squeezing it.
Bruce Willis is on his back, wiping blood from his mouth. The telephone rings again and Erik puts down his food and gets up. He goes out into the hallway and answers as calmly as he can.
“Erik Maria Bark.” There is no sound, just a faint clicking. “Right, that’s enough,” he says angrily.
“Erik?” It’s Daniella’s voice. “Is that you, Erik?” she asks.
“We’re just in the middle of eating.” He can hear her rapid breathing.
“What did he want?” she asks.
“Who?”
“Josef,” she replies.
“Josef Ek?”
“Didn’t he say anything?” asks Daniella.
“When?”
“Just now … on the phone.”
Erik can see Simone and Benjamin watching the film in the living room. He thinks about the family out in Tumba. The little girl, the mother and father. The horrendous rage behind the crime.
“What makes you think he called me?” asks Erik.
Daniella clears her throat. “He must have talked the nurse into bringing him a phone. I’ve spoken to the exchange; they put him through to you.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“Josef was screaming when I went in; he’d ripped out the catheter. I gave him alprazolam, but he said a lot of things about you before he fell asleep.”
“Like what? What did he say?”
Erik hears Daniella swallow hard, and her voice sounds very tired when she replies.
“That you’d been fucking with his head and you should leave his fucking sister alone if you don’t want to be eliminated. He said it several times. You can expect to be eliminated.”
24
tuesday, december 8: evening
It has been three hours since Joona took Evelyn to the Kronoberg custody centre. She was placed in a small cell with bare walls and horizontal bars over the steamed-up window. A stainless steel sink reeked of vomit. Evelyn stood next to the bunk with its green plastic mattress and stared at Joona inquiringly as he left her there.
Once a suspect has been brought in, the prosecutor has up to twelve hours to decide whether the person should be arrested or released. If he decides not to release, he then has until twelve o’clock on the third day to submit an application to the court asking for the suspect to be arrested. If he fails to do this, the person is free to go. The basis for requesting an arrest can be either probable grounds for suspicion or, more seriously, reasonable grounds for suspicion.
Now Joona is back. Striding toward the women’s unit along the corridor with its shiny white vinyl floor, past monotonous rows of pea-green cell doors, he catches his own reflection in door handles and locks.
Jens Svanehjälm, Chief Prosecutor for the Stockholm district, waits for him outside one of the five interview rooms. Although Svanehjälm is forty years old, he looks no more than twenty, his boyish expression and round, smooth cheeks lending a false impression of innocence and naïveté.
“So,” he says, “did Evelyn force her younger brother to murder their family?”
“According to Josef.”
“Nothing Josef Ek says under hypnosis is admissible. It goes against his right to remain silent and his right to avoid incriminating himself.”
“I realise that,” says Joona. “It wasn’t an interrogation. He wasn’t a suspect. I thought the boy had information that would prevent another murder from taking place.”
Jens says nothing. He scrolls through e-mails on his phone.
“I’ll know soon enough what actually happened,” says Joona.
Jens looks back up, with a smile. “I’m sure you will,” he says. “Because when I took over this job, my predecessor told me that if Joona Linna says he’s going to find out the truth, that’s exactly what he’ll do.”
“We had one or two disagreements.”
“Yes, she said that, too,” says Jens.
Joona nods. Motioning towards one of the interview rooms, he asks, “Ready?”
“We’re questioning Evelyn Ek purely in pursuit of information,” Jens stresses.
“Do you want me to tell her that she’s suspected of a crime?”
“That’s up to you; you’re the lead interrogator. But the clock’s ticking. You haven’t got a lot of time.”
Joona knocks twice before entering the dreary interview room, where the blinds are pulled down over the barred windows. Evelyn Ek sits, her eyes downcast. Her arms are folded across her chest; her shoulders are tense and hunched, her jaw clenched.
“Hi, Evelyn.”
She looks up quickly, her soft brown eyes frightened. He sits down opposite her. Like her brother, she is attractive; her features are not striking, but they are symmetrical. She has light brown hair and an intelligent expression. Joona realises she has a face that at first glance might appear plain but that becomes more and more beautiful the longer you look at it.
“I thought we should have a little talk,” he says. “What do you think?”
She shrugs her shoulders.
“When did you last see Josef?”
“Don’t remember.”
“Was it yesterday?”
“No,” she says, sounding surprised.
“How many days ago was it?”
“What?”
“I asked when you last saw Josef,” says Joona.
“Oh, a long time ago.”
“Has he been to see you at the cottage?”
“No.”
“Never? He’s never been to see you out there?”
A slight shrug. “No.”
“But he knows the place, doesn’t he?”
She nods. “We went there when he was a little kid,” she replies.
“When was that?”
“I don’t know … I was fifteen. We
