The Nightmare. Ларс Кеплер

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       2

       The pursuer

      Penelope is standing at the helm with a light blue sarong wrapped round her hips and a white bikini top with a peace sign over the right breast. She is bathed in summer light coming through the windscreen. She carefully steers round Kungshamn lighthouse, then manoeuvres the large motor cruiser into the narrow strait.

      Her sister Viola gets up from the pink sun-lounger on the aft-deck. She’s spent the past hour lying there wearing Björn’s cowboy hat and an enormous pair of mirror sunglasses, sleepily smoking a joint.

      Viola makes five half-hearted attempts to pick up the box of matches with her toes before giving up. Penelope can’t help smiling. Viola walks into the saloon through the glass door and asks if Penelope would like her to take over.

      ‘If not, I’ll go and make a margarita,’ she says, and carries on down the steps.

      Björn is lying out on the foredeck on a towel, using his paperback of Ovid’s Metamorphoses as a pillow.

      Penelope notices that the base of the railing by his feet has started to rust. Björn was given the boat by his father when he turned twenty, but he hasn’t been able to afford to maintain it properly. The big motor cruiser is the only gift he ever got from his father, apart from a holiday. When his dad turned fifty he invited Björn and Penelope to one of his finest luxury hotels, the Kamaya Resort on the east coast of Kenya. Penelope only managed to put up with the hotel for two days before travelling to the refugee camp in Kubbum in Darfur in western Sudan, where the French aid organisation Action Contre la Faim was based.

      Penelope decreases their cruising speed from eight to five knots as they approach the Skurusund Bridge. The heavy traffic high above on the bridge can’t be heard at all on the water. Just as they’re gliding into the shadow of the bridge she spots a black inflatable boat by one of the concrete foundations. It’s the same sort used by the Special Boat Service: a RIB with a fibreglass hull and extremely powerful motors.

      Penelope has almost passed the bridge when she realises that there’s someone sitting in the boat. A man crouching in the gloom with his back to her. She doesn’t know why her pulse quickens at the sight of him. There’s something about the back of his head and his dark clothes. She feels as if she’s being watched, even though he’s facing the other way.

      When she emerges into the sunshine again she shivers, and the goosebumps on her arms take a long time to go down.

      She increases their speed to fifteen knots once she’s past Duvnäs. The two on-board motors rumble, the water foams behind them and the boat takes off across the smooth sea.

      Penelope’s phone rings. She sees her mother’s name on the screen. Perhaps she saw the discussion on television. Penelope wonders for a moment if her mum is calling to tell her she did well, but knows that’s just a fantasy.

      ‘Hi, Mum,’ Penelope says when she answers.

      ‘Ow,’ her mother whispers.

      ‘What’s happened?’

      ‘My back … I need to get to the chiropractor,’ Claudia says. It sounds like she’s filling a glass from the tap. ‘I just wanted to find out if Viola’s spoken to you?’

      ‘She’s here on the boat with us,’ Penelope replies as she listens to her mother drink.

      ‘Oh, good … I thought it would do her good.’

      ‘I’m sure it will do her good,’ Penelope says quietly.

      ‘What food have you got?’

      ‘Tonight we’re having pickled herring, potatoes, eggs …’

      ‘She doesn’t like herring.’

      ‘Mum, Viola called me just as …’

      ‘I know you weren’t expecting her to come with you,’ Claudia interrupts. ‘That’s why I’m calling.’

      ‘I’ve made some meatballs,’ Penelope says patiently.

      ‘Enough for everyone?’ her mother asks.

      ‘Everyone? That depends on …’

      She tails off and stares out across the sparkling water.

      ‘I don’t have to have any,’ Penelope says in a measured tone.

      ‘If there aren’t enough,’ her mother says. ‘That’s all I meant.’

      ‘I get it,’ she says quietly.

      ‘So it’s poor you now, is it?’ her mother asks with barely concealed irritation.

      ‘It’s just СКАЧАТЬ