The Cruel Stars of the Night - Kjell Eriksson [122]
She wandered around in the November dark for several hours before she at last saw something she recognized. The road to Victor’s house.
If she had imagined it was a matter of life and death that time, then Lindell was painfully aware that here, in Laura Hindersten’s dark basement, there was a true threat to her life. It was suddenly clear to her that Laura had murdered the three men. Even if Lindell had only been able to confirm the link between the Hindersten family and Blomgren, there was a connection also to the other two, she was convinced of that.
If you have killed three times, a fourth is no great matter. Would she be the one? Would Laura return?
Lindell groped her way around. Her foot struck the flashlight. She bent down and picked it up, pulled the mechanism back and forth but it remained dark. The glass had been smashed. She shook it, and suddenly it started to shine. Only faintly, but enough light so she could orient herself.
She inspected the cardboard boxes and realized that they had saved her life. The door opening to her left led in toward what she believed to be a boiler room. The beam of light traveled over an old boiler. In one corner there was a bathtub. Wooden boxes with old junk were piled up along one wall.
She trained the light in the other direction. There was a narrow corridor that apparently ran the whole length of the house. There was an old rag-rug on the floor. It looked completely out of place. There were small nooks on either side. Lindell decided to search the entire basement and started with the boiler room.
It took her a quarter of an hour to go through everything. It was completely windowless. The most exciting thing about it was probably the wine cellar that took up an entire room in the part that Lindell figured out faced the garden. There were hundreds of dusty bottles that were clearly arranged according to vineyards. From what she could see all the wine was produced in Italy.
The light from the flashlight was growing weaker. She turned it off and ended up standing at the foot of the stairs. The ache in her shoulder had modulated into a smarting pain that made itself known whenever she moved carelessly. She had tested the strength of her arm but found that it was essentially useless. She could barely hold the flashlight with her right hand.
She turned it on again and directed the beam upward. She crept silently up the stairs, avoiding the third step from the top, and pushed down the door handle. The door was locked. She had not found any tools or objects that she could use to force the door.
The door and frame looked solid but the lock was not particularly complicated. With the right tools she could easily have picked it. But she had nothing. And her right arm ruled out more forceful methods.
She pressed her ear to the door but a deathly silenced reigned in the house. Had Laura left? Lindell started to sweat. There was still blood trickling down her forehead. Strangely enough she felt hungry. Good god how she longed for a cup of coffee and a pastry from the Savoy cafe. She sat down on the top step and tried to clear her mind, but all she could think about was that she had to find a way out. There was only one possibility and that was through the door. There must be something in the basement that could be used to pick the lock. A wire hanger, a bit of steel wire or . . . maybe an axe. The door was reinforced with steel but maybe—despite her handicap—she could break down the frame and part of the wall?
She got up, walked down the steps, and realized how close to death she had come. Then she searched the basement a second time. Time was running out. Soon the flashlight