The Leopard(130)

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His legs were freezing, so frozen that they were completely numb. How could that be? When the rest of his body was burning? He had screamed so loud he had no voice left; his throat was dry, dried out, riven asunder, an open wound with blood singed to red dust. There was a smell of burnt hair and flesh. The stove had seared through his flannel shirt into his back and as he screamed and screamed they fused. He melted as if he were a tin soldier. Feeling that the pain and the heat had begun to eat into his consciousness and that he was finally slipping into oblivion, he awoke with a start. The man had poured a bucket of cold water over him. The sudden relief had caused him to cry again. Then he heard the hiss of boiling water between his back and the stove and the pain returned with renewed vigour.

‘More water?’

He looked up. The man stood over him with another bucket. The mist before his eyes cleared, and for a couple of seconds he saw him with total clarity. The light from the flames through the holes in the stove flickered on his face, making the beads of sweat on his forehead glisten.

‘It’s very simple. All I need to know is who. Is it someone in the police? Is it one of those who were at Håvass that night?’

‘Which night?’ he sobbed.

‘You know which night. They’re almost all dead now. Come on.’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t got anything to do with this, you have to believe me. Water. Please. Plea . . .’

‘… se? Please as in … please?’

The smell. The smell of his body burning. The words he stuttered were no more than a hoarse whisper. ‘It w-was … just m-me.’

Gentle laughter. ‘Smart. You’re trying to make it sound like you would do anything to avoid the pain. So that I believe you when you can’t cough up the name of your collaborator. But I know you can stand more. You’re made of tougher stock.’

‘Charlotte—’

The man swung the poker. He didn’t even feel the blow. Everything went black for one wonderfully long second. Then he was back in hell.

‘She’s dead!’ the man yelled. ‘Come up with something better.’

‘I meant the other one,’ he said, trying to get his brain to work. He remembered now, he had a good memory, why was it failing him? Was he really in such bad shape? ‘She’s Australian—’

‘You’re lying!’

He felt his eyes wander again. Another shower of water. A moment of clarity.

The voice. ‘Who? How?’

‘Kill me! Mercy! I … you know I’m not protecting anyone. Lord Jesus, why should I?’

‘I know nothing of the sort.’

‘So why not kill me? I killed her. Do you hear me? Do it. Revenge is thine.’

The man put down the bucket, flopped into a chair, leaned forward with his elbows on the armrests and chin resting on his fists, and answered slowly as though he hadn’t heard what had been said, but was thinking about something else. ‘You know, I’ve dreamed about this for so many years. And now, now we’re here … I had been hoping it would taste sweeter.’

The man struck him with the poker one more time. Tilted his head and studied him. With a sour expression, probingly, he stabbed the poker into his ribs.

‘Perhaps I lack imagination. Perhaps this justice lacks the appropriate spice?’

Something made the man turn. To the radio. It was on low. The man went over to it, turned up the volume. News. Voices in a large room. Something about the cabin in Håvass. A witness. Reconstruction. He froze, his legs were no longer there. He closed his eyes and again prayed to his God. Not to be liberated from the pain, as he had been doing until now. He prayed for forgiveness, for all his sins to be cleansed by the blood of Jesus, for someone else to bear all that he had done. He had taken a life. Yes, he had. He prayed that he would be bathed in the blood of forgiveness. And then be allowed to die.





PART SIX





56


Decoy


AHELL OF LIGHTS. EVEN WITH SUNGLASSES HARRY’S EYES smarted. The sun was shining on the snow, which was shining back at the sun; it was like looking into an ocean of diamonds, of frantically glittering lights. Harry retreated from the window, although he was aware that, seen from the outside, the panes were black, impenetrable mirrors. He checked his watch. They had arrived at Håvass the previous night. Jussi Kolkka had installed himself in the cabin with Harry and Kaja, the others had dug themselves into the snow in two groups of four at opposite ends of the valley, separated by about thirty kilometres.

There were three reasons for choosing Håvass to lay the bait. First of all, because their being there made sense. Secondly, the killer would, they hoped, think he knew the area well enough to feel comfortable about an attack. Thirdly, because it was a perfect trap. The dip where the cabin lay allowed entry from only the north-east and the south. In the east the mountain was too steep and in the west there were so many precipices and crevices that you had to know the terrain very well to make any progress at all.