holes straight through the double floors to the room beneath. It’s no longer possible to determine which part of this apartment floor had been Björn Almskog’s.
Plastic sheets in the windows keep out the sun and present a strange green face to the street.
Nobody had been injured in the fire at Pontonjärgatan 47 because most people had been at work. The first call had come into Emergency Central at 11:05 a.m. Even though the Kungsholm fire station was relatively close-by, the fire had been so fierce that four apartments were completely destroyed.
Joona mulls over his conversation with Fire Inspector Hassan Sükür. Sükür had said it was “strongly indicated” that the fire had started in Lisbet Wirén’s apartment. She was Björn Almskog’s eighty-eight-year-old neighbor. She’d gone out to convert a small winning on a lottery ticket into two new tickets, and couldn’t remember if she’d left her iron on. The fire had spread rapidly, and all signs pointed back to her apartment and the iron on her ironing board.
Joona surveys all the blackened apartments on this level. Nothing is left of any of the furniture in the rooms except individual twisted metal fragments, parts of a refrigerator, a bed frame, a sooty bathtub.
Joona turns and walks back down. The walls and ceiling of the stairwell are smoke damaged. He stops at the police tape, turns, and looks back up at all the blackness.
As he bends to go under the plastic tape, he notices that the fire inspectors have dropped a few DUO bags, used for preserving volatile liquids, on the floor. He continues past the green-marble entrance hall and out the main door onto the street. As he heads toward the police station, he calls Hassan Sükür again. Hassan answers at once and turns down the background sound from his radio.
“Have you found traces of flammable liquids?” Joona asks. “You’d dropped some DUO bags on the floor and I was wondering—”
“Let me give you some facts. If you pour flammable liquid on something, that’s the first thing to burn—”
“I know, but it was—”
“I, on the other hand, I am one who always finds whatever there is to find,” Hassan continues. “It often runs into gaps between the floorboards or into the double floor, or the fiberglass, or the underside of the double floor, which might have survived the fire.”
“But not at this site,” Joona says as he continues walking down the hill on Handverkargatan.
“Nothing at all,” Hassan replies.
“But if you knew where traces of flammable liquid might collect, you might be able to avoid detection.”
“Of course … if I were a pyromaniac, I would never make a mistake like that,” Hassan says cheerfully.
“But in this case you’re sure the iron brought on this blaze?”
“Yes, it was an accident.”
“So,” Joona states, “case closed.”
20
the house
The darkness of night is giving way to morning, even in the forest. Penelope and Björn move back toward the beach together but angle farther south, away from the house where the party had been. Away from their pursuer.
As far from their pursuer as they possibly can go.
Spotting another house between the trees, they start to run again. It’s about half a kilometer away, maybe even a little less. They hear the roar of a helicopter overhead somewhere but the sound fades as it moves on.
Björn looks dizzy; Penelope fears he won’t be able to keep running much longer. His bare feet are raw.
A branch breaks behind them. Perhaps underneath a human boot.
Penelope begins to run as fast as she can through the forest.
As the trees thin out more, she can see the house again. It’s just one hundred meters away. Lights in the window reflect on the red paint of a parked Ford.
A hare leaps up and jumps away over moss and twigs.
Panting and terrified, Penelope and Björn run up the gravel driveway and clamber up the stairs to the house. They spring inside.
“Hello? We need help!” Penelope
Plastic sheets in the windows keep out the sun and present a strange green face to the street.
Nobody had been injured in the fire at Pontonjärgatan 47 because most people had been at work. The first call had come into Emergency Central at 11:05 a.m. Even though the Kungsholm fire station was relatively close-by, the fire had been so fierce that four apartments were completely destroyed.
Joona mulls over his conversation with Fire Inspector Hassan Sükür. Sükür had said it was “strongly indicated” that the fire had started in Lisbet Wirén’s apartment. She was Björn Almskog’s eighty-eight-year-old neighbor. She’d gone out to convert a small winning on a lottery ticket into two new tickets, and couldn’t remember if she’d left her iron on. The fire had spread rapidly, and all signs pointed back to her apartment and the iron on her ironing board.
Joona surveys all the blackened apartments on this level. Nothing is left of any of the furniture in the rooms except individual twisted metal fragments, parts of a refrigerator, a bed frame, a sooty bathtub.
Joona turns and walks back down. The walls and ceiling of the stairwell are smoke damaged. He stops at the police tape, turns, and looks back up at all the blackness.
As he bends to go under the plastic tape, he notices that the fire inspectors have dropped a few DUO bags, used for preserving volatile liquids, on the floor. He continues past the green-marble entrance hall and out the main door onto the street. As he heads toward the police station, he calls Hassan Sükür again. Hassan answers at once and turns down the background sound from his radio.
“Have you found traces of flammable liquids?” Joona asks. “You’d dropped some DUO bags on the floor and I was wondering—”
“Let me give you some facts. If you pour flammable liquid on something, that’s the first thing to burn—”
“I know, but it was—”
“I, on the other hand, I am one who always finds whatever there is to find,” Hassan continues. “It often runs into gaps between the floorboards or into the double floor, or the fiberglass, or the underside of the double floor, which might have survived the fire.”
“But not at this site,” Joona says as he continues walking down the hill on Handverkargatan.
“Nothing at all,” Hassan replies.
“But if you knew where traces of flammable liquid might collect, you might be able to avoid detection.”
“Of course … if I were a pyromaniac, I would never make a mistake like that,” Hassan says cheerfully.
“But in this case you’re sure the iron brought on this blaze?”
“Yes, it was an accident.”
“So,” Joona states, “case closed.”
20
the house
The darkness of night is giving way to morning, even in the forest. Penelope and Björn move back toward the beach together but angle farther south, away from the house where the party had been. Away from their pursuer.
As far from their pursuer as they possibly can go.
Spotting another house between the trees, they start to run again. It’s about half a kilometer away, maybe even a little less. They hear the roar of a helicopter overhead somewhere but the sound fades as it moves on.
Björn looks dizzy; Penelope fears he won’t be able to keep running much longer. His bare feet are raw.
A branch breaks behind them. Perhaps underneath a human boot.
Penelope begins to run as fast as she can through the forest.
As the trees thin out more, she can see the house again. It’s just one hundred meters away. Lights in the window reflect on the red paint of a parked Ford.
A hare leaps up and jumps away over moss and twigs.
Panting and terrified, Penelope and Björn run up the gravel driveway and clamber up the stairs to the house. They spring inside.
“Hello? We need help!” Penelope
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