by Lars Kepler
Only now did something inside her begin to relax. It was over. They had got Benjamin back.
Now they are standing uncertainly outside the Birger Jarl Hotel in Stockholm. Benjamin is wearing a tracksuit from the police Lost and Found that is far too big for him, a woolly hat—of the Sami tourist variety—that Simone bought for him at the airport, and a pair of mittens that are slightly too small. The city is deserted, with not a soul in sight. The underground station is closed, there are no buses, the restaurants are dark and silent.
Erik looks at his watch, perplexed. It’s four o’clock in the afternoon. A woman hurries along, carrying a large bag.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” Simone says suddenly. “Today is Christmas Eve.”
Benjamin looks at her in surprise.
“That would explain why people keep wishing us a Merry Christmas,” says Erik with a smile.
“What shall we do?” Benjamin asks.
“McDonald’s is open,” Erik says.
“Are you suggesting we have Christmas dinner at McDonald’s?” asks Simone.
A thin freezing rain begins to fall on them as they hurry towards the restaurant. It’s an ugly, squat building, pressing itself to the ground beneath the ochre-coloured rotunda of the library. A woman in her sixties is standing behind the counter. There are no other customers to be seen.
“I’d like a glass of wine,” says Simone. “But I guess that’s out of the question.”
“How about a milkshake?” says Erik.
“Vanilla, strawberry, or chocolate?” the woman asks sourly.
Simone looks as if she’s about to burst out laughing, but she pulls herself together. “Strawberry, of course.”
“Me too,” Benjamin chips in.
The woman taps in their order with small, angry movements. “Will that be all?” she asks.
“Get a selection,” Simone says to Erik. “We’ll go and sit down.” She and Benjamin thread their way among the empty tables. “A table by the window,” she whispers, smiling at Benjamin.
She sits down next to her son, puts her arm around him, and feels the tears running down her cheeks. Outside, a lone skateboarder whizzes along between the patches of ice with harsh scraping, rattling noises. A woman is sitting on her own on a bench on the edge of the playground behind the School of Economics, an empty shopping trolley beside her. The tyre seats on the children’s swings are blowing back and forth in the wind.
“Are you cold?” she asks.
Benjamin doesn’t reply; he just rests his face against her chest, allowing her to kiss his head over and over again.
Erik puts a tray down on the table and returns to the counter to fetch another before sitting down and beginning to distribute cartons, paper bags, and drinks around the table. “When you eat at McDonald’s, you need to go all the way.”
“Nice,” says Benjamin, sitting up.
“Wait,” Erik says. He holds out a Happy Meal toy. “Merry Christmas,” he says.
“Thanks, Dad.” Benjamin grins, looking at the plastic packaging.
Simone looks at her child. He’s lost so much weight. But there’s something else, she thinks. It’s as if he still has a weight within him, something that is pulling at his thoughts, worrying him and dragging him down. He’s not really with them; his gaze is turned inwards.
When she sees Erik reach out and pat his son on the cheek, she begins to cry again. She turns away with a whispered apology and sees a plastic bag whisked out of a rubbish bin by the wind and pressed against the window.
“Come on, dig in,” Erik says.
Benjamin is unwrapping a Big Mac when Erik’s phone rings. It’s Joona.
“Merry Christmas, Joona,” he says.
“Same to you, Erik,” says Joona. “Are you back in Stockholm?”
“We’re actually having Christmas dinner right now.”
“Do you remember I said we would find your son?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“You had your doubts from time to time.”
“Yes,” says Erik. “I admit it.”
“But I knew it would all work out,” Joona goes on.
“I didn’t.”
“I know, I noticed,” says Joona. “That’s why there’s something I need to say to you.”
“Yes?”
“What did I tell you?” asks Joona.
“What?”
“I was right, wasn’t I?”
“Yes, you were right,” Erik replies.
“Merry Christmas,” says Joona, ending the call.
Erik stares at the phone with a surprised expression, then turns to Simone. He looks at her transparent skin and wide mouth. Webs of worry lines have appeared around her eyes lately. She smiles at him, and he follows her gaze as she looks at Benjamin.
Erik watches his son for a long time. His throat aches with love. Benjamin is eating French fries, his expression serious. He has disappeared into his thoughts. His eyes stare vacantly, as if he has been sucked into his memories and the spaces between them. Erik reaches out with his uninjured arm, squeezes his son’s fingers, and sees him look up.
“Merry Christmas, Dad,” says Benjamin with a smile. “Here, have some fries.”
“What about taking some of this food over to see Granddad?” Erik suggests.
“Are you serious?” asks Simone.
“How much fun is it being in the hospital at Christmas?”
Simone smiles at him and calls for a taxi. Benjamin goes over to the counter for a bag to put the food in.
As their taxi slowly drives past Odenplan, Erik sees his family reflected in the window, superimposed over the enormous decorated Christmas tree in the square. They slip past the branches as if they were dancing together around it. There it stands, tall and wide, hundreds of tiny glowing lights curling up towards the bright shining star.
Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Blue Door
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
77–85 Fulham Palace Road,
Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by Blue Door 2011
Copyright © Lars Kepler 2009
English translation © Ann Long 2010
All rights reserved
Originally published in 2009 by Albert Bonniers Förlag, Sweden, as Hypnotisören
Lars Kepler assert the moral right to be identified as the authors of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Source ISBN: 9780007359127
Ebook Edition © June 2012 ISBN: 9780007412457
Version 1
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.
THE
NIGHTMARE
LARS KEPLER
Translated from the Swedish by Laura A. Wideburg
International Praise for The Nightmare:
‘One of the most exciting Swedish crime novels of recent years … It doesn’t get better than this’
Göteborgsposten
‘Joona Linna is quietly assure
d and as smart as a bag full of Morses’
Metro
‘Larsson is destined to have many heirs….Kepler is by far the best’
Time
‘A high-octane, taut thriller’
Marie Claire
‘Intricate detective work and heart-ticking suspense’
Boston Globe
‘This sophisticated literary duo turns out novels different from anything else coming from Sweden, inventive action thrillers with an almost cinematic density’
The Australian
‘Once again the authors have succeeded in making themselves stand out in the torrent of Swedish crime novels’
Helsingborgs Dagblad
‘The reader is ready to sell his own soul for the opportunity to read this book without interruption, in one sitting’
Arbetarbladet
‘The pace of this crime thriller leaves the reader short of breath’ Buch-magazin
Table of Contents
Title Page
International Praise for The Nightmare
1. foreboding
2. the pursuer
3. a boat adrift in jungfrufjärden bay
4. the swaying man
5. the national homicide squad
6. how death came
7. helpful people
8. the needle
9. all about hand-to-hand combat
10. the woman who drowned
11. in the cabin
12. an unusual death
13. the reconstruction
14. a party in the night
15. the identification
16. the mistake
17. an extremely dangerous man
18. the fire
19. a wavy landscape of ashes
20. the house
21. the security service
22. the incomprehensible
23. the forensic technicians
24. the object
25. the child on the staircase
26. a palm
27. the extremists
28. the brigade
29. waiting for the swat team
30. the pain
31. the message
32. real police work
33. the search
34. dreambow
35. deleted data
36. the connection
37. collaborating units
38. saga bauer
39. farther away
40. the replacement
41. sleepless
42. national inspectorate of strategic products
43. a cloned computer
44. the e-mails
45. riding down the motorway
46. the photograph
47. the fourth person
48. the bridal crown
49. the blurred face
50. the hiding place
51. the winner
52. the messenger
53. the signature
54. the competition
55. the maritime police
56. the helicopter
57. thunderstorm
58. the heir
59. when life gains meaning
60. a little more time
61. always on his mind
62. sweet sleep
63. the johan fredrik berwald competition
64. the lift down
65. what eyes have seen
66. without penelope
67. follow the money
68. something to celebrate
69. the string quartet
70. a feeling
71. seven million alternatives
72. the riddle
73. one last question
74. a perfect plan
75. the bait
76. the safe apartment
77. the stakeout
78. östermalms saluhall
79. when it all goes down
80. the shock wave
81. the german embassy
82. the face
83. the suspect
84. the fire
85. hunting the hunter
86. the white trunk of the birch tree
87. the red herring
88. the visitor
89. the meeting
90. the photograph, again
91. one last escape
92. discovered
93. greta’s death
94. white rustling plastic
95. disappeared
96. raphael guidi
97. flight
98. the prosecutor
99. the payment
100. pontus salman
101. the girl who picks dandelions
102. turning over the picture
103. closer
104. the nightmare
105. the witness
106. the pappa
107. the empty room
108. loyalty
109. the contract
110. on board
111. traitors
112. automatic fire
113. the blade of the knife
114. the final fight
115. the conclusion
axel riessen
beverly andersson
penelope fernandez
saga bauer and anja larsson
disa helenius
joona linna
Epilogue
Copyright
The word ‘music’ comes from the ‘art of the muses’ and reflects the Greek myth of the Nine Muses. All nine were daughters of the powerful god Zeus and the titan Mnemosyne, goddess of memory. Euterpe, the muse of music, is often portrayed holding a double flute to her lips. Her name means ‘Giver of Joy.’
The gift of musicality does not have a generally agreed-upon definition. There are people who lack the ability to hear differing frequencies in music while, on the other hand, there are people born with an exact memory for music and perfect pitch so they can reproduce a specific tone without any external reference.
Throughout the ages, a number of exceptional musical geniuses have emerged, some of whom have achieved lasting fame—Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, who began to tour the courts of Europe at the age of six; Ludwig van Beethoven, who wrote many of his masterpieces after becoming totally deaf.
The legendary Niccolò Paganini was born in 1782 in the Italian city of Genoa. He was a self-taught violinist and composer. To this day, very few violinists have been able to perform Paganini’s swift, complicated works. Until his death, Paganini was plagued by rumours that to gain his musical virtuosity he’d signed a contract with the Devil.
In the light of the long June night, on becalmed waters, a large pleasure craft is discovered adrift on Jungfrufjärden Bay in the southern Stockholm archipelago. The water, a sleepy blue-grey in colour, moves as softly as the fog. The old man rowing in his wooden skiff calls out a few times, even though he’s starting to suspect no one is going to answer. He’s been watching the yacht from shore for almost an hour as it’s been drifting backwards, pushed by the lazy current away from land.
The man guides his boat until it bumps against the larger craft. Pulling in his oars and tying up to the swimming platform, he climbs the metal ladder and over the railing. There’s nothing to see on the afterdeck except for a pink recliner. The old man stands still and listens. Hearing nothing, he opens the glass door and steps down into the salon. A grey light shines through the large windows over the varnished teak brightwork and a deep blue cloth canvas sofa. He continues down the steep stairs, which are panelled in more shining wood. Past a dark galley, past a bathroom, into the large cabin. Tiny windows near the ceiling offer barely enough light to reveal an arrow-shaped double berth. Near the headboard a young woman in a jean jacket sits slumped at the edge of the bed. Her thighs are spread; one hand rests on a pink pillow. She looks right into the old man’s eyes with a puzzled, frightened expression.
The old man needs a moment to realise the woman is dead.
Fastened to her long black hair is a clip shaped in the form of a white dove: the dove
of peace.
As the old man moves towards her and touches her cheek, her head falls forwards and a thin stream of water dribbles from her lips and on down to her chin.
1
foreboding
A cold shiver runs down Penelope Fernandez’s spine. Her heart beats faster and she darts a look over her shoulder. Perhaps she feels a sense of foreboding of what’s to come as her day progresses.
In spite of the television studio’s heat, Penelope’s face feels chilled. Maybe the sensation is left over from her time in makeup when the cold powder puff was pressed to her skin and the peace-dove hair clip was taken out so they could rub in the mousse that would make her hair fall in serpentine locks.
