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The door was locked. The color had peeled off and curled up and revealed that it was made of steel.

“The crowbar and axes,” Näss said clipped. “We’re going to force the basement door.”

Ludde Nilsson forwarded this message to the commander. After half a minute both of the smoke divers could let loose on the door hinges. It was over in ten seconds and then they directed their flashlights into the basement. The stairs were made of wood and were still burning. Andersson sprayed water down and the flames on the steps died with a hissing sound.

“Ladder,” Näss said, “four meters.”

When they had received the ladder they went down, Näss in the lead. Adrenaline was pumping through his body. He let the beam of light play along the walls. It was smoking and burning, above all in the west part of the basement. Andersson came down after him and sprayed water in that direction.

Näss examined the ceiling. He reported to Ludde Nilsson and told him about the damage, that there was a great deal of smoke and that the risk of collapse was great.

“We’re going in,” he said and sensed in a spooky way that something terrible had happened in the basement. Every time he had this feeling at the scene of a fire the load of compressed air on his back felt heavier. The twelve, thirteen kilos felt twice as heavy.

“We have something here,” Andersson whispered, and confirmed Näss’s feeling. They walked together, first to the right and discovered the remains of a rat on the floor. It was half burned up. A little farther forward there were two more.

The water they sprayed created clouds of steam and together with the smoke this made it hard for them to pick out details.

They started to search through the basement systematically.

“Ludde, we have a body,” Nässsaid.

“Any resuscitation required?” the team leader inquired, although he could tell from his colleague’s voice that there wouldn’t be.

“Most likely negative,” Näss said.

The fire commander, Eddie Wallin, received the information. He looked over at the two police veterans. They were stamping their feet, silent, waiting for news. They had probably seen and heard everything, the commander thought, but hesitated in going over to them. Ottosson met his gaze and understood him at once. Tears, that seemed to have been lying in wait, started to run down his cheeks.

Berglund turned around and looked at the commander who was shaking his head. Berglund put his arm around Ottosson’s back. He knew what Ann meant to the old fox. Ottosson held a hand to his chest and Berglund feared he was having a heart attack.

“How are you doing?”

“Think of the boy,” he wept, and stared with tear-filled eyes at the ruins of the house.

“Let’s go to the car,” Berglund said. He had never seen his colleague cry before.

This was the worst. This wasn’t something that got better with practice. He hated it. He could take all the physical exertion in the world, strange passageways, collapses, and everything a smoke diver had to withstand, but the sight of a dead person in connection with a fire always made him weak in the knees.

Sven-Olof Andersson bent over and started to tear off the plastic bag. He knew about Näss’s weakness and urged him to check the boiler room.

The plastic had been gnawed away in many places and Sven-Olof quickly perceived that it was a male body. The rats had eaten through the fabric of what he took to be a pair of pyjamas and had gnawed the man’s shoulder.

He tore away more of the plastic and discovered that one ear had been eaten clean away.

“Ludde! What we’ve found is a man,” he said.

“Repeat!” the radio crackled.

“This is an older man who has been lying here a good while,” he said in a louder voice. “The rats have had a party.”

Näss came back and stood behind Sven-Olof Andersson’s back. “This isn’t the female cop?” he asked. “This is no female,” Andersson said.

What they’ve found is an older male,” the fire commander screamed at Ottosson and Berglund.

It was admittedly unprofessional to scream out such