Lars Kepler 2-book Bundle (6 page)

“I’m going for a shower,” he says, but he leans back against the headboard, overwhelmed by fatigue.

“What was the name of the police officer?” she asks, slurring her words.

Before he has time to answer, he finds himself at the park in Observatorielunden. He is digging in the sand in the playground and finds a yellow stone, as round as an egg, as big as a pumpkin. He scrapes at it with his hands and sees the outline of a relief on the side, a jagged row of teeth. When he turns the heavy stone over he sees that it is the skull of a dinosaur.

Suddenly, Simone is screaming. “Fuck you!”

He gives a start and realises that he has fallen asleep and begun to dream. The strong pills have sent him to sleep in the middle of the conversation. He tries to smile and meets Simone’s chilly gaze.

“Sixan? What is it?”

“Has it started again?” she asks.

“What?”

“What?” she repeats crossly. “Who’s Daniella?”

“Daniella?”

“You promised. You made a promise, Erik,” she says. “I trusted you, I was actually stupid enough to trust—”

“What are you talking about? Daniella Richards is a colleague at Karolinska. What’s she got to do with anything?”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“This is actually getting ridiculous,” he says, and despite her clear anger he feels a smile spreading involuntarily across his face. He is so tired.

“Do you think this is funny?” she asks. “I’ve sometimes thought … I even believed I could forget what happened.”

Erik nods off for a few seconds, but he can still hear what she’s saying.

“It might be best if we separate,” whispers Simone.

He snaps awake at this. “Nothing has happened between me and Daniella.”

“That doesn’t really matter,” she says wearily.

“Doesn’t it? Doesn’t it matter? You want to separate because of something I did ten years ago?”

“Something?”

“I was drunk, Simone. Drunk, and—”

“I don’t want to listen. I know all about it. I … Fuck it! I don’t want to do this, I’m not a jealous person, but I
am
loyal and I expect loyalty in return.”

“I’ve never let you down since, and I’ll never—”

“Prove it to me. I need proof.”

“You just have to trust me,” he says.

“Yes,” she says with a sigh, and collecting a pillow and duvet she shuffles out of the bedroom and down the hallway.

He is breathing heavily. He ought to follow her, not just give up; he ought to try to calm her down and persuade her to come back to bed, but right now sleep exerts the stronger influence. He can no longer resist it. He sinks down into the bed; feels the dopamine flood his system, the tension flow out of his body as relaxation spreads pleasurably across his face, his neck and shoulders, down into his toes and the tips of his fingers. A heavy, chemical sleep enfolds his consciousness like a floury cloud.

Erik slowly opens his eyes to the pale light pressing against the curtains. He rolls over with a grunt and glances at the alarm clock; two hours have passed. Immediately, his mind begins to replay the images from the night before: Simone’s angry face as she made her accusations, the boy lying there with hundreds of black knife wounds covering his glowing body.

Erik thinks of the detective, who seemed convinced that the perpetrator had wanted to murder an entire family: first the father, then the mother, the son, and the daughter.

An older daughter is out there somewhere, in extreme danger, if Joona Linna is right.

The telephone on the bedside table begins to ring.

Erik gets up, but instead of answering he opens the curtains and peers across at the façade of the building opposite, trying to gather his thoughts. The dust glazing the windowpanes is clearly visible in the morning sunshine.

Simone has already left for the gallery. He doesn’t understand her outburst, why she was talking about Daniella. He wonders if it’s about something else altogether: the drugs, maybe. He knows he’s very close to a serious dependency on them, but he has to sleep. All the night shifts at the hospital have ruined his ability to sleep naturally. Without pills he would go under, he thinks. He reaches for the alarm clock but manages to knock it on the floor instead.

The telephone stops, but is silent for only a little while before it starts ringing again.

He considers going into Benjamin’s room and lying down beside his son, waking him gently, asking if he’s been dreaming about anything. He picks up the telephone and answers.

“Hi, it’s Daniella Richards.”

“Are you still at the hospital? It’s quarter past eight.”

“I know. I’m exhausted.”

“Go home.”

“No chance,” says Daniella calmly. “You have to come back. That detective is on his way. He seems even more convinced that the perpetrator is after the older sister. He says he has to talk to the boy.”

Erik feels a sudden dark weight behind his eyes. “That’s a bad idea, given his condition.”

“I know. But what about the sister?” she interrupts him. “I’m considering giving the detective the go-ahead to question Josef.”

“It’s your patient. If you think he can cope with it,” says Erik.

“Cope? Of course he can’t cope with it. His condition is critical. His family has been murdered, and he’ll find out about it under questioning from a policeman. But I can’t just sit and wait. I don’t want to let the police at him, but there’s no doubt that his sister is in danger.”

“It’s your call,” Erik says again.

“A murderer is looking for his older sister!” Daniella breaks in, raising her voice.

“Presumably.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m in such a state about this,” she says. “Maybe because it isn’t too late. Something could actually be done. I mean, it isn’t often the case, but this time we could save a girl before she—”

“What do you want from me?” asks Erik.

“You have to come in and do what you’re good at.”

Erik pauses, then answers carefully. “I can talk to the boy about what’s happened when he’s feeling a little better.”

“That’s not what I mean. I want you to hypnotise him,” she says seriously.

“No.”

“It’s the only way.”

“I can’t. I won’t.”

“But there’s nobody as good as you.”

“I don’t even have permission to practise hypnosis at Karolinska.”

“I can arrange that.”

“Daniella,” Erik says, “I’ve promised never to hypnotise anyone again.”

“Can’t you just come in?”

There is silence for a little while; then Erik asks, “Is he conscious?”

“He soon will be.”

He can hear the rushing sound of his own breathing through the telephone.

“If you won’t hypnotise the boy, I’m going to let the police see him.” She ends the call.

Erik stands there holding the receiver in his trembling hand. The weight behind his eyes is rolling in towards his brain. He opens the drawer of the bedside table. The wooden box with the parrot and the native on it isn’t there. He must have left it in the car.

The apartment is flooded with sunlight as he walks through to wake Benjamin.

The boy is sleeping with his mouth open. His face is pale and he looks exhausted, despite a full night’s sleep.

“Benni?”

Benjamin opens his sleep-drenched eyes and looks at him as if he were a complete stranger, before he smiles the smile that has remained the same ever since he was born.

“It’s Tuesday. Time to wake up.”

Benjamin sits up yawning, scratches his head, then looks at the mobile phone hanging round his neck. It’s the first thing he does every morning: he checks whether he’s missed any messages during the night. Erik takes out the yellow bag with a puma on it, which contains the factor concentrate desmopressin, acetyl spirit, sterile cannulas, compresses, surgical tape, painkillers.

“Now or at breakfast?”

Benjamin shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.”

Erik quickly swabs his son’s skinny arm, turns it towards the light coming through the window, feels the softness of the muscle, taps the syringe, and carefully pushes the cannula beneath the skin. As the syringe slowly empties, Benjamin taps away at his cell phone with his free hand.

“Shit, my battery’s almost gone,” he says, then lies back as his father holds a compress to his arm to stop any bleeding.

Gently Erik bends his son’s legs backwards and forwards; then he exercises the slender knee joints and massages the feet and toes. “How does it feel?” he asks, keeping his eyes fixed on his son’s face.

Benjamin grimaces. “Same as usual.”

“Do you want a painkiller?”

Benjamin shakes his head, and Erik suddenly remembers the unconscious witness, the boy with all those knife wounds. Perhaps the murderer is looking for the older daughter right now.

“Dad? What is it?”

Erik meets Benjamin’s gaze. “I’ll drive you to school if you like,” he says.

“What for?”

The rush-hour traffic rumbles slowly along. Benjamin is sitting next to his father, the stop-and-go progress of the car making him feel drowsy. He gives a big yawn and feels a soft warmth still lingering in his body after the night’s sleep. He thinks about the fact that his father is in a hurry but that he still takes the time to drive him to school. Benjamin smiles to himself.
It’s always been this way
, he thinks:
when Dad’s involved in something awful at the hospital, he gets worried that something’s going to happen to me
.

“Oh, no!” Erik says suddenly. “We forgot the ice skates.”

“Right.”

“We’ll go back.”

“Doesn’t matter,” says Benjamin.

Erik tries switching lanes, but another car stops him from cutting in. Forced back, he almost collides with a dustbin lorry.

“We’ve got time to turn around and—”

“Just, like, forget the skates. I couldn’t care less,” says Benjamin, his voice rising.

Erik glances at him in surprise. “I thought you liked skating.”

Benjamin doesn’t know what to say. He can’t stand being interrogated, doesn’t want to lie. He turns away to look out of the window.

“Don’t you?” asks Erik.

“What?”

“Like skating?”

“Why would I?” Benjamin mutters. “It’s boring.”

“We bought you brand new—”

Benjamin’s only reply is a sigh.

“Fine,” says Erik. “Forget the skates.” He concentrates on the traffic for a moment. “So skating is boring. Playing chess is boring. Watching TV is boring. What do you actually enjoy?”

“Don’t know,” Benjamin says.

“Nothing?”

“No.”

“Movies?”

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Erik smiles.

“Yes,” replies Benjamin.

“I’ve seen you watch three or four movies in a night,” says Erik cheerily.

“So what?”

Erik goes on, still smiling. “I wonder how many movies you could get through if you
really
liked watching them. If you
loved
movies.”

“Give me a break.” Despite himself, Benjamin smiles.

“Maybe you’d need two TVs, zipping through them all on fast forward.” Erik laughs and places his hand on his son’s knee. Benjamin allows it to remain there.

Suddenly they hear a muffled bang, and in the sky a pale blue star appears, with descending smoke-coloured points.

“Funny time for fireworks,” says Benjamin.

“What?” asks his father.

“Look,” says Benjamin, pointing.

A star of smoke hangs in the sky. For some reason, Benjamin can see Aida in front of him, and his stomach contracts at once; he feels warm inside. Last Friday they sat close together in silence on the sofa in her narrow living room out in Sundbyberg, watching the movie
Elephant
while her younger brother played with Pokémon cards on the floor, talking to himself.

As Erik is parking outside the school, Benjamin suddenly spots Aida. She’s standing on the other side of the fence waiting for him. When she catches sight of him she waves. Benjamin grabs his bag and, sliding out the car door, says, “’Bye, Dad. Thanks for the lift.”

“Love you,” says Erik quietly.

Benjamin nods.

“Want to watch a movie tonight?” asks Erik.

“Whatever.”

“Is that Aida?” asks Erik.

“Yes,” says Benjamin, almost without making a sound.

“I’d like to say hello to her,” says Erik, climbing out of the car.

“What for?”

They walk across to Aida. Benjamin hardly dares to look at her; he feels like a kid. He doesn’t want her to think he needs his father to approve of her or anything. He doesn’t care what his father thinks. Aida looks nervous; her eyes dart from son to father. Before Benjamin has time to say anything by way of explanation, Erik sticks out his hand.

“Hi, there.”

Aida shakes his hand warily. Benjamin sees his father take in her tattoos: there’s a swastika on her throat, with a little Star of David next to it. She’s painted her eyes black, her hair is done up in two childish braids, and she wears a black leather jacket and a wide black net skirt.

“I’m Erik, Benjamin’s dad.”

“Aida.”

Her voice is high and weak. Benjamin blushes and looks nervously at Aida, then down at the ground.

“Are you a Nazi?” asks Erik.

“Are you?” she retorts.

“No.”

“Me neither,” she says, briefly meeting his eyes.

“Why have you got a—”

“No reason. I’m nothing. I’m just—”

Benjamin breaks in, his heart pounding with embarrassment over his father. “She was hanging out with these people a few years ago,” he says loudly. “But she thought they were idiots, and—”

“You don’t need to explain,” Aida interrupts, annoyed.

He doesn’t speak for a moment.

“I … I just think it’s brave to admit when you’ve made a mistake,” he says eventually.

“Yes, but I would interpret it as an ongoing lack of insight not to have it removed,” says Erik.

“Just leave it!” shouts Benjamin. “You don’t know anything about her!”

Aida simply turns and walks away. Benjamin hurries after her.

“Sorry,” he pants. “Dad can be so embarrassing.”