Joona Linna Crime Series Books 1-3: The Hypnotist, The Nightmare, The Fire Witness - Lars Kepler

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he?” she said proudly.

      I could feel my heart beginning to pound. “Where did you get this?” I asked her.

      “That’s my little secret. I look out for myself, you know. It’s the only way to be in this life.”

      She sat down on the sofa, calmly unbuttoned her blouse, and exposed her breasts to me. “Stick your cock in then, if it makes you happy.”

      “You’ve been to my house,” I said.

      “You’ve been to my house,” she answered defiantly.

      “Eva, you told me about your home. Breaking in is another matter altogether.

      “I didn’t break in,” she retorted quickly.

      “You broke a window.”

      “The stone broke the window.”

      I felt suddenly exhausted; I was losing control and was about to turn my fury on a sick, confused woman.

      “Why did you take this picture from me?”

      “You’re the one who takes! You take and take! What the fuck would you say if I took things from you? How do you think that would feel?”

      She hid her face in her hands and said she hated me; she repeated it over and over again, perhaps a hundred times, before she calmed down.

      Then she said steadily, “You have to understand that you make me angry when you claim that I take things. I gave you something, a lovely picture.”

      “Yes.”

      She smiled broadly and licked her lips. “Now I want you to give me something.”

      “What do you want?” I asked calmly.

      “I want you to hypnotise me,” she replied.

      “Why did you leave a ferrule outside my door?” I asked.

      She stared blankly at me. “What’s a ferrule?”

      “It’s a flat stick that was once used to punish children,” I said.

      “I didn’t leave anything outside your door.”

      “That isn’t true. You left an old—”

      “Don’t lie!” she screamed.

      “Eva, I will call the police if you don’t know where the boundaries are, if you can’t understand that you have to leave me and my family alone.”

      “What about my family?” she said.

      “Just listen to me.”

      “Fascist pig!” she yelled. She leaped to her feet and left the room.

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      My patients sat before me in the semicircle. It had been easy to hypnotise them this time, and we had drifted softly down together through lapping water. I was working with Charlotte again. Her face was relaxed yet sorrowful, with deep, dark circles under her eyes; the point of her chin was slightly crumpled.

      I waited. It was clear that Charlotte was under deep hypnosis. She was breathing heavily but silently.

      “You know you’re safe with us, Charlotte,” I said. “Nothing can harm you. You feel good. You are pleasantly relaxed.”

      She nodded sadly and I knew she could hear me; she was following my words and was no longer able to distinguish between actual reality and the reality of hypnosis. It was as if she were watching a film in which she herself took part. She was both audience and actor, united as one.

      “Don’t be cross,” she whispered. “Sorry, I’m so sorry. I will console you, I promise, I will console you.”

      We were in the haunted house. I knew we had reached Charlotte’s dangerous rooms and I wanted her to stop; I wanted her to have the strength to look up from the floor and see something, to catch a glimpse of the thing she was so afraid of. I could hear the group breathing around me. I wanted to help her, but I had no intention of forcing the pace this time; I was not about to repeat last week’s mistake.

      “It’s cold in Grandfather’s gym,” Charlotte said suddenly.

      “Can you see anything?”

      “Long floorboards, a bucket, a cable,” she said, almost inaudibly.

      I could see her eyelids quivering. Fresh tears seeped through her eyelashes. Her open hands were nested in her lap, palms up, like an old woman.

      “You know you can leave the room whenever you want to.”

      “Can I?”

      “Whenever you want.”

      “That’s probably for the best.”

      She fell silent, lifted her chin, then slowly turned her head, her mouth half open like a child’s.

      “I’ll stay a little while longer,” she said.

      “Are you alone in there?”

      She shook her head. “I can hear him,” she murmured, “but I can’t see him.” She frowned, as if she were trying to see something that was out of focus. “There’s an animal here,” she said suddenly.

      “What kind of animal?” I asked. The hair rose on the back of my neck.

      “Daddy has a big dog …”

      “Is your daddy there?”

      “Yes, he’s here, he’s standing in the corner; he’s upset, I can see his eyes. I’ve hurt Daddy, he says. Daddy is upset.”

      “And the dog?”

      “The dog is moving about in front of his legs, sniffing. It comes closer, moves back. Now it is standing quietly beside him, panting. Daddy says the dog is to guard me. I don’t want that, it shouldn’t be allowed to do that; it isn’t—”

      Charlotte gasped for breath. A dreadful shadow passed over her face. I thought it was best to come up out of the trance, up out of the black sea. She ran the risk of wrenching herself out of the hypnosis if she moved forward too quickly. We had found the dog; she had stayed and looked at it. This was an enormous step forward. In time we would solve the riddle of who the dog actually was.

      As we floated up through the water, I saw Marek part his lips and bare his teeth at Charlotte. Lydia reached out through a dark green cloud of seaweed, trying to stroke Pierre’s cheek; Sibel and Jussi closed their eyes and drifted upwards. We met Eva Blau hovering just beneath the surface.

      We were almost awake. The dividing line where reality dissolves into the influence of hypnosis is always unclear, and the same is true during the reverse journey, back to the territory of consciousness.

      “We’ll take a break now,” I said, and turned to Charlotte. “Good idea?”

      “Thank you,” she said, lowering her eyes.

      Marek got up, asked Sibel for a cigarette, and went outside with her. Pierre remained in his seat next to Jussi. Lydia stood up slowly, stretched her arms languidly above her head, and yawned. I thought I would tell Charlotte I was pleased she had chosen to stay a little while longer in her haunted house, but she had left the room.

      I had picked up my pad to make a few quick notes when Lydia came over to me. Her heavy jewellery clinked softly, and I could smell her perfume as she stood next to me. “Isn’t it my turn soon?”

      “Next time,” I replied, without looking up from my notepad.

      “Why not today?”

      I put my pen down and met her gaze. “Because I was intending to continue with Charlotte.”

      “But if she doesn’t come back,” Lydia persisted.

      “Lydia,

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