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Erik is early for his piano lesson, and stands on the pavement opposite the door to Lill-Jans plan 4. The curtains on the ground floor are open, and he can see straight into Jackie Federer’s flat. She’s in the kitchen, she runs her hand along the wall-mounted cupboards, takes out a glass, then holds her finger under the tap. He can see that she’s wearing a black skirt and an unbuttoned blouse. He walks across the street to see better, gets closer to the window and can now see that her wet hair has dripped down the back of her silk blouse. She drinks the water, wipes her mouth with her hand, then turns round.
Erik stretches and catches a glimpse of her stomach and navel through the opening of her unbuttoned shirt. A woman with a pushchair stops on the pavement and stares at him, and he suddenly realises how he must look. He hurries to reach the pavement and goes in through the entrance. Once again he stands in the darkness outside the door of her flat and moves his finger towards the bell.
Since the hypnosis session he has been thinking that Rocky’s alibi may well have been genuine, and has had to double his nightly dose of Stilnoct in order to get any sleep. The earliest he has been able to book a visit to Karsudden Hospital is first thing tomorrow morning.
When Jackie opens the door her blouse is buttoned. She smiles calmly at him and the light in the stairwell reflects off her dark glasses.
‘I’m a bit early,’ he says.
‘Erik,’ she smiles. ‘Welcome.’
They go inside and he sees that her daughter has pinned up a drawing of a skull under the no entry sign.
He follows Jackie along the passageway, watching her right hand trace the wall, and it strikes him that she seems to move with no obvious caution. Her shiny blouse is hanging outside her black skirt, across the small of her back.
As her hand reaches the door frame she switches the light on and heads out across the living-room floor until she comes to the rug, where she stops and turns towards him.
‘Let’s hear how far you’ve got,’ Jackie says, and gestures to the piano.
He sits down, opens the score and brushes his fringe from his forehead. He puts his right thumb on the right key and spreads his fingers.
‘Opus 25,’ he says with jokey solemnity.
He starts to play the notes that Jackie set him for homework. Even though she’s told him not to, he can’t help looking at his hands the whole time.
‘It must be awful for you to have to listen to this,’ he says. ‘I mean, if you’re used to beautiful music.’
‘I think you’ve been very good,’ she replies.
‘Can you get music scores in braille – you must be able to?’ he asks.
‘Louis Braille was a musician, so that happened fairly naturally … but in the end you have to memorise everything anyway, because of course you need both hands when you’re playing,’ she explains.
He puts his fingers on the keys and takes a deep breath, then the doorbell rings.
‘Sorry, I’ll just get that,’ Jackie says, and stands up.
Erik watches her go out into the hall and open the door. Outside stands her daughter, next to a tall woman in gym clothes.
‘How was the match?’ Jackie asks.
‘One-one,’ the girl replies. ‘Anna scored our goal.’
‘But it was your pass,’ the woman says kindly.
‘Thanks for bringing Maddy home,’ Jackie says.
‘My pleasure … on the way we talked about not having to be the best in the world, but that maybe she could be a bit pushier.’
Erik doesn’t hear Jackie’s reply, but the door closes and then Jackie kneels down in front of her daughter and feels her hair and face gently.
‘So you’re going to have to be a bit pushier,’ she says softly.
She returns to Erik, apologises for the interruption, sits down and explains what he should do next.
Erik struggles to get his hands to work independently of each other, and feels his back start to sweat.
After a while the little girl comes into the room. She’s changed into a casual dress and sits down on the floor to listen.
Erik tries to play the section, but gets the fourth bar wrong, starts again, but makes the same mistake, and laughs at his own failure.
‘What’s so funny?’ Jackie asks calmly.
‘Just that I’m playing like a broken robot,’ Erik replies.
‘My hedgehog makes mistakes as well,’ Madeleine says consolingly, holding up her stuffed toy.
‘My left hand is the worst,’ Erik says. ‘It’s as if my fingers don’t want to hit the right bits.’
Madeleine blinks but manages to keep a straight face.
‘Keys, I mean,’ Erik says quickly. ‘Maybe your hedgehog says “bits”, but I say keys.’
The girl looks down with a broad grin. Jackie gets up from her chair.
‘You need to rest,’ she says. ‘We’ll run through the first bit of musical theory before we end the lesson.’
‘I’ll go and put the dishwasher on,’ the girl says.
‘You know it’s bedtime soon – you’ll have to make sure you’ve got time.’
They sit down at the table. Erik picks up the jug and pours two glasses of water. It feels impossible not to sneak glances at Jackie as she explains about G-clef, F-clef, and different overtones. Her blouse is creased at the waist, and her face looks thoughtful. He can make out her simple bra and breasts beneath the silk.
He feels a nervous temptation in being able to look at her without her knowing.
He carefully shifts position so he can see up between her thighs and catch a glimpse of her plain white underwear.
His heart beats faster as she parts her legs slightly, he has a feeling that she knows she’s being looked at.
She takes a sip of water.
Her open eyes are only just visible behind her dark glasses.
He looks between her thighs again, leans a little closer, but the next moment she crosses her legs and puts the glass down.
Jackie smiles and then says that she imagines that he works as a lecturer at the university, or as a priest. Erik replies that the truth is somewhere in between, and tells her about his work at the Psychology Clinic, and his research into hypnosis, then falls silent.
She gathers together the various sheets of music theory, taps them on the table to neaten them, then puts them down in front of him.
‘Can I ask you something?’ Erik asks.
‘Yes,’ she says simply.
‘You turn your face towards me when you talk – does that come naturally, or do you have to learn that?’
‘It’s a concession to what sighted people find pleasant,’ she answers honestly.
‘That’s what I thought,’ Erik says.
‘Like switching the light on when you enter a room to alert sighted people that you’re there …’
She falls silent and her slender fingers trace the rim of her glass.
‘Sorry, I’m being horribly rude and embarrassing, asking about such things …’
‘Most people prefer not to talk about their impaired vision. Which I can understand,’ Jackie says. ‘We’d all rather be seen as individuals and all that … but I think it’s better to talk.’
‘Good.’
He looks at her soft pink lipstick, the curve of her cheekbones, her boyish haircut and the green-tinted vein pulsing in her neck.
‘Isn’t it odd, being able to hypnotise other people and see into their secret, private thoughts?’ she asks.
‘It’s not like I’m spying on them.’
‘Isn’t it?’
25 (#ulink_fba1494c-6f87-5325-a73b-67e16f6fe60c)
The bright sky is reflected in the cellophane covering the carton of ten packets of cigarettes on the seat beside Erik as he slowly drives into the area of parkland, past a sign saying that access is prohibited and that all visits must be announced in advance.
Karsudden District Hospital is the largest secure psychiatric facility in Sweden, with room for one hundred and thirty criminals who have been sentenced to treatment rather than prison as a result of mental illness.
His stomach is churning with anxiety. Soon he will be seeing Rocky Kyrklund, to ask him about his supposed alibi.
If it is genuine, then the latest murder could be connected to the old one, and Erik will have to tell the police everything.
Because if Rocky was innocent, there may well be parallels between the old murder and the new one. And it would be no coincidence that Susanna Kern was found with her hand strapped to her ear.
It’s not inevitable that I’ll lose my job, he tells himself. That will depend on whether the police decide to pass the case on to a prosecutor.
In front of the entrance to the administrative block is a sign showing a camera with a line across it. Yet at the same time this place is full of surveillance cameras, Erik thinks.
He picks up the cigarettes and starts to walk towards the white building.
A snail’s trail shimmers across the path in front of the reception area.
In the sharp sunlight inside the doors, the dust is clearly visible as it drifts towards the battered furniture and worn floor.
Erik shows his ID, is given a name badge, and gets no further than the magazine rack next to the waiting area before a man with blond highlights in his hair comes in.
‘Erik Bark?’
‘Yes,’ Erik replies.
The man stretches his lips into a semblance of a smile, and introduces himself as Otto. There’s something exhausted about the man’s face, a sadness that’s impossible to hide.
‘Casillas would have liked to have been here himself, but …’
‘I understand, don’t worry,’ Erik says, and feels his face flush as he thinks of his lies about Dr Stünkel and the research project.
They set off, and the man explains that he’s a care assistant, and has worked at Karsudden for years.
‘We’ll go the long way round … no one likes the tunnels,’ Otto mutters as they head outside.
‘Do you know Rocky Kyrklund?’ Erik asks.
‘He was here when I started,’ Otto says, gesturing towards the high fences and dismal brown buildings.
‘What do you make of him?’
‘A lot of people are a bit frightened of Kyrklund,’ he replies.
They go in through Entrance D, and over to a locker room where Erik has to leave any loose possessions.
‘Can I take the cigarettes with me?’ Erik asks.
Otto nods. ‘They’ll probably come in useful.’
The orderly puts Erik’s keys, pen, mobile and wallet in a plastic bag, seals it and hands him a receipt.
Then he unlocks a heavy door that leads to another door with a coded lock. They pass through and walk down a corridor with a grey linoleum floor and secure doors leading to small rooms with beds in them.
The air is heavy with disinfectant and stale cigarette smoke.
From one room comes the sound of a porn film. The door is open and Erik sees a fat man lean forward on a plastic chair and spit on the floor.
They go through another airlock and find themselves in a shadowy exercise yard. Six-metre-high fences link two brick buildings, forming a cage around a yellowing patch of grass edged with cinder paths.
A skinny man in his twenties is sitting on a park bench, his face tense. Two carers are talking over by one of the brick walls, and at the far end a thickset man is standing facing the fence.
‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Otto asks.
‘No need.’
The former priest is standing smoking as he faces the high fence. His eyes are roaming across the grass of the parkland towards the leafy trees. By his feet is a mug of instant coffee.
Erik walks along the path, which is littered with cigarette butts and discarded plugs of chewing tobacco.
