by Arne Dahl
He missed Kerstin. And he missed Chavez.
He drank a can of strong beer and tried to imagine the long, long days ahead of him. Sometimes the holiday seemed more like a big, open pit instead. From total activity to total passivity in less than twenty-four hours. That was a difficult transition to make.
But maybe the holiday didn’t have to be as passive as it had always been in the past. Maybe there were other things he could do. Besides, he was just starting to notice how abandoned he felt. And he needed room for that too.
He drained the beer can and went into the bathroom. He stood there, pissing into the pitch-darkness for a long time. As the stink of urine rose up from the toilet, the contours of the bathroom took shape around him. He saw himself in the mirror, a faint band of light around a darkness. Like a helmet, he thought. A protective helmet.
He waited as his face emerged from the dark. He was afraid of what he would see. But what he saw were not the Erinyes, and not Göran Andersson, but his own expressionless face, straight nose, narrow lips, dark blond hair cut short, a T-shirt. And a few grey hairs. Plus a red blemish on one cheek. The helmet was gone.
He ran his hand lightly over the blemish. In the past, as he stood in front of the mirror, he used to think, No distinguishing marks, no marks at all. Now he had one. For the first time he felt no hatred towards this facial defect, none at all. A distinguishing mark, he thought.
For a moment the blemish did look like a heart.
But at least it was himself that he saw, not Göran Andersson. And for a moment he actually liked what he saw.
He closed his eyes and saw instead the vast darkness.
Two months of accumulated fatigue washed over him. For the first time in two months he allowed himself to feel it.
He thought about Göran Andersson, about the fine line between them, and about how easy it was to cross it and never be able to go back. This thought of his came from deep inside that vast, all-encompassing darkness. But he himself was not in there. Not really.
The doorbell rang, one short ring, quite distinct. He knew at once who it would be.
When he opened the door, she was standing in the rain. Her expression was the same as that time in the kitchen. And that time on the pier. Abandoned. Infinitely lonely. But also so much stronger than his.
He let her in without a word. She didn’t speak. She was shaking. He led her over to the sofa and poured her a glass of whisky. Her hand shook as she raised the glass to her lips.
He studied her powerful, small face in the faint light. The light flickered a bit, was about to disappear. That tiny, tiny flame of life. He made up a bed for her on the sofa and went upstairs to the bedroom. Everything could wait. There was finally a tomorrow.
He put his Walkman on the nightstand, slipped in the tape, crept into the unmade bed and thought of the millions of dust mites that he was cohabiting with. Every person a world, he thought sleepily, then put on the earphones and pressed the button to start the tape.
As the piano began its indolent strolling up and down, back and forth, she came into the room. She crawled in next to him, and he put his arm around her. They looked at each other. Their expressions were identical, their worlds so irretrievably separated. He felt her breath against his chest and heard the saxophone join the piano.
The mystery was gone, but the mist still remained.
Misterioso.
The strolling duet had ended. The sax cut loose.
There’s so much in this music, he thought as he fell into a deep slumber. A world had flown right past his nose. Maybe it was time to sniff it out.
The light went out.
He’d reached the zero mark.
Now only the checkout remained.
Coming from Harvill Secker in 2013, the second book in the Intercrime series
Bad Blood
‘Bad Blood is one of this season’s best crime novels’ Expressen (Sweden)
New York. A literary critic has been brutally murdered. The killer has stolen the victim’s plane ticket to Sweden.
The US police force frantically try to make contact with their colleagues in the Intercrime team to warn them of the danger approaching but at the airport, the murderer escapes without being identified.
The Intercrime team soon discover that the murderer’s torture methods bear a striking resemblance to a notorious American serial killer, the Kentucky Killer. But the Kentucky Killer died in a car crash witnessed by an FBI agent years before. Is this a copycat or has the original killer returned?
‘A story you definitely shouldn’t read at the airport since you’ll be guaranteed to miss the flight’ Seereisenmagasin (Germany)
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9781448137534
www.randomhouse.co.uk
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and
incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by Vintage 2012
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
Copyright © Arne Dahl 1999
English translation copyright © Tiina Nunnally 2011
Arne Dahl has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
First published with the title Misterioso in 1999 by Albert Bonniers Förlag
First published in the United States in 2011 by Pantheon
First published in Great Britain in 2012 by
Vintage
Random House, 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,
London SW1V 2SA
www.vintage-books.co.uk
Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm
The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9780099575689
www.vintage-books.co.uk