The Hypnotist

Chapter 96

At five o’clock in December, the sun has been gone for two hours. The air is cold. The sparse streetlamps of Skansen provide a misty light. Down below, the city is just visible as smoky patches of light. Glassblowers and silversmiths are hard at work in the open-air museum. Joona walks through the Christmas market in Bollnäs Square. Fires are burning, horses are snorting, chestnuts are roasting. Children race through a stone maze, others drink hot chocolate. There is music everywhere, and families are dancing around a tall Christmas tree on the circular dance floor. As Joona walks toward one of the narrow gravel paths down to Solliden restaurant, he hears the laughter of children behind him and shudders.

His mobile rings. Joona answers it in front of a stall selling sausages and reindeer meat.

“It’s Erik Maria Bark.”

“Hi.”

“I think Lydia has taken Benjamin to Jussi’s haunted house. It’s somewhere outside Dorotea in Västerbotten, in Lapland.”

“You think?”

“I’m almost certain,” Erik replies doggedly. “There are no more flights today. You don’t have to come, but I’ve booked three tickets for first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Good,” says Joona. “If you can send me a text with all the information you have on Jussi, I’ll contact the police in Västerbotten.”

The beautiful yellow-painted restaurant is decorated with festive strings of light and branches of fir. A Christmas smorgasbord has been laid out on four huge tables; Joona spots his colleagues as soon as he walks in. They are sitting beside enormous windows that look out over the waters of Nybroviken and Södermalm, with the Gröna Lund theme park on one side and the Vasa Museum on the other.

“Here we are,” Anja calls out.

She stands up and waves. Her enthusiasm gives Joona a lift. He still has an unpleasant, crawling sensation in his body after his visit to the doctor at Ulleråker. He says hello to everyone and sits down next to Anja.

Carlos Eliasson is sitting opposite him. He wears a Santa hat and nods cheerfully at Joona. “We’ve already drunk a toast,” he confides. His normally sallow skin has a healthy flush.

Anja tries to slip her hand under Joona’s arm, but he stands up and says he is going for some food.

Joona walks between the tables full of people chatting and eating, thinking that he can’t really summon up the right frame of mind for a Christmas buffet. It’s as if part of him is still in the living room with Johan Samuelsson’s parents or at the psychiatric unit at Ulleråker, walking up the stone staircase toward the locked corridor with its rows of cells.

He takes a plate, joins the queue for herring, and contemplates his colleagues from a distance. Anja has squeezed her round, lumpy body into a red angora dress. She is still wearing her winter boots. Petter is talking intensely to Carlos; his head is newly shaven, and his scalp is shining with sweat under the chandeliers.

Joona helps himself to three different kinds of herring. He looks at a woman from another party. She is wearing a pale grey tight-fitting dress and is being led to the table by two girls with elegant hairstyles. A man in a grey suit hurries after them with a little girl in a red dress.

Joona ladles food onto his plate almost at random. There are no potatoes left in the small brass pan, and he moves on rather than wait for a waitress to come along with a fresh supply. There is no sign of his favourite dish, a Finnish turnip bake. Making his way back to the table, Joona balances his plate as he moves between officers who are now on their fourth foray to the buffet. At one table, five forensic technicians are singing Helan går, the traditional toast, with their small, tapering schnapps glasses raised. Joona sits down and immediately feels Anja’s hand on his leg. She smiles at him.

“You remember you said I could do anything I wanted with you.” She leans over and whispers loudly, “I want to dance the tango with you tonight.”

Carlos hears her and shouts, “Anja Larsson, you and I will dance the tango!”

“I’m dancing with Joona,” she says firmly.

Carlos tilts his head to one side and slurs, “I’ll grab a ticket and wait in line.”

Carlos is fast asleep on a chair in the cloakroom. Petter and his friends have gone into town to continue the celebrations at Café Opera, and Joona and Anja have promised to see that Carlos gets home safely. While they wait for their taxi, they take the opportunity to go out into the cold air. Joona leads Anja up onto the open-air dance floor, warning her about the thin film of ice he thinks he can feel on the wood beneath their feet.

Joona hums softly as they dance.

“Marry me,” Anja whispers.

Joona doesn’t reply; he is remembering Disa and her melancholy face. He thinks about their friendship over all these years and how he has had to disappoint her. Anja tries to stretch up and lick his ear, and he carefully moves his head a little further away.

“Joona,” she whispers. “You dance so beautifully.”

“I know,” he replies, swinging her around.

The aroma of log fires and mulled wine surrounds them. Anja presses her body against his. It’s going to be difficult to walk Carlos all the way down to the taxi stand, he thinks. Soon they’ll have to make a move toward s the escalator.

At that moment his phone rings in his pocket. Anja groans with disappointment as he moves to one side and answers.

“Hello,” says a strained voice. “It’s Joakim Samuelsson. You came to see us earlier today.”

“Yes, I know. What can I do for you?” says Joona. He thinks back to how Joakim Samuelsson’s pupils dilated when he was asked about Lydia Everson.

“I wonder if we could meet,” says Joakim Samuelsson hesitantly. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

Joona looks at his watch. It’s nine-thirty.

“Could we meet now?” asks Joakim, adding that his wife and daughter have gone to see his in-laws.

“That’s fine,” says Joona. “Can you be at police headquarters in forty-five minutes?”

“Yes,” says Joakim, sounding infinitely weary.

“Sorry, my love,” Joona says to Anja, who is waiting for him in the middle of the dance floor. “But there’ll be no more dancing the tango tonight.”

“Your loss,” she says acidly.

“Spirits don’t agree with me,” Carlos slurs as they begin to lead him down toward the escalator and the exit.

“Don’t throw up,” says Anja sharply, “because if you do I’ll demand a raise.”

“Anja, Anja,” says Carlos, cut to the quick.