To the Top of the Mountain by Arne Dahl Read Free Book Online

That enormous sea urchin might have been a bed, that sculpturesque coral a TV. Maybe those algae formations on the wall were actually the remains of a person. The forensics team were literally scraping Lordan Vukotic from the walls, packing the remains into small, well-labelled plastic bags. These were then being placed into a blue plastic box marked with the droll label ‘Pathologist puzzle’. Söderstedt had a feeling that Qvardfordt, the forensic examiner, was behind this black humour; it was Qvardfordt who would be fitting all of the pieces together, in any case. Nowhere among the bags and boxes were any labels marked ‘Explosive’ or ‘Detonation mechanism’.
    ‘Amazingly little,’ Bernt Nilsson from the Security Service eventually said. ‘We can’t even establish the most basic of facts straight off. Normally you’d know what kind of explosive had been used almost immediately, but the technicians are at a loss.’
    Söderstedt prodded at an annoying, bright red patch of sunburnt skin on his otherwise chalk-white left arm. The result of a hole in his shirt. He didn’t cope especially well in the sun.
    He turned to a feverishly working technician who was apparently at a loss .
    ‘No news?’
    ‘Nope, nada,’ the technician said, continuing to scrape the wall.
    Söderstedt turned ostentatiously to the flabby Lars Viksjö from Närke CID.
    ‘Do you have a sequence of events?’
    Viksjö leafed through his little notebook.
    ‘Woken up half six, breakfast at seven. Work duty for everyone who isn’t studying from seven thirty. Vukotic was studying to become a business lawyer, so he was in his cell rather than in the workshop. We’ve got a statement saying that he “skipped” breakfast, so presumably he hadn’t left his cell at all. We haven’t got a clear picture of what this “skipped” breakfast means.’
    The prison governor looked anxious.
    ‘We don’t count people in to breakfast,’ he said apologetically.
    ‘Who was it that said he “skipped” breakfast?’ Söderstedt asked.
    Viksjö flipped frantically through his notebook.
    ‘A guard,’ he eventually said. ‘Erik Svensson.’
    ‘OK. Go on.’
    ‘The explosion took place at 08.36. Apparently everyone in this section studies, so his neighbours were in their cells too. But it seems that the charge was so precisely measured for his cell that the walls weren’t damaged. The four inmates closest to his cell are being treated for hearing loss in the infirmary, though.’
    ‘Difficult to interview them,’ Norlander chipped in, running his finger over the jet-black wall. The technician closest to him gave him a stern look. The black came off on his fingertips. It felt nauseating. Burnt cell remains – in both senses.
    ‘Could he have been tinkering with his own charge?’ Söderstedt asked, without turning to anyone in particular. ‘Was that why he didn’t turn up to breakfast?’
    ‘I find it hard to believe,’ said the prison governor. ‘Though that’s just based on my personal knowledge of him.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Vukotic was the type who’s a model of good behaviour while he’s inside for the simple reason that he wants to get out as quickly as possible.’
    ‘And become drug baron Rajko Nedic’s legal expert.’
    ‘Probably, yes. We were under no great illusions about rehabilitating him. Rather business law than aggravated assault, in any case. That’s how we have to look at it.’
    ‘But the arm of the law isn’t always especially long,’ said Söderstadt, repeating Norlander’s blunder. The black stuck to his fingertips like glue. ‘As you know,’ he added, scratching his sunburn with his black, sticky fingers. He sighed deeply and withdrew into himself.
    Viggo Norlander had, however, somewhat unexpectedly recovered and taken command.
    ‘Are any of Rajko Nedic’s other helpers in here? Who did Lordan Vukotic spend time with?’
    ‘No one admits to any contact with Nedic at all,’ said Bernt