The Sandman

by Lars Kepler

  There are already five other officers in the meeting room. On the pine table are glasses and bottles of water. The yellow curtains have been drawn back, and snow-covered treetops are visible through the low windows. The officers are all doing their best to appear upbeat, but beneath the surface their thoughts have taken a darker turn. The meeting that Joona has called is due to start in two minutes. Benny Rubin has taken off his shoes and is telling Magdalena Ronander what he thinks of the new security evaluations.

  Carlos shakes hands with Nathan Pollock from National Crime. As usual, Nathan is wearing a dark-gray jacket, and his gray ponytail hangs down his back. Beside him sits Anja Larsson in a silver blouse and pale-blue skirt.

  “Anja’s been trying to modernize us. We’re supposed to learn how to use the Analyst’s Notebook program.” Nathan smiles. “But we’re too old for that.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Tommy Kofoed, the forensic technician, mutters sullenly.

  “You smell a bit like mothballs,” Anja jokes. “You do all look like you’ve been around the block a few times.”

  Carlos stands at the end of the table, and the somber look on his face makes even Benny shut up.

  “Welcome, all of you,” Carlos says, without his usual smile. “As you may have heard, some new information has come to light concerning Jurek Walter, and, well, the preliminary investigation can no longer be regarded as concluded.”

  “What did I tell you?” a quiet voice with a Finnish accent says.

  49

  Carlos turns around and sees Joona Linna standing in the doorway. The tall detective’s black coat is sparkling with snow.

  “Joona isn’t always right, of course,” Carlos says. “But I have to admit, this time…”

  “So Joona was the only person who thought Jurek Walter had an accomplice?” Nathan Pollock asks.

  “Well, yes.”

  “And a lot of people got very upset when he said Samuel Mendel’s family were among the victims,” Anja says quietly.

  “True.” Carlos nods. “Joona did some excellent work, no question. I’d only recently been appointed back then, and perhaps I didn’t listen to the right people, but now we know. And now we can go on to…”

  He falls silent and looks at Joona, who steps into the room.

  “I’ve just come from Södermalm Hospital,” he says curtly.

  “Have I said something wrong?” Carlos asks.

  “No.”

  “Perhaps you think there’s something else I should say?” Carlos asks, looking embarrassed as he glances at the others. “Joona, it was thirteen years ago. It’s water under the bridge now, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you were absolutely right back then, as I just said.”

  “What was I right about?” Joona asks, looking at his boss.

  “What were you right about?” Carlos repeats forcefully. “You were right that Jurek had an accomplice. You were right about everything, Joona. Is that enough now? I think that’s probably enough.”

  Anja turns away to hide her smile. Joona nods, and Carlos sits down with a sigh.

  “Mikael Kohler-Frost’s general condition is already much better, and I’ve questioned him a couple of times. Naturally, I was hoping that Mikael would be able to identify the accomplice.”

  “Maybe it’s too soon,” Nathan says.

  “No. Mikael can’t give us a name, or a description. He can’t even give us a voice, but—”

  “Is he traumatized?” Magdalena Ronander asks.

  “Yes, he’s traumatized, but he’s simply never seen him,” Joona says, meeting her gaze.

  “So we’ve got nothing at all to go on?” Carlos whispers.

  Joona steps forward. His shadow falls across the table.

  “Mikael calls his kidnapper the Sandman. I asked Reidar Frost about it, and he explained that the name comes from a bedtime story the children’s mother used to tell them. The Sandman is some sort of personification of sleep. He throws sand in children’s eyes to make them fall asleep.”

  “That’s right,” Magdalena says with a smile. “And the proof that the Sandman has been there are the little gritty deposits at the corners of your eyes when you wake up.”

  “The Sandman,” Pollock says thoughtfully, and jots something down in his black notebook.

  “Anja, can you play this recording for me?” Joona asks.

  She takes Joona’s phone and connects it to the wireless sound system.

  “Mikael and Felicia Kohler-Frost are half German. Roseanna Kohler moved to Sweden from Schwabach when she was eight years old,” Joona explains.

  “That’s south of Nuremburg,” Carlos adds.

  “The Sandman is their version of Wee Willie Winkie,” Joona goes on. “And every evening, before the children said their prayers, she would tell them a little more about him. Over the years, she mixed up the story from her own childhood with a lot of things she made up herself, and with fragments from E. T. A. Hoffmann’s original short story about the barometer salesman and the mechanical girls. Mikael and Felicia were only ten and eight years old, and they thought it was the Sandman who had taken them.”

  The men and women sitting around the table watch Anja prepare the recording of Mikael’s account. Their faces are solemn. For the first time, they’re about to hear a surviving victim of Jurek Walter talk about what happened.

  “In other words, we can’t identify the accomplice,” Joona says. “Which leaves the location. If Mikael can lead us back there, then…”

  50

  As they listen, Nathan Pollock takes notes and Magdalena Ronander types nonstop on her laptop.

  There’s a hiss from the loudspeakers, and certain sounds, like the rustle of paper, are emphasized, while others are barely audible. At times, Reidar’s sobbing can be heard.

  “You say it’s impossible to escape,” they hear Joona say. “Yet that’s precisely what you did.”

  “It is impossible. It wasn’t like that,” Mikael Kohler-Frost replies.

  “How was it, then?”

  “The Sandman blew his dust over us, and when I woke up I realized I wasn’t in the capsule anymore,” Mikael says. “It was completely dark, but I could hear that the room was different, and could tell that Felicia wasn’t there. I felt my way forward until I came to a door with a handle, and I opened it and found myself in a corridor. I don’t think I was aware that I was escaping, I just knew I had to keep moving. I came to a locked door and thought I’d ended up in a trap, because the Sandman might have come back any second….I panicked and broke the glass with my hand, and reached through to unlock it. I ran across a storeroom full of boxes and bags of cement, and then I saw that the wall to the right was nothing more than a plastic sheet stapled in place. I was having trouble breathing, and I could feel my fingers bleeding as I tried to pull the plastic down. I knew I’d hurt myself on the glass, but I didn’t care, I just kept going across a big concrete floor. The room wasn’t finished, and I kept going until I found myself walking on snow. The sky wasn’t completely dark yet. I saw that the world actually existed. You know, before, the thought of it was like a dream, but now it just felt natural—the air, the landscape. I ran past a backhoe with a blue star on it and went into the forest, and started to realize that I was free. I ran through trees and undergrowth and got covered in snow. I never looked back, just kept on going, across a field and up into a clump of trees, and suddenly I couldn’t go any further. A broken branch had jabbed straight into my thigh. I was completely stuck, I couldn’t move. Blood was running down into the snow, and it hurt badly. I tried to pull free, but I was stuck….I thought I might be able to break the branch, but I was too weak, I just couldn’t do it. So I stood there. I was sure I could hear the Sandman’s porcelain fingers clicking. When I turned to look behind me, I slipped and the branch came out. I don’t know if I passed out….I was much slower after that, but I got to my feet and walked up a slope. I was stumbling and kept thinking I couldn’t go any further. Then I was cr
awling, and I found myself on a railroad track. I have no idea how long I walked. I was freezing, but I kept going. Occasionally, I could see houses in the distance, but I was so exhausted that I stuck to the tracks….It was snowing more and more, but it was like I was walking in a trance; it never occurred to me to stop, I just wanted to get away.”

  51

  When Mikael has stopped talking and the hissing noise from the speakers has ceased, there’s total silence in the meeting room. Carlos stands up. He’s biting one of his thumbnails as he stares blankly into space.

  “We abandoned two children,” he eventually says. “They were missing, but we said that they were dead and just went on with our lives.”

  “We were actually convinced that that was true, though,” Benny says gently.

  “Joona wanted to carry on,” murmurs Anja.

  “But in the end, even I didn’t believe they were still alive,” says Joona.

  “And there was nothing left to go on,” Pollock points out. “No evidence, no witnesses.”

  Carlos’s cheeks are pale as he puts a hand to his neck and tries to undo the top button of his shirt.

  “But they were alive,” he says, almost in a whisper.

  “Yes,” Joona replies.

  “I’ve seen a lot, but this…” Carlos says, tugging at his collar again. “I just can’t understand why. I mean, why the hell? I don’t get it, I just…”

  “There’s nothing to get,” Anja says kindly.

  “Why would anyone keep two children locked up for all those years?” he goes on, his voice raised. “Making sure that they survived, but nothing more, no blackmail, no violence, no abuse…”

  Anja tries to lead him from the room, but he resists and grabs Nathan Pollock’s arm.

  “Find the girl,” he says. “Whatever you do, find her today.”

  “I’m not sure—”

  “Find her!” Carlos cuts in, then lets Anja guide him from the meeting room.

  Anja returns shortly afterward. The members of the group mutter and look through their papers. Benny is sitting with his mouth open, absentmindedly poking at Magdalena’s gym bag with his toes.

  “What’s wrong with you all?” Anja asks sharply. “Didn’t you hear what the boss said?”

  The group quickly agrees that Magdalena should put together a response team and a forensics unit while Joona tries to identify a preliminary search area to the south of Södertälje Syd Station.

  Joona studies a printout of the last picture that was taken of Felicia. He doesn’t know how many times he’s looked at it. Her eyes are big and dark, and her long black hair is draped over her shoulder in a loose braid. She’s holding a riding hat and smiling shrewdly at the camera.

  “Mikael Kohler-Frost says he started walking just before it got dark,” Joona begins, gazing at the large-scale map on the wall. “When exactly did the train engineer raise the alarm?”

  Benny checks his laptop.

  “At three-twenty-two,” he replies.

  “They found Mikael here,” Joona says, drawing a circle around the northern end of the Igelsta Bridge. “It’s hard to imagine he could have been walking any faster than five kilometers an hour, if he was wounded and suffering from Legionnaires’ disease.”

  Anja uses a ruler to measure the farthest distance he could have walked from the south, at that speed and on a map of that scale, then draws a circle using a large compass. Twenty minutes later, they’ve managed to identify five current construction projects that could match Mikael’s description.

  A six-foot plasma screen is now showing a hybrid of a map and a satellite picture. Benny is still meticulously adding information to the computer connected to the plasma screen. Beside him, Anja is sitting with two telephones, gathering supplementary information, while Nathan and Joona discuss the various building sites.

  Five red circles on the map mark the ongoing construction projects within the preliminary search area. Three of them are in residential areas.

  Joona is standing in front of the map, his eyes following the railroad line. He points at one of the two other circles, in the forest close to Älgberget.

  “This is the one,” he says.

  Benny clicks the circle and brings up the coordinates, and Anja reads out a short description of the building works. They are building a new server farm for Facebook, but work has been at a standstill for the past month because of environmental objections.

  “Do you want me to get hold of the plans?” Anja asks.

  “We’ll set out immediately,” Joona says.

  52

  The snow is lying undisturbed on the bumpy track through the forest. A large area has been cleared. Pipes and wires are in place, and the drains have been installed. Ten acres of concrete foundations have been laid, and several ancillary buildings are more or less complete, though others are just shells. There’s a thick layer of snow on the bulldozers and dump trucks.

  During the drive to Älgberget, Joona received detailed plans on his cell phone. Anja had acquired them from the local planning department.

  Magdalena Ronander examines the map with the rapid-response unit before they leave their vehicles and approach the site from three directions.

  They’re creeping through the edge of the forest. It’s dark among the tree trunks. They swiftly take up their positions, approaching cautiously as they observe the open area.

  A strange, somnolent atmosphere hangs over the place. A large backhoe is parked in front of a gaping shaft.

  Marita Jakobsson, a middle-aged police superintendent with years of experience, runs over and crouches down beside a pile of blasting mats. She carefully scans the buildings through her binoculars before waving the rest of the group forward.

  Joona draws his pistol and heads toward a low building with the others. Snow is blowing off the roof and drifting through the air.

  They’re all wearing bulletproof vests and helmets, and two of them are carrying Heckler & Koch assault rifles.

  They pass an unfinished wall and head up onto the bare concrete foundations.

  Joona points toward a sheet of protective plastic that’s flapping in the wind. It’s hanging loose between two struts.

  The group follows Marita through a storeroom and over to a door whose window has been smashed. There are black bloodstains on the floor and sill of the door.

  There’s no doubt that this is the place Mikael escaped from.

  The glass crunches beneath their boots. They creep into the corridor, opening door after door and securing each room in turn.

  It’s vacant.

  In one room is a crate of empty bottles, but otherwise there’s nothing.

  So far, it’s impossible to tell which room Mikael was in when he woke up, but everything suggests that it was one of the rooms along this corridor.

  The rapid-response unit members sweep efficiently through each room before withdrawing to their vehicles.

  Now Forensics can get to work.

  The forest is also searched with dog patrols.

  Joona is standing with his helmet in his hand, looking at the snow as it sparkles on the ground. I knew we weren’t going to find Felicia here, he thinks. The room that Mikael called the capsule had thick, reinforced walls, a water tap, and a hatch for food. It was constructed to hold people captive.

  Joona has read Mikael’s medical records, and knows that the doctors found traces of the anesthetic drug sevoflurane in his soft tissues. Now he’s thinking that Mikael must have been drugged and moved here while he was unconscious. That matches his description of just waking up to find himself in a different room. He fell asleep in the capsule and woke up here.

  For some reason, Mikael was moved here, after all these years. Was it finally time for him to end up in a coffin when he managed to escape?

  The temperature is dropping as Joona watches the police officers return to their vehicles.

  If Mikael was drugged, then there’s no way he can lead them to the capsule. He never saw anything.


  Nathan Pollock waves to Joona to let him know it’s time to leave. Joona starts to raise his hand, but gives up.

  It can’t end like this. It can’t be over, he thinks, running his hand through his hair.

  What’s left to be done?

  As Joona walks back toward the car, he already knows the terrifying answer to his own question.

  53

  Joona turns in to the garage, takes a ticket, then drives down the ramp and parks. He remains seated as a man from the carpet warehouse above gathers up shopping carts.

  When he can’t see anyone else in the parking lot, Joona gets out of the car and goes over to a shiny black van with tinted windows, opens the side door, and climbs in.

  The door closes silently behind him, and Joona says a muted hello to Carlos Eliasson, chief of National Crime, and the head of the Security Police, Verner Zandén.

  “Felicia Kohler-Frost is being held in a dark room,” Carlos begins. “She’s been there for more than ten years, together with her older brother. Now she’s entirely alone. Are we going to abandon her? Say she’s dead and leave her there?”

  “Carlos,” Verner says in a soothing voice.

  “I know, I’ve lost all detachment.” He smiles, raising his hands apologetically. “But I really do want us to do absolutely everything we can this time.”

  “I need a large team,” Joona says. “If I can have fifty people, we can try to pick up all the old threads, every missing-persons case. It might not lead to anything, but it’s our only chance. Mikael never saw the accomplice, and he was drugged before he was moved. He can’t tell us where the capsule is. We’re going to keep talking to him, but I don’t believe he knows where he’s been kept for the past thirteen years.”