Joona Linna Crime Series Books 1-3: The Hypnotist, The Nightmare, The Fire Witness. Lars Kepler
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family.”
Joona raises his eyebrows. “That’s exactly it … A child is still out there, the big sister. She’s twenty-three. We think it’s possible the killer is after her as well. That’s why we want to question the witness as soon as possible.”
“I’ll go in and carry out a detailed examination,” says Erik.
Joona nods.
“But we can’t risk the patient’s life by—”
“I understand that. It’s just that the longer it takes before we have something to go on, the longer the killer has to look for the sister.”
Now Erik nods.
“Why don’t you locate the sister, warn her?”
“We haven’t found her yet. She isn’t in her apartment in Sundbyberg, or at her boyfriend’s.”
“Perhaps you should examine the scene of the crime,” says Daniella.
“That’s already under way.”
“Why don’t you go over there and tell them to get a move on?” she says, irritably.
“It’s not going to yield anything anyway,” says the detective. “We’re going to find the DNA of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people in both places, all mixed up together.”
“I’ll go in a moment and see the patient,” says Erik.
Joona meets his gaze and nods. “If I could ask just a couple of questions. That might be all that’s needed to save his sister.”
3
tuesday, december 8: early morning
Erik Maria Bark returns to the patient. Standing in front of the bed, he studies the pale, damaged face; the shallow breathing; the frozen grey lips. Erik says the boy’s name, and something passes painfully across the face.
“Josef,” he says once again, quietly. “My name is Erik Maria Bark. I’m a doctor, and I’m going to examine you. You can nod if you like, if you understand what I’m saying.”
The boy is lying completely still, his stomach moving in time with his short breaths. Erik is convinced that the boy understands his words, but the level of consciousness abruptly drops. Contact is broken.
When Erik leaves the room half an hour later, both Daniella and the detective look at him expectantly. Erik shakes his head.
“He’s our only witness,” Joona repeats. “Someone has killed his father, his mother, and his little sister. The same person is almost certainly on his way to the older sister right now.”
“We know that,” Daniella snaps.
Erik raises a hand to stop the bickering. “We understand it’s important to talk to him. But it’s simply not possible. We can’t just give him a shake and tell him his whole family is dead.”
“What about hypnosis?” says Joona, almost offhandedly.
Silence falls in the room.
“No,” Erik whispers to himself.
“Wouldn’t hypnosis work?”
“I don’t know anything about that,” Erik replies.
“How could that be? You yourself were a famous hypnotist. The best, I heard.”
“I was a fake,” says Erik.
“That’s not what I think,” says Joona. “And this is an emergency.”
Daniella flushes and, smiling inwardly, studies the floor.
“I can’t,” says Erik.
“I’m actually the person responsible for the patient,” says Daniella, raising her voice, “and I’m not particularly keen on letting him be hypnotised.”
“But if it wasn’t dangerous for the patient, in your judgment?” asks Joona.
Erik now realises that the detective has been thinking of hypnosis as a possible shortcut right from the start. Joona Linna has asked him to come to the hospital purely to convince him to hypnotise the patient, not because he is an expert in treating acute shock and trauma.
“I promised myself I would never use hypnosis again,” says Erik.
“OK, I understand,” says Joona. “I had heard you were the best, but … I have to respect your decision.”
“I’m sorry,” says Erik. He looks at the patient through the window in the door and turns to Daniella. “Has he been given desmopressin?”
“No, I thought I’d wait awhile,” she replies.
“Why?”
“The risk of thromboembolic complications.”
“I’ve been following the debate, but I don’t agree with the concerns; I give my son desmopressin all the time,” says Erik.
“How is Benjamin doing? He must be, what, fifteen now?”
“Fourteen,” says Erik.
Joona gets up laboriously from his chair. “I’d be grateful if you could recommend another hypnotist,” he says.
“We don’t even know if the patient is going to regain consciousness,” replies Daniella.
“But I’d like to try.”
“And he does have to be conscious in order to be hypnotised,” she says, pursing her mouth slightly.
“He was listening when Erik was talking to him,” says Joona.
“I don’t think so,” she murmurs.
Erik disagrees. “He could definitely hear me.”
“We could save his sister,” Joona goes on.
“I’m going home now,” says Erik quietly. “Give the patient desmopressin and think about trying the pressure chamber.”
As he walks towards the lift, Erik slides out of his white coat. There are a few people in the lobby now. The doors have been unlocked; the sky has lightened a little. As he pulls out of the car park he reaches for the little wooden box he carries with him, garishly decorated with a parrot and a smiling South Seas native. Without taking his eyes off the road he flips open the lid, picks out three tablets, and swallows them quickly. He needs to get a couple of hours more sleep this morning, before waking Benjamin and giving him his injection.
4
tuesday, december 8: early morning
Seven and a half hours earlier, a caretaker by the name of Karim Muhammed arrived at the Rödstuhage sports centre. The time was 8:50 p.m. Cleaning the locker rooms was his last job for the day. He parked his Volkswagen bus in the car park not far from a red Toyota. The football pitch itself was dark, the floodlights atop the tall pylons surrounding it long since extinguished, but a light was still on in the men’s locker room. The caretaker retrieved the smallest cart from the rear of the van and pushed it towards the low wooden building. Reaching it, he was slightly surprised to find the door unlocked. He knocked, got no reply, and pushed the door open. Only after he had propped it with a plastic wedge did he spot the blood.
When police officers Jan Eriksson and Erland Björkander arrived at the scene, Eriksson went straight to the locker room, leaving Björkander to question Karim Muhammed. At first, Eriksson thought he heard the victim moaning, but after turning him over the police officer realised this was impossible. The victim had been mutilated and partially dismembered. The right arm was missing, and the torso had been hacked at so badly it looked like a bowl full of bloody entrails.