The Princess of Burundi - Kjell Eriksson [114]
Before he lit the newspaper and threw it in he thought about John. What was it he had said about dreams?
He heard a whoosh from inside and then came something like an explosion. The remaining window was blown out and Justus was almost hit by the glass projectiles flying through the air. In awe he watched as a pillar of fire shot out from the window. Then he ran. As he was crawling out through the fence, he suddenly remembered about erasing his footprints. He hesitated before crawling back through it and looked around for something he could use to sweep the snow clean.
Many small explosions came from inside the building and he thought about the gas. There were a number of gas bottles inside and he knew how dangerous they were. John had talked about that. He grabbed a piece of metal and ran to the back of the building. It was impossible for him to get all the way to the window, but he wiped the snow as far as he could, then ran dragging the piece behind him until he reached the street. Then he tossed the piece of metal onto a heap of scraps and ran off, laughing.
He ran westward, into the city, but stopped himself after fifty meters. John would have walked calmly. That was smarter.
He worried about the tracks outside the window but suddenly realized that the intense heat would melt all the snow around the building. He had been wearing gloves, so there would be no fingerprints. The man who had put his hand on Justus’s shoulder, the one who had compelled him to get up from the snowbank and who had given him a ride into town, would never connect him with the fire. He had dropped him off on Kungsgatan, probably a kilometer from the shop. Justus had told him that he wanted to go see a friend, had tried to take a shortcut through the forest, and had gotten lost.
The emergency call came at 2:46 P.M. from someone who happened to be driving past the shop. A fire truck was on the scene in seven minutes. Two patrol cars arrived a few minutes later. They immediately cordoned off the area with yellow tape.
“A machine workshop,” the commanding fireman explained succinctly to the police officer who walked over. “Sorry to hear about your colleague, by the way. We lit a candle at the station when we heard the news.”
For a moment the uniformed policeman stood completely still before he picked up his phone and called in to work. The first thing he had seen was a sign saying SAGANDER’S MECHANICAL WORKSHOP. He knew that was where John Jonsson had worked.
“I have an aquarium,” he later explained to Haver.
Ola Haver got the call when he was on his way back from Berit’s, and he arrived on the scene some five minutes later. He had had to negotiate the blockades on Björkgatan.
“It’s burning like hell,” the uniformed policeman had said.
Haver, who was looking at the smoke and sparks rising into the sky, became unexpectedly irritated for some reason and snapped at his colleague that he could damn well see that. The latter had only stared back at him and mumbled something to himself.
The wind was blowing from the east and drove the flames toward the building that was being constructed. A pile of lumber under a tarp caught fire but was immediately extinguished by the firefighters.
Haver stared at the building. The fire had broken through the roof and yellow-orange flames were shooting up. It was a hauntingly beautiful sight. Haver saw the stress and focus in the firefighters’ faces. Haver was unable to do anything to help them and it bothered him. He grabbed the fire commander’s shoulder.
“What do you think? Arson?”
“Hard to say. It appears to have started in the back, but has spread rapidly to the rest of the building.”
“By a series of explosions,” Haver said.
“I think you could safely call them that. Come over here and let me show you something.”
The fireman walked off with Haver hurrying behind. The heat emitted by the burning building was even more intense. Haver was forced to shield his face with his hand.
They stopped at the hole in the fence. The fire commander pointed silently to the swept tracks