The Nightmare

35

Detective Inspector Joona Linna turns onto Vattugatan from Brunkeberg Square behind the City Theater. He parks, gets out, and hurries through an anonymous metal door and down a steep cement walkway.

It’s quiet at the Dreambow Internet Café. The floor has been freshly scrubbed. The scent of lemon and plastic hangs in the air. Shiny Plexiglas chairs have been pushed below the small computer tables. Nothing moves except the patterns on the monitors. A plump man with a pointed black goatee leans against a high counter, sipping coffee from a mug with the inscription “Lennart means Lion.” His jeans are baggy and a shoelace hangs untied from one of his Reeboks.

“I need a computer,” Joona says before he’s even reached the man.

“Get in line,” the man jokes as he makes a sweeping gesture toward the empty seats in the room.

“I need a specific computer,” Joona continues. “A friend of mine was here this past Friday morning and I need to use the same computer he did.”

“I don’t know if I can give out-”

Joona bends over and ties the man’s loose lace. “It’s extremely important.”

“Let me take a look at Friday’s log,” the man says, an embarrassed flush coming to his cheeks. “What’s his name?”

“Björn Almskog,” Joona says.

“He used number five, the one in the corner,” the man says. “I need to see your ID.”

Joona hands over his police ID, and the man looks confused as he writes it all down in the log.

“Go ahead and start surfing.”

“Thanks,” Joona says in a friendly way as he walks over to computer number 5.

Joona takes out his cell phone and places a call to Johan Jönson, a young man in the CID’s department for cyber crimes.

“Just a mo,” answers a ragged voice. “I’ve just swallowed a piece of paper… an old tissue… I blew my nose and at the same time breathed in to sneeze and… no, I really don’t have the energy to explain everything. Who am I talking to?”

“Joona Linna, detective inspector with the National Criminal Investigation Department.”

“Oh, damn. Hi, Joona, what a surprise.”

“You’re already sounding better.”

“Yes, I’ve swallowed it.”

“I need to see what a guy was doing on a computer this past Friday.”

“Say no more!”

“I’m in a hurry. I’m sitting in an Internet café.”

“Are you on the same machine he used?”

“Right in front of me.”

“Much easier. Much easier. Try to find History. It’s probably been erased. That’s what they do after each user, but there’s always something left on the hard drive. All you have to do is… or really, the best thing to do is to take the thing away and bring it along to me so I can go through the hard drive with a program I’ve designed for-”

“Meet me in a half an hour in the meditation room at Saint Göran’s Hospital,” Joona says as he unplugs the computer, takes it under his arm, and heads toward the exit.

The man with the coffee mug stares at him, astonished, and tries to block him.

“Hey, wait! The computer can’t leave the premises!”

“It’s under arrest,” Joona says in his friendliest manner.

“What’s it suspected of?”

The man’s pale face stares at Joona as Joona waves at him with his free hand and walks out into the bright sunshine.