Part 39 (1/2)

'What could I do for the police?' he asks.

'You might be a witness. It's possible that you knew the perpetrator,' Erik goes on. 'From what you've said, it sounds like he could be a colleague of yours.'

'How do you mean?'

'You've spoken about a preacher,' Erik says, watching Rocky closely. 'An unclean preacher who could have been a heroin addict, just like you.'

The priest seems lost in the view of the trees. A prison service van is visible in the distance, driving along the road between the tree trunks.

'I don't remember that,' Rocky says slowly.

'You seemed frightened of him.'

'The only people you're frightened of are the dealers ... Some are completely crazy, I know, there was one whose mouth was full of gold teeth ... I remember him because he loved the fact that I was a priest ... so I always had to do loads of c.r.a.p ... money wasn't enough, he wanted me on my knees, denying the existence of G.o.d before he would let me buy any gear, that sort of thing ...'

'What was his name?'

Rocky shakes his head and shrugs.

'It's gone,' he says in a low voice.

'Could the preacher have been the name you gave the dealer?'

'No idea ... But I used to feel like I was being stalked in those days. Presumably it was withdrawal, but you know ... once when I was supposed to pick up some new liturgical vestments ... It was morning, and the light was coming in through the Christening window ... there were a thousand colours on the altar rail and along the aisle ...'

Rocky falls silent and just stands there with his arms hanging by his sides.

'What happened?'

'What?'

'You were talking about the church.'

'Yes, the vestments had been dumped in front of the side-altar ... someone had p.i.s.sed on them, it had run all over the floor, in the cracks around the flagstones.'

'It sounds like you had an enemy,' Erik says.

'I know I thought people were creeping around outside the rectory at night. I used to turn the lights off, but I never saw anyone ... But once I did find big tracks in the snow outside the bedroom window.'

'But did you have an enemy who-'

'What do you think?' Rocky asks impatiently. 'I knew a thousand idiots, and practically all of them would have killed their own brothers and sisters for a couple of wraps ... and I'd smuggled a load of amphetamines from Vilnius and was waiting for the money.'

'Yes, but this is a serial killer,' Erik persists. 'The motive isn't money or drugs.'

Rocky's pale green eyes stare at him.

'I might have met the murderer, like you say. But how am I supposed to know? You're not telling me anything ... give me a detail, it might trigger my memory.'

'I'm not involved in the investigation.'

'But you know more than I do,' Rocky says.

'I know that one of the victims was called Susanna Kern ... Before she got married, she was Susanna Ericsson.'

'I don't remember anyone of that name,' the priest replies.

'She was stabbed in ... in the chest, neck and face.'

'Like they said I'd done to Rebecka,' Rocky says.

'And the body was arranged so that her hand was covering her ear,' Erik goes on.

'Is it the same with the others?'

'I don't know ...'

'Well, I can hardly help unless I know more,' he says. 'My memory has to have something to latch on to.'

'I understand, but I don't-'

'What were the other victims' names?'

'I don't have access to the preliminary investigation,' Erik concludes.

'So what the h.e.l.l are you doing here, then?' Rocky roars, and marches off across the gra.s.s.

68.

It's already five o'clock in the afternoon as Erik walks down the corridor of the Psychology Clinic with a cup of coffee in his hand. He can see a tall figure standing quite still against the ribbed gla.s.s of the stairwell. As he pulls out his keys and stops outside his door, he realises that it's his former patient, Nestor.

'Are you waiting for me?' Erik asks, walking over to him.

'Thanks for the lift.'

'You've already thanked me.'

The thin hand moving across his chest stops, as grey as silk.

'I just wanted to s-say that I'm thinking of getting another d-dog,' he said in a low voice.

'That's great, but you know you don't have to tell me.'

'I know,' Nestor replies, blus.h.i.+ng slightly. 'But I was here anyway, checking M-Mother's grave, so ...'

'Was that OK?'