The Nightmare

‘Yes, but it hasn’t necessarily been done on purpose,’ Erixon says.

‘So the cables could have been damaged by accident? And the cushion just ended up there?’

‘Absolutely,’ he replies.

‘But you don’t believe that?’ Joona asks.

‘No.’

Joona thinks about the fact that the boat was found drifting in Jungfrufjärden, then clears his throat and says thoughtfully:

‘If the murderer did this …’

‘Then he’s no ordinary killer,’ Erixon concludes.

Joona repeats the thought to himself, telling himself that they’re not dealing with an ordinary murderer. Run-of-the-mill killers tend to react emotionally, even if they’ve planned the murder. There are always a lot of heightened emotions at play, and murders often have an element of hysteria about them. The plan usually emerges afterwards, in an effort to conceal the act and construct an alibi. But on this occasion the perpetrator appears to have followed a very specific strategy from the outset.

Even so, something still went wrong.

Joona stares into space for a while, then writes Viola Fernandez’s name on the top page of The Needle’s notepad. He circles it, then adds Penelope Fernandez and Björn Almskog’s names underneath. The two women are sisters. Penelope and Björn are in a settled relationship. Björn owns the boat. Viola asked if she could go with them at the last minute.

Identifying the motive behind a murder is a long and winding road. Joona is aware that he only recently thought that Penelope Fernandez was alive. It hadn’t just been a hope or an attempt to give comfort. It had been an intuition, but no more than that. He had caught the thought mid-flight, but lost his grip on it almost immediately.

If he were to follow the National Homicide Commission’s template, his suspicions ought to be directed at Viola’s boyfriend, and possibly Penelope and Björn seeing as they were on the boat. Alcohol and other drugs may have been involved. Perhaps there was a disagreement, a serious jealousy drama. Leif G. W. Persson would soon be giving his opinion on television, saying that the perpetrator was someone close to Viola, probably a boyfriend or former boyfriend.

Joona considers the intention behind making the fuel tank explode and tries to understand the logic behind the plan. Viola was drowned in the zinc wash-tub on the aft-deck and the perpetrator carried her down to the cabin and left her on the bunk.

Joona knows he’s trying to think too many thoughts at the same time. He needs to stop himself and start to structure what he actually knows, and the questions that still need to be answered.

He draws another circle round Viola’s name and starts again.

What he knows is that Viola Fernandez was drowned in a wash-tub and then placed on the bed in the front cabin, and that Penelope Fernandez and Björn Almskog haven’t yet been found.

But that’s not all, he tells himself, and turns to a new page.

Details.

He writes the word ‘calm’ on the pad.

There was no wind, and the boat was found drifting near Storskär.

The front of the boat is damaged, from a fairly forceful collision. Forensics have presumably managed to secure evidence and taken imprints by now.

Joona throws Nils’s notepad hard at the wall and closes his eyes.

‘Perkele,’ he whispers.

Something has slipped out of his grasp again, he had it, he knows he almost made a crucial observation. He was on the brink of making a breakthrough, but then he just lost it again.

Viola, Joona thinks. You died on the aft-deck of the boat. So why were you moved after you died? Who moved you? The murderer, or someone else?

If you find her apparently lifeless on deck, you probably try to resuscitate her, you call SOS Alarm, that’s what you do. And if you realise that she’s dead, that it’s already too late, that you can’t bring her back, maybe you don’t just want to leave her lying there, you want to take her inside, cover her with a sheet. But a dead body is heavy and awkward to move, even if there are two of you. But it wouldn’t have been too difficult to move her into the saloon. It’s only five metres, through a pair of wide glass doors and down just one step.

That’s perfectly possible, even without any specific intention.

But you don’t drag her down a steep set of steps, through a narrow passageway, to put her on the bed in the cabin.

You only do that if you intend her to be found drowned in her room on the submerged boat.

‘Exactly,’ he mutters, and stands up.

He looks out of the window, spots an almost blue beetle crawling along the white sill, then looks up and sees a woman riding a bicycle disappear between the trees, and suddenly he realises what the missing component is.

Joona sits down again and drums his fingers on the desk.

It wasn’t Penelope who was found dead on the boat, it was her sister Viola. But Viola wasn’t found on her own bed, in her own cabin on the boat, but in the front cabin, on Penelope’s bed.

The murderer could have made the same mistake as me, Joona thinks, and a shiver runs down his spine.

He thought he had killed Penelope Fernandez.

That’s why he put her on the bed in the front cabin.

That’s the only explanation.

And that explanation means that Penelope Fernandez and Björn Almskog aren’t responsible for Viola’s death, because they wouldn’t have placed her on the wrong bed.

Joona starts when the door flies open. The Needle shoves it open with his back, then comes in backwards carrying a large, oblong box covered with red flames and the words ‘Guitar Hero’ on the front.

‘Frippe and I are going to start …’

‘Quiet,’ Joona snaps.

‘What’s happened?’ Nils asks.

‘Nothing, I just need to think,’ he replies quickly.

Joona gets up from the chair and walks out of the room without another word. He walks through the foyer without hearing what the twinkly-eyed woman at reception says to him. He just carries on, out into the early sunshine, and stops on the grass by the car park.

A fourth person who isn’t well-acquainted with the two women killed Viola, Joona thinks. He killed Viola, but thought he had killed Penelope. That means that Penelope was still alive when Viola was killed, because otherwise he wouldn’t have made that mistake.

Maybe she is still alive, Joona thinks. It’s possible that she’s lying dead somewhere out in the archipelago, on some island or deep underwater. But there’s still every reason to hope that she’s still alive, and if she is alive, then she’ll be found before too much longer.

Joona strides off purposefully towards his car without actually knowing where he’s going. His phone is on the roof of the car. He realises he must have left it there when he locked the car. When he picks it up to call Anja Larsson it’s very hot. No answer. He opens the door, gets in, puts on his seat belt, then sits there and tries to find a flaw in his reasoning.

The air is stuffy, but the heavy scent of the lilac bushes by the car park eventually succeeds in driving the yeasty smell of the body in the mortuary from his nostrils.

His phone rings in his hand, and he looks at the screen before answering.

‘I’ve just been talking to your doctor,’ Anja says.

‘Why were you talking to him?’ Joona asks in surprise.

‘Janush says you never show up,’ she chides.

‘I haven’t had time.’

‘But you’re taking the medication?’

‘It’s disgusting,’ Joona jokes.

‘Seriously, though … he called because he’s worried about you,’ she says.

‘I’ll talk to him.’

‘When you’ve solved this case, you mean?’

‘Have you got a pen and paper handy?’ Joona asks.

‘Don’t worry about me.’

‘The woman who was found on the boat isn’t Penelope Fernandez.’

‘No, it was Viola. I know,’ she says. ‘Petter told me.’

‘Good.’

‘You were wrong, Joona.’

‘Yes, I know …’

‘Say it,’ she jokes.

‘I’m always wrong,’ he says quietly.

Neither of them speaks for a moment.

‘So we’re not allowed to joke about that?’ she asks tentatively.

‘Have you managed to find out anything the boat and Viola Fernandez?’

‘Viola and Penelope are sisters,’ she says. ‘Penelope and Björn have been in a relationship, or whatever you want to call it, for the past four years.’

‘Yes, that’s pretty much what I thought.’

‘Right. Do you want me to go on, or is it all unnecessary?’

Joona doesn’t answer, just leans his head back and notices that the windscreen is covered with pollen from a nearby tree.

‘Viola wasn’t supposed to be going out on the boat with them,’ Anja goes on. ‘She’d had a row with her boyfriend, Sergey Jarushenko, that morning, and had phoned her mother in tears. It was her mother’s idea that she should ask Penelope if she could go with them.’

‘What do you know about Penelope?’

‘I’ve actually been prioritising the victim, Viola Fernandez, seeing as …’

‘But the murderer thought he’d killed Penelope.’

‘Hang on, what did you just say, Joona?’

‘He made a mistake, he was planning to cover the murder up, make it look like an accident, but he put Viola on her sister’s bed.’

‘Because he thought Viola was Penelope.’

‘I need to know everything about Penelope Fernandez and her …’

‘She’s one of my biggest idols,’ Anja says, cutting him off. ‘She’s a peace campaigner, and she lives at Sankt Paulsgatan 3.’

‘We’ve sent out an alert for her and Björn Almskog on the intranet,’ Joona says. ‘And the coastguard have got two helicopters searching the area around Dalarö, but they need to organise a proper search of the island with the marine police.’

‘I’ll find out what’s going on,’ she says.

‘And someone needs to talk to Viola’s boyfriend, and Bill Persson, the fisherman who found her on the boat. We need a comprehensive forensics report on the boat, and we need to speed up the results from the National Forensics Lab.’

‘Do you want me to call Linköping?’

‘I’ll talk to Erixon, he knows them. I’ll be seeing him shortly to take a look at Penelope’s apartment.’

‘Sounds like you’re in charge of the preliminary investigation. Are you?’

17

A very dangerous man

The summer sky is still clear, but the air is getting more and more close, as if a storm were brewing.

Joona Linna and Erixon park outside the old fishermen’s store, which always has pictures of the people who have caught the largest salmon in the centre of Stockholm each week.

Joona’s phone rings and he sees that it’s Claudia Fernandez. He walks over to the thin strip of shadow by the wall before answering.

‘You said I could call you,’ she says in a weak voice.

‘Of course.’

‘I realise that you probably say the same thing to everyone, but I was thinking … my daughter, Penelope. I mean … I need to know if you find anything, even if …’

Claudia’s voice fades away.

‘Hello? Claudia?’

‘Yes, sorry,’ she whispers.

‘I’m a detective … I’m trying to find out if there’s criminal activity behind these events. The coastguards are the people looking for Penelope,’ Joona explains.

‘When are they going to find her?’

‘They usually start by searching the area with helicopters … and at the same time they organise a ground-search of any islands, but that takes longer … so they start with helicopters.’

Joona can hear that Claudia is trying to muffle her crying.

‘I don’t know what to do, I … I need to know if there’s anything I can do, if I ought to carry on talking to her friends.’

‘The best thing would be if you could stay at home,’ Joona says. ‘Because Penelope might try to contact you, and then …’

‘She won’t call me,’ she interrupts.

‘I think she …’

‘I’ve always been too hard on Penelope, I get angry with her, I don’t know why, I … I don’t want to lose her, I can’t lose Penelope, I …’

Claudia cries down the phone, tries to stop herself, quickly apologises and ends the call.

Opposite the fishing tackle shop is Sankt Paulsgatan 3, where Penelope Fernandez lives. Joona walks across to Erixon, who is waiting for him in front of a store window full of Japanese writing and manga pictures. The shelves are full of Hello Kitty, cat dolls with big, innocent faces. The entire shop is a surprising, garish contrast to the dirty brown façade of the building.

‘Small body, big head,’ Erixon says, pointing at one of the Hello Kitty dolls when Joona reaches him.

‘Quite cute,’ Joona mumbles.

‘I got that the wrong way round, I’m stuck with a big body and a small head,’ Erixon jokes.

Joona smiles as he gives him a sideways glance and opens the wide door for him. They walk up the steps and look at the list of names, the illuminated light-switches, the hatches to the garbage chute. The stairwell smells of sun and dust and detergent. Erixon grabs hold of the handrail, worn smooth with use, and it creaks as he heaves himself up behind Joona. They look at each other when they reach the third floor. Erixon’s face is quivering from the exertion, and he nods and wipes the sweat from his brow as he whispers apologetically to Joona:

‘Sorry.’

‘It’s very close today,’ Joona says.

There are several stickers by the doorbell: a peace symbol, the Fairtrade logo, and anti-nuclear power. Joona glances at Erixon, and his grey eyes narrow when he puts his ear to the door and listens.

‘What is it?’ Erixon whispers.

Still listening, Joona rings the doorbell. He waits a few moments, then pulls a small case from his inside pocket.

‘Probably nothing,’ he says, and carefully picks the uncomplicated lock.

Joona opens the door, then seems to change his mind and closes it again. He gestures to Erixon to remain where he is, without really knowing why. They hear the melody of an ice-cream van outside. Erixon looks worried, and rubs his chin. A shiver runs through Joona’s arms, but he still opens the door calmly and walks in. There are newspapers, adverts and a letter from the Left Party on the hall mat. The air is still, stale. A velvet curtain has been pulled across the closet. The pipes in the walls gush and then tick rapidly.

Joona doesn’t know why, but his hand moves to his holstered pistol. He nudges it with his fingertips beneath his jacket, but doesn’t draw it. He looks at the blood-red curtain, then the kitchen door. He is breathing quietly, trying to see through the textured pane of glass and the glass door to the living room.

Joona takes a step forward, but really he just wants to get out of the flat: a strong instinct is telling him to call for backup. Something goes dark behind the textured glass. A wind-chime with dangling brass weights is swaying, but without making any noise. Joona sees the motes of dust in the air change direction, following a new air-current.

He’s not alone in Penelope’s flat.

Joona’s heart starts to beat faster. Someone is moving through the rooms. He can sense it, and turns to look at the kitchen door, and then everything happens very fast. The wooden floor creaks. He hears a rhythmic sound, like little clicks. The door to the kitchen is half open. Joona catches sight of movement in the crack between the hinges. He presses himself against the wall, as if in a railway tunnel. Someone moves quickly through the darkness of the long hallway. Just their back, a shoulder, an arm.

The figure approaches rapidly, then spins round. Joona catches just a glimpse of the knife, like a white tongue. It shoots up like a projectile, from below. The angle is so unexpected that he doesn’t have time to parry the blow. The sharp blade cuts through his clothes and its tip hits his pistol. Joona strikes out at the figure, but misses. He hears the knife slash the air a second time and throws himself back. This time the blade comes from above. Joona hits his head on the bathroom door. He sees a long splinter of wood peel off as the knife cuts into the doorframe. Joona falls to the floor, rolls over, kicks out low, in an arc, and hits something, possibly one of his attacker’s ankles. He rolls away, draws his pistol and removes the safety catch in the same fluid movement. The front door is open and he hears rapid footsteps going down the stairs. Joona gets to his feet, is about to set off after the man when he hears a rumbling sound behind him. He understands instantly what the noise is and rushes into the kitchen. The microwave oven has been switched on. It’s crackling, and black sparks are visible through the glass door. The valves of the four burners on top of the old gas stove have been left open, and gas is streaming into the room.

With a feeling that time has become incredibly sluggish, Joona throws himself at the microwave. The timer is clicking anxiously. The crackling noise is getting louder. A can of insect spray is revolving on the glass plate inside. Joona pulls the plug from the wall and the noise stops. The only sound is the monotonous hiss of the open gas burners on the stove. Joona shuts the valves off. The chemical smell makes his stomach heave. He opens the kitchen window and then looks at the aerosol in the microwave. It’s badly swollen, and could still explode at the slightest touch.

Joona leaves the kitchen and quickly searches the rest of the flat. The rooms are empty, untouched. The air is still thick with gas. On the landing outside the door Erixon is lying on the floor with a cigarette in his mouth.

‘Don’t light it,’ Joona shouts.

Erixon smiles and waves his hand wearily.

‘Chocolate cigarettes,’ he whispers.

Erixon coughs weakly and Joona suddenly sees the pool of blood beneath him.

‘You’re bleeding.’

‘Nothing too serious,’ he says. ‘I don’t know how he did it, but he cut my Achilles’ tendon.’

Joona calls for an ambulance, then sits down beside him. Erixon is pale and his cheeks are wet with sweat. He looks distinctly unwell.

‘He cut me without even stopping, it was … it was like being attacked by a bloody spider.’

They fall silent and Joona thinks about the lightning-fast movements behind the door, and the way the knife moved with a speed and a purposefulness that was unlike anything he’s ever experienced before.

‘Is she in there?’ Erixon pants.

‘No.’

Erixon smiles with relief, then turns serious.

‘But he was still planning to blow the place up?’ he asks.

‘Presumably to get rid of evidence, or some sort of connection,’ Joona says.

Erixon tries to peel the paper from the chocolate cigarette but drops it and closes his eyes. His cheeks are greyish white now.

‘I guess you didn’t see his face either,’ Joona says.

‘No,’ Erixon says weakly.

‘But we saw something, people always see something …’

18

The fire

The paramedics reassure Erixon repeatedly that they’re not going to drop him.

‘I can walk,’ Erixon says, as he shuts his eyes.

His chin trembles with every step they take.

Joona returns to Penelope Fernandez’s flat. He opens all the windows, airing out the gas, and sits down on the comfortable, apricot-coloured sofa.

If the apartment had exploded, it would probably have been written off as an accident caused by a gas leak.

Joona reminds himself that no fragments of memory ever disappear, nothing you ever see is lost, it’s all a matter of letting the memory drift up from the depths like flotsam.

So what did I see, then?

He didn’t see anything, just rapid movements and a white knife-blade.

That was what I saw, Joona suddenly thinks. Nothing.

He tells himself that the very absence of observations supports the idea that they’re not dealing with any ordinary murderer.

They could be dealing with a professional killer, a problem solver, a fixer.

He had already had his suspicions, but after his encounter he is convinced.

He’s sure that the person he met in the hallway is the same person who murdered Viola. His intention had been to kill Penelope, sink the motor cruiser and make the whole thing look like an accident. It was the same pattern here, before he was disturbed. He wants to remain invisible, he wants to get on with his business but hide it from the police.

Joona looks around slowly, trying to gather his observations into a coherent whole.

It sounds like some children are rolling balls across the floor in the flat upstairs. They would be trapped in an inferno of fire if Joona hadn’t pulled the plug from the microwave in time.

He’s never been subjected to such a deliberate and dangerous attack before. He’s convinced that the person who was inside the home of peace campaigner Penelope Fernandez isn’t some hate-filled enemy from the extreme right. Those groups may be guilty of carefully planned acts of violence, but this individual is a trained professional in a league far above the extreme right-wing groups in Sweden.

So what were you doing here? Joona asks himself. What is a fixer doing with Penelope Fernandez, what has she got caught up in? What’s going on under the surface?

He thinks about the man’s unpredictable movements, the knife-technique that was designed to get past any standard defensive manoeuvres, including those taught by the police and military.

He feels a shiver run through him when he realises that the first blow would have hit his liver if his pistol hadn’t been hanging below his right arm, and the second would have hit his head if he hadn’t thrown himself backward.

Joona gets up from the sofa and goes into the bedroom. He looks at the neatly made bed and the crucifix hanging above it.

A fixer thought he had murdered Penelope, and his intention was to make it look like an accident …

But the boat didn’t sink.

Either the murderer was interrupted, or he left the scene of the crime intending to return later and finish the job. But he certainly couldn’t have intended the boat to have been found drifting by the marine police with a drowned girl on board. Something went wrong along the way, or else his plans changed suddenly. Perhaps he received new orders, but a day and half after Viola’s murder he was in Penelope’s apartment.

You must have had very strong reasons for visiting her flat. What would motivate you to take a risk like that? Was there something in the flat that connects you or your employer to Penelope?

You did something here, removed fingerprints, erased a hard disk, erased a message on an answer-machine, or collected something, Joona thinks.

That was what you were planning, anyway, but perhaps you got interrupted when I arrived.

Perhaps you were planning to use the fire to get rid of the evidence?

It’s a possibility.

Joona thinks that he could have done with Erixon right now. He can’t conduct a crime scene investigation without a forensics expert, he doesn’t have the right equipment. And he could ruin evidence if he were to search the flat on his own, possibly contaminate DNA and miss invisible clues.

Joona goes over to the window and looks down at the street, and the empty tables outside a café.

He realises he’s going to have to go to Police Headquarters and talk to his boss, Carlos Eliasson, and ask to be put in charge of the preliminary investigation: that’s the only way to get access to another forensics expert, the only way to get any help while Erixon is off work injured.

Joona’s phone rings just as he makes up his mind to follow the correct procedures and go and talk to Carlos and Jens Svanehjälm, and put together a small investigative team.