Anxious People(3)
The real estate agent lights up.
“It’s a dream! We’re talking about a unique opportunity to acquire an exclusive apartment in a quiet area within easy reach of the throbbing heart of the big city. Open plan! Big windows that let in plenty of daylight—!”
The policeman cuts her off.
“I meant, are there closets, hidden storage spaces, anything of that sort?”
“You don’t like open plan apartments? You like walls? There’s nothing wrong with walls!” the real estate agent replies encouragingly, yet with an undertone that suggests that in her experience, people who like walls are the same sort of people who like other types of barriers.
“For instance, are there any closets that aren’t—?”
“Did I mention the amount of daylight?”
“Yes.”
“There’s scientific research to prove that daylight makes us feel better! Did you know that?”
The policeman looks like he doesn’t really want to be forced to think about this. Some people want to decide for themselves how happy they are.
“Can we stick to the point?”
“Okeydokey!”
“Are there any spaces in the apartment that aren’t marked on the plans?”
“It’s also a really good location for children!”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I just wanted to point it out. The location, you know. Really good for children! Actually, well… apart from this whole hostage thing today. But apart from that: a brilliant area for kids! And of course you know that children just love police cars!”
The real estate agent cheerily spins her arm in the air and imitates the sound of a siren.
“I think that’s the sound of an ice-cream truck,” the police officer says.
“But you know what I mean,” the real estate agent persists.
“I’m going to have to ask you to just answer the question.”
“Sorry. What was the question, again?”
“Exactly how big is the apartment?”
The real estate agent smiles in bemusement.
“Don’t you want to talk about the bank robber? I thought we were going to talk about the robbery?”
The policeman clenches his teeth so hard that he looks like he’s trying to breathe through his toenails.
“Sure. Okay. Tell me about the perpetrator. What was your first reaction when he—”
The real estate agent interrupts eagerly. “The bank robber? Yes! The bank robber ran straight into the apartment in the middle of the viewing, and pointed a pistol at us all! And do you know why?”
“No.”
“Because it’s open plan! Otherwise the bank robber would never have been able to aim at all of us at the same time!”
The policeman massages his eyebrows.
“Okay, let’s try this instead: Are there any good hiding places in the apartment?”
The Realtor blinks so slowly that it looks like she’s only just learned how to do it.
“Hiding places?”
The policeman leans his head back and fixes his gaze on the ceiling. His mom always said that policemen are just boys who never bothered to find a new dream. All boys get asked “What do you want to be when you grow up?” and at some point almost all of them answer “A policeman!” but most of them grow out of that and come up with something better. For a moment he finds himself wishing he’d done that, too, because then his days might have been less complicated, and possibly also his dealings with his family. It’s worth pointing out that his mom has always been proud of him, she was never the one who expressed disapproval at his choice of career. She was a priest, another job that’s more than just a way of earning a living, so she understood. It was his dad who never wanted to see his son in uniform. That disappointment may still be weighing the young police officer down, because he looks exhausted when he focuses his gaze on the Realtor again.
“Yes. That’s what I’ve been trying to explain to you: we believe the perpetrator is still in the apartment.”
4
The truth is that when the bank robber gave up, all the hostages—the real estate agent and all the prospective buyers—were released at the same time. One police officer was standing guard in the stairwell outside the apartment when they emerged. They closed the door behind themselves, the latch clicked, and then they walked calmly down the stairs, out into the street, got into the waiting police cars, and were driven away. The policeman in the stairwell waited for his colleagues to come up the stairs. A negotiator phoned the bank robber. Shortly after that the police stormed the apartment, only to discover that it was empty. The door to the balcony was locked, all the windows were closed, and there were no other exits.
* * *
You didn’t have to be from Stockholm to realize pretty quickly that one of the hostages must have helped the bank robber to escape. Unless the bank robber hadn’t escaped at all.
5
Okay. A man was standing on a bridge. Think about that now.
He had written a note and mailed it, he had dropped his children off at school, he had climbed up onto the railing and was standing there looking down. Ten years later an unsuccessful bank robber took eight people hostage at a viewing of an apartment that was for sale. If you stand on that bridge, you can see all the way to the balcony of that apartment.