Stalker. Ларс Кеплер

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      ‘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

      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.

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