by Lars Kepler
“What time was that?” Joona suddenly asks.
Simone jumps as if she hadn’t noticed him up to now. “I don’t know,” she says apologetically, turning to face him.
He doesn’t smile, he simply insists. “Roughly.”
Simone shrugs her shoulders and says hesitantly, “Five.”
“Not four?” asks Joona.
“What do you mean?”
“I just want to know,” he replies.
“But you already know this,” Simone says to Anja.
“Five, then,” says Joona, writing down the time.
“What were you doing before you took a shower?” asks Anja. “It’s easier to remember times if you go through the whole day.”
Simone shakes her head. She looks very tired, almost listless. She isn’t looking at Erik. He is sitting quietly beside her, his heart pounding.
“I didn’t know,” he says suddenly, then stops. She glances at him. He tries again. “I didn’t know you and Shulman were—”
She nods. “That’s how it was.”
He looks at her, at the woman police officer, and at Joona. “Sorry to interrupt,” he stammers.
Anja turns to Simone again, her tone indulgent. “Let’s go on. Sim Shulman shouted that your phone was ringing.”
“He went into the hall and …” Simone pauses, then corrects herself once again. “No, that’s not what happened. I heard Sim say, ‘There’s someone at the door, too,’ or something along those lines. I finished my shower, dried myself, and asked him who it was. But he didn’t answer. I opened the door carefully and saw—”
“Why carefully?” asks Joona.
“What?”
“Why did you open the door carefully, and not just the way you would normally open it?”
“I don’t know. When he didn’t answer, I felt … there was something in the air, it felt threatening … I can’t explain it.”
“Had you heard anything?”
“I don’t think so.” Simone stares straight ahead.
Anja encourages her. “Go on.”
“I saw a girl through the gap in the door. There was a girl standing in the hallway, she was looking at me, she seemed scared, and she signalled to me to hide.” Simone frowns. “I went into the hall and there was Sim, lying on the floor … There was so much blood, and more coming all the time; his eyelids were trembling, and he was trying to move his hands …”
Simone’s voice thickens, and Erik realises she is trying hard not to cry. He would like to comfort his wife, support her, take her hand or put his arm around her. But he doesn’t know if she would get annoyed or push him away if he tried.
“Shall we take a break?” Anja asks gently.
“I … I …” Simone breaks off and lifts the glass of water to her lips, her hands shaking violently. She swallows hard and rubs her hand over her eyes. “The front door was locked.” She goes on, her voice steadier now. “The girl said he had the key in the kitchen, so I sneaked into Benjamin’s room and turned on the computer.”
“Why did you do that?” asks Anja.
“I … the computer plays a little tune when it starts up. I wanted him to think I was in there. I wanted him to hear the computer and go in so I could get the key.”
“Him? Who are you talking about?”
“Josef.”
“Josef Ek?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know it was him?”
“I didn’t, at the time.”
“I understand,” says Anja. “Go on.”
“I turned on the computer and then hid in the bathroom until I heard them go into Benjamin’s room. Then I snuck into the kitchen and got the key. The girl kept trying to persuade Josef to look in different places, to delay him. I could hear them, but I think I bumped into something in the hall, because suddenly Josef came after me. The girl tried to stop him, she threw her arms around his legs and—”
She swallows hard.
“I don’t know, he managed to shake her off. And then the girl pretended she’d been cut; she smeared herself with Sim’s blood and lay down and played dead.”
Simone goes quiet for a moment; it sounds as if she is having difficulty breathing.
Anja prompts her again. “Go on, Simone.”
Simone nods. “Josef saw her and went back, and when he bent down she stabbed him in the side with the knife.”
“Did you see who stabbed Sim Shulman?”
“It was Josef.”
“Did you see it happen?”
“No.”
The room is silent.
“Evelyn Ek saved my life,” Simone whispers.
“Is there anything you’d like to add?”
“No.”
“In that case, thank you for your cooperation. This interview is now concluded.” And Anja reaches out a sparkling finger to stop the recording.
“Wait,” says Joona, holding up a hand. “Who called you?”
Simone looks at him in confusion. It’s as if she had forgotten about him already.
“On your mobile. Who was it who called?”
“I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “I don’t even know where my phone went.”
“No problem,” Joona says calmly. “We’ll find it.”
Anja Larsson waits for a moment, looks at them inquiringly, then switches off the tape recorder.
Without looking at anyone, Simone stands up and walks slowly out of the room. Erik nods briefly at Joona and then follows her.
“Wait,” he says.
She stops and turns around.
“Wait. I just want to …”
He pauses, sees her naked, vulnerable face, the pale, sandy freckles, the wide mouth, and the light green eyes. Without a word they hug each other, weary and sad.
“It’s all right,” he says. “It’s all right.”
He kisses her hair, her curly, strawberry-blonde hair.
“I don’t know anything any more,” she whispers.
“I can find out if they have a room where you can rest.”
She slowly pulls away from him and shakes her head. “I’m going to look for my phone,” she says earnestly. “I have to know who was calling when Shulman answered.”
Joona comes out of the interview room with his jacket draped over one shoulder.
“Is Simone’s phone here?” Erik asks.
Joona nods towards Anja Larsson, who is heading for the lifts further down the hall.
“Anja should know that,” he replies.
Erik is just about to hurry after her when Joona holds up his hand to stop him. He takes out his own phone and makes a call.
They see Anja stop and answer hers.
“One last thing, my treasure,” says Joona. She turns around with a sullen expression and waits as they walk towards her. “Have you got the list of items we sent to the lab?”
“It’s not finished. You’ll have to go down and check.”
They walk with her to the lift, which creaks as they travel downwards. Anja gets off at the second floor and waves to them as the doors close.
On the ground floor, Joona, Erik, and Simone head quickly down the corridor to the forensic department. The department is almost shockingly bright and antiseptically clean. Most of the staff wear white lab coats. Joona shakes hands with a very fat man who introduces himself as Erixon and takes them to another room, where a number of objects are spread out on a steel-topped table. Erik recognises them. Two kitchen knives with black stains on them, lying in separate metal bowls. He sees a familiar towel, the hall rug, several pairs of shoes, and Simone’s mobile in a plastic pocket. Joona points at the phone.
“We’d like to take a look at this,” he says. “Have you finished with it?”
The fat man goes over to the list that is pinned up next to the items. He glances at the paper and says hesitantly, “I think so … yes, we’ve finished with the outside of it.”
Joona takes the phone out, wipes it on a paper towel, and casually hands it to Simone. She c
licks through the list of calls, concentrating hard, mumbles something to herself, places her hand over her mouth, and suppresses a cry when she looks at the display.
“It’s … it’s Benjamin,” she stammers. “The last call came from Benjamin.”
They crowd around the phone. Benjamin’s name flashes a couple of times before the battery gives out.
“Did Shulman speak to Benjamin?” Erik asks, raising his voice.
“I don’t know,” she replies feebly.
“But he answered, didn’t he? I just want to clarify that.”
“I was in the shower. I think he answered the phone before he—”
“Surely you can see whether it was a missed bloody call or not.”
“It wasn’t a missed call,” she interrupts. “But I don’t know if Sim had time to hear or say anything before he opened the door to Josef.”
“I don’t mean to sound angry,” says Erik, struggling to remain calm, “but we have to know if Benjamin said anything.”
Simone turns to Joona. “Aren’t all mobile phone calls stored these days?”
“It could take weeks to get hold of that particular one,” he replies.
Erik places a hand on Simone’s arm. “We have to talk to Shulman.”
“It’s impossible; he’s in a coma,” she says, sounding upset. “I told you he was in a coma.”
“Come with me,” Erik says to Simone, and leaves the room.
91
saturday, december 19: afternoon
Sitting beside Erik in the car, Simone glances at him from time to time. The road, a channel of brown and grey slush down the middle, rushes by, the cars ahead moving in endless flashing lines of traffic. The streetlamps flicker past monotonously. She sighs softly and looks around the car. Rubbish is strewn across the back seat and underfoot: empty water bottles, soft drink cans, a pizza box, newspapers, paper cups, empty crisp packets, discarded sweet wrappers.
Erik is driving smoothly toward Danderyd Hospital, where Sim Shulman lies in a coma, and he knows exactly what he’s going to do when he gets there. He glances at Simone. She’s lost weight and the corners of her mouth are turned down, her expression is anxious and unhappy.
Personally, Erik feels almost terrifyingly focused. After days of confusion, the events of the recent past are illuminated by a clear, cold light. He thinks he finally understands what has happened to him and his family.
“When we realised it couldn’t be Josef who had taken Benjamin, Joona asked me to think back,” he explains, and looks at her to make sure she’s listening. “And I started searching the past for someone who wanted to take their revenge on me.”
“And what did you find?” asks Simone.
From the corner of his eye he can see that she has turned to face him.
“I found the hypnosis group I left behind ten years ago. I hadn’t thought of them in a long time. That part of my life, my career, seemed to be over. But now, as I try to remember, it’s as if the group never disappeared. They were just standing slightly to one side, waiting.”
Simone nods. Erik keeps talking, trying to explain his theories regarding the hypnosis group, the tensions between individuals, his own balancing act, and the trust that had been shattered. “When I failed in everything, I promised never to hypnotise anyone again.”
“I know, Erik.”
“But then I broke my promise, because Joona persuaded me it was the only way to save Evelyn Ek.”
“Do you think it’s because of that, because you hypnotised Josef, that all this has happened to us?”
“I don’t know, Simone. It’s possible that it aroused a deeply buried and dormant hatred of me, one held in check only by my promise never to practise again. Do you remember Eva Blau?” he goes on. “She swung in and out of a psychotic state. You know she threatened me, swore she would destroy my life.”
“I never understood why,” Simone says quietly.
“She was afraid of someone. I thought it was paranoia, but now I’m almost certain she was being threatened by Lydia.”
“Just because you’re paranoid, it doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you,” says Simone. She smiles briefly.
Erik pulls into the blue, sprawling complex of Danderyd Hospital. “It might even have been Lydia who cut Eva’s face,” he says, almost to himself.
Simone gives a start. “Cut her face?”
“I thought she’d done it herself. Classic self-mutilation,” Erik says. “I thought she’d cut off the tip of her own nose in a desperate attempt to feel something else, to stop feeling whatever was really causing her pain—”
“Wait a minute.” Simone bursts in. “Are you saying her nose had been cut off?”
“The tip of her nose.”
“Erik, Dad and I found a boy with the tip of his nose cut off. Did Dad tell you? Someone had threatened the boy, frightened him and hurt him because he’d been hassling Benjamin.”
“It’s Lydia.”
“Is she the one who’s kidnapped Benjamin?”
“Yes.”
“What does she want?”
Erik looks at her, his expression serious. “You already know some of this,” he says. “Lydia admitted under hypnosis that she kept her son Kasper locked in a cage in the cellar and forced him to eat rotten food.”
“Kasper?”
“When Kennet told me what Aida said, that this woman had told Benjamin his real name was Kasper, I knew it was Lydia.”
“But she didn’t really have any children.”
“I’m getting to that. I went to her house in Rotebro and broke in, but the place was deserted.”
He speeds along past the rows of parked cars but there are no spaces, so he heads back towards the entrance.
“There had been a fire in the basement,” Erik goes on. “I assumed someone had started it deliberately, but the remains of a large cage were still there.”
“But there was no cage,” Simone says. “They said she had no children.”
“Joona brought a dog in. He found the remains of a child buried in the garden. Ten years ago.”
“Oh my God,” Simone whispers.
“Yes.”
“That was when—”
“I think she killed the child in the basement when she realised she’d been found out.”
“So you were right all along.”
“So it seems.”
“Does she want to kill Benjamin?”
“I don’t know. Presumably she thinks the whole thing was my fault. If I hadn’t hypnotised her, she would have been able to keep the child.”
Erik falls silent, thinking about Benjamin’s voice when he called. How he had tried not to sound afraid, and how he had talked about the haunted house. He must have meant Lydia’s haunted house. After all, that was where she had grown up, where she had carried out the abuse, and that was probably where she herself had been subjected to abuse. If she hadn’t taken Benjamin to the haunted house, she could have taken him absolutely anywhere.
92
saturday, december 19: afternoon
Erik leaves the car outside the main hospital entrance without bothering to lock it or buy a parking ticket. They hurry past the gloomy snow-filled fountain, past a few shivering smokers in robes, and dash inside and up in the lift to the ward where Sim Shulman is lying.
There’s a heavy scent in the room from all the flowers. Vases filled with large fragrant bouquets stand on the windowsill. On the table is a pile of cards and letters from distraught friends and colleagues.
Erik looks at the man in the hospital bed, the sunken cheeks, the nose, the eyelids. The all-too-regular movement of Shulman’s stomach follows the sucking rhythm of the respirator. He is in a permanent vegetative state, kept alive by the equipment in the room and unable to survive without it. A breathing tube has been inserted into his windpipe through an incision in his throat; he is being fed through a tube in his stomach.
“Simone, you need to speak to him when he comes round and—”
&
nbsp; “He’s not going to come round,” she breaks in, her voice shrill. “He’s in a coma, Erik, his brain has been damaged by the loss of blood, he’s never going to come round, he’s never going to speak again.” She wipes the tears from her cheeks.
“We have to find out what Benjamin said—”
“Stop it!” she shouts, and begins to sob.
A nurse looks in, sees Erik with his arms around Simone’s shaking body, and leaves them in peace.
“I’m going to give him an injection of Zolpidem,” Erik whispers into her hair. “It’s a powerful drug that can bring people out of a comatose state.”
He can feel her shake her head. “What are you talking about?” she says, her words muffled by his jacket.
“It only works for a little while.”
“I don’t believe you,” she says suspiciously.
“The sedative slows down the overactive processes in the brain that are causing the coma.”
“He’ll wake up? Are you serious?”
“He’s never going to get better, Sixan, he’s suffered severe brain damage, but with this injection he might wake up for a few seconds.”
“What shall I do?”
“Sometimes patients who are given this drug can say a few words, sometimes they can only use their eyes.”
“You’re not allowed to do this, are you?”
“I have no intention of asking for permission, I’m just going to do it. But you have to talk to him when he comes round.”
“Hurry up,” she says.
Erik goes to get the equipment he needs. Simone stands by Shulman’s bed and takes his hand. She looks at him. His face is calm, the dark, strong features smoothed out by relaxation. His mouth, usually so ironic, so sensual, is insignificant. Even the serious furrow between the black eyebrows has disappeared. She slowly caresses his forehead. She thinks she will continue to exhibit his work; a really good artist can never die.
Erik returns and without a word goes over to the bed and, with his back to the door, calmly pushes up the sleeve of Shulman’s hospital gown. “Are you ready?” he asks.
“Yes,” she replies. “I’m ready.”
Erik takes the syringe, connects it to the intravenous catheter, and slowly injects a yellowish liquid. It gradually blends with the fluid in the drip, disappears down towards the needle in Shulman’s arm, and enters his bloodstream. Erik pushes the syringe into his pocket, unbuttons his jacket, and transfers the electrodes from Shulman’s chest to his own, takes the clamp from Shulman’s finger and fastens it to his own, and carefully watches Shulman’s face.
