The Silenced. Литагент HarperCollins USD

and worked out what happened, who did what and why.”

      “I get it. So Pärson’s going to shuffle a few papers to keep this from affecting your statistics.”

      “Something like that,” she mumbled.

      “Great,” Amante said in a tone that suggested he meant the exact opposite. Silence fell inside the car as he studied her.

      Julia pulled up at a red light. She went on staring straight ahead to avoid meeting his gaze. Even so, he seemed to have read her mind.

      “You still think Sarac is our victim, don’t you?”

      She realized she was biting her lip again and made a mental note to stop doing that.

      “I haven’t seen any evidence to prove that he isn’t. The fact that Pärson says Sarac is locked up is one thing, but I know him well enough to assume he hasn’t called to check. If he even knows where to start. I’ve made a few calls myself, but no one seems to know where Sarac is.”

      She turned to look at Amante.

      “What about you? What do you think?”

      “I was actually thinking of asking if you had any plans for the weekend.” He smiled that cryptic little smile again, and for a moment she thought he was going to ask her out.

      “Why?” she said, more abruptly than she intended.

      “Well, if you’re free, I wondered if you fancy a little trip up north.”

      “Where to?”

      “Pick me up at one o’clock tomorrow and you’ll find out.”

      The car behind them blew its horn and Julia realized the lights had turned green.

       Three

      A monotonous four-hour drive—that was what Julia’s Saturday afternoon had consisted of so far. Back roads, fir forests, and wildlife fences.

      This wasn’t how she had imagined the weekend. She had been planning to work out, finish the book she never seemed to get to the end of, go to the movies, or do one of the other things that got her through weekends when she wasn’t working. Instead she was sitting behind the wheel, glancing at Amante as he watched the GPS bubble on the screen of his smartphone.

      “Turn right here.” Amante pointed toward an anonymous-looking side road. “One kilometer of country road, then we’re there.”

      “Okay.”

      She wondered how he’d found out the address of the nursing home; she’d even asked him about it when she picked him up outside his apartment. But, as usual, all she got in response was that tentative little smile.

      About half an hour earlier they had stopped at a gas station to look at the map and see what Amante’s smartphone could tell them about their destination. The satellite picture showed what looked like a manor house with two wings. Surrounding the main building was a large park that stretched all the way down to a small lake. If you zoomed in really close, you could just make out the walls and fences surrounding the entire property. But as they approached the facility, none of that was visible apart from a section of wall, a security lodge, and a large metal gate. All you could see from the gate was tall, well-established trees in the park beyond.

      Julia drove slowly into the visitors’ parking lot and turned the engine off.

      According to Google, the home had originally been built as a sanatorium. Over the years it had been an adult education college and an old people’s home. According to one five-year-old article, it had been sold and turned into a nursing home, but that was about it. It wasn’t even possible to find a phone number for the main switchboard, so, whatever they were doing there, they were keen to avoid publicity—which seemed fairly logical if they were treating patients with PTSD. The female security guard behind the glass hatch was similarly welcoming.

      “Sorry.” The speaker fixed in the reinforced glass gave the guard’s voice a metallic clang. “All visits need to be authorized in advance. Those are the rules.”

      Amante raised his ID higher, pressing it against the glass.

      “Like I said, we’re police officers, and we’re conducting an investigation. It’s extremely important that we see David Sarac.”

      “If it’s that important, then you should have spoken to the senior consultant and got him to arrange a visit. Anyway, you’re not a police officer; it says you’re a civilian investigator on your ID.”

      Amante took a sharp breath, but Julia put her hand on his shoulder before he could say anything else. Arguing with a guard was never a good idea. She recognized the type all too well. Low-level employees who were given a tiny bit of power and made the absolute most of it. She stepped forward and held her own ID up against the glass just as Amante had done.

      “I’m a police officer,” she said. “And, like my partner just said, it’s very important that we see one of the patients here. His name is David Sarac.”

      The guard leaned closer to the glass. Read her name on her ID. “Look here, Detective Inspector … Gabrielsson. You see those signs?”

      She pointed to a yellow rectangle with black lettering hanging above her head. Then at another one a short distance away on the heavy metal gate.

      “This is a secure site. That means no unauthorized access. Under any circumstances. And seeing as neither you nor your colleague appear on the list of names, that means you aren’t authorized, whether you’re police officers or not. Those are the rules. People have lost their job for less.”

      “What sort of nursing home gets classified as a fucking secure site?”

      Amante’s sudden outburst took Julia by surprise. She squeezed his arm and got him to shut up. The guard glared at him.

      “We look after soldiers here: people who have been in wars. According to the Security Police, that makes it a potential target.”

      Amante opened his mouth to reply, but Julia squeezed his arm again, harder this time. What was wrong with him?

      “Rules are rules,” she said to the guard. “Obviously we appreciate that you’re just doing your job. You’ll have to excuse my colleague: the case we’re investigating is pretty serious. A lot of pressure.”

      She looked over toward the metal gate. The sign on it was bright yellow, but it was already bleached by the sun. And the barbed wire on top of the wall didn’t look new.

      “We’ll call the senior consultant and come back tomorrow.” She bustled Amante a couple of steps toward the car before she turned round again. “By the way, how long has the home been classified as a secure site?”

      “Since sometime last winter,” the metallic voice replied.

      “Do you remember which month?”

      The guard glared at Julia, then at Amante.

      “Early March. Why?”

      “Oh, no reason. Just curious. Thanks for your help.” She nodded to Amante to get in the car. She didn’t say anything until the doors were closed. But he beat her to it.

      “Coming here was a long shot—I said that before we set off—but maybe if we wait until it gets dark—”

      “And do what?” Julia interrupted. “Climb over the wall? Break in through a door? Smash a few windows at random?” She shook her head. “We have no idea what the inside of the building is like. And if our suspicions are right and Sarac is our dead body, then we’re looking for someone who isn’t even in there.”

      Amante looked suddenly sullen. “Sorry I dragged you up here for nothing. We could have waited till Monday, I could have asked my contact to