The Chosen Read Free Page B

peace.
    For the time being, at least.

T here had once been a Jewish bloodline in Alex’s family, but it had been broken several generations ago. Since then, none of his relatives had any links to Judaism, and the only trace that
remained was his surname. Recht.
    Nevertheless, he felt that the name gave him certain advantages as he set off for the Solomon Community in Östermalm, as if its Jewish origins would be enough to bring him closer to a
people he had never felt part of.
    The air was cold and damp as he got out of the car on Nybrogatan. Bloody awful weather. January at its worst.
    The Östermalm police had cordoned off the area around the body. Huddles of curious onlookers were leaning over the plastic tape. Why did blood and death attract so much attention? So many
people shamelessly gravitated towards misery, just so they could feel glad they hadn’t been affected.
    He quickly made his way over to the cordon where he could see several younger colleagues in uniform. He had once been like them, young and hungry, always ready to put on his uniform and get out
there to keep the streets safe. He was rather more disillusioned these days.
    One of the officers introduced him to the community’s general secretary, a man weighed down by a tragedy that was only a few hours old. He could barely
speak.
    ‘None of the witnesses is allowed to leave,’ Alex said, placing as much emphasis on the first word as he could muster. ‘As I understand it, a number of parents and children saw
what happened. No one goes home until we’ve spoken to them, or at least made a note of their contact details.’
    ‘Already done,’ one of his Östermalm colleagues said tersely. Alex realised that he had overstepped the mark. Who was he to come marching onto their turf issuing orders? They
had asked him to help out, not take over.
    ‘How many witness are we talking about?’ he said, hoping that he had managed to soften his tone.
    ‘Three parents and four children aged between one and four. And of course various people who happened to be passing when the incident took place. I’ve asked those who came forward to
stick around, but of course I can’t guarantee that’s everyone.’
    It shouldn’t be a problem; Alex had been told that the school entrance was covered by CCTV, so it would be fairly straightforward to get an idea of how many people had been passing at the
time of the shooting.
    ‘Who’s your head of security?’ Alex asked, turning to the general secretary.
    ‘We don’t have one at the moment. Our security team is running itself until we fill the post.’
    Alex looked over at the body. The falling snow was doing its best to bury the scene of the crime, but without success. The warm blood that had poured out of the woman was melting the snowflakes
as effectively as if they had landed on a radiator. She was lying on her stomach, her face on the ground. She had been shot in the back as she turned towards the open door of the school to call to
one of the children. Alex thanked God that the bullet hadn’t hit one of the little ones instead.
    ‘According to the parents, there was just one single shot,’ said his colleague from Östermalm.
    Alex looked at the body. Clearly one shot was all that had been required.
    ‘Shall we continue inside, where it’s warmer?’ the general secretary suggested.
    He led the way into the building, where another man appeared and introduced himself as the headteacher of the Solomon school.
    ‘I need hardly say that we are devastated by what’s happened, and that we expect the police to give this matter the highest priority,’ the general secretary said.
    ‘Of course,’ Alex said sincerely. Shooting someone down in broad daylight in the middle of the city wasn’t exactly common.
    They sat down in the general secretary’s office. The walls were adorned with pictures of various places in Israel arranged in neat rows – Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, Haifa, Nazareth. Alex had
visited the