Page 113 of The Sleepwalker
Åke moves over to the fridge and returns with a jam jar without a label. He then fetches a plate of small grey balls, possibly some type of dumpling.
‘You’ve gotta try some of our snacks and must.’
‘Thanks,’ says Gregory, popping one of the balls into his mouth. It crunches between his teeth as he chews.
‘Knut! Come and open the bottle,’ says Åke.
The boy brings the axe down on the chopping block and shuffles over to the table with his head bowed. His face is grubby, his thin body covered in bruises.
He takes the bottle from his father and holds it out to the police officers like a waiter in a restaurant.
‘Who wants a sup, then?’ Åke asks as he takes a seat.
‘Go and get Lotta,’ Joona tells him.
‘He’ll have some,’ says Åke, ignoring him and pointing atPeck.
The boy unscrews the lid, fills the mug in front of Peck and takes a step back. Joona opens his windbreaker slightly in case he needs to access his gun.
‘Try the must,’ says Åke.
Peck pretends to take a sip.
‘Very nice.’
The boy fills the remaining mugs with the murky liquid and leaves the bottle on the table. The pungent aroma of alcohol and raw onion hangs over them for a moment before dissipating in the wind.
‘Give it a proper go,’ says Åke.
Peck does as he is told and immediately grimaces.
‘It’s quite bitter, but .?.?.’
‘You should ask for a Baileys next time,’ Gregory tells him, taking a drink from his own mug.
‘What d’you reckon, then?’ asks Åke, turning to Gregory with a strange glimmer in his eye.
‘Nice and strong.’
A grubby-faced girl in a pink nightie appears from the side of the garage. She is holding a struggling rabbit by the ears in one hand, its long back feet practically dragging on the ground.
‘Might as well sit here and enjoy ourselves for a bit,’ says Åke. ‘The chicken balls and drinks are on me, and you can to tell me exactly why you want to talk to Lotta.’
He smiles, revealing that he has no molars.
‘We can come back next week,’ says Joona.
‘Like hell.’
The boy scratches his arm. His lips have taken on a bluish tinge.
Small snowflakes swirl through the air above the gravel.
Gregory pops another chicken ball into his mouth and chews noisily.
The young girl is staring at them. The rabbit in her hand has stopped struggling, but its nose is still moving in time with its rapid breathing.
‘Doesn’t seem like you’re going to tell me why you’re here, huh?’ Åke mutters.
