Chapter 100
Back at the station Daniel is trying to sort out some kind of order of priority for the rest of the day. He is at his desk and has just finished updating Grip over the phone.
The news about Anton was particularly hard to pass on to their boss.
He keeps seeing Anton dropping to his knees in the middle of the road, deathly pale and with blood pouring from a gash in his forehead.
When a colleague is injured in the line of duty, it upsets everyone.
Being a police officer inevitably involves risk, but that doesn’t mean you become immune to incidents like this.
Quite the reverse—you become more cautious.
Pontus has been arrested, and is now in custody waiting for a formal interview.
Hanna has gone with Anton to the medical center so they can carry out an initial assessment. It is likely that he will be transferred to the hospital in ?stersund.
They also need to question William and Amir, especially in view of Olivia’s revelations, but at the moment Pontus is their main focus.
He hears Raffe’s rapid footsteps in the corridor; then his colleague appears in the doorway, holding his phone. He looks relieved.
“I’ve just spoken to Hanna. It seems things aren’t quite as bad as we feared, thank God.”
“What did she say?”
“The doctor has examined Anton: He has a concussion and will need stitches in his forehead. They’re sending him to ?stersund where he’ll be kept in for observation, but it could have been much worse.”
Daniel relaxes a little. A weight he didn’t even realize he was carrying is lifted from his shoulders.
“That’s good to hear. It was horrible, seeing him like that.”
“I can imagine,” Raffe replies. “According to Hanna, the doctor said the angels must have been on his side. If the hammer had struck him half an inch lower down, he could have lost the sight in his right eye.”
In spite of his relief, Daniel can’t help wondering why Anton took off on his own like that. He ought to know better than to go looking for a suspect without backup. It was pure luck that Daniel and Hanna happened to be on the scene; otherwise Pontus would have gotten away again.
But that is a discussion for another day.
“Pontus has a great deal to answer for,” he says.
“It’s a tragedy to have something like this on his conscience at such a young age,” Raffe observes. “How old is he—nineteen?”
“That’s right.”
Raffe slips his phone into the back pocket of his jeans and leans against the doorframe, looking pensive.
“Hanna asked me to tell you she’d be back soon—in case you want to wait for her before interviewing Pontus?”
“Thanks for letting me know—in that case I will wait.”
No one is better in situations like this. If anyone can get the truth out of Pontus, it’s Hanna.