Free The Steel Spring by Per Wahlöö

understand.’
    ‘Put the hammer down,’ said Jensen.
    Without taking his eyes off Jensen, the man bent down and laid the tool on the floor very carefully, as if not wanting to make any undue noise. His look was one more of apathy and fear than of resolution or hatred.
    ‘He can get dressed by himself and he’s learnt how to open the door,’ the woman said. ‘He’s used to running out to play whenever he likes. Today he slipped out while I was in the kitchen, and we didn’t have time to stop him.’
    She stopped and looked at Jensen in alarm.
    ‘He’s only little,’ she repeated.
    ‘Are you his parents?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Parents are responsible for supervising young children.’
    ‘Yes, but …’
    ‘Why didn’t you go after the child and bring him back?’
    The man looked at Jensen in astonishment.
    ‘We didn’t dare.’
    Jensen stepped over the threshold and closed the door after him.
    ‘He’s alone,’ the man said to himself under his breath. ‘I should’ve killed him.’
    The flat stank of urine, refuse and excrement. The people inside did not seem to be aware of it.
    ‘The air’s very bad in here,’ Jensen remarked.
    ‘Well nothing works, does it?’ said the woman. ‘No water, no light, no way of flushing the toilet. And we daren’t open the windows, of course.’
    Jensen got out his pen and notepad.
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘How can you ask that,’ said the man. ‘Don’t you know what’s happened?’ Jensen did not reply.
    ‘The sickness. Haven’t you heard about it?’
    ‘Have you or anyone in your family gone down with this sickness?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Do you know anyone who has caught it?’
    ‘Yes. Some people who lived round here. Not that we knew them.’
    ‘What happened to them?’
    ‘They went to hospital, of course. Well, one of them died before the ambulance got here. He was a policeman, as a matter of fact.’
    ‘And it’s the risk of infection that means you daren’t go out?’
    The man looked uncertainly at Jensen.
    ‘I think so,’ said the woman.
    ‘You think so?’
    ‘We’re not allowed to go out,’ she said. ‘It’s not permitted.’
    ‘But people aren’t prohibited from opening their doors?’
    ‘No,’ the man said hesitantly. But …’
    ‘But what?’
    ‘I didn’t think you were from the police. I …’
    He stopped. The little boy piped up instead:
    ‘Are you a Mister Policeman?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Jensen gravely. ‘I’m a policeman.’
    ‘We haven’t seen any police for weeks,’ said the woman. ‘We didn’t think there were any left.’
    Jensen turned back to the man.
    ‘Where do you work?’
    ‘The public cleansing department. At the central refuse tip. Until all this started.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘First it was a load of rumours about this awful disease. Then there was an announcement that the risk of infection was too serious for people to carry on going to work, except for the vital services. Why are you asking me all this?’
    ‘Because I don’t know,’ said Jensen. ‘I’ve been away.’
    ‘Oh, I see,’ the man said sceptically.
    ‘How did you get the announcements?’
    ‘On a printed leaflet that everyone got through their door. It was on TV, too. The TV was still working then, at least ours was. That was the fifteenth of last month.’
    ‘What happened after that?’
    ‘We carried on working as usual. Public cleansing was one of the exceptions.’
    ‘And the epidemic? What was there to see?’
    ‘I heard rumours that thousands and thousands of people were in hospital. That people were dying like flies. And they needed blood donors. And so …’
    ‘And so?’
    ‘Well, a week or so after the first announcement, the TV and radio went off the air and we were ordered to stop work. And then we got this other notice. There was no danger any longer, they said, but we were to lay in supplies of food and water and stay at home. And they needed blood donors.’
    ‘Did you volunteer?’
    ‘To give blood? No. I heard of some