Slowly We Die Read online

  Mattias kept his distance even though he knew that the patient was in a drug-induced sleep.

  “What’s up with you? I was just joking,” Sofia said, noticing Mattias’s nervousness. “He’s never shown the slightest sign of waking up when I’ve been here. He’s hardly even moved—he’s been lying just like this every single time I’ve come in.”

  “But theoretically he could wake up if the medicine isn’t strong enough.”

  “Oh, just relax,” she said.

  “But, really, what would happen if he did?”

  “He’s not going to wake up,” she said. She walked over to the bed and spoke to the patient in a calm voice telling him that it was time for his shot.

  “Why are you talking to him if he can’t hear you?”

  “Force of habit, maybe?”

  She held the syringe full of sedative in her left hand and lifted the blanket up with her right.

  “Could you give me a hand?” she asked.

  Mattias went over and stood beside her, then reached over and wiped the skin of the patient’s upper arm with an alcohol swab. Danilo Peña’s body looked thin, he thought. He had probably lost a lot of muscle mass while lying in that hospital bed.

  Mattias walked around the bed and tossed the swab into the wastebasket as he watched Sofia move the syringe closer to Peña’s upper arm.

  “Sweet dreams,” she said.

  Just then, Peña’s hand twitched and his eyes opened. Sofia jumped back and dropped the syringe on the floor. It rolled under the bed.

  “Is he awake?” asked Mattias, who had backed up several steps toward the door.

  “No. Look, his eyes are cloudy, unfocused. He’s still unconscious. But I wasn’t prepared for him to... I mean, I was just so surprised.”

  She leaned over to pick up the syringe, stretching her arm under the bed, but it had rolled out of reach.

  “It’s on your side. Could you pick it up while I prepare a new one?”

  Mattias looked nervously at the patient before kneeling down on the floor. He could see Sofia’s feet and legs as he searched under the bed.

  The syringe lay far back against the wall; his name tag and the pens in his chest pocket scraped against his chest as he wriggled in to reach it.

  Just then, he heard a thud above him. He looked around but couldn’t see Sofia’s legs anymore.

  “Sofia?” he said, getting up quickly, his hand gripping the syringe.

  His body flooded with adrenaline when he saw that the blanket had been cast off and the bed was now empty.

  Draped across the chair next to the bed was Sofia, her arms hanging limply and her eyes closed.

  Mattias stared at her, his heart pounding so hard that it thundered in his ears. Not until then did he realize that he should press the alarm button and call for help, or call for the guard. But his body refused to obey him.

  He took a step back, turned slowly and discovered the patient standing completely still behind him, just two steps away, his fists clenched and his eyes dark.

  Mattias gripped the syringe harder and raised it, as if to defend himself.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Peña said hoarsely, stepping toward the nurse.

  Mattias tried to jab the syringe into Peña, but his arm movement was too predictable. Peña caught his arm instead and twisted it, causing a sharp pain to shoot through Mattias’s body.

  “What do you want?” Mattias whimpered. “Just tell me what you want, I can help you...”

  The pain in his arm rendered him unable to say anything more. He couldn’t stand it any longer, and the syringe slipped from his hand and fell to the floor.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  “What?”

  “Take off your clothes. Now!”

  “Okay, okay,” Mattias said, but remained standing. He felt paralyzed, as if he were completely incapable of moving.

  Only when Peña repeated the words a third time did he finally understand. As he pulled his white shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor, he noticed Peña’s monitor wires came loose and dropped to the floor.

  “Pants, too.”

  Mattias glanced toward the door.

  “Are you stupid? Hurry up.”

  The blow to his face came so quickly, Mattias didn’t have time to react. He touched his mouth gingerly and felt warm blood between his fingers.

  Peña leaned over and picked up the syringe.

  “Please,” Mattias said, “I’ll do whatever you want...”

  “Your pants.”

  Mattias quickly undid the drawstring on his white pants, pulling them down past his knees. He tried to pull one leg out, but his white gym shoe got caught in the fabric. He lost his balance and fell sideways. He felt a sharp pain in his hip as he landed on the floor but continued tugging on his pants leg.

  He finally got his shoes and pants off and noticed the goose bumps covering his skin. He thought about his son, Vincent, who always got undressed so slowly. He always had to nag the boy when it was time to take a bath or go to bed. Now he promised himself that he would never nag him again. Never again, he thought, feeling a lump forming in his throat.

  “You forgot your socks. Come on!”

  Mattias pulled off his 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?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “And monitored the buses?”

  “We’ve checked them. Nothing.”

  “Paratransit services?”

  “Nothing there, either.”

  “And taxis?”

  “We’ve checked with all companies, but we got nothing.”

  “So how are we going to get him this time?” she asked with a sigh.

  “The BOLO has already gone out. But he could just as easily still be somewhere on the hospital campus.”

  “I hardly think so,” Mia said, wrinkling her nose. “And the guard?”

  “He’s still missing. Danilo probably took him with him.”

  With a practiced motion, Henrik lifted the plastic police tape. He held it up for Mia before he ducked under it himself and walked with heavy steps toward Ward 11.

  He squinted at the bright spotlight shining from Room 38 and saw forensic technician Anneli Lindgren crouching down in the middle of the hospital room. Her white protective coverall rustled as she stood up. She pulled off her mask and nodded toward them.

  Henrik stepped inside, then Mia followed. Both looked around. The air was warm, and a red handprint was visible on the floor.

  “We’ve lifted footprints from Danilo Peña, so we know he got out of bed here—” Anneli gestured to the right side of the bed “—attacked the female nurse here, knocking her unconscious. She fell onto the chair, where we found her.”

  “And the other nurse?” Mia asked.

  “He was passed out in the bed when we came.”

  “In the bed?”

  Anneli nodded.

  “Naked,” she added.

  Henrik shoved his hands into his pockets and turned his gaze toward the door.

  “So Danilo Peña forces Mattias Bohed to take off his clothes and lie in bed, then Peña dresses in Mattias’s scrubs, asks the guard to unlock the door and leaves the room.”

  Henrik walked slowly to the door.

  “So when Peña leaves the room...” he repeated, stepping into the hallway. “He attacks the guard, but doesn’t leave him here.”

  “Probably takes him with him because he wants to use him as a hostage,” Anneli said. “But no one has seen either of them. Not yet, anyway.”

  Henrik looked up at the ceiling and stroked his hand over his chin.

  “So he leaves the ward with the guard’s help, but doesn’t go to the main entrance...”

  “No, he likely goes down this fire exit over here,” Anneli said, pointing to the end of the hallway.

  “Show me.”

  They walked through the ward past a series of rooms and stopped outside the door that was the fire exit.

  “We haven’t had time to go through all the elevators yet,” Anneli said, “but look at this.” She pointed to a bloody fingerprint on the doorframe. “But I have to get back now,” she said.

  “Okay,” Henrik said. He listened to her footsteps become fainter as he stayed and examined the fingerprint. Then he carefully opened the fire exit door, walked slowly down the staircase to the next level and stood in front of that stairwell door, which he examined just as carefully. As he was about to turn the door handle, he noticed another bloody fingerprint. He slowly opened the door to Ward 9. Down the hallway, a television was blaring an interior decorating show. Henrik heard the show’s music along with the voice of the host, who apparently was teaching viewers how to build a stepladder. Henrik
headed in that direction. As he passed the room, he saw an older woman in floral pants sitting on a couch, her gaze fixed on the TV set.

  He walked by a number of other rooms, their doors all closed.

  At the end of the hallway, he noticed that the door to a storage closet was ajar.

  As he surveyed the area, he could still hear hammering coming from the TV as he tried to count how many civilians might be in the vicinity. Suddenly he heard a moan from the storage closet.

  He drew his weapon and held his breath for a moment. Then he pushed the door all the way open with his left hand, his weapon pointed straight into the darkness.

  “Police!” he yelled, but then lowered his weapon, his heart still pounding when he saw it wasn’t Danilo Peña in the closet.

  It was the guard.

  * * *

  Jana Berzelius didn’t bother waiting for the stoplight to turn green before crossing Albrektsvägen and speeding along Gamla Övägen. As she drove, she mentally replayed the call she had just gotten from chief physician Alexander Eliasson that said her mother was dead.

  A dreamlike feeling spread through her body, and she became increasingly surprised at her reaction. Her mother—not her birth mother, but the woman who had adopted her—had been one of the few people with whom she’d had something resembling a relationship.

  But had she loved her?

  No, maybe not.

  When she had first received the news about Margaretha, she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, smash something to pieces. Why couldn’t anyone in her life stay safe! But instead she had stood in her office, quiet and still, as if not to let the pain in, not to grant it space within her. Then, without a word to anyone, she had left her office, gone down the stairs, taken a deep breath of spring air and gotten into her car.

  At the main entrance to Vrinnevi Hospital, where the ambulance had taken her mother, Jana noticed a heavy police presence. But she didn’t think much of it as she stepped through the emergency room doors.

  A man with a high forehead and a silvery gray beard put his hand out and greeted her kindly.

  “Hi, I’m Dr. Alexander Eliasson. We spoke on the phone.”

  She introduced herself.

  “I’m anxious to know the cause of death,” she said.