Slowly We Die. Emelie Schepp

socks, and looked at Peña.

      “I have a family, a son...”

      “Get up,” Danilo said. “And get into the bed.”

      Mattias stumbled forward, lacking nearly all physical control, but he managed to stay on his feet and climb up onto the sheets. He waited, panting and trembling.

      “Now what?”

      “Lie down,” Peña said.

      “Here? In the bed?”

      “In the bed.”

      Mattias noticed the sheets were still warm as he laid his head on the pillow. He was uncomfortable but didn’t dare move. Next to the bed he noticed a heart monitor machine and IV fluid pole.

      Peña bent over and attached the heart monitor clip to Mattias, then picked up the shirt and pants from the floor, and put them on. The pants hung loosely from his waist. Then he turned back toward Mattias, pushed aside the sheet and held the original syringe over the nurse’s naked chest, a half-inch above his heart.

      “It’s time for your shot,” he said with a sneer.

      Mattias saw the needle pierce his skin. Then everything happened so quickly he didn’t have time to react as a coldness spread through his veins.

      A red dot appeared from the puncture wound and soaked into the white sheet.

      He should have felt scared, but he didn’t feel anything. All he could do was observe and register.

      Peña said something, but the words echoed as if they had been uttered in a tunnel. Mattias saw him adjust the white shirt, pick up the pen that had fallen on the floor, put it in his breast pocket and look at himself in the mirror. He smoothed both hands over his dark hair before turning again toward Mattias.

      “Sweet dreams,” he said.

      He walked toward the door. Mattias heard it unlock, open and close again.

      “This can’t be happening,” was his last thought.

      Then he felt it come. The silence.

      Followed by the chill. It began in his feet and hands, spreading slowly from his legs, arms and head in toward his heart.

      And finally, darkness.

       CHAPTER

       TWO

      Unknown caller.

      JANA BERZELIUS SIGHED, ignored the call and turned her cell phone facedown on the desk. She seldom, almost never, answered if the number was unlisted, and for the moment didn’t want to be disturbed.

      She had left the Swedish Radio offices on foot, walked down the hill and across Järnbron, picked up her briefcase from her apartment, then drove to her office in the Public Prosecution Building. Once at her desk, she cast a glance at the computer screen and began typing.

      Her cell phone rang again.

      This time she picked her phone up and looked at the display, which again read Unknown caller.

      Just then she heard a knock on the glass door. She looked up and saw her colleague Per Åström standing there with a wide grin. He waved hello with his whole hand.

      She had come to enjoy Per, and now and then they had dinner together. Per was, practically speaking, the only social company she allowed herself. She didn’t like socializing in general, and felt no need to hang out with other people just for the sake of it. To her, conversation was meant almost exclusively for the purposes of work. When she was in the courtroom, she had no problem making long statements in order to present facts, but personal conversations were a challenge—a challenge she wasn’t interested in taking on. She wanted to keep her private life private.

      Per knocked again, miming: Can I come in?

      She looked at her ringing cell phone again, then at Per standing outside the door. If she let him in, she could count on wasting more precious work time—after already having lost a whole morning at the radio studio. Per rarely kept to the short version of stories, and even if he saw her look at her watch, he wouldn’t take the hint that she had other things to do besides listening to him.

      The decision was simple.

      She shook her head at Per as if to say “not now,” which only seemed to confuse him. So she spun her chair a half turn away from him, put her phone to her ear and answered the call. “Hello, have I reached Jana Berzelius? This is chief physician Alexander Eliasson.” The voice was remarkably calm. “Is this a good time to talk?”

      She frowned.

      “What is this regarding, Dr. Eliasson?” she asked.

      “I’m sorry to call like this, but...I would like you to come down to the hospital.”

      “Why?”

      “Early this morning an ambulance was called to your parents’ house in Lindö and...”

      “How is he?”

      “I’m afraid that...”

      “My father, how is he?”

      “I’m not calling about your father.”

      “I’m sorry, I thought that...”

      She took a deep breath.

      “I’ve been trying to reach him all morning,” the doctor said. “Your father and I have been friends for a long time, you see.”

      “My father has difficulty communicating these days,” she said.

      “Yes, I know, and I’m so sorry about what happened to him.”

      “It was self-inflicted.”

      She looked out the window, watching birds soar high over the rooftops.

      “So what is it you’re calling about?”

      “I’m afraid the ambulance didn’t arrive at the hospital in time.”

      A few seconds passed as she tried to collect her thoughts.

      “Are you talking about my mother?” she said quietly.

      “Yes, I am,” the doctor said. “And I’m truly sorry, but your mother...Margaretha...has passed away.”

      * * *

      The sun peeked through the thick blanket of clouds, and the bare trees cast thin shadows over the asphalt. Detective Chief Inspector Henrik Levin pulled into a parking spot next to a Volvo and sat for a moment with his hands on the wheel. He looked at the police cruisers and knew that the forensic techs were already there.

      Officers had searched the area and collected footage from the traffic cameras. The search for Danilo Peña, who had apparently escaped from the hospital, was in full force.

      “Hello? Are you going to sit there all day?” Mia Bolander had opened the passenger door and was giving Henrik a tired look. He turned off the ignition, stepped out of the car and walked with Mia toward the main entrance.

      As they walked, Henrik surveyed the area. He saw the people’s curious looks and the uniformed officers standing with their legs shoulder-width apart on either side of the rotating doors. Then he let his gaze wander over the large parking lot to the little grove of trees and stones and back to the hospital buildings.

      “He’s probably long gone,” Mia said, registering his searching gaze. “But it’s fucking bold of him to walk straight out through the main entrance.”

      “If that’s what he did,” Henrik said. “Four buses have left the area, twenty-odd civilian cars and two ambulances, but no one saw him.”

      “Have we closed off the hospital exits?”