away. Out through the reinforced window and the heavy steel door, leaving room for the unforgiving day. It would be a while before it grew light outside. A faint glow from the street lamps outside pushed its way in through the window and hovered like a shadow beneath the ceiling. Sanna lay motionless on her bunk.
Just a little bit longer, she prayed, but merciful sleep was gone.
She felt as if her face was completely numb. Her hand crept out from under the blanket and she caressed her lips. Pretended her hand was Sara’s soft hair. Let her nose remember the scent of Lova. She still smelled like a child, although she was turning into a big girl. Her body relaxed and sank into her memories. The bedroom at home in the flat. All four of them in the bed. Lova, with her arms around Sanna’s neck. Sara, curled up behind her back. And Virku lying on Sara’s feet. The little black paws, galloping in her sleep. Every single thing was tattooed on her skin, imprinted on the insides of her hands and her lips. Whatever happened, her body would remember.
Rebecka, she thought. I won’t lose them. Rebecka will fix it. I won’t cry. There’s no point.
An hour later the cell door was tentatively pushed open a fraction. Light poured in through the gap, and someone whispered:
“Are you awake?”
It was Anna-Maria Mella. The policewoman with the long plait and the huge stomach.
Sanna answered, and Anna-Maria’s face appeared in the doorway.
“I just thought I’d see if you wanted some breakfast. Tea and a sandwich?”
Sanna said yes, and Anna-Maria disappeared. She left the cell door slightly ajar.
From the corridor Sanna heard the guard’s resigned voice:
“For God’s sake, Mella!”
Then she heard Anna-Maria’s reply:
“Oh, come on. What do you think she’s going to do? Come out here and blast her way through the security door?”
I’ll bet she’s a good mother, thought Sanna. The sort who leaves the door open a bit so the children can hear her moving about in the kitchen. The sort who leaves a light on by the bed if they’re scared of the dark.
After a while Anna-Maria Mella came back with two gherkin sandwiches in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. She had a file clamped under one arm, and pushed the door shut with her foot. The mug was chipped, and once upon a time had belonged to “The Best Grandmother in the World.”
“Wow,” said Sanna gratefully, sitting up. “I thought it was just bread and water in jail.”
“This is bread and water,” laughed Anna-Maria. “Do you mind if I sit down?”
Sanna gestured invitingly toward the foot of the bunk, and Anna-Maria sat down. She placed the file on the floor.
“It’s dropped,” said Sanna between mouthfuls of tea, nodding at Anna-Maria’s stomach. “It’s nearly time.”
“Yes.” Anna-Maria smiled.
There was a comfortable silence between them. Sanna took small bites of her sandwich. The gherkin crunched between her teeth. Anna-Maria gazed out of the window at the heavy snow.
“The murder of your brother was so—how shall I put it—religious,” said Anna-Maria thoughtfully. “Ritualistic, somehow.”
Sanna stopped chewing. The piece of sandwich stuck in her mouth like a huge lump.
“The gouged-out eyes, the severed hands, all the stab wounds,” Anna-Maria went on. “The place where the body was lying. Right in the middle of the aisle, in front of the altar. And no sign of struggle or violence.”
“Like a sacrificial lamb,” said Sanna quietly.
“Exactly,” agreed Anna-Maria. “It made me think of a place in the Bible, ‘an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.’ ”
“It’s in one of the Books of Moses,” said Sanna, reaching for her Bible, which was on the floor next to her bunk.
She searched for a moment, then she read out loud:
“ ‘And if any harm follow, then thou shalt give life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth…’ ”
She paused and read silently to herself before continuing:
“ ‘…hand for hand, foot for foot, burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.’ ”
“Who had a reason to take revenge on him?” asked Anna-Maria.
Sanna didn’t reply, but flicked through the Bible, apparently aimlessly.
“They often put out people’s eyes in the Old Testament,” she said. “The Philistines put out Samson’s eyes. The Ammonites offered the besieged people of Rabbah peace, on condition that they were allowed to put out the right eye of every single one.”
She fell silent as the door was pushed wide open and the guard appeared with Rebecka Martinsson behind him. Rebecka’s