Stalker

107

Joona Linna gets out of the taxi on Surbrunnsgatan, pays and walks across the street to his grey hire-car. The engine starts with a gentle hum, he leans back in the leather seat and pulls away from the kerb.

When he reaches Huddinge Prison he parks right in front of the entrance, next to a metal fence, and calls Erik’s number.

‘How are you getting on?’ he asks.

‘OK, but I’m starting to get hungry.’

‘I’ve changed my SIM-card, so you can tell me where you are now.’

‘Behind St Mark’s Church, outside the wall. There’s a pet cemetery in the woods. I’m hiding in a red wooden shed.

‘That’s fairly close to the police raid on Nestor’s flat, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, I heard the ambulance last night,’ Erik says quietly.

‘I’ll bring Rocky out to you an hour from now,’ Joona says, glancing up at the imposing edifice of the prison.

He puts his pistol and mobile in the glove-compartment, leaves the key in the ignition and then gets out of the car and walks in through the tall pillars.

He buys three sandwiches at the kiosk, asks for a bag, and then goes over to say why he’s there.

After going through the usual security procedures Joona is shown inside the prison. The same prison officer as before is standing waiting for him.

Joona notes that Arne has a telescopic baton from Bonowi. It’s made of sprung steel, and designed to hit the muscles in the upper arms and thighs.

His name-badge sits slightly crookedly on his pilled Nato sweater. His handcuffs are dangling from his belt at the base of his broad back.

In the lift Arne takes off his glasses and polishes them on his sweater.

‘How’s the fishing?’ Joona asks.

‘I’m heading to Älvkarleby with my brother-in-law later this autumn.’

The interview room is one of the monitored rooms, in which one wall consists of a pane of glass, making it possible for people in the next room to observe everything going on inside.

Joona sits down on a chair and waits with both hands resting on the tabletop until he hears voices approaching along the corridor.

‘He’s called the naked chef because he was naked when he started,’ the duty officer is saying as the door opens and Rocky is led into the room.

‘No,’ Arne says, ‘that’s not right…’

‘My wife and I saw Jamie Oliver at the book fair in Gothenburg fifteen years ago. He was completely naked. Stood there making spaghetti alle vongole.’

‘My shoulders hurt,’ Rocky sighs.

‘Just keep quiet,’ Arne says, pushing him down on to a chair.

‘Give me a scribble and he’s all yours,’ the duty officer says as they leave the room.