And Bronzelius is beside her, holding her shoulders and pulling her away from the car. One of the police officers motions for an ambulance.

She hears the heavy car shatter on the concrete as the police beat their way in to George, then she sees only the blinking blue lights and the stretcher and feels arms around her, hears voices saying everything will work out okay, even though she knows that’s not true.

Nothing ever works out in the end.

26 November

Stockholm

They arrive at Söder Hospital, snow whirling around the car in the yellow lights of the emergency exit. The police car stops behind the ambulance to give the emergency room staff space. There’s already a team in green and white waiting for the ambulance to arrive.

Klara starts to pull at the car door. She has to get out, get to George’s lifeless body.

‘Wait,’ says the police officer in the front seat. ‘You don’t want to disturb them now. Let them do their job first.’

She knows he’s right, knows it’s futile, knows the door is locked, still she can’t stop pulling on it. Can’t stop trying to prick this bubble, end this nightmare.

*

The young police officer stays with her in the waiting room even though his shift is over.

‘I can’t leave you here alone,’ he says. ‘Not after everything you’ve been through.’

She turns to him and stares into his dark eyes, at his short black beard. He looks Iranian, or Middle Eastern – she hadn’t noticed before, hadn’t noticed anything. Except George, and now nothing else matters any more.

‘Thank you,’ she says.

Then a doctor is standing in front of them, just inside the door. She’s in her fifties, dark hair in braids, looks like she hasn’t slept for a week, with dry, deep bags beneath her eyes.

‘Are you with the patient who arrived in the ambulance about half an hour ago?’ she asks, still standing in the doorway.

Klara nods, her voice no longer works. The lump in her throat feels so large nothing will ever get by it again.

‘We don’t have a name for him,’ the doctor says. ‘Do you know who he is?’

Klara nods again, but it is as if she has lost her voice and she can’t even get George’s name out.

‘George Lööw,’ the policeman says in a calm voice. ‘His name is George Lööw. How serious are his injuries?’

The doctor shakes her head slowly, as if she’s not sure she heard correctly. ‘Injuries?’ she says. ‘Doesn’t have any that I know of. He’s unconscious, definitely. But we think he’s been drugged or anaesthetized. All of his vitals are completely normal. We’ve sent him up to a hospital room and we’re waiting for him to wake up.’

*