Stalker

  On one end is a water-damaged dartboard. Joona opens the door and gets out the cushions for the swing-seat. He goes back to the shed to close the door, but stops and looks at the neat arrangement of DIY tools and gardening implements on the wall.

  In the turning circle at the end of the road an ice-cream van starts to play its jingle. Joona picks up an old Mora knife with a red wooden handle and tests its weight, then takes down a smaller knife in a plastic sleeve, walks out and shuts the door behind him.

  He puts the smaller knife on the ground beside the swing-seat, then stands in the middle of the lawn and weighs the Mora knife in his right hand. He changes his grip, tries to find some sort of balance, a sense of lightness, puts the knife down by his hip and stretches out the other arm, feeling it tug at his wound.

  Cautiously he tries to perform a kata against two opponents with the knife. He doesn’t follow through on all the elements, but his legs still feel frustratingly heavy when he finishes.

  Joona twists his body and moves his legs in the reverse order, leaving his attacker’s torso unguarded. He performs a diagonal cut, starting at the bottom, blocks the second attacker’s hand and diverts the force of the assault as the knife moves downward, then glides out of danger.

  He repeats the pattern of movements, slowly, perfectly balanced. His hip hurts, but his level of concentration is the same as before.

  The different elements of the kata are only complicated because they don’t come naturally, but against untrained opponents they can be extremely effective. In nine coordinated movements the attackers are disarmed and rendered harmless. It works like a trap – if anyone chooses to attack, the trap is sprung.

  Katas and shadow-boxing can never replace sparring and real-life situations, but they’re a way to get the body used to the movements, and, by repetition, train the body to think that certain movements belong together.

  Joona rolls his shoulders, finds his balance, hits out a few times, follows through with his elbow, then repeats the kata, but faster this time. He performs the vertical cut, deflects the imaginary attack, changes grip, but drops the knife in the grass.

  He stops and straightens his back. Listens to the birdsong and the wind in the trees. He takes some deep breaths, bends over, picks up the knife and blows some grass off it, and finds its centre of gravity. Then he takes the knife in his right hand, throws it past the hammock at the dartboard, which wobbles, and the old darts come loose and fall off into the grass.

  Someone claps, and he turns round and sees a woman in the garden. She’s tall and blonde, and is watching him with a calm smile on her face.

  63

  The woman looking at Joona has a self-aware but relaxed posture, reminiscent of a mannequin. Her arms are slender and her hands very freckly. She’s wearing make-up, but not too much, tasteful. It looks like she might be blushing slightly.

  Joona bends down and picks up the second knife from the ground, weighs it in his hand, then throws it over his shoulder towards the dartboard. It ends up in the branches of the weeping birch and falls to the grass next to the shed. She claps her hands again and walks over to him, smiling.

  ‘Joona Linna?’ she asks.

  ‘It’s not easy to see with a beard like this, but I think so,’ he replies.

  ‘Erik said you were confined to bed, and—’

  The veranda door opens and Erik comes out into the garden with a worried look on his face.

  ‘You should be careful with that hip until we’ve had it X-rayed,’ he says.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Joona says.

  ‘I gave him cortisone in—’

  ‘So you said,’ the smiling woman interrupts. ‘It seems to have worked.’

  ‘This is Nelly,’ Erik says. ‘She’s my closest colleague … an excellent psychologist, the best in the country for traumatised children.’

  ‘That’s all empty flattery,’ she smiles, shaking Joona’s hand.

  ‘How do you feel?’ Erik asks.

  ‘Fine,’ he replies quietly.

  ‘The penicillin will kick in properly tomorrow, you’ll feel much stronger,’ Erik says, smiling at Joona’s tight clothes.

  Joona groans as he sits down on the swing-seat. The others sit down beside him and they swing together gently. The springs creak and the cushions give off a damp, musty smell.

  ‘Did you read the report of the preliminary investigation?’ Erik asks after a while.

  ‘Yes,’ Joona says, glancing at him.

  ‘I went and talked to Rocky this morning … he’s had terrible problems with his memory since the accident, but he was willing to try hypnosis …’

  ‘You hypnotised him?’ Joona asks with interest.

  ‘I wasn’t sure if it would work, given the damage to brain tissue and his epileptic attacks …’

  ‘But he was receptive?’ Joona asks, leaning his head back and looking up at the sky.

  ‘Yes, but it wasn’t easy working out what were real memories … Rocky used to take a lot of drugs in those days, and some of the things he said under hypnosis – which ought to have been proper memories – sounded more like nightmares … delirium.’

  ‘God, that’s difficult,’ Nelly said, stretching her ankles.

  Erik stands up, making the swing-seat move again.

  ‘I was really only going to ask about the murder of Rebecka Hansson to find out if he had an accomplice,’ he says. ‘But under hypnosis it sounded more like he was completely innocent.’

  ‘In what way?’ Joona asks.

  ‘Rocky keeps returning to a man he calls the preacher … the unclean preacher.’

  ‘That sounds creepy,’ Nelly says.

  ‘And now, all of a sudden, he remembers that he’s got an alibi for the night of the murder,’ Erik says in a low voice.

  ‘He said that under hypnosis?’ Joona asks.

  ‘No, he was awake then.’

  ‘Is there anyone who can confirm the alibi?’

  ‘Her name is Olivia Toreby … he remembered it at the time, but he’s probably already forgotten it again,’ Erik says, looking away.

  ‘An alibi,’ Nelly says.

  ‘It’s worth checking out, anyway,’ Erik says.

  ‘Have you spoken to Margot about this?’ Joona asks.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Psychologists lead, one-nil,’ Nelly says, slapping the cushion beside her to get him to sit down again.

  Erik does so, and they spend a little while swinging, drifting off to the sound of the slow creaking of the metal springs, the birdsong, and some children playing in a nearby garden.

  Then Erik’s mobile buzzes on the cushion. It’s Margot, and Joona takes the call.

  ‘I presume you’ve checked criminal records, any previous suspicions and the police database?’

  ‘Good to hear that you’re feeling better,’ Margot’s rough voice says.

  ‘The murderer may have done time, or simply been out of the country for all these years,’ Joona goes on. ‘I’ve got pretty good contacts with Europol and—’

  ‘Joona, I can’t discuss the preliminary investigation with you,’ she interrupts.

  ‘No, but I was just trying to say that nine years is one hell of a long cooling off period for a—’

  ‘OK, now I understand … I understand what you mean, but Rocky Kyrklund’s alibi doesn’t stand up.’

  ‘You found her?’

  ‘Olivia Toreby had no idea what we were talking about. She was living in Jönköping at the time, and we can’t see any connection between her and Rocky Kyrklund.’

  ‘So you still think he had an apprentice? That he’s mixed up in the murders?’

  ‘That’s why I’m calling Erik,’ Margot says calmly. ‘I want him to go back and ask Rocky properly about accomplices.’

  ‘I’ll pass you over to him,’ Joona says, and hands over the phone.

  While Erik is talking to Margot, Joona goes and picks up the knives and puts them back in the shed. He rests against the handle of a lawnmower fo
r a moment. There’s a small wasps’ nest up by the roof, and in the far corner a homemade toy truck behind some folding chairs.

  When he comes out again Erik is no longer on the phone, and has stretched out next to Nelly.

  ‘Do you normally phone witnesses to ask about alibis?’ Erik asks him.

  ‘It depends,’ Joona replies.

  ‘I just mean … You don’t know if people are prepared to get involved,’ Erik says. ‘You don’t know if people tell the truth when the police phone them so many years later.’

  ‘No,’ Joona says.

  ‘I need to talk to her if I’m going to be able to go back to Rocky and look him in the eye,’ Erik says.

  64

  Joona wanted to go with Erik to talk to Olivia Toreby, but accepted that it was too soon. Erik gave him some more penicillin, another cortisone injection in his hip, and made sure he took 50mg of topiramate to forestall further migraines.

  Nelly gets in the passenger seat, and as Erik drives off he looks in the rear-view mirror and sees Joona sit down on the swing-seat again.

  ‘Shall I drive you home?’ Erik asks.

  ‘Didn’t you say she lived in Jönköping?’

  ‘Apparently she moved to Eskilstuna five years ago.’

  ‘That’s about an hour away, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Martin said he’d be working late today,’ says Nelly. ‘So I won’t have to sit in the house alone with all those windows … I keep getting the feeling that someone’s spying on me … It’s just because of you talking about this murderer. I know that, but still.’

  ‘Is someone watching you, then?’

  ‘No,’ she laughs. ‘I’m just scared of the dark.’

  They head down Enskedevägen towards Södertälje, and sit in silence as they drive past a long, grey noise-proof fence.

  ‘You said you were sure the priest was guilty,’ Nelly says, looking at him.

  ‘He said so himself, he said he’d killed Rebecka … but after hypnosis he suddenly remembered.’

  ‘Remembered what, though? Suddenly remembered a woman who could confirm his alibi?’ she asks sceptically.

  ‘At first he remembered telling me about the alibi.’

  ‘Shit,’ she says. ‘What happened? Did he get angry?’

  ‘Yes, my chest feels a bit painful …’

  ‘Did you have a fight? Can I see?’

  She tries to pull his shirt up, and he holds the wheel with his left hand as he fends her off with the right.

  ‘We’ll end up in the ditch,’ he laughs.

  She loosens her seatbelt and turns in her seat so she can look at him.

  ‘But are you in pain?’ she asks, undoing his buttons. ‘God, you’re black and blue. What the hell did he do? That must really hurt …’

  She leans over and kisses Erik’s chest, kisses his neck, and then quickly on the mouth before he turns his face away.

  ‘Sorry,’ she says.

  ‘I can’t, Nelly.’

  ‘I know, I didn’t mean … it’s just that I sometimes think about that time we slept together.’

  ‘We were incredibly drunk,’ Erik reminds her.

  ‘I don’t regret a thing,’ she says gently, with her face right next to his.

  ‘Nor do I,’ he replies, tucking his shirt back in his trousers with one hand.

  They drive along the E20 for a while in silence. A few emergency vehicles race past with their sirens blaring. Nelly picks up her handbag, folds down the sun-visor to use the mirror, and touches up her lipstick.

  ‘We could do it again, if we wanted to,’ she suddenly says.

  ‘That would never work.’

  ‘No, I know … I say things I don’t mean, it was just a fantasy about how different everything could be in another universe,’ Nelly says.

  ‘All the lives we haven’t lived,’ Erik says quietly.

  ‘Thinking like that is bound to be a sign of getting older.’ She smiles.

  ‘The tiniest choice closes a thousand doors and opens a thousand more,’ Erik says. ‘I lied about an alibi, and nine years later the lie catches up with me and I risk—’

  ‘Yes, but you’re an idiot,’ Nelly interrupts, leaning back. ‘I don’t believe in that alibi, but I mean, if this woman confirms it, then I ought to report you.’

  He gives her a sideways glance.

  ‘If you want to report me, go ahead,’ he says.

  ‘Rocky’s been locked up for nine years, locked up and medicated, and—’

  ‘Please, Nelly,’ Erik interrupts. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t handle this conversation. I’m not going to ask you for anything, you can do whatever you like, whatever you think is the right thing to do.’

  ‘Then I’ll report you,’ she says firmly.

  ‘I don’t care,’ he mumbles.

  ‘But it would be a lot easier if you weren’t so sweet when you get angry,’ she smiles.

  ‘I dare say I need therapy,’ Erik sighs.

  ‘You need medication,’ she says, and pulls a pack of Mogadon from her bag.

  She presses out two capsules, takes one and gives Erik the other. He murmurs ‘Cheers,’ tips his head back and swallows.

  65

  When Erik parks the car beside the school where Olivia Toreby works as a teacher, Nelly hesitates with her hand on the door handle.

  ‘Do you want me to come?’ she asks. ‘Say what you think.’

  ‘I don’t know … no, maybe it would better if you wait here.’

  ‘So you can use your charm?’ she smiles.

  ‘Exactly!’

  ‘I’ll stay here with your dream woman,’ she says, pointing at the little monkey in the pink skirt, hanging from the ignition key.

  Erik walks across the playground, asks a caretaker for Olivia Toreby, and he points her out.

  Olivia is in her fifties, a thin woman with a pale, worn face. She’s standing with her arms folded, watching the children on the climbing frame. Now and then one of them calls out to her, or runs over wanting help with something.

  ‘Olivia? My name’s Erik Maria Bark, and I’m a doctor,’ Erik says, handing her his card.

  ‘A doctor,’ she repeats, putting the card in her pocket.

  ‘I need to talk to you about Rocky Kyrklund.’

  Her thin face hardens for a moment, then reverts to neutral.

  ‘The police again,’ she says simply.

  ‘I’ve spoken to Rocky Kyrklund, and he—’

  ‘I’ve already said, I don’t know anyone of that name,’ Olivia interrupts.

  ‘I know,’ Erik says patiently. ‘But he talked about you.’

  ‘I’ve got no idea how he managed to get hold of my name.’

  She looks at some children with skipping ropes round their necks, playing horses, and hurries over and puts the ropes round their waists instead.

  ‘I’m supposed to have finished work, really,’ she says when she returns to Erik.

  ‘Just give me a few minutes.’

  ‘Sorry, I have to get home and prepare appraisals for twenty-two children,’ she says, and starts to walk off towards the school building.

  ‘I believe Rocky Kyrklund was convicted of a murder he didn’t commit,’ Erik says, hurrying after her.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but—’

  ‘He was a priest, but he was also addicted to heroin at the same time. He exploited the people around him …’

  She stops in the shade in front of the steps and turns towards Erik.

  ‘He was utterly ruthless,’ she says in a toneless voice.

  ‘So I understand,’ Erik replies. ‘But he still doesn’t deserve to be convicted of a murder he didn’t commit.’

  Olivia’s greying hair falls over her forehead and she blows it away.

  ‘Will anything bad happen to me if I lied to the police before?’

  ‘Only if you lied under oath in a court.’

  ‘Of course,’ she says, and her thin mouth quivers nervously.

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; They sit on the steps. Olivia looks down at her trainers, picks something off her jeans and clears her throat.

  ‘I was a different person then, and I don’t want to get mixed up in anything,’ she says quietly. ‘But it’s true, I did know him back then.’

  ‘He says you can give him an alibi.’

  ‘I can,’ she admits, and swallows hard.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  She nods, her chin starts to tremble and she looks down again.

  ‘Nine years have passed,’ Erik says.

  She tries to swallow the lump in her throat, rubs her top lip, then looks up with shiny eyes and swallows hard once more.

  ‘We were in the rectory in Rönninge … that’s where he lived,’ she says in an uneven voice.

  ‘We’re talking about the evening of April fifteenth,’ Erik reminds her.

  ‘Yes,’ she replies, and quickly brushes some tears from her cheeks.

  ‘How can you remember that?’

  Her mouth starts to quiver and she bites her bottom lip to pull herself together before she answers.

  ‘We were on a bender together,’ she says in a whisper. ‘We started on the Friday, and … it was at its worst on Sunday night …’

  ‘You’re sure about the dates?’

  She nods and loses control of her voice:

  ‘My little boy died in his cot on the fifteenth … I only found him the next day. It was sudden infant death syndrome – that was medically proven, it wasn’t my fault, but if he’d been with me then it might not have happened …’

  ‘I’m sorry to—’

  ‘Oh, God,’ she sobs, and gets to her feet.

  Olivia turns away from the playground, wraps her arms tightly around herself, and forces herself to be quiet, to stop her grief pouring out. Erik tries to give her a handkerchief, but she doesn’t see it. She takes a few trembling breaths and wipes her tears away.

  ‘For years after that I just wanted to die,’ she says, swallowing hard again. ‘But I’ve never touched drugs since, I haven’t had sex with anyone … I must never get pregnant again, I don’t have the right, I … He took everything with him … I hate him for getting me to try heroin, I hate him for everything …’

  They are interrupted by a ball rolling under the bench. A child comes running over to fetch it and Erik hands Olivia his handkerchief.