Lars Kepler - The Nightmare

“Can you gather everything you can find-all the telephone calls made this past week? All text messages? All bank withdrawals? All that stuff: receipts, bus tickets, meetings, activities, working hours-”

“I sure as hell can!”

“On the other hand, maybe you should just forget about all that,” Joona says. “Isn’t it time for your physical therapy?”

“Are you pulling my leg?” Erixson says, hardly able to hold back his indignation. “What is physical therapy anyway but hidden unemployment?”

“But you really ought to rest,” Joona teases. “Maybe another tech guy-”

“I’m flipping out just sitting here!”

“You’ve only been on sick leave for six hours.”

“I’m climbing the walls!”

Joona is driving east toward Gustavsberg. I ought to call Disa, he thinks. Instead, he calls Anja.

“I need Claudia Fernandez’s address.”

“Mariagatan 5,” she replies immediately. “Not far from the old porcelain factory.”

“Thanks.”

Anja stays on the line.

“I’m waiting,” she says, her voice teasing.

“What are you waiting for?” he asks softly.

“For you to tell me that we have ferry tickets to Finland. We’ll rent a cottage with a wood-fired sauna next to the water.”

“Sounds good,” Joona says hesitantly.

The weather is now gray and hazy and extremely humid as Joona parks his car in front of Claudia Fernandez’s house. Joona steps out and smells the bitter scent of currant bushes and elf-cap moss. He stands still for a moment, lost in a memory. The face he’s conjured up fades as he rings the doorbell. The nameplate looks like it came from a woodshop class. “Fernandez” is in letters childishly burned into the wood.

The doorbell’s melodic ring echoes inside the house. He waits. After a few moments, he hears approaching footsteps.

Claudia has a worried expression as she opens the door. Seeing Joona, she steps back into the hallway knocking a coat loose from its hanger.

“No,” she whispers. “Not Penny-”

“Claudia, please, I don’t have bad news,” Joona says quickly.

Claudia can’t stay upright and collapses to the floor among the shoes, underneath the coats. She breathes like a frightened animal.

“What’s happened?” she asks in a fearful voice. Joona bends forward, down to her.

“We don’t know much yet, but yesterday, Penelope tried to call you.”

“She’s alive,” Claudia whispers.

“So far,” Joona answers.

“Thank you, dear Lord. Thank you, thank you!” Claudia whispers again.

“We caught a message on your answering machine.”

“On my… no, that’s not possible,” she says as she gets up with his help.

“There was a lot of static. We needed an expert to recover her voice,” Joona explains.

“The only thing I heard, there was a man who told me to get a job!”

“That’s the one,” Joona says. “Penelope is speaking first, but it’s barely audible.”

“What does she say?”

“She says she needs help. The maritime police want to organize a search-group chain.”

“But to trace the phone-”

“Claudia,” Joona says soothingly. “I must ask you a few questions.”

“What kinds of questions?”

“Why don’t we sit down?”

They walk through the hallway and into the kitchen.

“Joona Linna, may I ask you something?” she says timidly.

“You can ask, but I might not be able to answer.”

Claudia puts coffee cups on the table for them both. Her hand shakes slightly. She sits across from him and stares at him for a long time.

“You have a family, don’t you?” she asks.

It’s dead quiet in the light-filled, yellow-painted kitchen.

Joona finally fills the silence. “Do you remember the last time you were at Penelope’s apartment?”

“Last week. A Tuesday. She helped me hem a pair of pants for Viola.”

Claudia’s mouth trembles.

“Think carefully, Claudia,” he says, leaning forward. “Did you see a photograph taped up on her glass door?”

“Yes.”

“What did the photo show?” Joona asks, trying to keep his voice calm.

“I don’t know. I didn’t pay attention.”

“But you’re sure you saw a photograph?”

“Yes.” Claudia nods.

“Perhaps there were people in the picture?”

“I don’t know. I thought it had something to do with her job.”

“Was the picture taken inside or outside?”

“No idea.”

“Try and picture it in your mind.”

Claudia shuts her eyes. She shakes her head. “Sorry, I can’t.”

She looks down, thinks, and shakes her head again. “The only thing I remember thinking is that it was odd that she’d hung that photo on her door because that’s not particularly attractive.”

“Why do you think it had something to do with her job?”

“I don’t know,” Claudia whispers.

Joona’s cell phone rings inside his jacket. He picks it up, sees that it’s Carlos, and answers, “I’m here.”

“I just talked to Lance at the maritime police on Dalaro. He says they’ve arranged an organized search starting tomorrow. Three hundred people and almost fifty boats have agreed to join.”

“That’s good,” Joona says. He watches Claudia get up and walk into the hall.

“And then I called Erixson to see how he was doing,” Carlos says.

“He seems to be doing okay,” Joona says neutrally.

“Joona, I have no idea what you’re up to, but Erixson warned me that you’re about to be right again.”

Once the call is finished, Joona follows Claudia out into the hall. She’s put on her coat and is pulling on rubber boots.

“I heard what that man said on the phone,” Claudia says. “I can help look. I can look all night if-”

She opens the door.

“Claudia, you must let the police handle this.”

“My daughter called me and needs my help.”

“I know it’s hard to sit and wait-”

“But, please, can’t I go with you? I won’t be in the way! I can make food and answer the phone so you won’t have to worry about that.”

“Is there anyone who can stay here with you? A relative or a friend?”

“I don’t want anyone else here! I just want my Penny!”

Erixson holds a map on his lap as well as a large folder he acquired by getting a messenger to deliver it to his hospital room. He’s cooling himself with a whirring face fan while Joona pushes him in his wheelchair through the hospital corridors.

His Achilles tendon has been sutured, and instead of a cast, his foot is fixed inside a special boot with toes pointing down. He mutters that all he needs is a ballet shoe on the other foot and he’ll be ready to perform Swan Lake.

Joona nods in a friendly way toward two elderly ladies sitting on a sofa and holding hands. They giggle, whisper to each other, and then wave at him as if they were schoolgirls.

“On the same morning they headed out on the boat,” Erixson was saying, “Bjorn bought an envelope and two stamps at Central Station. He had a receipt from Pressbyran in his wallet, which we found on the boat. I forced the security company to send along the tape from the security camera. It really does look like he’s mailing a photograph, just as you’ve said all this time.”

“So who is he sending the photograph to?” asks Joona.

“We can’t read the address on the envelope.”

“Maybe to himself.”

“But his apartment is so burned out he doesn’t even have a door,” Erixson says.

“Call the post office and ask them.”

As they enter the elevator, Erixson starts some strange swimming movements with his arms. Joona looks at him calmly but doesn’t ask any questions.