The Joona Linna Thrillers 3-Book Bundle

  They follow Joona to the steel door. One of the men checks his reserve magazine while Joona puts on his bulletproof vest.

  “Our primary goal is to get the boy out of the car and our secondary goal is to get the suspect,” Joona says as he opens the door. “If you must fire, aim for the girl’s legs first and foremost. Otherwise aim for the shoulders or arms.”

  A long metal staircase leads down to the tunnel where the subway cars wait for repairs. The only sound is the dull tramp of heavy boots.

  105

  As soon as the team reaches the tunnel, they start to move more slowly and carefully, the sound of their footsteps mere whispers against the metal-clad tunnel walls.

  They approach a buckled train that gives off a strange smell, its cars looking like dark ruins from an abandoned civilization. The beams from their flashlights flicker over the rough walls. They’re moving single file, quickly and almost soundlessly. The tracks branch out near a manual switch. A red light with a broken shade gives off a weak light, and a work glove lies forgotten in the black gravel. Dim light from induction lamps set at intervals down the tunnel allows them to see the way forward.

  Joona signals to the men to turn off their flashlights and they pass through the narrow gap between two cars with broken windows. A box of oil-covered nuts and bolts leans against the wall. Loose cables, outlets, and dusty wires surround it.

  They’re almost there now, so they move cautiously. Joona points out a car for the first sniper who climbs onto its roof, unfolds a tripod, and begins to adjust his Hensoldt sight. The others mount their weapon lights then approach the next car in the tunnel. Their quick, short breaths are the only indication of the stress they’re under, though one of the men keeps compulsively checking the clasp on his helmet. The SWAT team leader exchanges glances with the younger sniper and indicates a line of fire.

  Someone slips in the gravel and a loose stone clatters off the rail. A shiny rat jumps toward the wall and disappears.

  Joona keeps walking forward at the side of the tunnel, ahead of the others. He sees the car named Denniz on the track closest to the wall. Cables or ropes are hanging from the ceiling of the tunnel. He moves slightly sideways and notices a weak light coming through one of the car’s dirty windows. The beam of light moves like a butterfly, making the surrounding shadows grow and shrink.

  The SWAT team leader loosens a shock grenade from his belt.

  Joona stands still and listens before he resumes walking. He knows he’s now in the line of fire and that the sniper’s rifle is aimed at his back. He can see the large green gas cylinder lodged in the open door.

  When he finally reaches the car, he squats and places his ear against its metal wall. Immediately he can hear someone walking around inside.

  The SWAT team leader signals to two men. Like shadows, they run through the darkness. They are big men, but they move soundlessly. All that can be heard is the quiet scrunch of holsters, bulletproof vests, and heavy overalls in motion. Then they’re right next to Joona.

  Joona has not even drawn his pistol, but sees that the men from the SWAT team already have their fingers on the triggers of their automatic rifles.

  It’s hard to make out anything through the car’s filthy windows, but a small flashlight lying on the floor reveals boxes, empty bottles, and plastic bags. Between two seats, there’s a large bundle tied with a rope.

  The flashlight beam begins to shake as the whole car vibrates. Somewhere, a subway car is moving on another set of rails.

  Thunder rolls along the tunnel.

  They can hear weak moaning.

  Joona draws his pistol.

  A shadow moves deep inside the subway car. It appears to be a large man in jeans and sneakers crawling away.

  Joona stuffs the first bullet into the cartridge position and turns toward the SWAT team leader. He points at the man inside the subway car and gestures for the team to move on in.

  106

  The central door bursts open with a bang and the SWAT team storms the subway car. Windows are broken and shards shower down on the ripped-up seats and the floor. The gas cylinder falls with a thud and rolls through the car, the argon hissing as it escapes. All the inside doors are forced open.

  Joona steps over moldy blankets, egg cartons, and old newspapers.

  “Lie still!” someone bellows.

  They search the car section by section using the light from their weapons. They go between the seats and look through the dirty Plexiglas dividers between sections.

  “Don’t hit me!” screams a man inside the second section.

  “Quiet!”

  The SWAT team leader tapes the gas cylinder’s vent shut.

  Joona rushes toward the driver’s cab.

  There’s no sign of Vicky Bennet or Dante.

  The car stinks of sweat and old food. The walls and windows are scratched and covered with scrawls. Someone has recently eaten grilled chicken; the greasy paper is lying on the floor among beer cans and candy wrappers. Newspaper rustles beneath Joona’s feet. The light from outside is dappled by the broken windows.

  Joona reaches the driver’s cab. He’s certain the name Dennis on the key ring points to this place, where Vicky’s mother used to hide.

  The SWAT team has already broken the door open, and Joona steps inside. The cramped space is empty. The walls are covered with graffiti. A syringe without its needle is lying on the instrument panel beside pieces of sooty aluminum foil and empty plastic capsules. On the small shelf beside the pedals, there’s a package of painkillers and a tube of toothpaste.

  Joona keeps searching and finds a rusty food knife stuck to the foam under the ripped driver’s seat. There are more candy wrappers and an empty baby-food jar, which once held plum puree. Through the side window, Joona can see the SWAT team has captured the man in jeans. His face is heavily wrinkled and his eyes are wide with fear. He’s coughing blood into his beard. He’s yelling. His arms are bound behind his back with plastic handcuffs. He’s forced onto his stomach and the muzzle of an automatic rifle is pointed at the back of his head.

  Joona keeps searching the cramped cab. His eyes fly over buttons and knobs, the microphone and the stick with its polished handle, and he doesn’t know where else to look.

  Why did Vicky and her mother have keys to this place? There’s nothing here.

  He’s examining the screws fastening the grille over the ventilation outlet when his glance falls on a word scratched on the wall: Mamma.

  He takes a step backward and sees right away that everything scrawled on the walls are messages between Vicky and her mother. This must have been a place where they could meet in peace, and whenever they missed each other, they left messages:

  Mamma, they abused me, I couldn’t stay.

  I’m freezing and I need food. Have to go back, but will be here again on Monday.

  Don’t be sad, Vicky. They put me in detox so I missed you.

  Thanks for the candy.

  Sweetie!! I’m sleeping here for a while. Uffe’s a pig!! If you can leave some money, that’ll be great!!

  Merry Christmas, Mamma!

  You gotta know I can’t call you back for a while.

  Mamma, are you angry with me for something?

  107

  Joona leaves the cab and joins the SWAT team. They surround the shaggy man, who’s sitting with his back to the wall. He’s crying and seems bewildered.

  Joona takes off his bulletproof vest, squats down in front of the man, and says, “I’m looking for a girl and a little boy.”

  “Don’t hit me,” mumbles the man.

  “Nobody is going to hit you. I need to know if you’ve seen a girl here in this subway car.”

  “I didn’t touch her! I just followed her!”

  “Was she alone?”

  “I don’t know. She locked herself in the cab.”

  “Did she have a little boy with her?”

  “A boy? Yes, maybe … maybe—”

  “Answer the question!” b
arks the SWAT team leader.

  “You followed her here,” Joona says. “What did she do after she got here?”

  “She left again,” the homeless man answers. His eyes still show his fright.

  “Where did she go? Do you know where she went?”

  “That way,” the man says, using his head to make a helpless gesture toward the opening to the tunnel.

  “So she headed toward the opening? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

  “Maybe not … maybe—”

  “Answer the question!” snaps the SWAT team leader.

  “But I don’t really know,” the man snivels.

  “When was she here?” Joona asks carefully. “Was it today?”

  “She left just a minute ago,” he says. “She started screaming and then she took off.”

  Joona begins to run down the sidetrack. Behind him, he can hear the SWAT team leader take over the questioning. His voice brusque and hoarse, he demands to know if the man has done anything to the girl or molested her in any way.

  Joona runs along the rusted track to its end, up a set of metal stairs, and into a long hall ribbed with pipes running along the ceiling. At one end, there’s a large door, and the damp concrete floor before it shines with the light from outside creeping in. When Joona reaches it, he finds it is broken and is able to push his way through the gap. He’s outside, in the middle of a rough stone crossway that spans more than fifteen or so pairs of train tracks. The tracks gather like a ponytail farther up and then curve smoothly to the side.

  He can spot the thin figure of a woman farther down the embankment. She has a dog with her. A subway train starts to thunder and passes him, shaking the ground beneath his feet. Joona sees glimpses of her figure as the windows of the train flash by. He keeps running along the embankment through tall weeds and over broken glass, crushed tins, and used condoms. There’s electric buzzing and a new train approaches from Skärmarbrink. Joona has almost caught up to the thin figure. He jumps over the tracks in front of the train and grabs her thin arm. He pulls her around to face him. She’s surprised and tries to hit him, but he dodges her blow. He loses his grip on her arm, but still has her jacket. She tries to hit him again while she wriggles out of her jacket. She drops her shoulder bag and falls backward onto the gravel.

  108

  Joona pins the woman down among the thistles and browning cow parsley alongside the tracks. He grabs her hand as she reaches for a stone and tries to calm her. The dog cringes beyond arm’s reach.

  “I only want to talk to you.”

  “Fuck you!” she yells as she tries to wriggle out of his grasp.

  She kicks, but he blocks it and keeps her down. Her small breasts are heaving. She’s extremely thin and her face is wrinkled and her lips badly cracked. She’s perhaps forty years old, maybe only in her thirties. When she can’t get free, she starts to whisper soothing phrases to placate him.

  “Calm down, now,” Joona says again, and lets her go.

  She looks at him shyly as she stands up. She picks her shoulder bag up from the ground. Her filthy black T-shirt declares “Kafka Didn’t Have Much Fun Either” and her thin arms are mottled with injection scars. On the inside of her forearm there’s a tattoo, which has been cut to pieces. She runs her hand over her mouth and glances down the tracks. She shuffles sideways, testing him.

  “Don’t be afraid. I really have to talk to you.”

  “I’m busy,” she replies quickly.

  “Did you see anyone inside the subway car when you were there?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You were staying in a subway car.”

  She doesn’t reply. She shuts her mouth tightly and scratches her throat.

  Joona picks up her jacket and turns it right-side out. He hands it to her and she takes it without thanking him.

  “I’m looking for a girl who—”

  “Fuck you. I haven’t done anything.”

  “I’m not saying you have,” Joona says.

  “Well, what the fuck do you want from me, then?”

  “I’m looking for a girl named Vicky.”

  “So how does that make it my business?”

  Joona pulls out the photo of Vicky that was used for the bulletin.

  “No one I know,” she says automatically.

  “Take another look.”

  “You wanna give me some money?”

  “No.”

  “Come on, can’t you help me out here?”

  A subway train passes by them, small sparks flying from its wheels.

  “I know that you’ve been hanging out in the driver’s cab,” Joona says.

  “Susie started it,” she says, not wanting to be blamed.

  Joona shows her the photograph of Vicky again.

  “It’s Susie’s daughter,” Joona explains.

  “I didn’t know she had kids,” the homeless woman says, and rubs her nose.

  The buzz of electricity in the lines overhead gets louder.

  “How did you know Susie?”

  “We kept to ourselves in the garden plots as long as we could. I felt really bad when I ran into her. I had hepatitis and this guy, Vadim, was after me. He used to beat me up and Susie helped me out. She was a tough bitch all right, but I wouldn’t have made it through the winter without her, I wouldn’t have had a chance, but when Susie died, I took her stuff, because …”

  The woman mutters something to herself and starts rummaging through her shoulder bag. She takes out a key identical to the one Vicky had in her purse.

  “Why did you take it?”

  “Anyone would. Anyone. That’s the way it is. I took it from her before she died, even,” the woman confesses.

  “What else was in the subway car?”

  She scratches the cracked corner of her mouth and mutters “Fuck this” to herself. She takes a step to the side, farther away from Joona.

  Two subway trains are heading closer in the same direction on separate tracks. One is coming from Blåsut and the other from Skärmarbrink station.

  “I need to know,” Joona says.

  “All right, what the fuck,” the woman says, rolling her eyes. “There was some stuff to eat and a cell phone.”

  “Do you still have the cell phone?”

  The sound of metal scraping and the thunder of the subway trains keep getting louder.

  “You can’t prove it’s not mine.”

  The first subway train passes them, shaking the ground beneath their feet. Loose stones jump from the embankment and the weeds twist in the draft. An empty McDonald’s cup rolls between the other set of rails.

  “Just let me look at it!” Joona yells.

  “Yeah, right!” she laughs.

  The second train speeds by and their clothes flap in its wake. The dog next to the woman begins to bark. The woman moves backward along the embankment and says something Joona can’t hear, then she turns and starts running across the tracks. Joona has no time to react.

  The woman doesn’t see the third train coming in the opposite direction at top speed. Its thunder is drowned out by the two other trains, but now it is deafening. Yet when its front hits the homeless woman, the impact is silent. She disappears beneath the first car.

  The train screams as the brakes are slammed on, and its cars smack one another as they slow to a stop.

  Now the only sound is the buzz of insects and the far-off hum of traffic.

  The driver is sitting in his seat as if he’s turned to stone.

  A long trail of blood runs over the rails. There’s a dark clump of cloth and flesh under one of the cars. The stench of the brakes starts to spread.

  The dog starts to trot back and forth along the tracks with its tail between its legs. It doesn’t seem to know where to go or where to stop.

  Joona picks up the woman’s shoulder bag, which has landed in the ditch.

  The dog comes up to him and sticks its nose in the bag as Joona empties out its contents. Candy wrappers
flutter away in the wind, followed by a few banknotes. Joona takes the black cell phone and leaves the rest.

  He walks over to a concrete piling next to the embankment and sits down.

  The westerly wind smells of garbage and city.

  He clicks until he reaches the cell phone’s voice mail. He calls it and finds out there are two messages.

  “Hi, Mamma,” says a girl’s voice. It can only be Vicky. “Why aren’t you picking up your phone? If you’re in detox, let me know. I like this new place. Maybe I told you already the last time I called—”

  The automatic voice says, “Message: August first, eleven ten p.m.”

  “Hi, Mamma,” Vicky says. Her voice is tense and breathless. “Stuff has happened here and I need to find you. I can’t talk long. I’ve just borrowed this phone. Mamma, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go.”

  “Maybe I need to ask Tobias for help?”

  The automatic voice says, “Message: Yesterday. Two p.m.”

  The sun breaks through the clouds all of a sudden. The tops of the subway rails shine in the light.

  109

  Elin Frank wakes up. She’s in a large, strange bed. The green shine of the television clock dimly lights the bedroom of the presidential suite. She can see the decorative curtains hanging in front of the heavy curtains that block the sunlight.

  She’s been asleep for a long time.

  There’s a sweet aroma from an arrangement of cut flowers in the living room of the suite. The smell nauseates her. The air conditioner has been spreading an uneven chill, but she is still too weary to get up and turn it off or call the reception desk.

  Elin thinks about the girls in the house by the coast. One of them must know something more. There must be one witness to what happened at Birgittagården.

  That little girl Tuula was speaking and moving as if she were near the boiling point. Perhaps she saw something that she doesn’t dare tell anyone.

  Elin has a vivid mental image of the girl grabbing her hair and trying to stab her face with a fork. The memory should make her more frightened than it does.