Part 64 (1/2)

After a few hours he began to feel a bit safer, dared to stand up, and went over to the tap, where he drank some cold water and washed his face. The water splashed up on to a plastic sleeve that had been pinned to the wall. The drips ran down a price list from the a.s.sociation of Stockholm Pet Cemeteries, on to the discoloured chipboard.

He called Joona and told him what had happened, aware of how incoherent and repet.i.tive he sounded, and realised that he was in shock. He lay back down on the sacks, but couldn't sleep, his heart was beating far too fast.

His ear has stopped bleeding now, but is still humming, as though he were hearing everything through a piece of thin fabric. Gradually the jagged, dazzling halo of light fades and he closes his eyes.

He thinks about Jackie and Madeleine and hears children's voices in the distance. He creeps over to the window. They're probably playing in the woods behind the school.

Erik has no idea what he'd do if they come over here. His face could be on the front pages of all the papers today. A wave of anxiety washes through him, leaving him feeling utterly chilled.

Spiders' webs rustle when he slides the curtain aside a few more centimetres.

The pet cemetery is a beautiful place, lots of gra.s.s and deciduous trees. A small path leads away from the church and over a wooden bridge, lined by tall stinging nettles.

On one grave a number of round stones form a cross, and a child has made a lantern out of a jam-jar, with red hearts painted round the outside. The candle is just visible beneath the rainwater and fallen seeds.

Erik thinks about his conversation with Joona again. He knows he can find his way into Rocky's memories if he gets the chance. He's already hypnotised him, but he wasn't looking for the preacher then.

But how long can he stay here? He's hungry, and sooner or later someone is going to find him. He's far too close to the school, the church, and Nestor's flat.

He swallows hard, gently touches the wound on his leg, and tries again to work out how his fingerprints could have ended up in Susanna Kern's home. There has to be a simple explanation, but Joona seems to think that they're dealing with an attempt to make him look guilty of the murders.

The thought is so ridiculous that he can't take it seriously.

There has to be a rational explanation.

I'm not afraid of a trial, Erik thinks. The truth will come out, if I can just have a chance to defend myself.

He has to hand himself in.

Erik thinks he could seek refuge in the church, he could ask the priest for communion, for G.o.d's forgiveness, anything at all, as long as he gets shelter.

The police can't shoot me in a church, he thinks.

He's so tired that tears come to his eyes at the thought of giving himself up and putting his fate in someone else's hands.

He decides to creep out and see if the church is open, but then he hears someone crossing the little wooden bridge that leads to the pet cemetery.

Erik ducks down quickly and goes and sits in the corner where he hid to start with. Someone is walking along the path, groaning oddly to himself. There's a tinkling sound, as though whoever it is had kicked over the homemade lantern on the grave.

The footsteps stop and everything goes silent. Perhaps he's putting flowers on a dog's grave? Perhaps he's listening for sounds inside the shed.

Erik sits in the corner thinking about the dog that Nestor was forced to drown. In his mind's eye he sees the flailing legs, the animal's attempts to swim as the sack filled with water.

The man outside spits noisily and carries on walking. Erik hears him come closer, walking through the dead bushes, their thin branches snapping under his shoes.

He's right outside the shed now, Erik thinks, looking around for a weapon, glancing at the spade, then the axe with the short handle and blunt blade.

Something starts trickling down the wall of the shed, splas.h.i.+ng the tall gra.s.s. The man outside is urinating, slurring to himself as he does so.

'You do your best,' a deep voice mutters. 'You come home, nice and quiet, but ... nothing's good enough any more ...'

The man lurches over to the window and peers in. The gra.s.s sc.r.a.pes and his shadow falls across the wall with the spades and shovels. Erik presses himself against the wall next to the window, clearly hearing the man's breathing, first with his mouth open, then through tight nostrils.

'Honest work,' he mutters, and carries on through the low-growing blueberry bushes.

Erik thinks that he's going to have to wait for the drunk to disappear before going to the church and handing himself in.

He tries again to imagine that Nestor is the killer, but he can't honestly believe that Nestor is driven by a compulsion to turn himself into the arbiter of life or death.

The sun goes behind a cloud and the grey curtain loses its transparency again.

On a shelf stands a dusty thermos flask, with a plastic bag tucked between it and the wall, a little grey urn and a painted plaster bulldog.

Erik just has time to see Nestor's shaving mirror quiver on the wall, sending a glint of a reflection across the floor, before the door of the shed swings open.

111.

Erik scrambles backwards and a green folding chair clatters over onto the floor. The opening door hits the wall then bounces back and hits a very large shoulder. Dust is swirling round the bulky figure, who's panting as he makes his way into the shed. Rocky Kyrklund coughs and hits his head on the dangling light bulb. He's dressed in prison-issue clothing, his face is sweaty and his hair is hanging pale and grey around his big head.

Joona comes in right behind him, shuts the door and stops the swaying bulb with his hand.

'Viihtyis,' Joona says.

Erik tries to say something, but he can barely breathe. When the door flew open he got so scared that his cheeks felt like they were burning.

Rocky mutters something to himself, picks up the folding chair and sits down. He's out of breath as he glances round the little room.

'You came,' Erik says in a weak voice.

'We made our way through the forest from Nacka grd,' Joona says, taking three cheese and salad baguettes out of a bag.

They eat in silence. Rocky is sweating from withdrawal, and breathing hard between mouthfuls. When he's finished he goes over and drinks some water from the tap.

'It's more expensive to bury people,' he says, gesturing towards the price list.

Drops of water glisten in his beard. Shadows dance behind the curtain.

'I think we're fairly safe here,' Joona says, removing the last of the duct tape from his hands. 'The operation has already been downgraded. Externally they're claiming that they received inaccurate information, because Nestor wanted to commit suicide.'

'But he is still alive, isn't he?'

'Yes,' Joona replies, meeting Erik's gaze.