Ларс Кеплер - Stalker

The legs of the chairs are supposed to be unbreakable, but if you were to lay one of them on the floor, climb up on to the table and jump on to the curved back, the laminate would shatter and you could quickly fashion a shiv, a simple knife, out of it, Joona thinks.

‘So the guard can see me through glass?’ Rocky asks, nodding towards the dark window.

‘It’s just a security precaution.’

‘But you’re not frightened of me?’ Rocky smiles.

‘No,’ Joona replies calmly.

The thickset priest sits down and his chair creaks beneath him.

‘Have we met before?’ he asks with a frown.

‘At the Zone,’ Joona says evenly.

‘At the Zone,’ Rocky repeats. ‘Should I know where that is?’

‘It was where the police arrested you.’

Rocky screws up his eyes and gazes into the distance.

‘I don’t remember any of that... They say I had a load of heroin on me, but how could I have afforded that?’

‘You don’t remember the Zone? Sofa Zone in Högdalen?’

Rocky purses his lips and shakes his head.

‘An industrial unit with loads of sofas and armchairs, prostitutes, people openly dealing heavy drugs, guns...’

‘Well, I’ve got a neurological injury from a car crash, I have trouble remembering things,’ Rocky explains.

‘I know.’

‘But you want me to confess to the drugs offences?’

‘I don’t care about that,’ Joona says, sitting down opposite him. ‘You only have to say it wasn’t your jacket, that you picked up a jacket you found on the floor.’

Neither of them speaks for a short while, and Rocky stretches out his long legs.

‘So you want something else,’ he says warily.

‘You’ve mentioned a person you call the unclean preacher several times... I need your help to identify him.’

‘Have I met this preacher?’

‘Yes...’

‘Is he a priest?’

‘I don’t know.’

Rocky scratches his beard and neck.

‘I’ve no idea,’ he says after a while.

‘You described how he killed a woman called Natalia Kaliova, he chopped her arm off,’ Joona goes on.

‘A preacher...’

‘He was the one who murdered Rebecka Hansson.’

‘What the hell are you up to?’ Rocky roars and stands up suddenly, toppling his chair behind him. ‘I murdered Rebecka Hansson. Do you think I’m stupid or something?’

Rocky backs away, stumbles over the overturned chair and almost falls, throws his arm out and plants his large hand on the reinforced glass.

The prison officer comes in but Joona holds up a calming hand towards him as he sees several more guards running along the corridor.

‘We don’t believe you did it,’ Joona says. ‘Do you remember Erik Maria Bark?’

‘The hypnotist?’ Rocky says, licking his lips and brushing his hair back.

‘He’s found a woman who can give you an alibi.’

‘And I’m supposed to believe that?’

‘Her name is Olivia,’ Joona says.

‘Olivia Toreby,’ Rocky says slowly.

‘You started to remember under hypnosis... and everything suggests that you were convicted of a murder that the preacher committed.’

Rocky comes closer to him.

‘But you don’t know who this preacher is?’ he asks.

‘No,’ Joona replies.

‘Because everything is locked inside my mashed-up brain,’ Rocky says hollowly.

‘Would you agree to be hypnotised again?’

‘Wouldn’t you if you were in my position?’ he asks, and sits down again.

‘Yes,’ Joona replies honestly.

Rocky opens his mouth to say something, but falls silent and puts his hand to his forehead. One of his eyes has started to quiver, the pupil seems to be vibrating, and he leans forward, holding on to the table and breathing hard.

‘Bloody hell,’ he says after a while, and looks up.

His forehead is shiny with sweat, and he gazes up at Joona and the prison officers that have entered the room with a look of dreamy bemusement.

Joona stops District Prosecutor Sara Nielsen in the middle of the steps outside the district court on Scheelegatan. Because he can’t take Erik with him into the prison, he needs to persuade the prosecutor to release Rocky on bail in advance of his trial.

‘I called you about Kyrklund,’ he says, standing in front of her. ‘He can’t stay in prison.’

‘That’s for the district court to decide,’ she replies.

‘But I don’t understand why,’ Joona persists.

‘Buy a book on Swedish law.’

A strand of blonde hair blows across Sara’s face, and she brushes it aside with one finger and raises her eyebrows as Joona starts to speak.

‘According to chapter twenty-four, paragraph twenty,’ he says, ‘a prosecutor can revoke the decision to remand a suspect in custody if that decision is no longer justified.’

‘Bravo,’ she smiles. ‘But there’s a clear risk that Kyrklund will evade the course of justice, and a tangible danger that he would commit further offences.’

‘But we’re only talking about minor narcotics offences, punishable by a year’s imprisonment at most... and it’s extremely doubtful that possession could even be proven.’

‘You said it wasn’t his jacket over the phone,’ she says in a bright voice.

‘And that the reason for holding him in custody in no way warrants this degree of intrusion into his life.’

‘Suddenly it feels like I’m standing on the steps of the City Court holding fresh custody negotiations with a former police officer...’

‘I can arrange for supervision,’ Joona says, following her down the steps.

‘It doesn’t work like that, as you well know.’

‘I understand that, but he’s ill and needs constant medical attention,’ Joona says.

She stops and lets her eyes roam over his face.

‘If Kyrklund needs a doctor, the doctor can come to prison.’

‘But if I were to say that this is a particular treatment that can’t be carried out in prison...’

‘Then I’d say you were lying.’

‘I can get a medical certificate,’ Joona persists.

‘Go ahead, but I’m pressing charges next Tuesday.’

‘I’ll appeal.’

‘Nice try,’ she smiles, and starts walking again.

Joona is sitting on one of the rear pews in Adolf Fredrik Church. A girls’ choir is rehearsing for a concert up at the front. The choir leader gives them the right note and the teenagers start to sing O viridissima virga .

Joona sinks into memories of the long, light nights in Nattavaara after Summa’s death. Sunlight floods through the arched windows of the church, mixed with autumn leaves and stained glass.

The choir pauses after a few minutes, the girls take out their mobiles, gather in groups and walk through the aisles, chatting as they go.

The door to the porch opens and closes quickly. The churchwarden looks up from her book, then carries on reading.

Margot comes in with two heavy plastic bags in her hands. They hit the pew as she squeezes in next to Joona. Her stomach has swollen so much that it presses again the shelf for hymnbooks.

‘I really am sorry,’ Margot says in a half-whisper. ‘I know you don’t want to believe it, but take a look at this.’

With a sigh she lifts one of the bags on to her lap and pulls out a printout showing a fingerprint match. Joona quickly reads through the various parameters of the comparison, then checks the first-level details himself, and sees the similarities in the lines and patterns.

There are three perfectly defined fingerprints, and the match with Erik Maria Bark is one hundred per cent.

‘Where were the prints found?’ Joona asks.

‘On the little porcelain deer’s head that was in Susanna Kern’s hand.’