aquarium gazing out of the window when Joona knocks on his door and opens it.
Carlos jumps and turns around. When he sees Joona, his face expresses his usual conflicted feelings. He welcomes him with a mixture of shyness, pleasure, and antipathy. When he waves a hand in the direction of the visitor’s chair he realises that he is still holding the drum of fish food.
“I’ve just noticed it’s been snowing,” he says vaguely, putting the food down next to the aquarium.
Joona sits down and glances out the window. Kronoberg Park is covered in a thin, dry layer of snow.
“Perhaps we’ll have a white Christmas, who knows?” Carlos smiles cautiously, sitting down behind his desk. “In Skåne, where I grew up, we never had any real weather to speak of at Christmas. It always looked the same: a grey gloom hanging over the fields.” Carlos stops abruptly. “But you haven’t come to discuss the weather,” he says.
“Not exactly.” Joona looks at him calmly and leans back. “I want to take over the case of Erik Maria Bark’s son, the boy who’s disappeared.”
“Out of the question,” says Carlos, without hesitation.
“I was the one who started—”
“No, Joona, you were given permission to follow the case as long as there was a connection with Josef Ek.”
“There’s still a connection.”
Carlos stands up and leans forward on his desk. “Our instructions are crystal clear. The resources we have are not meant—”
“I believe the kidnapping is strongly linked to the fact that Josef Ek was hypnotised.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It can’t be a coincidence that Benjamin Bark disappeared less than a week after his father’s first hypnosis in ten years.”
Carlos sits down again. Suddenly he sounds less sure of himself than he tries to come across. “Some kid who’s run away has nothing to do with the National CID. It’s out of the question.”
“He didn’t run away,” Joona says tersely.
Carlos glances over at the fish, leans forward, and lowers his voice. “Just because you have a guilty conscience, Joona, I can’t let you—”
“Then I’m requesting a transfer,” says Joona, getting to his feet.
“A transfer?”
“To the squad that’s handling the case.”
“You’re being stubborn again,” says Carlos.
“But I’m on the right track.” Joona smiles.
“Oh, God,” says Carlos, shaking his head anxiously. “Fine. You can’t take over the case—it isn’t your case—but you can have a week to investigate the boy’s disappearance.”
“Good.”
“So now you don’t need to say, ‘What did I tell you?’”
“All right.”
Joona rides the lift to his floor, greets Anja—who waves to him without taking her eyes off the computer screen—and passes Petter Näslund’s office, where the radio is on. A sports journalist is commentating on the women’s biathlon with simulated energy in his voice. Joona turns and goes back to Anja.
“Haven’t got time,” she says, without looking at him.
“Yes, you have,” he says calmly.
“I’m in the middle of something really important.”
Joona peers over her shoulder. “What exactly are you working on?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“What’s that?”
She sighs. “It’s an auction. I’m in with the highest bid at the moment, but another idiot keeps pushing the price up.”
“An auction?”
“I collect Lisa Larson figurines,” she replies tersely.
“Those little fat children made of clay?”
“It’s art, but I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” She looks at the screen. “It’ll be over soon. As long as nobody else makes a higher bid.”
“I need your help,” Joona persists, “with something important. That actually has something to do with your job.”
“Hang on, hang on.” She holds her hand up defensively. “I got them! I got them! I got Amalia and Emma!” She closes the page and turns to him. “OK, Joona, my friend. What was it you wanted help with?”
“I want you to lean on the telecom team and get me a location for the call made by Benjamin Bark on Sunday—two days ago. I want clear information on where he was calling from. Within the next five minutes.”
Anja sighs. “Goodness, you’re in a bad mood.”
“Three minutes.” Joona amends his demand. “Your shopping just cost you two minutes.”
“Fuck off,” she says softly, as he leaves the room.
He goes to his office, sifts through the post, and reads a postcard from Disa. She’s gone to London and says she’s missing him. Disa knows he can’t stand pictures of chimpanzees playing golf or getting tangled up in toilet paper and always manages to find a suitably offensive card. Joona wonders whether to turn the postcard over or just throw it away, but his curiosity gets the better of him. He turns it over and shudders with distaste. A bulldog wearing a sailor’s cap, with a pipe in its mouth. He smiles at the effort Disa has put in, and is just putting the card on his bulletin board when the phone rings.
“Yes?”
“I’ve got an answer,” says Anja.
“That was quick.”
“Did you give me any choice? Anyway, they said they’ve had technical problems, but they called Kennet Sträng an hour ago and told him the base station was in Gävle.”
“In Gävle,” he repeats.
“They said they haven’t quite finished yet. In a day or two, or this week at any rate, they’ll be able to say exactly where Benjamin was when he made the call.”
“You could have come to my office to tell me, I mean, it’s only four steps away.”
“I am not your servant.”
“No.”
71
tuesday, december 15: morning
Joona
