Stalker

71

Erik has washed his face and is standing in the kitchen recounting everything Rocky said about the unclean preacher – that he wore make-up over his stubble, was a heroin addict and showed him pictures – while Joona puts the food on the table.

He’s roasted the lamb in the oven with root vegetables and garlic. He scatters some herbs over the dish, then pours more wine in their glasses.

‘This is great,’ Erik says, sitting down.

‘I just wanted to say… Summa’s last months,’ Joona begins, and looks up at him. ‘We had half a year together, the whole family… That wouldn’t have been possible without you, Erik, without the medication you prescribed for her and everything… I knew I could trust you, and I’ll never forget that.’

They touch glasses, drink, and then chat about how they first met, but are soon back on the subject of Rocky and the photographs.

‘Margot needs to take the preacher seriously,’ Erik says.

‘She will,’ Joona assures him. ‘The profilers have come up with a-’

‘I’ve seen it.’

‘I’m not involved in the case, obviously, but Anja told me that they’ve done a first sweep… She started with the parish of Salem, then nearby parishes and congregations,’ Joona says, pushing the serving dish towards Erik. ‘Roman Catholic, Assyrian, Russian and Greek Orthodox… the Scientologists, Mission Church, Salvation Army, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Latter-day Saints, Methodists, Pentecostalists… and now they’re expanding the search to look at all the priests in the country that work with drug addicts, in prisons, institutions and hospitals…’

Erik’s hands have almost stopped shaking, but he’s moving slowly, as if he doesn’t quite trust himself as he helps himself to food.

‘How many names are there on the list?’ he asks, pushing the dish towards Joona.

‘More than four hundred, already. But if you can get Rocky to remember the preacher’s name… a first name, a description, a parish, then-’

‘It’s just so difficult,’ Erik interrupts. ‘His brain damage and addiction-’

‘Why don’t we talk about it tomorrow?’ Joona says, and starts to eat.

‘His memory follows its own patterns,’ Erik says, cutting his meat.

‘But he seems to remember much better under hypnosis.’

‘Yes, although the door between nightmares and memory seems to be open…’

‘But some of what he’s told you has to be real memories?’ Joona says.

‘It should all be real, in theory… it’s just that it sounds psychotic,’ Erik points out.

‘If Rocky agrees to be hypnotised again, do it at once… try to get hold of concrete details, like names and places.’

‘I can do that, I know I can.’

‘If you can, I’ll be able to stop this serial killer,’ Joona says.

‘I’ll go down there first thing tomorrow morning,’ Erik says.

They eat in silence. The glazed root vegetables lend an earthy sweetness to the acidity of the redcurrant sauce, the salad is dressed with balsamic vinegar and truffle oil, the lamb spiced with coarsely ground black pepper and cut in slightly pink slices.

‘You really do look much better already,’ Erik says as Joona helps himself to more food. ‘Six injections of penicillin and a bit of cortisone…’

He tails off when his mobile starts to ring in his pocket. He pulls it out and sees from the screen that it’s Margot.

‘Yes, Erik here.’

‘Is Joona there?’ she asks in a shaky voice.

‘What’s happened?’

‘Rocky Kyrklund has escaped.’

Erik passes the phone to Joona, then sits with his hands over his face, trying to gather his thoughts.

Joona listens as Margot tells him that the senior consultant at Karsudden decided that Rocky should begin his rehabilitation that evening, before being formally granted parole.

Rocky was supposed to try ordering food at the Pizzeria Primavera on Storgatan in Katrineholm. Two guards were seated at another table a short distance away, so as not to put him off. Rocky ate his pizza, drank a large glass of water, ordered coffee, then went into the toilet and climbed out through the window.

Some youngsters saw him running along the railway line towards the forest beyond Lövåsen, but after that there had been no sign of him.

‘We’re not making a public appeal,’ Margot says. ‘The administrative court has already decided that he’s eligible to apply for parole, so Karsudden are looking after this themselves.’

‘How?’ Joona asks.

‘By not doing a thing,’ she replies. ‘I’ve spoken to the senior consultant, and he’s so relaxed I almost nodded off… Apparently it’s not uncommon for patients to run off the first time they get the chance. They almost always come back of their own accord when they realise how much things have changed, that their friends, flat, wife are all gone.’

Joona ends the call, wipes his mouth on a napkin, puts it on his plate and meets Erik’s tired gaze.

‘I was the one who recommended he be let out on supervised excursions,’ Erik says, running his hand through his hair. ‘But he’ll come back, they nearly always do.’

‘We haven’t got time to sit and wait,’ Joona says. ‘We need to find him and get him to talk before the preacher kills again.’

‘He doesn’t have any family, and he’s never mentioned any friends… And the rectory isn’t there any more…’

‘Couldn’t he hide in the church itself, or somewhere nearby?’

‘I’m pretty sure he’s going to try to make his way to somewhere called the Zone before too long… That was where he used to get hold of heroin, and it sounded like he thought someone owed him money there.’

‘I don’t know about this Zone,’ Joona says.

‘It sounds like somewhere for heavy drugs… a fairly large place, given that there’s a stage and a load of prostitutes.’

‘I’ll find out where it is,’ Joona says, and stands up.

‘Thanks for dinner.’

‘There’s ice cream for dessert,’ Joona says, heading towards the hall.

Erik starts to clear the table, but exhaustion hits with such ferocity that he leaves everything and staggers off to the library. His silver glasses case is no longer beside the stack of books on the smoking table. He shudders and turns to look out of the window, which is rattling on its catch. It’s still light out, but it will soon be dark, he thinks, as he sinks into the leather armchair and closes his eyes.

He needs to pull himself together and try to understand what’s happening to him.

Without opening his eyes he pops an Imovane from the pack on the table, holds it in his sweaty palm for a moment, then puts it in his mouth.

Milky stillness empties his thoughts and he feels sleep rising up like a heavy wave when the phone rings. He can’t manage to focus his eyes enough to see who’s calling, and almost drops the phone but somehow catches it.

‘Hello?’ he says hoarsely, putting the mobile to his ear.

‘You won’t forget Maddy, will you?’

‘What?’

‘Erik, what’s wrong?’ Jackie asks seriously.

‘Nothing, I was just sitting… and…’

He loses his train of thought and clears his throat instead.

‘You’re picking Maddy up – but you knew that?’

‘Of course, no problem… it’s on the calendar.’

‘Thanks,’ she says warmly.

‘I’ve been practising,’ he slurs, and shuts his eyes.

‘Call me if there’s a problem and I’ll come, they’ll have to manage without an organist. Promise you’ll call me.’