Back at the front door, he tried the door handle, but it was locked, as he’d suspected.

“Jana?” he called, thinking that now he really did seem like a complete idiot. But he didn’t care, not anymore, not now that worry had gripped him in all seriousness.

He stood completely still, focusing his gaze on a single point in the white snow, and listened. Not a single movement, not one sound from inside the house.

It was a mistake to have come here, he thought, turning around. He went back.

At the same moment, he heard a pistol shot from inside the house.

The echo of the report bounced quickly between the houses on the street.

At first he didn’t understand what had happened.

Then he heard yet another shot, followed by two more. The sound was loud and came so quickly that Per crouched at the gate and put his arms over his head to protect himself.

It rapidly dawned on him.

Shots had been fired inside the Berzelius house.

“Jana!” he yelled straight out into the falling snow.

But now everything was completely silent.

* * *

No pulse.

Dr. Amanda Svedlund worked quickly. She had cut through the clothes on the patient lying on the stretcher before her and placed an oxygen mask over the patient’s mouth. They had turned up the heat in the rescue helicopter.

Still no pulse.

Nurse Sofia Enberg took out the defibrillator, dried the patient’s wet chest and positioned the electrodes.

The patient’s heart was in chaos. It was trembling, unable to pump blood through the body. An electrical current could get the heart beating again, but the time factor was crucial. The time between when a heart stopped beating to defibrillation was the most important factor impacting the chances of survival. For every minute that passed, the chance of survival decreased by up to ten percent.

It was crucial that they get the patient’s heart beating as soon as possible.

Amanda listened to the computerized voice.

“Analyzing heart rhythm. Do not move the patient.”

A beat of silence.

“Defibrillation recommended. Charging now.”

The intensifying howling sound permeated the helicopter cabin. Amanda held her finger over the red blinking light on the machine, waiting, and then pushed it.

The current went through the patient’s body.

“Defibrillation complete.”

The first attempt had no effect. Amanda started the machine again. No pulse.

“Come on, now!” she said aloud, pushing with both hands on the patient’s naked chest. She counted to fifteen, tried a third time.

The patient’s heart had now been still for thirteen minutes, and the chance of survival was minimal.

Amanda felt a sinking hopelessness, but she didn’t show it.

She continued working.