Stalker (17 page)

Adam cries out in pain as Joona pushes through the gap between the bed and the storeroom wall. He hears something made of glass break under the pressure. The lights in the main passageway go out but Joona can still see that the huge dog has clamped its jaws round Adam’s lower arm. It’s pulling backwards hard, snarling as its claws scrabble on the cement floor.

Adam is gasping and trying to hit the animal.

Joona can’t fire into the darkness, so tries to force his way through to them. A standard lamp with a broken shade, tucked into a pile of chairs, catches on his clothes.

The dog isn’t letting go of Adam’s arm. They crash into the metal wall together. Blood from Adam’s arm is running from its locked jaws.

Its paws slip on the polished cement floor, its claws unable to get any grip.

The dog jerks backwards again, trying to knock Adam off balance, but he’s managing to stay on his feet.

Joona shoves the lamp aside, its cord whips his cheek, but he makes it out past the bed and clambers over some boxes of books.

The dog makes a sudden downward jerk and when Adam stumbles forward it lets go and snaps at his neck. It misses and only catches part of the collar of his jacket, rips the fabric and tries to bite again. Adam throws himself back, falls and starts to kick out. The dog bites into his foot and tugs him towards it.

Joona pulls over a box of paperback books as he stumbles out on to the floor. He runs over with his pistol raised, but the dog suddenly lets go and disappears.

‘Big dogs,’ Joona says.

Leaning on his stick, he watches as Adam picks his pistol up off the floor and gets to his feet. Joona shuts his weary eyes for a moment, and can’t help thinking that he might be about to break.

They carry on towards the next main passageway. The lights go on ahead of them, and the clicking sound is back.

‘There,’ Adam says.

They catch a glimpse of someone disappearing into one of the side-passages. There’s a sound of clattering metal wire vibrating against the metal walls.

‘Did you see? Was it the same woman?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Joona replies, noticing how pale and sweaty Adam’s face is. ‘How are you doing?’

Adam doesn’t answer, just shakes off the blood running down the back of his hand on to the floor. His lower arm is injured, but his leather jacket prevented it being completely torn apart.

They stick to the right-hand side of the passageway in order to be able to see into the side-passage on the left. The metal wire scrapes and rattles against the metal walls.

A young woman is standing in the passageway, swaying. It’s not the same one as before. Her white jeans and chequered shirt are much dirtier.

‘He said you’d come,’ she mumbles in a brittle voice.

‘We’re police officers,’ Adam says.

She staggers and fumbles for a little dog-whistle attached to a cord around her neck.

‘Don’t do it,’ Adam says when he sees the second large dog get closer, crouching low with its ears folded down.

She’s been crying, her make-up has run down her face and her hair is hanging in messy clumps.

There’s blood around the waist of her shirt.

She rolls the dog-whistle between her fingers, then puts it to her lips.

Adam raises his pistol, takes aim and shoots the dog in the forehead. It collapses to the floor and the echo fades away.

She smiles at them through cracked lips, then staggers backwards when someone tugs on the metal wire round her waist.

‘We saw an SOS signal,’ Adam says.

‘I’m smart, aren’t I?’ she says wearily.

She starts to move back along the passageway, and the metal wire pulling her clatters against the walls and floor.

‘How many of you are there down here?’ Adam asks as they follow her.

They step over the dog and the pool of dark blood spreading out across the floor.

‘Where are you going?’

She doesn’t answer, and they carry on round a corner. Further along the dimly lit passageway is a faint light. They pass an open storeroom and in the gloom they can see a mattress on the floor, boxes, some old skis, and stacks of tinned food.

Someone tugs harder on the wire and the young woman keeps stumbling on, opens the next door and staggers into the storeroom.

Light shines out on to the door opposite, and her shadow sways across the corrugated metal and smooth walls.

There’s a growing stench of rotting rubbish.

Joona and Adam follow her with their pistols pointed at the floor. The light is coming from a pocket torch hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the nearest part of the large storeroom. Among a mass of removal crates and picture frames stands an emaciated man dressed in an unbuttoned mink coat.

It’s Filip Cronstedt.

Joona and Adam raise their guns.

He’s filthy, and has white froth at the corners of his mouth. His bare chest is covered with blood from a patchwork of cuts.

The first woman they saw, the one in the worn padded jacket, is sitting on a box in front of him, eating mushrooms from a jar with her fingers.

Filip hasn’t seen them yet. He’s carefully winding the retracted wire round a huge spindle, then scratches his neck and pulls the woman in the chequered shirt closer without looking up.

‘Filip,’ she whispers.

‘I need you on guard, Sophia … I don’t want to have to lock you up, but I’ve told you before, you can only have the light on when the door is closed.’

‘Filip Cronstedt?’ Adam says in a loud voice.

Filip Cronstedt looks up and stares at Adam with tired eyes and dilated pupils.

‘I’m the hatmaker,’ he says quietly.

Sweat is running down Joona’s back, and he can’t hold his pistol up any longer.

The torch hanging from the ceiling sways in a gust of air, and the shadows slide around the walls, its light reflecting off a large floor-mirror.

Joona moves to one side, blinks, and sees in the mirror that there’s a knife sticking out of the box in front of Filip.

‘We need to talk to you,’ Adam says, moving forward cautiously.

‘How many videos are you in every day?’ Filip asks, staring at the floor. ‘Where does it all go, what decisions does it lead to?’

‘We can talk about that if you let the girls go.’

‘I don’t give a shit about Snowden and optic nerves,’ he says slowly, pointing at the ceiling.

‘Just let the girls go, and—’

‘This isn’t Prism or XKeyscore or Echelon,’ he interrupts in a louder voice. ‘This is a fuck of a lot bigger than that.’

Joona puts his pistol back in its holster and walks slowly towards the woman whose name is evidently Sophia. He can feel the last of his strength draining away, the way icy water makes everything sluggish, but scorchingly sleepy.

Filip’s hand is getting closer to the knife sticking out of the box.

Sophia falters, and the wire rattles softly.

‘Saturn ate his children,’ Filip goes on, then sniggers. ‘I mean, the NSA is much bigger … and we’re their children …’

Joona just manages to see him put his hand on the knife before his vision flares again and he has to lean his own hand against the wall to stop himself falling.

Little dots are still floating before his eyes as he starts to loosen the coarse wire around Sophia’s waist. He has to rest his forehead against her shoulder for a while before going on. He can hear her shallow breathing.

Without showing any sign of outward anxiety, he unwinds the wire some twenty revolutions before she’s free.

‘Are there more of you down here?’ he asks in a subdued voice as he leads her out of the storeroom.

‘Just me and my sister,’ she replies.

‘We’re going to get you out. What’s your sister’s name?’

‘Carola.’

The metal wire unravels on the cement floor with a scraping sound.

Filip tugs at the knife, making the side of the box bulge out before he loses his grip.

‘We’re here now, but who ends up in Guantánamo? You don’t know, do you?’ he says without looking at them.

‘Carola,’ Joona says in a normal tone of voice. ‘Could you come over here, please?’

Sophia’s sister puts the lid back on the jar of mushrooms and shakes her head without looking up.

‘Carola, come to me,’ Sophia says.

She sits there picking at the jar, as Filip looks at her and scratches his neck.

‘Come on,’ Joona says, feeling his gun rub against his chest.

‘Eugene is with them, you know, GCHQ … the NSA. Same thing … I’ve been so badly fucking deceived, for years … Everyone’s naked, everyone’s having fun … but how can you protect yourself if you’re completely naked, if everyone can film you from the fucking back?’

The torch spins round and dark shadows cross their faces and shoulders.

‘Sophia wants you to come over here,’ Joona says.

Carola looks up and smiles at her sister. Sophia brushes the tears from her cheeks and holds out her hand.

‘Can we go home now?’ Carola whispers, and stands up at last.

She’s about to start walking when Filip grabs hold of her hair and pulls her back, tugs the knife from the box and holds it to her throat.

‘Hang on, hang on, take it easy now,’ Adam calls. ‘Look, I’m putting my gun down.’

‘Go to hell!’ Filip screams and sticks the knife into his forehead before putting it to Carola’s throat again.

‘Do something!’ Sophia whimpers.

Blood from the wound in Filip’s forehead trickles through one eyebrow and drips down on to his cheek.

‘I know you’re only trying to protect her,’ Joona says calmly.

‘Yes, but you—’

‘Listen to me,’ Adam interrupts, breathing quickly. ‘You need to put the knife down.’

Sophia is sobbing with her hand over her mouth. Filip looks at Adam and grins at him.

‘I know where you’re from,’ he says, and presses the knife harder against Carola’s neck.

‘Put the knife down now,’ Adam shouts, moving sideways to get a clear line of fire.

Filip watches Adam and licks his lips nervously. The room is gloomy, but blood is clearly running down the blade.

‘Filip, you’re hurting her,’ Joona says, trying to conquer his dizziness. ‘You don’t have to do that, we’re no threat to you …’

‘Shut up!’

‘We’re just here to—’

‘Shut up!’

‘We’re here to ask about Maria Carlsson,’ Joona concludes.

‘Maria? My Maria?’ he says in a low voice. ‘Why …?’

Joona nods and thinks that he could shoot Filip in the shoulder, disarm him and then lie down on the floor. He’s waited too long. He can hardly see anything now, through the burning pain behind his eyes.

‘Look, I’m taking my gun out and giving it to you,’ Joona says, carefully drawing his Colt.

Filip stares at him with bloodshot eyes.

‘Maria said the NSA have started creeping about in her garden,’ he explains. ‘I went over and saw for myself, a skinny man in yellow overalls, like the Lofoten fishermen when I was little, he was filming her through the window, and …’

Joona wipes some blood from his nose and then his head explodes and his legs give way.

Sophia screams when he slumps on to his side, tries to get up, but falls on to his back and lies there with his eyelids quivering.

She goes over to him and kneels down. A bubbling, pulsing sensation behind one eye makes him hold his breath. Before it goes completely dark he feels her pull the pistol from his hand.

She stands up, straightens her back, takes a few shallow, panting breaths, then aims the pistol at Filip.

‘Let my sister go!’ she says sharply. ‘Just let her go!’

‘Put the gun down,’ Adam says in a shaky voice, and moves between them. ‘I’m a police officer, you need to trust me.’

‘Get out of the way!’ she yells. ‘Filip’s not going to let her go!’

‘Don’t do anything silly,’ Adam says, holding out his hand.

‘Don’t touch me – I’ll shoot!’

She’s clutching the pistol with both hands, but the barrel is still shaking.

‘Give me the gun and—’

There’s a deafening explosion as the pistol goes off. The bullet grazes Adam’s torso and hits Filip in the top of his arm. The knife falls to the floor and Filip stares at Sophia in astonishment as blood seeps through his fingers.

‘Get out of the way!’ she shouts again.

Adam lurches to the side, and feels warm blood pulsing out beneath his clothes. Sophia fires again, and hits Filip right in the chest. Blood spatters the boxes behind him and runs across the glass of the mirror. The empty cartridge falls to the ground with a tinkling sound.

Carola is still standing there with her head bowed, and slowly raises her hand to her neck. Sophia lowers the gun and stares blankly at Filip, who slumps down and sits on the floor, leaning back against a box.

He picks listlessly at the wound in his chest as blood pumps out, and his eyes flit about as he tries to say something.

On his way to his piano lesson, Erik stops at the ICA supermarket next to the Globe. He knows Madeleine loves popcorn, so he’s thinking of buying a few bags. As he walks through the shop he catches sight of his former patient, Nestor, in the dairy section. The tall, slim man is dressed in pressed trousers and a knitted grey sweater over a white shirt. His thin, clean-shaven face and small head with its white hair and side-parting look exactly the same as ever.

Nestor has seen him, and smiles in surprise, but Erik doesn’t go over to talk to him, just waves from a distance and carries on through the shop.

He picks up some popcorn and is on his way towards the checkout when he sees a popcorn machine on special offer. He knows he has a tendency to go over the top, but it doesn’t weigh much, and isn’t particularly expensive.

When he emerges into the car park with his bags of corn and the popcorn machine, he catches sight of Nestor again. The tall man is waiting at the crossing, on his way towards the underground. He has six full bags of shopping by his sides. They’re so heavy that he can only carry them a few metres at a time.

Erik opens the boot of his car and puts the box inside. He’s sure Nestor hasn’t spotted him. The shy man is muttering to himself as he picks up the bags, shuffles a few metres, then puts them down again.

Nestor is standing blowing into his thin hands as Erik goes up to him.

‘That looks heavy,’ he says.

‘Erik? No, it’s f-fine.’ Nestor smiles.

‘Where do you live? I’ll give you a lift.’

‘I don’t want to be a nuisance,’ he whispers.

‘You’re not,’ Erik says, picking up four of the bags.

As Nestor gets in the car beside him, he repeats that he could have managed. Erik replies that he knows that, and pulls out slowly from his parking space.

‘Thanks for the coffee … but you shouldn’t be buying things for me,’ Erik says.

‘You saved m-my life,’ Nestor replies quietly.

Erik recalls how Nestor’s psychotic breakdown happened when his seriously ill dog had to be put down three years ago.

When he was allocated to Erik as a patient, Erik had read the notes from the secure psychiatric unit where Nestor had been admitted. He used to talk to dead people: a grey lady who brushed dandruff from her hair, and a mean old man who twisted his arms in different directions.

During Erik’s conversations with him, it emerged that Nestor was fixated upon his dog’s death. He talked a lot about the syringe being stuck in his right front paw, and how the fluid was injected. The dog shook and urine spread across the bench as its muscles relaxed. He felt he had been tricked by the vet and the vet’s wife.

Nestor responded well to treatment, but when he tried to cut down his daily dose of Risperdal, he began hearing strange voices again.

Erik was never sure if had actually managed to hypnotise Nestor, he may have belonged to the small group who weren’t receptive, but during those relaxed sessions in the dimly lit treatment room they did at least begin to get to grips with things.

Nestor had grown up with his mother, younger brother, and a black Labrador. When he was seven, his five-year-old brother became seriously ill with a lung infection, which exacerbated his already bad asthma. The boys’ mother told Nestor that his brother would die unless they had the dog put down. Nestor took the dog to Söderbysjön and drowned it in a trunk full of stones.

But his brother died anyway.

In Nestor’s mind, the two events became intertwined. He had always suffered from the belief that he had drowned his brother in a trunk, and had no memory of the dog.

They worked on his anger with his mother’s damaging manipulation, and after a month he finally let go of the idea of his own guilt, and the notion that his mother could sometimes control his actions from beyond the grave.

Nestor was living normally again now, didn’t need to take any medication, and was incredibly grateful to Erik.

They pass St Mark’s Church in Björkhagen and pull up outside Axvallsvägen 53.

Nestor unbuckles his seat belt and Erik helps him carry his food to the door of his ground-floor flat.

‘Thanks for everything,’ the former patient says in a tremulous voice. ‘I’ve got ice cream, and time to—’

‘I need to get going,’ Erik says.

‘But I have to offer you s-something,’ Nestor says, opening the door.

‘Nestor, I’ve got an appointment.’

‘Walk across the dead without a s-sound. Walk across the dead and hear their murmuring resound.’

‘I haven’t got time for riddles now,’ Erik says, and walks out of the door of the building.

‘Promise!’ Nestor calls after him.