Stalker

by Lars Kepler

  ‘What’s going on? You’re not actually allowed to ask, but a former patient of Erik’s called and said that Erik was in his flat,’ she replies in a tired voice.

  ‘Can I have a name?’

  ‘Confidential, I can’t talk to you, I told you that.’

  ‘Just say if it’s something I ought to know about.’

  ‘The patient told the police he’d left Erik alone in the flat … The National Response Unit went in, saw an armed man and shot live ammunition … it turned out that the person in the window was the patient, who had returned to the flat.’

  ‘And Erik wasn’t there?’

  He can hear her trying to sit up in bed.

  ‘We don’t even know if he’d been there at all, and the patient’s on an operating table right now and can’t be interviewed or—’

  ‘What if he’s the preacher?’ Joona interrupts.

  ‘Erik’s guilty … But maybe the patient knows where he is. We’ll question him as soon as we can.’

  ‘You should station armed guards at the hospital.’

  ‘Joona, we’ve found blood in Erik’s car, it might not mean anything, but it’s been sent for analysis.’

  ‘Have you looked for a set of yellow rain-clothes in the patient’s flat?’

  ‘We didn’t find anything special,’ she replies.

  ‘Are there stinging nettles outside the flat?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ she says in a bemused tone.

  106

  Joona sits down on a chair for the first time in several hours and reads more about the killer’s steps in Sandra Lundgren’s flat, looks at the sketches and thinks that there’s something unusually agitated and frenetic about the murders. They’re planned, but they aren’t rational.

  Joona compares this with the post-mortem reports’ description of theatrical aggression, but can’t help thinking that the degree of controlled preparation is actually a disguise, and that the aggression itself is the perpetrator’s natural state.

  He is about to make a note to investigate the medical history of Erik’s former patient when his phone rings.

  ‘Joona, it’s me,’ Erik whispers. ‘They tried to kill me. I was hiding out at Nestor’s, he’s an old patient of mine, the police must have thought it was me they could see in the window. They shot him twice, it was like an execution. I didn’t think the police in Sweden could do something like that, it’s completely insane.’

  ‘Are you somewhere safe now?’

  ‘Yes, I think so … You know, he only came back to tell me what he’d done, to say that the police had promised not to hurt me, and then they shot him through the window.’

  ‘Has it occurred to you that he could be the preacher?’

  ‘He isn’t,’ Erik replies instantly.

  ‘What was his problem when he was—’

  ‘Joona, that doesn’t matter, I just want a trial, I don’t care if they convict me, I can’t stay—’

  ‘Erik, I don’t think I’m being monitored, but don’t tell me where you are,’ Joona interrupts. ‘I only want to know how long you can stay hidden where you are.’

  The phone crackles as Erik moves.

  ‘I don’t know, twenty-four hours, maybe,’ he whispers. ‘There’s a tap here, but nothing to eat.’

  ‘Are you likely to be found?’

  ‘There’s probably not much risk of that,’ Erik replies, then falls silent.

  ‘Erik?’

  ‘I don’t understand how I could have ended up in this situation,’ he says quietly. ‘Everything I’ve done has only made things worse.’

  ‘I’m going to find the preacher,’ Joona says.

  ‘It’s too late for that, it’s too late for everything now, I just want to give myself up without being killed!’

  Joona can hear Erik’s agitated breathing down the phone.

  ‘If we manage to hand you over and keep you alive in prison, these crimes carry a life sentence,’ Joona says.

  ‘But I don’t think I’d be convicted – I can hypnotise Rocky before the trial.’

  ‘They’d never let you do that.’

  ‘No, maybe not, but …’

  ‘I went to see Rocky,’ Joona says. ‘He’s in Huddinge Prison for possession of drugs, he remembered you, but nothing about the Zone or the preacher.’

  ‘It’s hopeless,’ Erik says.

  Joona leans against the window and feels the cool glass against his forehead. Down in the street a taxi stops outside the hotel. The driver’s face is grey with tiredness as he walks round the car to take the luggage out.

  Joona glances down at his hire-car, watches the taxi drive off, and when he looks up again he’s made up his mind.

  ‘I’ll try to find a way of getting Rocky out today … and then we’ll meet up so you can hypnotise him,’ he says.

  ‘Is that your plan?’ Erik asks.

  ‘You said you could unearth specific details about the preacher if you were able to hypnotise Rocky again.’

  ‘Yes, I can, I’m pretty sure of that.’

  ‘In that case I’ll be able to find the real killer while you stay in hiding.’

  ‘I just want to hand myself in and—’

  ‘You’ll be found guilty if it goes to trial.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous, I just happened to be nearby when—’

  ‘It’s not just that,’ Joona interrupts. ‘Your fingerprints were on an object found in Susanna Kern’s hand.’

  ‘What object?’ Erik asks in astonishment.

  ‘Part of a porcelain animal.’

  ‘I don’t get it, that doesn’t mean anything to me.’

  ‘But the fingerprint match is one hundred per cent.’

  Joona hears Erik walk up and down, it sounds as though he’s walking across a wooden floor.

  ‘So everything points at me,’ he says in a low voice.

  ‘Have you got a picture of Nestor?’

  Erik tells him how to log into the medical records of the Psychology Clinic before they end the call. Joona puts his pistol and jacket on, then goes down to reception to get a printout of Nestor’s picture before leaving the hotel room again.

  He walks past his hire-car and turns into the much narrower Frejgatan.

  Outside one of the doorways stands an old Volvo, the sort with no ignition lock. Joona looks round quickly. The street is completely deserted. He takes a step back, then kicks in the rear side-window.

  The alarm of a car further down the street goes off.

  Joona opens the front door from the inside, moves the seat back, pulls his screwdriver out of his pocket, prises off the cover around the ignition and loosens the panels on the steering column. He leans over and inserts the screwdriver into the upper part of the column, and carefully breaks the steering lock.

  Quickly he pulls on a pair of gloves, gets in the driving seat, loosens the red cables on the ignition cylinder and peels back their plastic covering. As soon as he twists the ends together music starts to play on the radio and the inside light comes on. He shuts the door, pulls out the brown wires and puts them together, and the engine starts.

  The streets aren’t yet full of cars as he drives out to Huddinge. A plastic rosary hangs off the rear-view mirror. There are already lorries on the road, but the commuters are still drinking coffee in their homes.

  In Huddinge he drives past the imposing prison building and carries on south, pulls on to a track leading into the forest, turns the car round, parks, then starts walking back towards Stockholm.

  107

  Joona Linna gets out of the taxi on Surbrunnsgatan, pays and walks across the street to his grey hire-car. The engine starts with a gentle hum, he leans back in the leather seat and pulls away from the kerb.

  When he reaches Huddinge Prison he parks right in front of the entrance, next to a metal fence, and calls Erik’s number.

  ‘How are you getting on?’ he asks.

  ‘OK, but I’m starting to get hungry.’

  ‘I’ve changed my SIM
-card, so you can tell me where you are now.’

  ‘Behind St Mark’s Church, outside the wall. There’s a pet cemetery in the woods. I’m hiding in a red wooden shed.

  ‘That’s fairly close to the police raid on Nestor’s flat, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, I heard the ambulance last night,’ Erik says quietly.

  ‘I’ll bring Rocky out to you an hour from now,’ Joona says, glancing up at the imposing edifice of the prison.

  He puts his pistol and mobile in the glove-compartment, leaves the key in the ignition and then gets out of the car and walks in through the tall pillars.

  He buys three sandwiches at the kiosk, asks for a bag, and then goes over to say why he’s there.

  After going through the usual security procedures Joona is shown inside the prison. The same prison officer as before is standing waiting for him.

  Joona notes that Arne has a telescopic baton from Bonowi. It’s made of sprung steel, and designed to hit the muscles in the upper arms and thighs.

  His name-badge sits slightly crookedly on his pilled Nato sweater. His handcuffs are dangling from his belt at the base of his broad back.

  In the lift Arne takes off his glasses and polishes them on his sweater.

  ‘How’s the fishing?’ Joona asks.

  ‘I’m heading to Älvkarleby with my brother-in-law later this autumn.’

  The interview room is one of the monitored rooms, in which one wall consists of a pane of glass, making it possible for people in the next room to observe everything going on inside.

  Joona sits down on a chair and waits with both hands resting on the tabletop until he hears voices approaching along the corridor.

  ‘He’s called the naked chef because he was naked when he started,’ the duty officer is saying as the door opens and Rocky is led into the room.

  ‘No,’ Arne says, ‘that’s not right …’

  ‘My wife and I saw Jamie Oliver at the book fair in Gothenburg fifteen years ago. He was completely naked. Stood there making spaghetti alle vongole.’

  ‘My shoulders hurt,’ Rocky sighs.

  ‘Just keep quiet,’ Arne says, pushing him down on to a chair.

  ‘Give me a scribble and he’s all yours,’ the duty officer says as they leave the room.

  108

  Rocky looks paler today, and has dark patches under his eyes – he’s probably suffering from withdrawal. Arne Melander sits in the adjoining room watching them, but he can’t hear what they are saying. The soundproof glass wall is intended to protect the confidentiality of conversations between defence lawyers and their clients, but also to allow the police to question suspects without the contents of their conversations leaking out.

  ‘They say they can keep me locked up in this fucking place for six months,’ Rocky says in a gruff voice, rubbing under his nose.

  ‘You’ve talked about a preacher,’ Joona says, in a final attempt to avoid putting his plan into action.

  ‘I have problems with my memory after—’

  ‘I know,’ Joona interrupts. ‘But try to remember the preacher, you saw him kill a woman called Tina.’

  ‘That’s possible,’ Rocky says, his eyes narrowing.

  ‘He chopped off her arm with a machete. Do you remember that?’

  ‘I don’t remember anything,’ Rocky whispers.

  ‘Do you know someone called Nestor?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Look at this picture,’ Joona says, handing him the printout.

  Rocky studies Nestor’s thin face carefully, then nods.

  ‘He was in Karsudden, I think …’

  ‘Did you know him?’

  ‘I don’t know, there were different sections.’

  ‘Are you prepared to meet Erik Maria Bark and let yourself be hypnotised?’

  ‘OK,’ Rocky says with a shrug.

  ‘The problem is that the prosecutor is refusing to let you out,’ Joona says slowly.

  ‘Erik can always come and hypnotise me here.’

  ‘That isn’t possible, because the police think Erik carried out the murders.’

  ‘Erik?’

  ‘But he’s as innocent as you were.’

  ‘Vanitas vanitatum,’ Rocky says with a broad smile.

  ‘Erik found Olivia, who …’

  ‘I know, I know, I go down on my knees and thank him every evening … But what do you expect me to do about it?’

  ‘We’re leaving together, you and me,’ Joona replies calmly. ‘I’ll take one of the guards hostage and all you have to do is come along with me.’

  ‘Hostage?’

  ‘We’ll be out in seven minutes, long before the police get here.’

  Rocky looks at Joona, then at Arne sitting behind the glass.

  ‘I’ll do it if I can have my wraps back,’ Rocky says, leaning back and stretching his legs.

  ‘What sort of heroin was it?’ Joona asks.

  ‘White, from Nimroz … but Kandahar would do fine.’

  ‘I’ll sort it,’ Joona says, taking a flattened roll of duct tape from his pocket.

  With his eyes half-closed, Rocky watches the former police officer wrap the heavy-duty tape round his hands.

  ‘I’m sure you know what you’re doing,’ Rocky says.

  ‘Bring the bag of sandwiches,’ Joona says, pressing the button on the intercom to indicate that the meeting is over.

  A few moments later Arne opens the door and lets Joona out into the corridor. The idea is for him to lead Joona out of the prison, then take Rocky back to his cell.

  While the prison officer locks Rocky inside the interview room, Joona goes over to the other door where the bottom of the skirting board has come loose. He leans down. Slips his fingers into the gap and pulls upwards. The screws spring free from the concrete wall along with their brown plastic rawlplugs.

  ‘You can’t do that!’ Arne exclaims.

  Crumbs of cement rain down on the floor as Joona yanks up the skirting board. The top screws are stuck and Joona jerks hard, twisting the metal until there’s a bang as the last screws come loose.

  ‘Are you listening?’ Arne says, drawing his baton. ‘I’m talking to you.’

  Joona takes no notice of him. He holds the skirting board out in front of him, stamps down hard with his foot, bends down and turns it, then stamps again.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Arne asks with a nervous smile, coming closer.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Joona says simply.

  He knows what sort of training Arne Melander has received, and that he’s going to approach with his left hand outstretched, trying to hold him off while he attempts to strike Joona on the thighs and upper arms with sweeping movements of the baton.

  Joona moves towards him with long strides, knocks his arm away and then lands his elbow in the heavy man’s chest, making him stagger back. His knees give way but he puts out a hand to support himself and manages to sit down on the floor.

  Joona stumbles forward from the momentum of the blow, but stays on his feet and snatches the prison officer’s alarm from him before he has time to react. He cuts his lower arm as he puts the bent part of the skirting board around Arne’s neck, then pulls the handcuffs from his belt and attaches one cuff to the point where the ends of the skirting board intersect.

  ‘Stand up and let Rocky out,’ he says.

  Arne coughs and turns round heavily, crawls to the wall and leans against it as he gets to his feet.

  ‘Unlock the door.’

  Arne’s hands are free, but Joona is steering him from behind with the protruding ends of the skirting board. His neck is trapped in the noose-like bend, the sharp edges of the metal pressing against his neck.

  ‘Don’t do this,’ Arne pants.

  Sweat is running down his face and his hands are shaking as he unlocks the door of the interview room. Rocky comes out, picks up the baton and presses it on the floor to make it contract again.

  ‘Arne, if you help us we’ll be out in four minutes and th
en I’ll let you go,’ Joona says.

  The prison officer limps ahead of Joona, and keeps trying to slip his fingers under the metal noose.

  ‘Use your passcard and type in the code,’ Joona says, steering him towards the lift.

  As they travel down through the building Arne holds one hand against the mirror and keeps looking up at the camera in the hope that someone will see him.

  The metal has already cut through one layer of the duct-tape around Joona’s hands.

  When they emerge into the lobby it takes just a matter of seconds before the rest of the prison staff realise what’s going on. Like a pressure wave, the atmosphere goes from relaxed to intense. Some sort of silent alarm has evidently been activated, a light is flashing beneath one desk, and prison officers who had been sitting talking moments before hurry to their feet. Chairs scrape the floor, papers fall to the ground.

  ‘Let us through!’ Joona calls, steering Arne towards the exit.

  Seven guards are approaching anxiously from the corridor, they’re clearly having trouble reading the situation, and Joona tells Rocky to watch his back.

  Rocky extends the baton again and walks backwards behind Joona towards the airlock.

  The officer who was sitting in the security command centre hurries over. His task now is to slow things down and delay the escape for as long as possible.

  ‘I can’t let you out,’ he says. ‘But if you give yourselves up, then—’

  ‘Look at your colleague,’ Joona interrupts.

  Arne whimpers as Joona pulls the ends of the metal outwards. The noose tightens around his neck and blood starts to trickle down his dark sweater. He tries to hold the metal back with his hands, but stands no chance.

  ‘Stop!’ the security officer yells. ‘For God’s sake, stop!’

  Arne stumbles sideways, into a display of information for visitors, sending brochures falling to the ground around him.

  ‘I’ll let him go when we get outside,’ Joona says.

  ‘OK, everyone move back,’ the security officer says. ‘Let them through, let them go.’

  They pass through the bleeping metal detector. Prison officers and other staff get out of the way. One officer is recording everything on his mobile phone.