Part 70 (1/2)

A stalker always develops a relations.h.i.+p with their victim in their imagination, a relations.h.i.+p that they convince themselves is real and reciprocated.

In her head Nelly may have believed that she was married to Erik, and when she saw him betraying her with Maria Carlsson, attracted by Sandra Lundgren, flirting with Susanna Kern and maybe just smiling at Katryna Youssef, a vicious beast woke up.

Joona turns off towards Malmkping, stops in the car park outside Lindholm's Floor and Building Services and switches to a better car.

They're driving along the E20 motorway at 190 kilometres an hour when Margot calls from her private phone.

'There's a warrant out for your arrest, did you know that?' she asks.

'I know, but ...'

'You're going to end up in prison for this,' she cuts him off.

'It was worth it,' he replies quietly.

A few seconds of silence follow.

'Now I realise why you're a better detective than me,' Margot says in a subdued voice.

Joona overtakes a black Corvette on the inside and pulls out again just in time to overtake an articulated lorry with a mustard-yellow trailer.

'Our forensics team have found strands of Erik's hair in Sandra Lundgren's bath, we've already got his fingerprints on the deer's head, he's connected to all the victims, he's got thousands of hours of video-recordings in his bas.e.m.e.nt, and-'

'It's too much,' Joona says.

'And the a.n.a.lysis of the blood in Erik's car showed that it was Susanna Kern's ... and now it's getting too much even for me,' she says heavily.

'Good,' Joona says.

'Erik's a doctor ... this doesn't make sense, because all four murders show clear signs of forensic awareness ... And someone like that doesn't end up with blood in their own car ... Someone left those traces of blood on the back seat to frame him.'

'You've met the real killer,' Joona says.

'Is it Nestor?'

'It's Nelly Brandt ... she's the preacher.'

'You sound sure,' Margot says.

'It's Erik she's after, he's the one she's been stalking, the victims are just rivals in her own head.'

'If you're certain about this, I'll get an operation organised at once,' Margot says. 'We'll hit her home and workplace at the same time.'

Joona drives on towards Stockholm as he thinks of how Nelly has stalked Erik for years, mapping the lives of any women he showed an interest in, trying to understand what they had that she couldn't offer. She saw them flas.h.i.+ng their jewellery, their painted lips, beautiful nails, and wanted to take that away from them, punish them, and then emphasise their bare ears or ugly hands.

But when that wasn't enough she tried to take the whole world away from him. Like Artemis with her hounds, she organised a hunt, Joona thinks. She's a skilful huntress, she isolates her prey, wounds it, and harries it towards capture until there's only one way out.

Her intention was for Erik to realise that everything pointed at him, and go on the run before the police caught him. Everyone would shun him, until in the end he turned to the only person who was still prepared to let him in.

If he hasn't been caught by the police by now, he must have sought protection from Nelly.

122.

Jackie is feeling restless. She goes out into the kitchen and thinks about getting something to eat, even though she isn't really hungry.

Maybe she should just have a quiet sit down and drink a cup of tea.

She feels across the worktop with her hand, along the tiles, past the big mortar, and finds the pot of tealeaves with the little gla.s.s k.n.o.b.

Her hands stop.

She feels her way back to the stone mortar.

The heavy pestle isn't resting in the bowl like it usually is.

Jackie runs her fingers across the whole worktop but can't find it, and thinks that she'll have to ask Maddy about it once things between them have calmed down a bit.

She stifles a yawn and fills the kettle with water.

During the days following her row with Erik, Maddy kept saying that Erik was sad and that he'd never want to come back to them now. Maddy tried to explain that she forgets loads of things, and embarked on a long description of how she'd forgotten keys and notes and football boots.

Jackie has tried to explain that she isn't angry any more, that it isn't anyone's fault when things don't work out between two grown-ups. But then the media witch-hunt started.

Jackie hasn't told her daughter why she's keeping her home from school. She's postponed all her lessons with her pupils and has cancelled all her work as an organist.

To help the days pa.s.s and to stop herself thinking so much, she's been spending all her waking hours at the piano, practising scales and finger exercises until she feels ill and her elbows hurt so much that she has to take painkillers.

Obviously she hasn't told her daughter what they're saying about Erik on the news.

She'd never be able to understand it.

Jackie can't understand it herself.

She doesn't listen to the television any more, can't bear to hear the speculation, the wallowing in pain and grief.

Maddy has stopped talking about Erik now, but she's still very subdued. She's been watching children's programmes for younger children, and Jackie has a feeling she's gone back to sucking her thumb.

Jackie feels a lump of anxiety in her stomach when she thinks about how she lost patience with Maddy when she didn't want to play the piano today. She told her she was acting like a baby, and Maddy started to cry and shouted back that she was never going to help with anything ever again.

Now she's hiding in her wardrobe, with blankets, pillows and stuffed toys, and she doesn't answer when Jackie tries to talk to her.

I have to show her that she doesn't have to be perfect, Jackie thinks. That I love her no matter what, that it's unconditional.

She walks along the cool hallway into the living room, which is flooded with sunlight from the windows. The light feels like streaks of hot water, and she knows the piano is going to feel as warm as a large animal.

Out in the street some sort of engineering work is going on, she can feel the m.u.f.fled vibration of large machines beneath her bare feet, and she can hear the old windowpanes rattle in their frames.