Ларс Кеплер - Stalker

‘OK, we’ll take it,’ he replies.

Large drops of rain are falling on the roof of the car. Olle shivers and closes his window, managing to squash a brimstone butterfly.

‘Suspected domestic down in Gemlinge,’ he tells his son.

George turns the car round and heads south, past large farms that open up the landscape in the middle of the black forests.

‘Mum reckons you don’t eat enough vegetables, she was going to make carrot lasagne,’ Olle says. ‘But I forgot to buy the carrots, so we’re having beef patties instead.’

‘Sounds good,’ George grins.

The fields are completely dark now. One wing of the butterfly falls down the inside of the window and drifts on the warm air from the vent.

They stop talking when they turn off and start heading along the narrow track. The deep potholes make the suspension creak, and branches scrape the roof and sides of the car.

‘For God’s sake, this place is derelict,’ George says.

The car’s headlights open up a tunnel through the darkness and make the swirling moths and the tall grass at the side of the track shine like brass.

‘What’s the difference between a cheese?’ Olle asks, absurdly.

‘I don’t know, Dad,’ George says, without taking his eyes off the track.

‘There are holes in the cheese, but no cheese in the holes.’

‘Brilliant,’ his son sighs, and drums his hands on the wheel.

They turn into a large yard and see a huge chimney etched against the night sky. The tyres roll slowly over crunching gravel. Olle leans closer to the windscreen, breathing through his nose.

‘Dark,’ George mutters, turning the wheel.

The headlights sweep across bushes and rusting machine parts when they are suddenly reflected back at them.

‘A number plate,’ Olle says.

They drive closer and see a car with its boot open parked in the yard among the ruins of the glassworks.

The two men look towards the yellow house. It’s surrounded by tall stinging nettles, and the windows are black.

‘Do you want to wait and see if they carry out a television?’ Olle asks quietly.

George turns the wheel to the left and lines the car up so that the headlights are pointing straight at the veranda before putting the handbrake on.

‘But the call was about a suspected domestic,’ he says, and opens his door. ‘I’ll go and take a look.’

‘Not on your own,’ his dad says.

The two police officers are wearing light protective vests under the jackets of their uniforms, and on their belts they’re carrying their service pistols, extra magazines, batons, handcuffs, torches and radios.

Their thin shadows stretch out over the ground, reaching all the way to the house across the nettles.

George has pulled out his torch, and suddenly imagines he’s seen something move behind the broken glass of the ruins.

‘What is it?’ Olle asks.

‘Nothing,’ George replies with a dry mouth.

The leaves rustle in the darkness, and then they hear a strange noise, like someone crying out in anguish from within the forest.

‘Bloody deer, scaring people like that!’ Olle says.

George shines his torch at a deep shaft between some collapsed brick walls. There are fragments of glass scattered among the weeds.

‘What is this place?’ George whispers.

‘Just stick to the path.’

The flat disc of the torch moves over the dirty windows of the house. The glass is so filthy that it reflects no more than a grey shimmer.

They wade through the tall nettles and George makes a joke about the garden being greener than his dad’s.

One pane in the veranda has been nailed over with plywood, and there’s a rusty scythe leaning against the wall.

‘The row was probably about whose turn it was to do the cleaning,’ Olle says quietly.

Through the mesh of his cage, Erik watches as Jackie takes a cautious step backwards. She’s frightened and confused, trying to grasp the situation without succumbing to panic. Nelly must have had her locked up somewhere in the house before she forced her down the stairs.

Erik doesn’t know what Nelly is thinking of doing, but he can see her exultant fury as she stands and stares at Jackie with her chin jutting out.

He daren’t plead with her — anything he says will only make her jealous. Thoughts chase through his head in an attempt to find something that could break through her wounded rage.

Jackie makes a clicking sound with her tongue and takes a step forward. She walks straight into the beam from the torch and stops for a moment as she feels the slight warmth.

Now Erik can see how badly injured she is, dark blood shining on her temple, and there are bruises on her face and a tear in her bottom lip. Her shadow fills the whole wall. Off to one side, just in front of her, Nelly wipes the sweat from her right hand onto her dress and picks up the knife from the table.

Jackie hears the movement and backs up until she reaches the brick wall. Erik sees her run her hand across it, feeling for any deviations with her fingers, something to help her orientate herself.

‘What have I done?’ Jackie asks in a frightened voice.

Erik looks down, waits a few seconds, then looks at Nelly instead, but she has already noticed him looking at Jackie. Her mouth is so tense that the sinews in her neck are visible.

She wipes the tears from her cheeks and the knife twitches in her right hand as she approaches Jackie.

Erik sees that Jackie can sense Nelly’s presence. She doesn’t want to show how afraid she is, but the movement of her chest betrays the shallowness of her breathing. He can see that she instinctively wants to duck down, but is forcing herself to stand up straight.

Nelly moves slowly sideways and grit crunches beneath her shoes.

Jackie tilts her head slightly towards the sound. Blood has congealed across her ear, temple and cheek.

Nelly holds the knife out towards Jackie and looks at her through narrow eyes. The point of the blade moves in front of the blind face and a weak reflection trembles on the ceiling. Jackie raises a hand and the knife glides out of the way, but returns at once and slowly lifts the collar of her blouse.

‘Nelly, she’s blind,’ Erik says, struggling to remain calm. ‘I don’t see the point—’

Nelly jabs the point of the knife between her breasts. Jackie whimpers and touches the superficial injury with one hand. Her fingertips get covered with blood and an expression of unadorned fear and confusion fills her pale face.

‘Look at her now,’ Nelly says. ‘Look at her. Look!’

Jackie feels along the wall with her fingertips, walks straight into the table and almost falls, stumbling over a brick and taking a long stride to stop herself going down.

‘Very elegant,’ Nelly giggles, and brushes the bloody hair from her face.

Jackie backs away and Erik hears her breathing, like a wounded animal’s.

Nelly circles round her and she moves to face the sound, holding her hands up the whole time to protect herself, and trying to get her bearings in the room.

She walks into the table again and Nelly creeps behind her and jabs the knife into her back.

Erik forces himself not to scream.

Jackie groans with pain, takes a step forward, stumbles and hits one knee on the floor. She gets up quickly as blood runs down her clothes, down one leg, and takes a few fumbling steps with her hands in front of her.

‘Erik, why are you doing this?’ Jackie asks in a tremulous voice.

‘Why are you doing this?’ Nelly mocks.

‘Erik?’ she gasps, turning round.

‘It’s over between us,’ Erik says harshly. ‘Don’t imagine that—’

‘Don’t talk to her!’ Nelly shrieks at him. ‘I don’t give a shit about anything now, I’m not going to let the two of you—’