Lars Kepler - The Sandman

Sven quickly picks up his radio and calls two colleagues, then hurries out. Anders leans forward and watches Sven as he appears on one of the monitors. He’s walking along the corridor, talking to the other guards, then he stops outside the airlock, evaluating the situation.

Nothing happens.

Jurek is standing in the doorway, between the rooms, precisely where his face is in shadow. He’s not moving, but both Anders and My can see that he’s talking. Bernie is slumped in the sofa, eyes closed as he listens. After a while his bottom lip starts to quiver. The whole scenario plays out in little more than a minute, then Jurek turns and disappears into his room.

‘Back to your lair,’ My mutters.

One of the other monitors shows Jurek from above. Slowly he walks into his room, sits down on the plastic chair directly beneath the CCTV camera, and stares at the wall.

After a while Bernie Larsson gets up from the sofa in the dayroom. He wipes his mouth a few times before shuffling off to his room.

Another monitor shows Bernie Larsson going over to the sink, leaning forward and rinsing his face. He stands there as water runs over his face, then he walks to the door to the dayroom, presses his thumb against the inside of the frame and slams the door shut as hard as he can. The door bounces back and Bernie sinks to his knees, shrieking out loud.

It’s ten o’clock in the morning and sharp winter light is shining on Magdalena Ronander as she returns to police headquarters from her yoga session. Petter Näslund is standing in front of a large-scale map of the residential area where the two Kohler-Frost children disappeared. He frowns as he pins up photographs from the old investigation. Magdalena says a quick hello, throws her bag onto her chair, and goes over to the whiteboard. She quickly strikes through the lines of inquiry they managed to follow up yesterday. Benny Rubin, Johnny Isaksson and Fredrik Weyler are sitting round the conference table making notes.

‘We need to take another look at everyone who was employed at Menge’s Engineering Workshop at the same time as Jurek Walter,’ she says.

‘I’ve compiled the interviews with Richard van Horn from yesterday,’ Johnny says. He’s blond and thin, and sports the same haircut that Rod Stewart had in the 1980s.

‘Who’s calling Reidar Frost today?’ Petter asks, twirling a pen between his fingers.

‘I can take care of that,’ Magdalena replies calmly.

‘Wonder if they want us to carry on looking for Wee Willie Winkie,’ Benny says.

‘Joona wants us all to take the whole Sandman thing seriously,’ Petter reminds him.

‘I found a great clip on YouTube,’ Benny says, searching his mobile.

‘Do we have to?’ Magdalena sighs, picking up a heavy file from the table.

‘But have you seen that clown who hides from stupid cops?’ Benny asks, putting his phone down.

‘No,’ Petter replies.

‘No, because I’m probably the only person in the room who’s actually managed to catch sight of him,’ Benny laughs.

Magdalena is smiling as she opens the file.

‘Who’s going to help me find the last people connected to Agneta Magnusson?’ she asks.

She’s the woman who was found alive in the grave in Lill-Jan’s Forest when Jurek Walter was caught. The two bodies in the plastic barrel that was buried nearby belonged to her brother and nephew.

‘Her mother vanished years ago, and her dad disappeared just after she was found.’

‘Didn’t they all disappear?’ Fredrik Weyler asks.

‘Not her husband,’ Magdalena says, glancing at the file.

‘This whole thing’s so sick,’ Fredrik whispers.

‘But her husband is still alive, and—’

‘Does yoga make you more flexible?’ Benny asks, slapping both hands down on the table with a bang.

‘Why did you do that?’ Magdalena asks gravely.

Magdalena Ronander says hello to the large woman who’s just opened the door. She has fine laughter lines at the corners of her eyes, and the name Sonja tattooed on her shoulder.

Everyone with any connection to Agneta Magnusson was questioned by the police thirteen years ago. All their houses and flats were searched by forensics officers, as well as summer houses, shacks, sheds, children’s dens, caravans, boats and cars.

‘I called earlier,’ Magdalena says, showing her police ID.

‘Oh, yes,’ the woman nods. ‘Bror’s waiting for you in the living room.’

Magdalena follows the woman through the little 1950s house. There’s a smell of fried steak and onions from the kitchen. A man in a wheelchair is sitting in a living room with dark curtains.

‘Is that the police?’ he asks in a dry voice.

‘Yes, it’s the police,’ Magdalena says, pulling the piano stool over and sitting down in front of the man.

‘Haven’t we talked enough?’

It’s been thirteen years since anyone questioned Bror Engström about what happened in Lill-Jan’s Forest, and in that time he’s got old, she thinks.

‘I need to know more,’ Magdalena says gently.

Bror Engström shakes his head.

‘There’s nothing left to say. Everyone vanished. In just a few years they were all gone. My Agneta and... her brother and nephew... and then Jeremy, my father-in-law... He stopped talking when... when they went missing, his children and grandson.’

‘Jeremy Magnusson,’ Magdalena says.

‘I liked him a lot... But he missed his children so terribly.’

‘Yes,’ Magdalena says quietly.

Bror Engström’s clouded eyes close at the memory.

‘One day he was just gone, him too. Then I got my Agneta back. But she was never herself again.’

‘No,’ Magdalena says.

‘No,’ he whispers.

She knows that Joona made countless visits to see the woman in the long-stay ward where she was being looked after. She never regained the power of speech, and died four years ago. The brain damage was too severe for anyone ever to reach her again.

‘I suppose I should sell off Jeremy’s forests,’ the man says. ‘But I can’t do it. They meant everything to him. He was always trying to get me to go up to the hunting cabin with him, but it never quite happened... and now it’s too late.’

‘Where’s the cabin?’ she asks, taking out her phone.

‘Way up in Dalarna, beyond Tranuberget, not far from the Norwegian border... I’ve got the maps from the Land Registry somewhere, if Sonja can find them.’

The hunting cabin isn’t on the list of locations searched by forensics. It’s probably nothing, but Joona has said that they mustn’t leave any stone unturned.

A police officer and a forensics expert are making their way across the deep snow between the dark trunks of the pine trees on snowmobiles. In some places they can go faster and cover longer distances by using cleared boundary lines and foresters’ tracks, leaving a cloud of smoke and snow behind them.

Stockholm wanted them to get out to a hunting cabin beyond Tranuberget. Apparently it had been owned by a Jeremy Magnusson, who disappeared thirteen years ago. The National Criminal Investigation Department have asked them to conduct a thorough forensic examination of the place, and to take video footage and photographs. Anything there is to be seized and packed up, and any potential evidence and biological matter is to be secured.

The two men on the snowmobiles know that the Stockholm Police are hoping to find something that might throw light on the disappearance of Magnusson and other members of his family. Obviously it should have been searched thirteen years ago, but at the time the police hadn’t been aware of the hunting cabin’s existence.

Roger Hysén and Gunnar Ehn are driving side by side down a slope at the edge of the forest in blinding light. They emerge onto a sunlit bog where everything is glistening white, completely untouched, and continue at speed across the ice before swinging north into denser forest once more.