well beyond saying anything, but the other woman in there has shouted abuse at the pimp, calling him Dimitri-Bastard-Pimp in Russian. He doesnt like it one bit, but for as long as were around, he doesnt dare do anything except shout back at her.
Sven had stopped a few steps down, by the rubbish chute between floors four and five. He was just finishing a call on his mobile and waved at Ewert to catch his attention. He closed his phone, came up the remaining steps, looking at Ewert as he spoke.
Ive just been talking to the housing association thats responsible for this place. The flat belongs to a HansJohansson, which fits with the board downstairs. Its not a regular sublet.
Ewert Grens turned to look at the man in the shiny suit, who claimed that his diplomatic status gave him the right to beat up women, and at the same time held out a hand towards the three uniformed men behind Bengt.
One of you lot, hand over a truncheon. Right, Mr Dimitri-Bastard-Pimp, try waving your diplomatic credentials this time.
As he approached the door, the smartly suited man demonstrated that he intended to block the way by taking a few steps back and holding both his arms out to the side. Ewert walked on until he was close enough to ram the tip of the truncheon into a vulnerable gap in the unbuttoned jacket, which made the body standing in his way double up. The Lithuanian representative hissed something in Russian and collapsed, clutching his belly with both hands. Ewert called out to the doctor and the ambulance men on the floor below, then waved at the officers to follow him and marched on, through a long hall and an empty sitting room.
At first he couldnt quite take in what he saw in the next room.
The bedspread was red and a woman was lying on it naked, with her back towards the door, but there seemed to be no difference between her body and the top of the bed, the red colours blending.
He had not seen anyone so badly beaten for a very long time.
The light is always the same in the Söder Hospital casualty department.
Early morning and late, lunchtime and afternoon, evening and night, the light stays on and on.
A young doctor, tall and thin, let his tired eyes follow the string of lamps in the corridor ceiling as he accompanied a patient trolley. He was trying to focus and listen properlyto what the nurse was saying. This must be the last patient on his shift, then he could go out into the other light, the kind that changed with time.
Unconscious female, almost certainly subjected to a beating. Head injuries, a broken arm and probably internal haemorrhaging. Laboured breathing. Ill call the trauma team and ITU.
The young doctor stared at her. He had had enough, didnt want to hear any more about how people went about exterminating each other.
She needs an airway.
He nodded, but stayed by the woman on the trolley for
They shook hands briefly, as was their habit.
What are you doing here? Ewert asked.
Russian. The guy in there doesnt speak anything else.
Bengt Nordwall was one of a handful in the force who could speak Russian. He went on to explain a little more.
A pimp was beating the shit out of one of his whores and she kept screaming to high heaven. When the police arrived they broke the door down and came face to face with that lowlife you can see over there.
Bengt pointed at a man just inside the doorway, apparently standing watch over the badly damaged door. He was in his forties, short and fat and flabby. His shiny grey suit looked expensive, but didnt suit him and didnt fit him either.
Then he waves his diplomatic passport at the lads and claims that the flat is Lithuanian territory and that the Swedish police have no right of entry. He wont hand over the woman and refuses to admit our medic. Or any other doctor, except one from the Lithuanian embassy. The victim seems to be well beyond saying anything, but the other woman in there has shouted abuse at the pimp, calling him Dimitri-Bastard-Pimp in Russian. He doesnt like it one bit, but for as long as were around, he doesnt dare do anything except shout back at her.
Sven had stopped a few steps down, by the rubbish chute between floors four and five. He was just finishing a call on his mobile and waved at Ewert to catch his attention. He closed his phone, came up the remaining steps, looking at Ewert as he spoke.
Ive just been talking to the housing association thats responsible for this place. The flat belongs to a HansJohansson, which fits with the board downstairs. Its not a regular sublet.
Ewert Grens turned to look at the man in the shiny suit, who claimed that his diplomatic status gave him the right to beat up women, and at the same time held out a hand towards the three uniformed men behind Bengt.
One of you lot, hand over a truncheon. Right, Mr Dimitri-Bastard-Pimp, try waving your diplomatic credentials this time.
As he approached the door, the smartly suited man demonstrated that he intended to block the way by taking a few steps back and holding both his arms out to the side. Ewert walked on until he was close enough to ram the tip of the truncheon into a vulnerable gap in the unbuttoned jacket, which made the body standing in his way double up. The Lithuanian representative hissed something in Russian and collapsed, clutching his belly with both hands. Ewert called out to the doctor and the ambulance men on the floor below, then waved at the officers to follow him and marched on, through a long hall and an empty sitting room.
At first he couldnt quite take in what he saw in the next room.
The bedspread was red and a woman was lying on it naked, with her back towards the door, but there seemed to be no difference between her body and the top of the bed, the red colours blending.
He had not seen anyone so badly beaten for a very long time.
The light is always the same in the Söder Hospital casualty department.
Early morning and late, lunchtime and afternoon, evening and night, the light stays on and on.
A young doctor, tall and thin, let his tired eyes follow the string of lamps in the corridor ceiling as he accompanied a patient trolley. He was trying to focus and listen properlyto what the nurse was saying. This must be the last patient on his shift, then he could go out into the other light, the kind that changed with time.
Unconscious female, almost certainly subjected to a beating. Head injuries, a broken arm and probably internal haemorrhaging. Laboured breathing. Ill call the trauma team and ITU.
The young doctor stared at her. He had had enough, didnt want to hear any more about how people went about exterminating each other.
She needs an airway.
He nodded, but stayed by the woman on the trolley for
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