The Man from Beijing Read Online Free PDF Page B

going back indoors she noticed a police officer running along the road toward the village. She went to the gate and waited for him.
    “We’ve found the leg,” he said, clearly shaken. “The dog uncovered it about fifteen yards in among the trees.”
    He pointed toward the edge of the forest. There was more, judging from his expression.
    “Was that all?”
    “I think it’s best if you take a look yourself,” he said.
    Then he turned away and threw up. She left him to it and hurried toward the trees. She slipped and fell twice.
    When she arrived she could see what had upset the officer. In places the flesh had been gnawed off the leg to the bone. The foot had been bitten off completely.
    She looked at Ytterström and the dog handler, who were standing next to the find.
    “A cannibal,” said Ytterström. “Is that what we’re looking for? Did we arrive and spoil his meal?”
    Something touched Sundberg’s hand. She gave a start. But it was only a snowflake, which soon melted.
    “A tent,” she said. “We need a tent here. I don’t want the footprints obliterated.”
    She closed her eyes and suddenly saw a blue sea and white houses climbing up a warm hillside. Then she went back to the day traders’ house and sat down in their kitchen with the list of names.
    There must be something somewhere I haven’t noticed, she thought.
    She started to work her way slowly through the list. It was like walking through a minefield.
4
    Vivi Sundberg had the feeling that she was studying a memorial to the victims of a major catastrophe, a plane crash or a sunken ship. But whowould raise a memorial for the people of Hesjövallen who had been murdered one night in January 2006?
    She slid the list of names to one side and stared at her trembling hands. She was unable to keep them still.
    She shuddered, and picked up the list once again.
    Erik August Andersson
Vendela Andersson
Hans-Evert Andersson
Elsa Andersson
Gertrud Andersson
Viktoria Andersson
Hans Andrén
Lars Andrén
Klara Andrén
Sara Andrén
Elna Andrén
Brita Andrén
August Andrén
Herman Andrén
Hilda Andrén
Johannes Andrén
Tora Magnusson
Regina Magnusson
    Eighteen names, three families. She stood up and went into the room where the Hanssons were sitting on the sofa, whispering to each other. They stopped when she entered.
    “You said there weren’t any children in this village? Is that right?”
    They both nodded.
    “And you haven’t seen any children during the last few days?”
    “When sons or daughters of the old folk come to visit, they sometimes bring their own children with them. But that doesn’t happen often.” Sundberg hesitated before continuing.
    “Unfortunately there is a young boy among the dead,” she said. She pointed at one of the houses. The woman stared at her, eyes wide open.
    “You mean he’s dead as well?”
    “Yes, he’s dead. If what you’ve written is accurate, he was in the house with Hans-Evert and Elsa Andersson. Are you sure you don’t know who he is?”
    They turned to look at each other, then shook their heads. Sundberg went back to the kitchen. He’s the odd one out, she thought. Him and the couple living in this house, and Julia who suffers from dementia and has no conception of this catastrophe. But somehow or other, it’s the boy that doesn’t fit in.
    She folded up the sheet of paper, put it in her pocket, and went out. A few snowflakes were drifting down. All around her was silence. Disturbed only by an occasional voice, a door being closed, the clicking of a forensic tool. Erik Huddén came toward her. He was very pale. Everybody was pale.
    “Where’s the doctor?” she asked.
    “Examining the leg.”
    “How’s she doing?”
    “She’s shocked. The first thing she did was to disappear into a restroom. Then she burst out crying. But there are more doctors on the way. What shall we do about the reporters?”
    “I’ll speak to them.”
    She took the list of names from her pocket.
    “The boy doesn’t have a