Part 44 (1/2)

A woman in her forties is sitting in the next doorway. Her hair is pulled up into a messy ponytail and she's wrapped in a thick jacket. She's wearing a pair of stained red shorts, and her legs are bare and covered in scabs.

'Excuse me,' Joona says.

'I'm going,' the woman slurs.

She stands up with the manner of someone who is used to being moved on, her coat falls open, revealing her cropped T-s.h.i.+rt, and she looks up.

'Liza?' Joona says.

Her eyes are watery, and her face is wrinkled and tired.

'They told me you were dead,' she says.

'I came back.'

'You came back.' She laughs hoa.r.s.ely. 'Doesn't everyone?'

She rubs her eyes hard, smearing her make-up.

'Your son?' Joona says, leaning on his stick. 'He was with a foster-family, you were going to start seeing him again.'

'Are you disappointed in me?' she asks, turning her face away.

'I just thought you'd packed this in,' he replies.

'So did I, but what the h.e.l.l ...'

She takes a few unsteady steps, then stops and leans on an overflowing rubbish bin.

'Can I get you a coffee and a cheese roll?' Joona asks.

Liza shakes her head.

'You have to eat, don't you?'

She looks up and blows some strands of hair from her face.

'Just tell me what you want to know.'

'Do you know a place called the Zone? It sounds like a lot of girls work there, it's pretty Russian, it's existed for ten years or so, and you can get hold of heroin fairly easily there ...'

'There used to be a place out in Barkarby what the f.u.c.k was it called?'

'Club Noir ... that's gone now.'

A flock of sparrows takes off from the trees.

'There's the ma.s.sage parlour out in Solna, but ...'

'That's too small,' Joona says.

'Try the Internet,' she suggests.

'Thanks, I'll do that,' he says, and starts to walk off.

'Most men are OK,' she mutters.

Joona stops and looks at her again. She's standing unsteadily with her hands on the rubbish bin, licking her lips.

'Do you know where Peter Dahlin hangs out these days?' he asks.

'In h.e.l.l, I hope.'

'I know ... but if he hasn't got there yet?'

She bends over and starts scratching her leg.

'I heard he'd moved back into his mum's flat in the Fltversten building, over at Karlaplan,' she says quietly, and stares at her nails.

75.

Erik pulls up in the car park beneath the shopping centre at Fltversten, and as they walk towards the lifts Joona explains that he's not allowed to be there.

'I've got a restraining order,' he says, and his smile makes Erik s.h.i.+ver.

On the sixth floor they walk along a dull corridor with names on letterboxes, dusty doormats, prams and trainers.

Joona rings on a door bearing an ornate bra.s.s sign with the name Dahlin on it.

After a while a woman in her twenties opens the door. There's a frightened look in her eyes, she's got bad skin and her hair is in old-fas.h.i.+oned rollers.

'Is Peter watching television?' Joona asks, walking in.

Erik follows him and closes the door. He looks around the drab hall with floral embroidery on the walls, as well as colour photographs of an old woman with two cats in her lap.

Joona pushes the gla.s.s door open with his stick, walks straight into the living room and stops in front of an older man sitting on a brown leather sofa with two tabby cats. He's wearing thick gla.s.ses, a white s.h.i.+rt and red tie, and his wavy hair has been combed over a bald patch in the middle of his head.

An old episode of Columbo is showing on television. Peter Falk puts his hands in the pockets of his crumpled raincoat and smiles to himself.

The man on the sofa gives Joona a quick glance, pulls a cat treat from a dusty bag, throws it on the floor and then smells his fingers.

The two cats jump down on to the floor without much enthusiasm and sniff the treat. The young woman limps off to the kitchen and squeezes out a dishcloth.

'Did you do your usual?' Joona asks.