Page 190 of The Sleepwalker
Around one hundred metres up ahead, a woman pushing a buggy starts to cross the road. She has earbuds in, and is looking down at something on her phone.
Danny blasts the horn, but she doesn’t hear him.
On the other side of the road, a minibus stops at the crossing to let her pass. She walks in front of it and has almost reached their lane.
‘Fuck,’ Danny mumbles, stepping on the accelerator and half-mounting the kerb, speeding past her within touching distance of the buggy.
In the wing mirror, Petrus sees her gesture angrily.
They turn sharply onto Jaktstigen, crossing the strip of snow in the middle of the road and briefly losing control of the vehicle. The back of the car swings out and hits a green rubbish bin, knocking over the fence behind it, and Danny steps on the gasagain.
During their anxious drive from the museum, they have learned that the suspected killer is armed with an axe.
They pass snow-covered oaks, flagpoles and expensive cars parked in driveways. Between the exclusive houses on the left-hand side, the frozen bay is visible.
‘It’s just up here,’ says Petrus. ‘Pull over there, d’you see where I mean? By the posts with the lights that—’
He is thrown forward and feels the seatbelt cut into his shoulder as Danny slams on the brakes.
The suspect’s Opel Kadett is parked just beyond the lamppost, a cluster of air fresheners hanging from the rear-view mirror.
They turn left and speed down the driveway to the house.
‘The suspect’s car is here,’ Petrus reports over the radio. The smell of the clementine juice on his fingers fills his nose.
Danny feels the braking system shudder through the car as he screeches to a halt outside the double garage doors.
They quickly get out and run towards the front of the house.
‘We ready for this, Pingu?’ the younger officer whispers, a cloud of breath hanging in the air in front of him.
Petrus meets his eye and nods. He pulls his pistol from his holster and loads a round into the chamber.
Danny tries the front door.
‘Locked.’
‘Get the claw,’ says Petrus.
Danny runs back to the car and returns with the heavy tool. He jams the grooved head beneath the top set of hinges and pulls back as hard as he can.
The doorframe creaks and breaks, taking the hinges with it.
Danny moves the tool down to the lower hinges and repeats the process.
‘We’re going in,’ Petrus reports over the radio.
As Danny drops the claw to the floor, he realises his fingers have started to stick to the cold metal. He draws his pistol.
The lock and the strike plate make a loud crunching sound as Petrus forces the door to open inwards. Splintered wood, bent screws and pieces of broken hinge clatter to the floor.
The two officers peer in to the spacious hallway with grey marble floor tiles and modern wooden panelling.
‘I’ll take point, like normal,’ says Petrus. ‘You cover my back and the right.’
‘Yup.’
Petrus steps inside and swings around to the left, scanning the row of closed cupboard doors.
