Alphabet House by Jussi Adler-Olsen Page A

wall, hugging a numbered shirt like all the others and waiting for the next row of showers to become vacant. One of the naked men stood in the bath, head bent back and staring wide-eyed straight up into the shower. He stood like this for a long time and when he began to scream with pain the howls spread from one deranged man to another like a wolves’ chorus.
    Blows and threats restored order almost as quickly as the commotion had erupted. The man who had started it stood moaning with bloodshot eyes as they beat him, totally unaware of what was going on around him. Then they dragged him by the hair and flung him against the wall. He didn’t stop moaning until they pulled the straitjacket over him and hauled him away.
    Before they both returned to the gym again, Bryan caught sight of James as he apathetically let himself be pushed under the ice-cold showers, smiling and humming softly, still hugging his shirt.
     
     
    Inside the gymnasium they were all equipped with the same-sized shoes and arranged in three rows alongside the ribbed walls facing the middle of the room. A few of them were sorted out immediately and grouped together along the outer wall. Among them Bryan could recognise a couple of the poor fools who had fetched their own blankets during the night. They apparently didn’t understand their special status.
    In the meantime several tables had been placed in front of the canvas booths. The man in the long coat had discarded his flowing garment and was sitting with other security officers and white-coated representatives of the medical corps. There were no longer any women among them.
    One of the men gave a start when his name was called out. A soldier hauled him in front of this court of inquiry. Several names were called without anyone reacting, whereupon a security officer looked over his list and began calling out a number that, as far as Bryan could tell, corresponded to the shirt markings. Bryan wished desperately he could understand what was being said. He listened intensely. As his confusion grew, an officer pointed at him and a soldier dragged him into the line.
    James was among the last to be called. According to customary Prussian thoroughness they had apparently been called up in alphabetical order. He, too, had to be pushed into line.
     
     
    The wounded soldiers were behind the curtains for an average of about two or three minutes before they were led out again and placed in a new row against the back wall in the same order as before. They didn’t seem to have been harmed, but stood to attention in a ridiculously exaggerated manner with expressionless grey faces.
    Soft muttering and rustling sounds could be heard from behind the curtain. Nothing alarming. One of the patients shouted his replies like shrill orders, whereupon a couple of those who were waiting their turn clicked their non-existent heels and puffed out their chests.
    Behind the faded green canvas one of the officers sat behind a flimsy desk reading Bryan’s case notes while a doctor looked over his shoulder. The soldier who had led him in pushed Bryan down onto a chair in front of the desk and then hastily withdrew to the other side of the curtain. As the officer ran his finger down the page, the attitude towards Bryan seemed to change slightly. They nodded to him, addressed him respectfully and nodded again as Bryan tried to control the fear and uneasiness that was about to overcome him. Even though they smiled at him they could become his executioners at a moment’s notice.
    The questions they asked hung heavily in the air. The security officer drummed his fingers on the edge of the table and glanced up at the doctor, who immediately grasped Bryan’s wrist in order to take his pulse. Then he shone a light into Bryan’s eyes, slapped him on the side of the head and shone it again. Bryan felt paralyzed and didn’t notice the doctor walking round him. The smack of hands being clapped right in front of his face made him blink and