The Hypnotist (24 page)

Nicky fishes for something in his pocket, whispering to himself, then looks up at Kennet. “Wailord played a trick on me once when I had to pay,” he says, trying to smile. “He was just joking. They tricked me into eating something you’re not supposed to eat.”

Kennet waits. Nicky blushes and fiddles with his zipper. His finger-nails are dirty.

“What did you eat?” asks Kennet.

The boy’s cheeks quiver violently again. “I didn’t want to,” he replies, and a few tears trickle down his face.

Kennet pats Nicky on the shoulder and tries to keep his voice calm and steady. “You know what it sounds like? It sounds like Wailord is really stupid.”

“Stupid.”

Kennet wonders what Nicky keeps fiddling with in his pocket. “I’m a police officer, you know that, and I say that nobody is allowed to do stupid things to you.”

“You’re too old.”

“But I’m strong.”

Nicky looks more cheerful. “Can I have another Coke?”

“If you want.”

“Yes, please.”

“What have you got in your pocket?” asks Kennet, feigning indifference.

Nicky smiles. “It’s a secret.”

“I see,” says Kennet, and refrains from asking any further.

Nicky takes the bait. “Don’t you want to know what it is?”

“Oh, no. I understand secrets. You couldn’t be a policeman for as long as I have without being able to keep a secret. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Nicky.”

“You’ll never guess what it is.”

“I’m sure I couldn’t.”

Nicky takes his hand out of his pocket. “I’ll tell you what it is.” He opens his fist. “It’s my power.”

In Nicky’s hand lies a small lump of soil. Kennet looks inquiringly at the boy who simply smiles.

“I am a ground-type Pokémon,” he says contentedly.

“A ground-type Pokémon,” Kennet repeats.

Nicky closes his fist and pushes it back in his pocket. “Do you know what my powers are?”

Kennet shakes his head. Across the street, a man with a pointed head slowly passes the dark, damp façades of the buildings. He seems to be searching for something; he has a cane in his hand and is poking at the ground with it. Kennet automatically thinks that the man is trying to look in through the windows on the ground floor. He thinks he ought to go over and ask him what he’s doing. But Nicky has placed a hand on his arm.

“Do you know what my powers are?” the boy says again.

Kennet drags his gaze reluctantly away from the man. Nicky begins to count on his fingers.

“I’m good against all electric Pokémons, fire Pokémons, poison Pokémons, rock Pokémons, and steel Pokémons. They can’t beat me; I’m safe when it comes to all of those. But I can’t fight flying Pokémons or grass-and-insect Pokémons.”

“ Really ?” says Kennet distractedly. The man has stopped at one of the windows. Tucking his cane under his arm, he busily goes through his pockets, as if looking for a key or a match, but Kennet can see he’s actually leaning into the glass.

“Are you listening?” Nicky asks anxiously.

Kennet tries to smile encouragingly at him, but when he turns back to look, the man has disappeared. Kennet can’t make out whether the ground-floor window is open.

“I can’t fight water,” Nicky explains sadly. “Water’s the worst. I can’t fight it. I’m scared of water.”

Kennet carefully loosens Nicky’s grip on his arm. “Just hang on a minute,” he says, taking a few steps toward the curb.

“Hey, what time is it?” asks Nicky suddenly.

“The time? It’s quarter to six.”

“I better go. He’ll be mad if I’m late.”

“Who’ll be mad, your dad?”

Nicky laughs. “I haven’t got a dad, silly!”

“Your mum, I mean.”

“No, Ariados will be mad. He’s coming to pick up some things.” Nicky looks uncertainly at Kennet, then down at the ground. “Can you give me some money? Because if I haven’t got enough, he has to punish me.”

“Wait a minute,” says Kennet, who is beginning to pay attention to what Nicky is saying. “Is it Wailord who wants money from you?” Nicky has begun to wander away from the newspaper stand, and Kennet follows, asking again. “Is it Wailord who wants money?”

“Are you crazy? Wailord? He’d swallow me up. But the others, they . . . they can swim to him.”

Nicky looks back over his shoulder. Kennet tries again. “Who wants money from you?”

“Ariados, I told you,” the boy says impatiently. “Have you got any money? I can do something if I get the money. I can give you a little bit of power.”

“There’s no need,” says Kennet, taking out his wallet. “Will twenty kronor be enough?”

Nicky laughs delightedly, pushes the note in his pocket, and runs off down the road without even saying goodbye.

Kennet sets off after him, trying to make sense of what he’s heard. When he turns the corner, he sees Nicky waiting at the crossing for the light to change. It looks as if he’s heading for the library in the square. Kennet follows him across the road, stopping by a cash machine when Nicky stops. Now the big boy is stomping around impatiently by the fountain outside the library. The lighting is poor, but Kennet can see he’s fingering the soil in his pocket all the time.

Suddenly a younger boy walks straight through the shrubbery next to the dental centre and out into the square. He approaches Nicky, stops in front of him, and says something. Nicky immediately lies down on the ground and holds out the money. The boy counts it and pats Nicky on the head, then suddenly grabs hold of his collar, urging him to the edge of the fountain. Nicky crawls over and allows his face to be pushed down into the water. Kennet’s instinct is to go to him, but he forces himself to stay where he is. He’s here to find Benjamin. He must not scare off the boy who might be Wailord or who might lead him to Wailord. He stands, tensing his jaws, counting the seconds before he has to rush over. Nicky’s legs jerk and kick and Kennet sees the inexplicable calm on the other boy’s face as he lets go. Nicky slumps on the ground next to the fountain, wheezing and coughing. The boy gives Nicky a last pat on the shoulder and walks away.

Finally Kennet can hurry after the boy, through the bushes and down a muddy grass slope to a path. He follows him past several apartment blocks, until the boy goes inside one. Kennet speeds up and grabs the door before it closes, following the boy onto the lift, where he manages to see that he has pressed the button for the sixth floor. Kennet gets off at the sixth floor as well, hesitates, pretends to search through his pockets, and watches the boy go over to one of the doors and pull out a key.

“Hey, son, got a moment?” says Kennet casually.

The boy does not react, so Kennet goes over, grabs hold of his jacket, and spins him around.

“Let go of me, Pops,” says the boy, looking him straight in the eye.

“Don’t you know it’s against the law to demand money from people?”

Kennet is looking into a pair of slippery, surprisingly calm eyes.

“Your surname is Johansson,” says Kennet, glancing at the door.

“That’s right.” The boy smiles. “What’s your name?”

“Detective Inspector Kennet Sträng.”

The boy simply stands there looking at him, showing no sign of fear.

“How much money have you taken from Nicky?”

“I don’t take any money. If people want to give it to me, that’s their business. I don’t take it. Everybody’s happy, nobody’s upset.”

“I’m going to have a word with your parents.”

“Whatever.”

“Shall I do that?”

“Oh, no, please don’t,” says the boy mockingly.

Kennet rings the bell, and he and the boy wait until the door is opened by a fat sunburned woman.

“Good afternoon,” says Kennet. “I’m a detective inspector, and I’m afraid your son is in a bit of trouble.”

“My son? I haven’t got any children,” she says.

Kennet notices that the boy is gazing at the floor, smiling.

“You don’t know this boy?”

“Could I see your police ID, please?” the fat woman says.

“This boy is— ”

The boy interrupts. “He hasn’t got any ID.”

“Oh, yes, I have,” Kennet lies.

“He’s not a cop,” says the boy, taking out his wallet. “Here’s my bus pass, I’m more of a cop than— ”

Kennet grabs the boy’s wallet.

“Give that back.”

“I just want to take a look,” says Kennet.

“He said he wanted to suck my dick,” says the boy.

“I’m calling the police,” says the woman, sounding scared.

Kennet pushes the lift button. The woman looks around, hurries out, and starts banging on the doors of the other apartments.

“He gave me money,” the boy tells her, “but I didn’t want to go with him.”

The lift doors glide open. A neighbour opens the door with the security chain on.

“You damn well better leave Nicky alone in future,” says Kennet quietly.

“He’s mine,” the boy replies.

The woman is shouting for the police. Kennet gets in the lift, presses the green button, and the doors close. Sweat is pouring down his back. The boy must have noticed he was tailing him from the fountain, and tricked him into following him all the way to a strange apartment. The lift moves slowly downward, the light flashes, the steel cables above bang loudly. Kennet looks inside the boy’s wallet: almost a thousand kronor, a membership card for a video shop, a bus pass, and a creased blue card with the sea, louddsvägen 18 on it.

A giant smiling sausage has been erected on top of the diner; with one hand it gives a thumbs-up, with the other it covers itself with ketchup. Erik orders a burger with fries, sits down on one of the high stools at the narrow counter by the window, and looks out through the misty glass. There is a locksmith on the opposite side of the street; his Christmas decorations consist of knee-high elves frolicking among an assortment of safes, locks, and keys.

Four hours ago, Joona called to tell him they had missed Josef again. He had been in the cellar but had escaped. There was nothing to suggest that Benjamin had been there. On the contrary, preliminary DNA results indicated that Josef had been alone in the room the whole time.

A bone-deep fatigue comes over him. Josef Ek wants to harm me. He’s jealous, he hates me, he’s got it into his head that Evelyn and I have a sexual relationship, and now he’s determined to take his revenge on me. But he doesn’t know where I live. In the letter he demands that Evelyn tell him.
You are going to show me where he lives
, he wrote. If Josef doesn’t know where I live, he wasn’t the one who got into our apartment and dragged Benjamin out.

Erik opens his bottle of mineral water, takes a sip, and calls home. He hears his own voice on the answering machine, exhorting himself to leave a message. He cuts the connection and calls Simone’s mobile instead. She doesn’t answer.

“Hi, Simone,” he says to her voicemail. “Look, I do think you ought to accept police protection. Apparently, Josef Ek is very angry with me. But that’s it, as far as we know. He didn’t take Benjamin.”

He gulps down a bite of the hamburger, aware suddenly of the gnawing emptiness in his stomach. He spears the crisply fried potatoes on his plastic fork, thinking about Joona’s face when he read Josef ’s letter to Evelyn. It was as if the temperature in the room had fallen. The pale grey eyes became like ice, but with an uncompromising sharpness. Erik tries to recall Evelyn’s face, her exact words when she suddenly realized Josef had returned to the house. Mulling it over, Erik decides she didn’t deliberately fail to mention the secret room but had simply forgotten about it.

He eats some more of the burger, wipes his hands on the paper napkin, and makes another attempt to get hold of Simone. Not only does she need to be told that it wasn’t Josef Ek who took Benjamin, but he also wants to ask what else she can recall from the night Benjamin was abducted. Despite his relief at finding that his son is not in Josef Ek’s hands, he knows they have to start all over, think the whole thing through from the beginning. He opens a notebook, writes Aida’s name on it, then changes his mind and tears out the sheet. It’s Simone he needs to talk to. She must remember more, he says to himself, she must have seen something. Joona had interviewed her, but she hadn’t remembered anything else. Of course, they’d been concentrating on Josef then.

His cell phone rings and he puts down the burger, wipes his hands again, and answers without looking at the display.

“Erik Maria Bark.”

There is a dull crackling, roaring noise.

“Hello?” says Erik, more loudly this time.

Suddenly he hears a faint voice. “Dad?”

The hot oil hisses as the basket of potatoes is lowered in.

“Benjamin?” A half-dozen burgers are slapped on the grill. The telephone roars. “Hang on, I can’t hear you.”

Erik pushes his way past the customers lined up to order and out into the car park.

“Benjamin?”

Snow is whirling around the yellow streetlamps. “Can you hear me now?” asks Benjamin, sounding close.

“Where are you? Tell me where you are!”

“I don’t know, Dad. I don’t get it, I’m lying in the boot of a car and we’ve just been driving forever.”

“Who’s taken you?”

“I woke up here. I can’t see anything, I’m thirsty— ”

“Are you hurt?”

“Dad!” He sobs.

“I’m here, Benjamin.”

“What’s going on?” He sounds small and afraid.

“I’ll find you,” says Erik. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“I heard a voice just when I woke up; it was all mushy, like, he was talking through a blanket. What was it again? It was something about . . . a house . . .”

“Tell me more! What kind of house?”

“No, not just a house, a haunted house.”

“Where?”

“We’re stopping now, Dad, the car’s stopped, they’re coming,” says Benjamin, sounding terrified. “I can’t talk any more.”

Erik hears strange rummaging noises, followed by a creaking sound and then Benjamin’s sudden scream. His voice is shrill and unsteady; he sounds terribly frightened:

“Leave me alone, I don’t want to, please, I promise— ”

Then silence; the connection has been broken.

Erik stares at his phone but does not use it; he doesn’t want to risk blocking another call from his son. He waits by the car, praying Benjamin will call again, tries to go over the conversation but keeps losing the thread. Benjamin’s fear stabs through his head, over and over again. He realizes he has to tell Simone.