Lars Kepler - The Nightmare

“Absolutely, but I must clear this first with a phone call,” he says as he picks up his cell phone.

“Of course,” Saga says.

“Please excuse me, but I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Saga Bauer.”

“May I please see your ID again, Saga Bauer?”

Saga hands it to him and he stands up and leaves the room. They can hear him speak for a few seconds, and then he returns, thanks them, and hands Saga her ID.

Saga starts her questions. “Last year, ISP issued export authorization for South Africa, Namibia, Tanzania, Algeria, and Tunisia. Ammunition for heavy machine guns, portable antitank guns, antitank rockets, grenade launchers-”

“And the JAS Gripen plane, of course,” Axel adds. “Sweden has had a long working relationship with many of those countries.”

“But never with Sudan?”

Axel meets her gaze with the hint of a smile. “Not to my knowledge.”

“I mean before the arrest warrant was issued for President al-Bashir,” she explains.

“I understand,” he says strongly. “Otherwise it would be totally unthinkable. What we would call an absolute block, where there’s nothing to discuss.”

“You may have already had a chance to review many of your predecessor’s-Carl Palmcrona’s-decisions,” Saga says.

“I have,” Axel replies.

“Did you note anything odd?”

“What do you mean by ‘odd’?”

“Decisions that appear strange to you,” Saga says. She sips her tea again.

“Any reason for this question?” he asks.

“That’s what we’re asking you.” She smiles.

“Then I’d say no.”

“How far back in time have you been able to go?”

Joona listens to Saga’s continuing questions regarding classification, preliminary permission, and export authorization of war materiel while he observes Axel Riessen’s calm, attentive face. He hears the violin music again. It’s now coming from outside, from the window open to the garden. It’s a mazurka with high, sad notes. Then the violin stops, goes back to the beginning, and replays the piece.

Joona is listening to the music and thinking about the four people sitting in the private box. He touches his briefcase absentmindedly where he has the copy of the picture.

He thinks about Palmcrona and how he hung from the ceiling with a laundry line around his throat, about Palmcrona’s will and Palmcrona’s son.

Joona sees that Saga nods at something Axel is saying. A green shade passes over Axel’s face, perhaps a reflection from the copper tray on the table.

Palmcrona understood the gravity of the situation immediately, Joona thinks. All Bjorn Almskog had to mention in his blackmail letter was that Palmcrona was photographed in a private box with the arms dealer Raphael Guidi. Carl Palmcrona did not doubt the authenticity of the photograph for a moment.

Maybe he already knew about its existence.

Or else Bjorn’s knowledge made real a photograph he’d known nothing about.

Axel pours more tea for Saga. She is wiping a crumb from the corner of her mouth.

Something is not right here, Joona thinks.

Pontus Salman gave a definite date for the meeting. He did not find the photo troublesome.

So how did Palmcrona know the picture meant trouble?

Joona listens as Axel and Saga discuss how the initial situation of security policies will change when an embargo is imposed or lifted.

Joona makes a humming sound so they’ll think he’s following the discussion, but instead he concentrates on the meeting in the private box.

The table was set for four people and there were four people in the picture. This means that the fifth person, the one holding the camera, was not part of the party and would not be invited to sit down at the table with a champagne glass in his hand.

The fifth person probably has the answer to this riddle.

We’ll have to get Penelope Fernandez to talk soon, Joona thinks. Even if she is not the photographer, she might have the key; she might know who it was.

His mind turns back to the people in the photograph: Carl Palmcrona, Raphael Guidi, Agathe al-Haji, and Pontus Salman.

Joona thinks back to their meeting with Pontus Salman. He had pointed himself out right away. According to him, the only strange thing about the picture was that Carl Palmcrona was drinking champagne although they had nothing to celebrate. It was just a preliminary meeting.

But maybe there was something to celebrate.

Joona’s pulse quickens.

What if all four of them were about to toast an agreement with the champagne?

Pontus Salman had pointed himself out and given them so many details along with the place and the time.

The time, Joona thinks. The time could be different.

We have only Pontus Salman’s word that the meeting happened in Frankfurt in 2008.

We need Penelope Fernandez’s help.

Joona fiddles with the briefcase. Would it be possible to identify the musicians in the background? Their faces are clear. Someone must recognize them.

If we identify the musicians, we can pinpoint the time of the meeting. There are four people playing: a quartet.

Maybe the four of them have only played together once. That would fix the date beyond all doubt.

Of course, Joona thinks. We should have gotten on this already.

He intends to leave Saga and Axel Riessen to their discussion and return immediately to the police station. He wants to ask Petter Naslund if they’d considered the quartet of musicians as a way to find the exact date of the meeting.

He looks at Saga and watches her smile at Axel Riessen and then ask him about the American defense industry and their large corporations, Raytheon and Lockheed Martin.

Violin music can be heard again through the open window. It’s a quicker piece this time. It stops suddenly and then there’s the sound of two strings checked against each other.

“Who’s playing?” Joona asks as he stands up.

“That’s my brother, Robert,” Axel says, somewhat surprised.

“I see-is he a professional violinist?”

“He’s the pride and joy of the family… but these days he’s primarily a violin maker. He has his studio on the grounds, here in the back.”

“Would you mind if I go over to ask him a question?”

Joona walks with Axel out to the marble patio behind the house. The aroma from the lilac bushes is almost too heady. They continue to the studio, and Axel knocks. The violin stops. The door is opened by a middle-aged man whose thinning hair is belied by an extremely handsome, intelligent face. His body must once have been slim, but the passing years have left their mark.

“The police want to talk to you,” Axel says in a no-nonsense tone. “You’re suspected of disturbing the peace.”

“I confess to everything,” Robert says.

“Makes it easy,” says Joona.

“Anything else?”

“We have a number of cold cases you could clear up, too.” Joona smiles.

“I’m probably guilty of all of them,” Robert replies, and he shakes hands with Joona.

“That’s a relief,” jokes Joona. “I’m Joona Linna from the National Criminal Investigation Department.”

“What’s this all about?” Robert is smiling.

“We’re looking into a case of unexpected death. The previous general director of ISP. That’s why I’m chatting with your brother.”

“I know nothing more about Palmcrona than what’s in the papers.”

“May I come in for a moment?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll go on back to your colleague,” Axel says, and closes the door behind Joona.

The ceiling of the studio has a steep slope, like an attic roof. A beautifully wrought wooden staircase leads down into the workshop, and the pleasant smell of freshly sawn wood, rosin, and turpentine rises to meet them. Everywhere violins hang in various stages of completion. Other construction gear is neatly collected: carefully chosen woods, scrolls, specialized tools for woodworking, planes as small as wine corks, bent knives, and much more.