Read Online Bubble: A Thriller by Anders de La Motte - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anders de La Motte
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register had said.
They had got rid of almost all Dad’s belongings after his death, but Mom had been adamant about keeping the keys.
You never know when you might need a key, so we’ll keep those . . .
Presumably that was the reason Henke had clung to them.
Half of the keys were so old that the metal had started to decay, others were bent and worn with use, but when she looked more closely she saw that there were at least five or six keys for bicycle locks, and a couple that looked like they belonged to mopeds or motorbikes, so—just as she had hoped—it looked like Henke had gone on adding to the collection . . .
So what did the key to a safe-deposit box look like?
A sudden noise interrupted her thoughts. Someone had opened the door to the storeroom.
Problems?
Don’t give up, we can help you!
070-931151
The note was stuck right over the keyhole. The wording was the same as before. Probably the same note, which suggested his neighbor had worked out where it came from. But right now he really didn’t care.
His brain was working in top gear. He had wandered around half of Södermalm trying to digest what he had seen.
If what had happened at Slussen wasn’t just his imagination, if what he had seen had been real, then wasn’t everything he had experienced over the past two years . . . well, what?
Fucking hell!
His headache from earlier that morning kicked into overdrive and made him pinch the bridge of his nose in reflex. He tore down the note and pulled the keys to the flat from his pocket.
A noise off to his left made him jump and he stood there with the key in the lock. His heart was practically beating a hole in his chest, forcing him to take a few deep breaths to lower his heart rate. Damn, he was twitchy!
Nice and easy now . . .
He glanced cautiously at his neighbor’s door. The sound had come from there, he was sure of that, in fact he even recognized it from the previous day. A security chain rattling against the inside of a door. A chain didn’t start to swing of itsown accord, so someone must have managed to nudge it. His new neighbor was heading out.
For reasons he couldn’t explain, his need to know who his new neighbor was felt much stronger today than it did yesterday, so he waited a few more seconds, all the while staring at his neighbor’s door. But nothing happened. The door remained closed.
He was just about to turn away when he thought he saw movement through the peephole. A vague shift from light to dark, as if someone had put his eye to the hole. And suddenly he was sure someone was standing on the other side of the door.
Watching him . . .
He quickly turned the key in the lock, forced open his crooked front door, and slammed it quickly behind him.
♦ ♦ ♦
She held her breath as she listened in the direction of the door. She thought she could hear footsteps in the distance. Even if it was just lard-ass Sunesson shuffling along in his Birkenstocks, she didn’t feel like letting him know which case she was poking around in. She quickly dropped the bunch of keys in her bag and closed the box again. The steps were approaching along the main passageway.
Hard heels on the concrete floor. A pair of proper shoes, unlike Sunesson’s sandals or a beat officer’s boots. Not many people in Police Headquarters wore shoes like that, and whoever this was, she felt no great desire to bump into him. But the only way out was along that main passageway . . .
She gently lifted the box back into place on the shelf.
The steps were slowly getting closer, steady, almost military.
She looked around and took a few quick steps farther down the aisle. One of the bottom shelves on the same side was empty, and on the spur of the moment, she crouched down and crept into it.
The footsteps were close now, but a large box on a pallet blocked the line of sight to the corridor. All she had to do was wait until the person had gone past and then creep out as quietly as
They had got rid of almost all Dad’s belongings after his death, but Mom had been adamant about keeping the keys.
You never know when you might need a key, so we’ll keep those . . .
Presumably that was the reason Henke had clung to them.
Half of the keys were so old that the metal had started to decay, others were bent and worn with use, but when she looked more closely she saw that there were at least five or six keys for bicycle locks, and a couple that looked like they belonged to mopeds or motorbikes, so—just as she had hoped—it looked like Henke had gone on adding to the collection . . .
So what did the key to a safe-deposit box look like?
A sudden noise interrupted her thoughts. Someone had opened the door to the storeroom.
Problems?
Don’t give up, we can help you!
070-931151
The note was stuck right over the keyhole. The wording was the same as before. Probably the same note, which suggested his neighbor had worked out where it came from. But right now he really didn’t care.
His brain was working in top gear. He had wandered around half of Södermalm trying to digest what he had seen.
If what had happened at Slussen wasn’t just his imagination, if what he had seen had been real, then wasn’t everything he had experienced over the past two years . . . well, what?
Fucking hell!
His headache from earlier that morning kicked into overdrive and made him pinch the bridge of his nose in reflex. He tore down the note and pulled the keys to the flat from his pocket.
A noise off to his left made him jump and he stood there with the key in the lock. His heart was practically beating a hole in his chest, forcing him to take a few deep breaths to lower his heart rate. Damn, he was twitchy!
Nice and easy now . . .
He glanced cautiously at his neighbor’s door. The sound had come from there, he was sure of that, in fact he even recognized it from the previous day. A security chain rattling against the inside of a door. A chain didn’t start to swing of itsown accord, so someone must have managed to nudge it. His new neighbor was heading out.
For reasons he couldn’t explain, his need to know who his new neighbor was felt much stronger today than it did yesterday, so he waited a few more seconds, all the while staring at his neighbor’s door. But nothing happened. The door remained closed.
He was just about to turn away when he thought he saw movement through the peephole. A vague shift from light to dark, as if someone had put his eye to the hole. And suddenly he was sure someone was standing on the other side of the door.
Watching him . . .
He quickly turned the key in the lock, forced open his crooked front door, and slammed it quickly behind him.
♦ ♦ ♦
She held her breath as she listened in the direction of the door. She thought she could hear footsteps in the distance. Even if it was just lard-ass Sunesson shuffling along in his Birkenstocks, she didn’t feel like letting him know which case she was poking around in. She quickly dropped the bunch of keys in her bag and closed the box again. The steps were approaching along the main passageway.
Hard heels on the concrete floor. A pair of proper shoes, unlike Sunesson’s sandals or a beat officer’s boots. Not many people in Police Headquarters wore shoes like that, and whoever this was, she felt no great desire to bump into him. But the only way out was along that main passageway . . .
She gently lifted the box back into place on the shelf.
The steps were slowly getting closer, steady, almost military.
She looked around and took a few quick steps farther down the aisle. One of the bottom shelves on the same side was empty, and on the spur of the moment, she crouched down and crept into it.
The footsteps were close now, but a large box on a pallet blocked the line of sight to the corridor. All she had to do was wait until the person had gone past and then creep out as quietly as
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