Ларс Кеплер - Stalker

Erik is standing up now, and starts walking back and forth across his study. He runs his hand through his hair and is muttering to himself:

‘This is crazy, it’s completely sick...’

‘Sit down and tell me what—’

‘I don’t want to sit down!’ Erik snaps. ‘I’ve got to—’

‘Listen,’ Joona says. ‘You’re welcome to stand, but I need to know as much as possible... and, to be honest, you look like you need to sit down.’

Erik reaches for his glass, drinks on his feet, then pulls a pack of pills from his inside pocket, presses a couple out and swallows them with some more wine.

‘Shit,’ he sighs.

‘Have you started on the pills again? I’d never have believed that,’ Joona says, looking at him with sharp grey eyes.

‘I’m keeping an eye on it, it’s fine.’

‘Good.’

Erik sits down on his desk chair, wipes his forehead and tries to breathe more calmly.

‘I can’t get my thoughts together,’ he mutters. ‘I’ve been trying to work out if Rocky had an accomplice or an apprentice.’

‘You’ve only just seen him.’

‘Trying to uncover real memories is one of my areas of expertise... but hypnotising Rocky was unusually complex. I managed to get past his organic amnesia, and ended up in a world of heroin highs and delirium...’

‘What happened?’

‘I don’t really know how to interpret it,’ Erik says in an unsteady voice. ‘But today, when I was sitting there with Margot and Adam and realised that I’d met all three victims, when I saw the photographs... I started to think back to the hypnosis again... This is completely sick.’

‘I’m listening,’ Joona says, sipping his wine.

Erik nods, and screws his eyes up as he tries to describe what happened.

‘Rocky was in a state of deep hypnosis when he said the preacher had shown him a picture of a woman he had already killed in front of his eyes... and after that he showed him a picture of Rebecka Hansson... I could have sworn that was just a nightmare.’

‘But it’s the same killer,’ Joona says. ‘The preacher is back, it’s the same pattern.’

Erik’s face has turned grey.

‘In that case, I’m playing Rocky’s role this time,’ he whispers.

‘Did Rocky have relationships with the two women?’

‘Yes.’

‘Call Simone at once,’ Joona says seriously.

Erik picks up his phone, clears his throat, then stands up anxiously.

‘Simone,’ the familiar voice says in his ear.

‘Hi, Simone, it’s Erik.’

‘What’s happened — you sound upset?’

‘I need to ask you for a favour... Are Benjamin and John there?’

‘Yes, but why do you—’

‘I think I’ve got a patient who’s stalking me, and I just don’t want you and Benjamin to be on your own at home until this is sorted out.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘I can’t tell you.’

‘Are you in danger?’

‘I just don’t want to take any risks, please, just do as I say...’

‘OK, I’ll try to bear it in mind,’ Simone says.

‘Promise.’

‘You’re scaring me, Erik.’

‘Good,’ he replies, and hears her laugh wearily.

Erik has washed his face and is standing in the kitchen recounting everything Rocky said about the unclean preacher — that he wore make-up over his stubble, was a heroin addict and showed him pictures — while Joona puts the food on the table.

He’s roasted the lamb in the oven with root vegetables and garlic. He scatters some herbs over the dish, then pours more wine in their glasses.

‘This is great,’ Erik says, sitting down.

‘I just wanted to say... Summa’s last months,’ Joona begins, and looks up at him. ‘We had half a year together, the whole family... That wouldn’t have been possible without you, Erik, without the medication you prescribed for her and everything... I knew I could trust you, and I’ll never forget that.’

They touch glasses, drink, and then chat about how they first met, but are soon back on the subject of Rocky and the photographs.

‘Margot needs to take the preacher seriously,’ Erik says.

‘She will,’ Joona assures him. ‘The profilers have come up with a—’

‘I’ve seen it.’

‘I’m not involved in the case, obviously, but Anja told me that they’ve done a first sweep... She started with the parish of Salem, then nearby parishes and congregations,’ Joona says, pushing the serving dish towards Erik. ‘Roman Catholic, Assyrian, Russian and Greek Orthodox... the Scientologists, Mission Church, Salvation Army, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Latter-day Saints, Methodists, Pentecostalists... and now they’re expanding the search to look at all the priests in the country that work with drug addicts, in prisons, institutions and hospitals...’

Erik’s hands have almost stopped shaking, but he’s moving slowly, as if he doesn’t quite trust himself as he helps himself to food.

‘How many names are there on the list?’ he asks, pushing the dish towards Joona.

‘More than four hundred, already. But if you can get Rocky to remember the preacher’s name... a first name, a description, a parish, then—’

‘It’s just so difficult,’ Erik interrupts. ‘His brain damage and addiction—’

‘Why don’t we talk about it tomorrow?’ Joona says, and starts to eat.

‘His memory follows its own patterns,’ Erik says, cutting his meat.

‘But he seems to remember much better under hypnosis.’

‘Yes, although the door between nightmares and memory seems to be open...’

‘But some of what he’s told you has to be real memories?’ Joona says.

‘It should all be real, in theory... it’s just that it sounds psychotic,’ Erik points out.

‘If Rocky agrees to be hypnotised again, do it at once... try to get hold of concrete details, like names and places.’

‘I can do that, I know I can.’

‘If you can, I’ll be able to stop this serial killer,’ Joona says.

‘I’ll go down there first thing tomorrow morning,’ Erik says.

They eat in silence. The glazed root vegetables lend an earthy sweetness to the acidity of the redcurrant sauce, the salad is dressed with balsamic vinegar and truffle oil, the lamb spiced with coarsely ground black pepper and cut in slightly pink slices.

‘You really do look much better already,’ Erik says as Joona helps himself to more food. ‘Six injections of penicillin and a bit of cortisone...’

He tails off when his mobile starts to ring in his pocket. He pulls it out and sees from the screen that it’s Margot.

‘Yes, Erik here.’

‘Is Joona there?’ she asks in a shaky voice.

‘What’s happened?’

‘Rocky Kyrklund has escaped.’

Erik passes the phone to Joona, then sits with his hands over his face, trying to gather his thoughts.

Joona listens as Margot tells him that the senior consultant at Karsudden decided that Rocky should begin his rehabilitation that evening, before being formally granted parole.

Rocky was supposed to try ordering food at the Pizzeria Primavera on Storgatan in Katrineholm. Two guards were seated at another table a short distance away, so as not to put him off. Rocky ate his pizza, drank a large glass of water, ordered coffee, then went into the toilet and climbed out through the window.

Some youngsters saw him running along the railway line towards the forest beyond Lövåsen, but after that there had been no sign of him.

‘We’re not making a public appeal,’ Margot says. ‘The administrative court has already decided that he’s eligible to apply for parole, so Karsudden are looking after this themselves.’

‘How?’ Joona asks.

‘By not doing a thing,’ she replies. ‘I’ve spoken to the senior consultant, and he’s so relaxed I almost nodded off... Apparently it’s not uncommon for patients to run off the first time they get the chance. They almost always come back of their own accord when they realise how much things have changed, that their friends, flat, wife are all gone.’