Page 111 of The Sleepwalker
‘God .?.?.’ Gregory says with a sigh. ‘I was at the range .?.?. when was it? Might’ve been last year, or the one before that.’
‘But you carry out your function checks regularly .?.?.?’
‘Yeah, of course,’ he replies.
‘Peck?’
‘Not always,’ the younger man admits, eyes on the ground.
‘Do you carry backup weapons?’
Gregory shakes his head.
‘But I’ve always got one of these on me,’ says Peck, holding up a distress flare.
‘He got lost as a trainee,’ Gregory explains with a laugh.
‘It’s funny, I know,’ Peck tells Joona, ‘but seriously .?.?. it gets super dark out here in the country .?.?. Everything looks the same – all the fields, forests, barns. Mile after mile after mile.’
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Without a word, Gregory and Peck open the boot of their car and put on their body armour. They pull on their coats over the top, then follow Joona down the narrow road towards the turnoff to Rickeby.
‘These politicians, they always promise lower petrol prices .?.?. We fell for it last time, and we’ll fall for it next time, too,’ says Gregory. ‘Because the truth is that unrealistic promises sound better than realistic ones .?.?. It’s like a self-playing piano.’
‘You could always vote for one of the left-wing parties instead .?.?.’ Peck suggests hesitantly.
‘What was that?’
‘I said—’
‘I can’t hear a fucking word you say,’ Gregory cuts him off. ‘You talk like a little bitch.’
‘Easy,’ Joona warns him.
The road meanders through a dark field, snow lingering in the furrows in the earth, a hunting stand over by the edge of the woods.
‘Tougher sentences, the politicians say .?.?. and the journalists, they lick their arses like dogs,’ Gregory continues. ‘But tougher sentences won’t make a fucking bit of difference. We don’t have the bloody capacity; the courts can’t keep up as it is, and the prisons are already full.’
‘What we need is preventative work,’ says Peck. ‘And a social—’
‘What?’
They pause behind a red barn right by the turnoff. The ground around them is littered with fallen roof tiles. It is hard to tell whether or not this building is also part of the Olssons’ farm.
‘Nice and quiet now,’ Joona says softly. ‘No visible weapons, no raised voices.’
They make their way down the narrow gravel track, Joona taking the lead and the two local officers bringing up the rear.
Their footsteps and breathing are the only sounds they can hear.
In the ditch, something flashes.
There is a white plastic motion detector mounted to a gatepost at one side of the road, and they have just triggered the alarm.
‘Well, they know we’re coming now,’ says Joona.
It feels as though the temperature drops as they continue.
