Joona leans back in his chair, running his fingers through his messy blond hair. So far he does not feel any tiredness from the long night in Tumba and at Karolinska Hospital. He watches as Carlos’s face grows redder and redder. Joona can hear The Needle drone faintly on the other end of the line. When the voice stops, Carlos simply nods and hangs up without saying goodbye.
“They … they—”
“They have established that the father was killed first,” supplies Joona.
Carlos nods.
“What did I tell you?” Joona beams.
Carlos looks down at his desk and clears his throat. “Fine, you’re leading the preliminary investigation,” he says. “The Tumba case is yours.”
“First of all, I want to hear one thing,” says Joona. “Who was right? Who was right, you or me?”
“You!” yells Carlos. “For God’s sake, Joona, what is it with you? Yeah, you were right—as usual!”
Joona hides a smile behind his hand as he gets up.
Suddenly he turns grave. “Reconnaissance hasn’t been able to track down Evelyn Ek. She could be anywhere. I don’t know what we’re going to do if we can’t get permission to talk to the boy. Too much time will pass, and it’ll be too late when we find her.”
“You want to interrogate the wounded boy?” Carlos asks.
“I have no choice.”
“Have you spoken to the prosecutor?”
“I have no intention of handing over the preliminary investigation until I have a suspect,” says Joona.
“That’s not what I meant,” says Carlos. “I just think it’s a good idea to have the prosecutor on your side if you’re going to talk to a boy who is so badly injured.”
Joona is halfway out of the door. “All right, that makes sense. You’re a wise man. I’ll give Jens a call,” he says.
11
tuesday, december 8: morning
Erik Maria Bark arrives home from Karolinska Hospital. As he quietly lets himself in, he thinks about the young victim lying there and the policeman so eager to question him. Erik likes Detective Joona Linna, despite his attempt to get Erik to break his promise never to use hypnosis again. Maybe it’s the detective’s open and honest anxiety about the safety of the older sister that makes him so likeable. Presumably somebody is looking for her right now.
Erik is very tired. The tablets have begun to take effect; his eyes are heavy and sore; sleep is on the way. He opens the bedroom door and looks at Simone. The light from the hallway covers her like a scratched pane of glass. Three hours have passed since he left her here, and Simone has now taken over all the space in the bed. Resting on her stomach, she lies there heavily. The bedclothes are down by her feet, her nightgown has worked its way up around her waist, and she has goose bumps on her arms and shoulders. Erik pulls the covers over her carefully. She murmurs something and curls up; he sits down and strokes her ankle, and she moves slightly.
“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.
12
tuesday, december 8: morning
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