Stalker

36

An old woman with plastic bags wrapped over her clothes casts an anxious glance at Joona Linna as he wobbles unsteadily beside her in the queue of homeless people.

He tried to get some rest on the green line of the underground, but met a Roma man who offered him somewhere to sleep. He’s been lying on the floor of a caravan out in Huddinge, wrapped in a blanket, with his eyes closed, waiting for sleep, but his thoughts won’t leave him alone.

He hasn’t eaten or slept since Lumi left. He gave her all his money, keeping only enough to cover the journey to see Nils Åhlén.

Lack of sleep means that his migraines are coming more and more frequently. The pain is like a burning needle behind one eye, and his hip is getting even worse.

An Iranian man with friendly eyes is patiently pouring coffee for the hungry and giving them sandwiches. Most of the people here have probably been sleeping in the Central Station or in the nearby multi-storey car parks.

Joona no longer feels hungry, it’s only there as a weight that makes his legs weak. When he’s handed his coffee and sandwich, he feels like he’s going to faint. He moves to one side, unwraps the bread, takes a bite and swallows it, but his stomach starts to cramp, trying to reject the food. He puts his hand over his mouth and turns his back on the others. Dizziness forces him to his knees. He spills his coffee on the ground, takes another bite, coughs and spits it out, and feels sweat break out on his forehead.

‘How are you doing?’ the Iranian man says, having seen what happened.

‘I haven’t got round to eating anything for a while,’ he replies.

‘A busy man.’ The Iranian smiles gently.

‘Yes,’ Joona says, coughing again.

‘Just let me know if you need help.’

‘Thanks, but I’m fine,’ Joona mutters, then picks up his stick and limps away.

‘At one o’clock the soup kitchen in St Clara Church opens,’ the man calls after him. ‘Come along, you could do with sitting down and getting warm.’

Joona crosses the bridge towards the City Hall, feeds the sandwich to the swans, and walks with heavy steps up the long slope of Hantverkargatan. He stops and rests for a while outside Kungsholmen Gymnasium School, fingering the little stone in his pocket, and then carries on towards the fire station before turning off into Kronoberg Park. The foliage high above is drenched in sunlight, but the grass beneath the trees is shady, a soft moss-green.

Joona walks slowly up the hill, leaning on his stick, loosens the wire inside the railings, opens the gate and enters the old Jewish Cemetery.

‘I’m sorry I look the way I do,’ he says, putting the stone down on Samuel Mendel’s family grave.

Joona pushes a sweet wrapper away with his stick and tells his former partner that Jurek Walter is dead at last. Then he stands in silence, listening to the wind through the trees, and the sound of the children in the nearby playground.

‘I’ve seen the evidence,’ he whispers, patting the headstone before he leaves.

Margot Silverman has asked Joona to attend an unofficial meeting today. She’s probably just trying to be nice to him, letting him play at being a detective for a while.

On his way down towards Fleminggatan Joona thinks about the orgies Maria Carlsson attended.

Saturnalias, carnivals, drunken binges – they have always been part of human life. Every breath takes us closer to death, and we console ourselves with work and routines, but every so often we have to turn our regulated lives upside down, if only to prove to ourselves that we are free.

Maria Carlsson had evidently been planning to attend a saturnalia the day she was murdered. It’s impossible to say if the orgies are the link between the victims, but on her calendar Susanna Kern had circled the same July Saturday that Maria Carlsson had booked for an orgy.

Childhood friends Filip Cronstedt and Eugene Cassel are joint owners of the company Croca Communication Ltd, which had a turnover of ninety-five million euros last year. Even though they’re both registered as living abroad, it’s very obvious that they spend most of their time in Sweden.

Neither of them has visited the office on Sibyllegatan in the past six months, and they haven’t attended a board meeting in a very long time. The managing director has been in touch with Eugene, most recently just last week, but he hasn’t heard from Filip since the start of the year.

Linda Bergman said she was still in contact with Maria Carlsson when Filip suddenly withdrew from the saturnalias.

But the orgies went on, attended by both Maria and Eugene.

There seem to be a number of regular participants who attend every time, while a limited number of new people are invited along for a trial.

According to Linda, passcards for the hotel suite double as entrance tickets.

The investigative team have little expectation of finding Filip at the hotel, but they’re relatively confident that Eugene will be there.

According to Maria Carlsson’s Filofax, there’s an orgy planned for next Saturday, and another one in three weeks’ time. These two dates may be their only hope of finding Eugene and tracing Filip.