Joona Linna Crime Series Books 1 and 2: The Hypnotist, The Nightmare - Lars Kepler

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phone, checks the time, and calls Joona.

      “Good morning, Erik,” says the hoarse voice that’s distinctively Joona’s. He must have recognised Erik’s number from the display.

      “Did I wake you?”

      “No.”

      “Sorry to call again.” Erik coughs.

      “Has something happened?” asks Joona.

      “You haven’t found Josef?”

      “We need to speak to Simone, go through everything properly.”

      “But you don’t believe it was Josef who took Benjamin?”

      “No, I don’t,” Joona replies. “But I’d like to take a look at the apartment, make door-to-door inquiries, try to find some witnesses.”

      “Shall I ask Simone to call you?”

      “That won’t be necessary.”

      A drop of water falls from the tap, landing in the basin with a brief, truncated ping.

      “I still think you should accept police protection,” says Joona.

      “I’m staying at Karolinska Hospital. I don’t think Josef will come back here of his own free will.”

      “And what about Simone?”

      “Ask her. It’s possible she might have changed her mind,” says Erik. “Even though she already has a protector.”

      “Oh, yes, so I hear,” says Joona dryly. “Can’t imagine what it must be like to have Kennet Sträng as a father-in-law.”

      “Neither can I,” replies Erik.

      Joona laughs.

      “Did Josef try to run away the day before yesterday?” asks Erik.

      “There’s nothing to suggest that,” replies Joona. “Why do you ask?”

      “Somebody opened our front door the previous night, just like last night.”

      “I didn’t know that. But I’m pretty sure Josef ran because he found out he was going to be arrested, and he was given that information only yesterday,” Joona says slowly.

      Erik shakes his head and runs his thumb over his mouth. “This doesn’t make sense.” He sighs.

      “Did you see the open door?” asks Joona.

      “No, it was Sixan—Simone—who got up.”

      “Would she have any reason to lie?”

      “It hadn’t occurred to me.”

      “You don’t need to answer now.”

       50

       sunday, december 13 (feast of st lucia): morning

      Erik looks into his own eyes in the mirror. He no longer knows what to think. What if Josef had someone helping him? Someone to lay the groundwork the night before the kidnapping? Perhaps the accomplice described everything to Josef: the layout, what the rooms looked like, who slept where. That would explain why Josef didn’t find me, thinks Erik, because on the first night I was sleeping in my usual place, in bed next to Simone.

      Or maybe this second person was sent just to see if the copied key worked, but then overstepped the mark and went into the apartment, unable to resist sneaking in and looking at the sleeping family. The situation would have given him a pleasurable feeling of control, and he might have decided to play a joke on the family by leaving the fridge and freezer open.

      “Was Evelyn at the police station last Wednesday?” asks Erik.

      “Yes.”

      “All day and all night?”

      “Yes.”

      “Is she still there?”

      “She’s moved into one of our safe apartments. But she’s got a double guard.”

      “Has she been in touch with anyone?”

      “You have to let the police do their job,” says Joona.

      “I’m just doing my job,” says Erik quietly. “I need to talk to Evelyn.”

      “What are you going to ask her?”

      “Whether Josef has any friends, someone who might be able to help him.”

      “I can ask her that.”

      “What their names are.”

      “I can ask her that, too.”

      “Where they live, who he might be able to work with.”

      Joona sighs. “You know perfectly well I can’t allow you to carry out a private investigation, Erik. Even if I personally might think it’s in order.”

      “Can’t I be there when you talk to her?” asks Erik. “I’ve worked with traumatised people for many years.”

      There is silence between them for a few seconds.

      “Meet me in an hour in the National Police Headquarters lobby,” says Joona eventually.

      “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

      “Fine, twenty minutes,” says Joona, ending the call.

      Empty of thoughts, Erik goes over to his desk and opens the top drawer. Among pens, rubbers, and paper clips are assorted boxes of pills. He presses three different ones into his hand and swallows them.

      He thinks about telling Daniella he hasn’t time to attend the morning briefing but forgets to do it. He leaves his office and hurries to the cafeteria, where he drinks a cup of coffee standing in front of the aquarium, following a shoal of neon tetras with his eyes as they search around a shipwreck made of plastic. Then he wraps a sandwich in several paper napkins and stuffs it into his pocket.

      In the lift to the ground floor he catches sight of himself in the mirror, meets the blank eyes. His face is sorrowful, almost absent. He thinks about the sensation in your stomach when you fall from a great height: the helpless, dizzying feeling coupled with a heady, almost sexual rush. He has hardly any strength left, but the pills lift him up onto a bright plane where all the contours are sharply defined. He can keep going a little longer, he thinks. All he needs to do is hold it together long enough to find his son again. Then everything can fall apart.

      As he drives to the meeting with Joona and Evelyn, he tries to retrace his steps over the past week. His keys could have been copied on several occasions. Last Thursday his jacket was hanging up in a restaurant in Södermalm, keys in the pocket, with nobody to keep an eye on it. It has been over the back of the chair in his office at the hospital, on a hook in the staff cafeteria, and in plenty of other places. The same is doubtless true of Simone and Benjamin’s keys.

      While manoeuvring through the chaos caused by the redevelopment around Fridhemsplan, he gets out his phone and calls Simone’s number.

      “Hello?” she answers, sounding stressed.

      “It’s me.”

      “Has something happened?” she asks anxiously.

      There is a roaring noise in the background, as if from a machine, then a sudden silence.

      “No, no. I was just thinking that you ought to check the computer, not just e-mails but everything: what he’s downloaded, what sites he’s visited, any temporary folders, if he’s been visiting chat rooms—”

      “Obviously.”

      “I’m sorry. I just wasn’t sure if you’d thought of it.”

      “We haven’t started on the computer yet,” she says.

      “The

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