Lars Kepler 2-book Bundle (12 page)

A tanker truck from Jinja had run off the road just north of the shanty town on the Mbale-Soroti road. The heavy vehicle had overturned, gouging out a deep ditch along the side of the road and puncturing a hole in the huge tank. Gasoline gushed out onto the ground. The girl had raced home and told her uncle about the gasoline just disappearing into the earth. Her uncle had run to the spot with two empty plastic containers. By the time the girl caught up with him, a dozen or so people were already by the tanker, filling buckets with gasoline from the ditch. The smell was appalling, the sun was shining, and the air was hot. The girl’s uncle waved to her. She took the first container and started hauling it homewards. It was very heavy. She stopped to lift it onto her head, and saw a woman in a blue head scarf standing up to her knees in gasoline by the tanker, filling small glass bottles. Further down the road in the direction of the town, the girl caught sight of a man wearing a yellow camouflage shirt. He was walking along with a cigarette in his mouth, and when he inhaled, the tip of the cigarette glowed red.

Erik vividly remembers how the girl had looked when she was speaking. The tears poured down her cheeks as she told him in a thick, dull voice that she had caught the fire from the cigarette with her eyes and carried it to the woman in the blue head scarf. Because when she turned back and looked at the woman, she caught fire. First the blue head scarf, then her entire body was enveloped in huge flames.
The fire was in my eyes
, she said. Suddenly it was like a fire storm around the tanker. The girl began to run, hearing nothing but screams behind her.

Later, Erik and the nun talked to the girl at length about what she had revealed under hypnosis. They explained over and over again that it was the vapour from the gasoline, the fumes with the powerful smell, that had begun to burn. The man’s cigarette had set fire to the tanker through the air; it had had nothing to do with her.

A month or so after this event, Erik returned to Stockholm and applied for research funding from the Swedish Medical Research Council in order to immerse himself seriously in the treatment of trauma with hypnosis at the Karolinska Institute. And not long after his return to Sweden he met Simone at a big party at the university. He had noticed her curly, strawberry-blonde hair first of all. Then he had seen her face, the curve of her pale forehead, her fair skin scattered with light brown freckles. She was excited, rosy-cheeked and sparkling, and looked like a bookmark angel, small and slender. He can still remember what she was wearing that evening: a green silk fitted blouse that set off her bright green eyes.

Erik blinks hard, leans closer to the windscreen, and tries to see between the trees, but he can only sense movement inside the brown cabin. Most likely, Evelyn is not there. The curtains shift; the front door swings open; Joona Linna steps out on the porch, and three policemen come round the house and join him. They point to the road and the other cottages. One unfolds a map, and they gather around him to consult it. Then Joona seems to want to show them something inside the house. They all go in, the last one closing the door quietly.

Suddenly Erik spots someone standing in the trees where the ground slopes down towards the bog. It’s a slender woman with a double-barrelled shotgun, which she drags along the ground, letting it bounce gently against the blueberry bushes and moss.

The police have not spotted her, and she has had no opportunity to see them. Erik keys in the number of Joona’s mobile phone, which begins to ring in the car. It’s lying next to him on the driver’s seat.

Without any urgency, the woman wanders between the trees, shotgun in hand. Erik realises a dangerous situation could arise if the woman and the police take each other by surprise. Despite his promise to Joona, he has no choice. He gets out of the car. “Hi, there,” he calls.

The woman stops and turns to look at him.

“Chilly today,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“It’s cold in the shade,” he says, a little louder this time.

“Yes,” she replies.

“Are you new here?” he asks, walking towards her.

“No, I borrow the house from my aunt.”

“Is Sonja your aunt?”

“Yes,” she says, with a smile.

Erik goes up to her. “What are you hunting?”

“Hare,” she replies.

“Can I have a look at your gun?”

Obligingly, she breaks it and hands it over. The tip of her nose is red. Dry pine needles are caught in her sandy-coloured hair.

“Evelyn,” he says calmly, “there are some police officers here who would like to talk to you.”

She looks anxious and takes a step backwards.

“If you have time,” he says, with a smile.

She gives a faint nod and Erik shouts in the direction of the house. Joona emerges with an irritated look on his face, ready to order Erik back to the car. When he sees the woman he stiffens.

“This is Evelyn,” says Erik, handing him the shotgun.

“Hello.”

The colour suddenly drains from her face, and she looks as if she’s going to faint.

“I need to talk to you,” Joona explains, in a serious voice.

“No,” she whispers.

“Come inside.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You don’t want to go inside?”

Evelyn turns to Erik. “Do I have to?” she asks, trembling.

“No,” he replies. “You decide.”

“Please come in,” says Joona.

She shakes her head but begins to head for the house anyway.

“I’ll wait outside,” says Erik.

He walks a little way up the drive. The gravel is covered in pine needles and brown cones. He hears Evelyn scream through the walls of the house. Just one scream. It sounds lonely and despairing, an expression of incomprehensible loss. He recognises that scream well from his time in Uganda.

Evelyn is sitting on the sofa with both hands clamped between her thighs, her face ashen. On the floor by her feet is a photograph in a frame that looks like a toadstool. It’s a mother and father—her mother and father—sitting in something that looks like a hammock, with her little sister between them. Her parents squint into the bright sunlight, while the little girl’s glasses shine as if they were white.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” says Joona.

Her chin quivers.

“Do you think you might be able to help us understand what’s happened?” he asks. The wooden chair creaks under his weight. He waits for a while, then continues. “Where were you on Monday, 7
^th
December?”

She shakes her head.

“Yesterday,” he clarifies.

“I was here,” she says faintly.

“In the cottage?”

She meets his gaze. “Yes.”

“You didn’t go out all day?”

“No.”

“You just sat here?”

She makes a gesture toward the bed and the textbooks on political science.

“You were studying?”

“Yes.”

“So you didn’t leave the house yesterday?”

“No.”

“Is there anyone who can confirm that?”

“What?”

“Was anyone here with you?” asks Joona.

“No.”

“Have you any idea who could have done this to your family?”

She shakes her head.

“Has anyone threatened you?” She doesn’t seem to hear him. “Evelyn?”

“What? What did you say?” Her fingers are still tightly clamped between her legs.

“Has anyone threatened your family? Do you have any enemies?”

“No.”

“Did you know that your father was heavily in debt?”

She shakes her head.

“He was,” says Joona. “He owed money to criminals.”

“Right.”

“Could it be one of them who—”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t understand anything,” she says, raising her voice.

“What is it we don’t understand?”

“You don’t understand anything.”

“Tell us what—”

“I can’t!” she screams.

She is so distraught that she begins to cry, straight out, without covering her face. Kristina Andersson goes over and hugs her, and after a while she grows calmer. She sits there motionless, the policewoman’s arms around her, as occasional sobs shudder through her body.

“There, there,” Kristina whispers reassuringly. She holds the girl close and strokes her head—and then suddenly screams and pushes Evelyn away, straight onto the floor. “Goddammit, she bit me … she fucking bit me!”

Kristina looks in amazement at her fingers, covered in blood seeping from a wound in the middle of her throat.

On the floor, Evelyn hides a bewildered smile behind her hand. Then her eyes roll back in her head and she slumps into unconsciousness.

Benjamin has locked himself in his room. Simone is sitting at the kitchen table with her eyes closed, listening to the radio; it’s a live broadcast from Berwald Concert Hall. She tries to imagine life as a single person. It wouldn’t be all that different from what I have now, she thinks ironically. I might go to concerts, galleries, and the theatre, as all lonely women do.

She finds a bottle of single malt Scotch in the cupboard and pours herself a drop, adding a little water: a weak yellow liquid in a heavy glass. The front door opens as the warm notes of a Bach cello concerto fill the kitchen; it is a gentle, sorrowful melody. Erik stands in the doorway looking at her, his face grey with exhaustion.

“That looks good,” he says.

“Whisky,” she says, handing him the glass.

She pours herself a fresh drink; they stand opposite each other and raise their glasses in a toast, their expressions serious.

“Difficult day?” she asks quietly.

“Pretty difficult,” he replies, with a pale smile.

He suddenly looks so worn out. There is a lack of clarity to his features, like a thin layer of dust on his face.

“What are you listening to?” he asks.

“Shall I turn it off?”

“Not on my account—it’s beautiful.” Erik empties the glass, holds it out to her, and she pours him another. “So Benjamin didn’t get a tattoo, then,” he says.

“You’ve been following the drama on voicemail.”

“Just now, on the way home. I didn’t have time before—”

“No.” She breaks in, thinking about the woman who answered when she called the number last night.

“I’m glad you went and picked him up,” says Erik.

She nods, thinking about how all emotions are interconnected, how no relationship is autonomous and separate, how everything is affected by everything else.

They drink again, and suddenly she notices that Erik is smiling at her. His smile, with those crooked teeth, has always made her go weak at the knees. She thinks how she would love to go to bed with him now, without any discussion, any complications. One day we will all be alone anyway, she says to herself.

“I don’t know what to think,” she says tersely. “Or rather … I know I don’t trust you.”

“Why do you say—”

“It feels as if we’ve lost everything. You just sleep or else you’re at work, or wherever it is you are. I wanted to do things, travel, spend time together.”

He puts down the glass and takes a step towards her. “Why can’t we do that?”

“Don’t say it,” she whispers.

“Why not?” He smiles and strokes her cheek; then his expression grows serious again. Suddenly they are kissing each other. Simone can feel how her whole body has longed for this, longed for kisses.

“Hey, Dad, do you know where—” Benjamin falls silent as he walks into the kitchen and sees them. “You’re crazy.” He sighs, and goes out again.

Simone calls after him. “Benjamin.” He comes back. “You promised to go and pick up the food.”

“Have you called?”

“It’ll be ready in fifteen minutes,” she says, giving him her purse. “You know where the Thai place is, don’t you?”

“Mum!” He sighs.

“Go straight there and back,” she says.

“Oh, please.”

“Listen to your mother,” says Erik.

“I’m just going to the corner to pick up a take-away; nothing’s going to happen,” he says, going into the hallway.

Simone and Erik smile at each other as they hear the front door close and their son’s rapid footsteps on the stairs.

Erik gets three glasses out of the cupboard, stops, takes Simone’s hand, and holds it against his cheek.

“Bedroom?” she asks.

He looks embarrassingly pleased, just as the telephone rings. “Leave it,” he says.

“It could be Benjamin,” she says, picking up the phone. “Hello?” She hears nothing, just a faint ticking sound, perhaps from a zipper being undone. “Hello?” She puts the telephone down.

“Nobody there?” asks Erik, uneasily.

Simone watches as he goes over to the window and looks down at the street. Once again she hears the voice of the woman who answered her earlier call.
Stop it, Erik
. She had laughed. Stop what? Fumbling inside her clothes, sucking at her nipple, pushing up her skirt?

“Call Benjamin,” says Erik, his voice strained.

“Why do I need to—” She picks up the phone just as it rings again. “Hello?”

When no one speaks she cuts the connection and dials Benjamin’s number.

“Voicemail.”

“I can’t see him,” says Erik.

“Should I go after him?”

“Maybe.”

“He’ll be furious with me,” she says with a smile.

“I’ll go,” says Erik, moving into the hallway.

He is just taking his jacket off the hanger when the door opens and Benjamin walks in with a plastic bag stacked with cartons of steaming food.

They sit down in front of the TV to watch a movie, eating straight out of the containers. Benjamin laughs at the snappy dialogue, and Erik and Simone glance happily at each other as they did when he was a child, laughing out loud at some children’s programme. Erik puts his hand on Simone’s knee, and she puts her hand on top of his, squeezing it.

Bruce Willis is on his back, wiping blood from his mouth. The telephone rings again and Erik puts down his food and gets up. He goes out into the hallway and answers as calmly as he can.

“Erik Maria Bark.” There is no sound, just a faint clicking. “Right, that’s enough,” he says angrily.

“Erik?” It’s Daniella’s voice. “Is that you, Erik?” she asks.