Eleven-year-old Joona and his mother, Ritva, moved from the bright apartment in the centre of Märsta to his aunts three-room place in Fred-häll in Stockholm. After graduating from high school, he applied to the Police Training Academy. He still thinks about the friends in his group quite often: strolling together across the vast lawns, the lull before they were sent out on placements, the early years as junior officers. Joona Linna has done his share of desk work. He has redirected traffic after road accidents and for the Stockholm Marathon; been embarrassed by football hooligans harassing his female colleagues with their deafening songs on the underground; found dead heroin addicts with rotting sores; helped ambulance crews with vomiting drunks; talked to prostitutes shaking with withdrawal symptoms, to those with AIDS, to those who are afraid; he has met hundreds of men who have abused their partners and children, always following the same pattern (drunk but controlled and deliberate, with the radio on full volume and the blinds closed); he has stopped speeding and drunken drivers, confiscated weapons, drugs, and homemade booze. Once, while off from work with lumbago and out walking to avoid stiffening up, hed seen a skinhead grab a Muslim womans breast outside the school in Klastorp. His back aching, hed chased the skinhead along by the water, right through the park, past Smedsudden, up onto the Västerbro bridge, across the water, and past Långholmen to Södermalm, finally catching up with him by the traffic lights on Högalidsgatan.
Without any real intention of building a career, he has moved up the ranks. He could join the National Murder Squad, but he refuses. He likes complex tasks, and he never gives up, but Joona Linna has no interest whatsoever in any form of command.
Now Joona sits listening as Carlos Eliasson talks to Professor Nils The Needle Åhlén, Chief Medical Officer at the pathology lab in Stockholm.
No, I just need to know which was the first crime scene, says Carlos; then he listens for a while. I realize that, I do realize that but in your judgment so far, what do you think?
Joona leans back in his chair, running his fingers through his messy blond hair. So far he does not feel any tiredness from the long night in Tumba and at Karolinska Hospital. He watches as Carloss face grows redder and redder. Joona can hear The Needle drone faintly on the other end of the line. When the voice stops, Carlos simply nods and hangs up without saying goodbye.
They they-
They have established that the father was killed first, supplies Joona.
Carlos nods.
What did I tell you? Joona beams.
Carlos looks down at his desk and clears his throat. Fine, youre leading the preliminary investigation, he says. The Tumba case is yours.
First of all, I want to hear one thing, says Joona. Who was right? Who was right, you or me?
You! yells Carlos. For Gods sake, Joona, what is it with you? Yeah, you were right- as usual!
Joona hides a smile behind his hand as he gets up.
Suddenly he turns grave. Reconnaissance hasnt been able to track down Evelyn Ek. She could be anywhere. I dont know what were going to do if we cant get permission to talk to the boy. Too much time will pass, and itll be too late when we find her.
You want to interrogate the wounded boy? Carlos asks. I have no choice.
Have you spoken to the prosecutor?
I have no intention of handing over the preliminary investigation until I have a suspect, says Joona.
Thats not what I meant, says Carlos. I just think its a good idea to have the prosecutor on your side if youre going to talk to a boy who is so badly injured.
Joona is halfway out the door. All right, that makes sense. Youre a wise man. Ill give Jens a call, he says.
Chapter 11
Erik Maria Bark arrives home from Karolinska Hospital. As he quietly lets himself in, he thinks about the young victim lying there and the policeman so eager to question him. Erik likes Detective Joona Linna, despite his attempt to get Erik to break his promise never to use hypnosis again. Maybe its the detectives open and honest anxiety about the safety of the older sister that makes him so likeable. Presumably somebody is looking for her right now.
Erik is very tired. The tablets have begun to take effect; his eyes are heavy and sore; sleep is on the way. He opens the bedroom door and looks at Simone. The light from the hallway covers her like a scratched pane of glass. Three hours have passed since he left her here, and Simone has now taken over all the space in the bed. Resting on her stomach, she lies there heavily. The bedclothes are down by her feet, her nightgown has worked its way up around her waist, and she has goose bumps on her arms and shoulders. Erik pulls the covers over her carefully. She murmurs something and curls up; he sits down and strokes her ankle, and she moves slightly.
Im going for a shower, he says, but he leans back against the head-board, overwhelmed by fatigue.
What was the name of the police officer? she asks, slurring her words.