Ларс Кеплер - Stalker

A few drops from the fountain reach them, and Linda turns away from the hazy sphere and shakes her head.

‘I can’t believe she’s dead,’ she whispers.

‘These saturnalias — how are they arranged?’

‘It’s two guys from Östermalm, Filip and someone called Eugene... It probably started out as them having parties where there was a lot of cocaine and Ecstasy... And then there was spice, monkey dust, Spanish fly and all the rest of it... and now it’s been going on for at least two or three years... There are maybe a couple of saturnalias every month... exclusive, invite only.’

‘Always on Saturdays?’

‘You know where the English word Saturday comes from?’ Linda replies, looking her in the eye.

Margot nods, and Linda kicks at the ground again.

‘I’d just like to say that I never took any drugs,’ she says.

‘Good for you,’ Margot says neutrally.

‘I drank too much champagne instead.’ She smiles.

‘Where do they take place?’

‘When I was involved, they had a suite at the Birger Jarl Hotel... All I remember is really weird, psychedelic rooms.’

‘Tell me about the stud Maria had in her tongue.’

‘Filip and Eugene gave studs to all the girls who belonged to the inner circle.’

‘Did Maria want to leave as well? Do you know?’

‘I don’t think so... well, I...’

She falls silent and gathers her hair over one shoulder.

‘What were you going to say?’

‘Just that Filip fell in love with her, he wanted to see her on her own, didn’t want her sleeping with other men. She just laughed... That was what she was like, Maria.’

Margot pulls out a photograph of Susanna Kern.

‘Do you recognise this woman? Take a good look.’

Linda looks at Susanna Kern’s smiling face, her warm, light-brown eyes and glossy hair, and shakes her head.

‘No,’ she replies.

‘Was she at the saturnalias?’

‘I don’t recognise her,’ Linda says, getting to her feet.

Margot remains seated on the bench, thinking that they still haven’t found a connection between the victims. They’re dealing with a serial killer who stalks his victims, but they have no idea where he finds them, or how he chooses them.

Madeleine Federer is walking with her mother along a path that cuts diagonally across Humlegården. After school she went with her to play in St Jacob’s Church. Jackie takes all the extra work she can get as an organist so that they can manage financially.

Now Madeleine is walking along next to her mother, talking and keeping an eye on the path even though she knows that her mum doesn’t need help.

Her mother walks with one foot nudging the edge of the grass, so she can feel the plants against her leg and at the same time listen to the stick tapping the path.

A compressor starts to rumble outside the Royal Library, and powerful drills begin digging at the asphalt with rapid metallic thuds. The noise means that her mother loses her bearings and Madeleine takes hold of her arm.

They pass the playground with the spiral slide she used to love when she was younger; it smelled so good, of plastic and warm sand.

When they reach the street her mother thanks her for her help, and they carry on towards the pedestrian crossing.

Madeleine can hear how the tapping of the stick against the stone pavement sounds harder than it did on the tarmac, but she can’t tell how it sounds when they pass a pole close to the edge of the road.

‘It’s just a momentary gap in the noise of the cars,’ her mother explains, and stops.

As usual, she puts the tip of her stick over the edge of the pavement so that she’ll be prepared for the change in height when the cars stop and the ticking sound from the traffic lights speeds up.

They cross, and walk along in front of a large yellow building when her mother turns towards an open garage door and clicks her tongue. A lot of people with visual impairments do this to listen to the echo and identify potential hazards.

Once they’re home Jackie closes the door, locks it and engages the security chain. Madeleine hangs up her coat and watches her mum go into the living room without switching the light on, and put her music scores on the table.

Madeleine goes to her room, says hello to Hoggy, and just has time to change into some home clothes before she hears her mother’s voice.

‘Maddy?’ she calls from her bedroom.

When Madeleine enters the brightly lit room she sees her mother standing in just her underwear, trying to close the curtains in front of the window. Just outside the window a pink child’s bicycle is lying on the grass. The curtain has got caught in the door of the wardrobe, and her mother runs her fingers down the fabric and manages to pull it free before she turns round.

‘Did you turn the light on in here?’ she asks.

‘No.’

‘I mean this morning.’

‘I don’t think so,’ she replies.

‘You need to make sure we don’t leave any lights on when we go out.’

‘Sorry,’ she says, although she really doesn’t think she had done so.

Her mum reaches for the blue dressing-gown on the bed, her hands fumbling and locating it up near the pillow.

‘Maybe Hoggy got scared of the dark and came in and turned the light on.’

‘Maybe,’ she says.

Her mum turns the flimsy dressing-gown the right way round, puts it on, then kneels down and cups Madeleine’s face with both her hands.

‘Are you the prettiest girl in the world? You are, I know you are.’

‘Haven’t you got any pupils today, Mum?’

‘Only Erik.’

‘Aren’t you going to put some clothes on?’

‘Thanks for the suggestion,’ she says, wrapping the silk gown round her body.

‘Put the silvery skirt on, that’s nice.’

‘You’ll have to help me find something.’

Her mother has a colour reader, but always asks Madeleine if her clothes look right, if the colours match.

‘Shall I go and get the post?’

‘Bring it to the kitchen.’

Madeleine walks through the hall, and can smell damp earth and stinging nettles as she picks the post up from the floor in front of the door. Her mother is already sitting at the kitchen table when she comes in and stops next to her.

‘Are there any love-letters?’ Jackie asks, like she always does.

‘There’s... an advert from an estate agent.’

‘Throw it away. Throw all the adverts away. Anything else?’

‘A reminder about the phone bill.’

‘Nice.’

‘And... a letter from my school.’

‘What do they have to say?’ Jackie asks.

Madeleine opens the envelope and reads out the letter, which has been sent to all parents. Someone has been writing rude words on the walls of the corridor and in the toilets. The headteacher asks parents and guardians to talk to their children about the matter, and tell them how much it costs to clean up, money which reduces the amount available for refurbishment of the playground.

‘Do you know who’s doing it?’ her mother asks.

‘No, but I’ve seen the graffiti. It’s really stupid. Really childish.’

Her mother gets up and starts to take cherry tomatoes, crème fraiche and asparagus out of the fridge.

‘I like Erik,’ Madeleine says.

‘Even though he called the keys “bits”?’ her mum asks, filling a large saucepan with water for pasta.

‘He said he played like a broken robot,’ Madeleine giggles.

‘Which is absolutely true...’

Madeleine can’t help smiling, and sees her mum smile as she switches the hotplate on.

‘A handsome little robot,’ Madeleine goes on. ‘Can’t I keep him? My very own little robot... he could sleep in the doll’s cot.’