by Lars Kepler
‘It’s just a bit personal,’ she says, licking her lips again.
‘I appreciate that.’
‘They call it saturnalia,’ Linda says, looking down at the ground.
‘Is that some sort of role-play?’ Margot asks gently.
‘No, it’s an orgy,’ Linda replies as steadily as she can.
‘Group sex?’
‘Yes, although group sex sounds like … I don’t know, it’s not like some sort of tragic old swingers’ club.’ She smiles, embarrassed.
‘You seem to know what you’re talking about,’ Margot goes on.
‘I went with Maria a few times,’ she replies, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. ‘I’m single, it was nothing funny, you didn’t have to sleep with everyone just because you were there.’
‘But isn’t that the point?’
‘I don’t have any regrets about trying it … but it’s not exactly something I’m proud of either.’
‘Tell me about the saturnalias,’ Margot asks quietly.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ Linda says, crossing her legs. ‘I was carried along by Maria’s … I don’t know, completely open attitude about sex. Well, I thought I was, anyway …’
‘Were you in love with her?’
‘I did it for my own sake,’ Linda said, without answering the question. ‘To try something new, no obligation, to just let go and allow it to mean nothing but sex.’
‘I can understand that.’ Margot smiles gently.
‘The first time,’ Linda says, giving Margot a dark look, ‘your whole body just shakes … You think, I can’t be doing this. Several men at the same time … and there are loads of drugs, and you have sex with other girls and it goes on for hours … it’s mad.’
She looks over towards Joona and brushes the sweat from her top lip with her forefinger.
‘But you stopped going,’ Margot says.
‘I’m not like Maria, I wanted to be with her, and I tried doing it her way … and after a while I felt different, and brave and everything … But after the third time I started to think a whole load of things, it wasn’t like I regretted it … more like: OK, why am I doing this? I don’t have to feel ashamed, I’m allowed to do it … but why?’
‘That’s a good question.’
‘It was my decision to go, but it sort of wasn’t on my terms … I think I felt a bit exploited, in spite of all that.’
‘Was that why you stopped?’
Linda rubs the end of her nose and says quietly:
‘I’d had enough when it turned out that someone had filmed one of the saturnalias. You’re not supposed to do that, no mobiles … Maria called and told me, she was really angry, but it just made me worried, I felt like I was going to be sick … The film clip was on a porn site for amateur films, it was shaky and dark, but I could still see myself, and that wasn’t exactly a great feeling, I can tell you.’
A few drops from the fountain reach them, and Linda turns away from the hazy sphere and shakes her head.
‘I can’t believe she’s dead,’ she whispers.
‘These saturnalias – how are they arranged?’
‘It’s two guys from Östermalm, Filip and someone called Eugene … It probably started out as them having parties where there was a lot of cocaine and Ecstasy … And then there was spice, monkey dust, Spanish fly and all the rest of it … and now it’s been going on for at least two or three years … There are maybe a couple of saturnalias every month … exclusive, invite only.’
‘Always on Saturdays?’
‘You know where the English word Saturday comes from?’ Linda replies, looking her in the eye.
Margot nods, and Linda kicks at the ground again.
‘I’d just like to say that I never took any drugs,’ she says.
‘Good for you,’ Margot says neutrally.
‘I drank too much champagne instead.’ She smiles.
‘Where do they take place?’
‘When I was involved, they had a suite at the Birger Jarl Hotel … All I remember is really weird, psychedelic rooms.’
‘Tell me about the stud Maria had in her tongue.’
‘Filip and Eugene gave studs to all the girls who belonged to the inner circle.’
‘Did Maria want to leave as well? Do you know?’
‘I don’t think so … well, I …’
She falls silent and gathers her hair over one shoulder.
‘What were you going to say?’
‘Just that Filip fell in love with her, he wanted to see her on her own, didn’t want her sleeping with other men. She just laughed … That was what she was like, Maria.’
Margot pulls out a photograph of Susanna Kern.
‘Do you recognise this woman? Take a good look.’
Linda looks at Susanna Kern’s smiling face, her warm, light-brown eyes and glossy hair, and shakes her head.
‘No,’ she replies.
‘Was she at the saturnalias?’
‘I don’t recognise her,’ Linda says, getting to her feet.
Margot remains seated on the bench, thinking that they still haven’t found a connection between the victims. They’re dealing with a serial killer who stalks his victims, but they have no idea where he finds them, or how he chooses them.
33
Madeleine Federer is walking with her mother along a path that cuts diagonally across Humlegården. After school she went with her to play in St Jacob’s Church. Jackie takes all the extra work she can get as an organist so that they can manage financially.
Now Madeleine is walking along next to her mother, talking and keeping an eye on the path even though she knows that her mum doesn’t need help.
Her mother walks with one foot nudging the edge of the grass, so she can feel the plants against her leg and at the same time listen to the stick tapping the path.
A compressor starts to rumble outside the Royal Library, and powerful drills begin digging at the asphalt with rapid metallic thuds. The noise means that her mother loses her bearings and Madeleine takes hold of her arm.
They pass the playground with the spiral slide she used to love when she was younger; it smelled so good, of plastic and warm sand.
When they reach the street her mother thanks her for her help, and they carry on towards the pedestrian crossing.
Madeleine can hear how the tapping of the stick against the stone pavement sounds harder than it did on the tarmac, but she can’t tell how it sounds when they pass a pole close to the edge of the road.
‘It’s just a momentary gap in the noise of the cars,’ her mother explains, and stops.
As usual, she puts the tip of her stick over the edge of the pavement so that she’ll be prepared for the change in height when the cars stop and the ticking sound from the traffic lights speeds up.
They cross, and walk along in front of a large yellow building when her mother turns towards an open garage door and clicks her tongue. A lot of people with visual impairments do this to listen to the echo and identify potential hazards.
Once they’re home Jackie closes the door, locks it and engages the security chain. Madeleine hangs up her coat and watches her mum go into the living room without switching the light on, and put her music scores on the table.
Madeleine goes to her room, says hello to Hoggy, and just has time to change into some home clothes before she hears her mother’s voice.
‘Maddy?’ she calls from her bedroom.
When Madeleine enters the brightly lit room she sees her mother standing in just her underwear, trying to close the curtains in front of the window. Just outside the window a pink child’s bicycle is lying on the grass. The curtain has got caught in the door of the wardrobe, and her mother runs her fingers down the fabric and manages to pull it free before she turns round.
‘Did you turn the light on in here?’ she asks.
‘No.’
‘I mean this morning.’
‘I don’t think so,’ she replies.
‘Yo
u need to make sure we don’t leave any lights on when we go out.’
‘Sorry,’ she says, although she really doesn’t think she had done so.
Her mum reaches for the blue dressing-gown on the bed, her hands fumbling and locating it up near the pillow.
‘Maybe Hoggy got scared of the dark and came in and turned the light on.’
‘Maybe,’ she says.
Her mum turns the flimsy dressing-gown the right way round, puts it on, then kneels down and cups Madeleine’s face with both her hands.
‘Are you the prettiest girl in the world? You are, I know you are.’
‘Haven’t you got any pupils today, Mum?’
‘Only Erik.’
‘Aren’t you going to put some clothes on?’
‘Thanks for the suggestion,’ she says, wrapping the silk gown round her body.
‘Put the silvery skirt on, that’s nice.’
‘You’ll have to help me find something.’
Her mother has a colour reader, but always asks Madeleine if her clothes look right, if the colours match.
‘Shall I go and get the post?’
‘Bring it to the kitchen.’
Madeleine walks through the hall, and can smell damp earth and stinging nettles as she picks the post up from the floor in front of the door. Her mother is already sitting at the kitchen table when she comes in and stops next to her.
‘Are there any love-letters?’ Jackie asks, like she always does.
‘There’s … an advert from an estate agent.’
‘Throw it away. Throw all the adverts away. Anything else?’
‘A reminder about the phone bill.’
‘Nice.’
‘And … a letter from my school.’
‘What do they have to say?’ Jackie asks.
Madeleine opens the envelope and reads out the letter, which has been sent to all parents. Someone has been writing rude words on the walls of the corridor and in the toilets. The headteacher asks parents and guardians to talk to their children about the matter, and tell them how much it costs to clean up, money which reduces the amount available for refurbishment of the playground.
‘Do you know who’s doing it?’ her mother asks.
‘No, but I’ve seen the graffiti. It’s really stupid. Really childish.’
Her mother gets up and starts to take cherry tomatoes, crème fraiche and asparagus out of the fridge.
‘I like Erik,’ Madeleine says.
‘Even though he called the keys “bits”?’ her mum asks, filling a large saucepan with water for pasta.
‘He said he played like a broken robot,’ Madeleine giggles.
‘Which is absolutely true …’
Madeleine can’t help smiling, and sees her mum smile as she switches the hotplate on.
‘A handsome little robot,’ Madeleine goes on. ‘Can’t I keep him? My very own little robot … he could sleep in the doll’s cot.’
‘Is he really handsome?’
‘I don’t know,’ she replies, thinking of his kind face. ‘I think so, he looks a bit like one of those actors everyone keeps going on about.’
Her mother shakes her head, but looks happy as she adds some salt to the water.
34
Erik feels pleased with himself that he can play all the way to the eighteenth bar with his right hand, even if his left hand can only manage six. Jackie smiles to herself for a few seconds, but decides not to give him any praise, and asks instead if he’s been practising the way she told him to.
‘As often as I’ve been able to,’ he assures her.
‘Can I hear?’
‘I’ve been practising, but it doesn’t sound right.’
‘There’s nothing bad about making mistakes,’ Jackie points out.
‘But you won’t want me as a pupil if I play too badly.’
‘Erik, there’s no danger of—’
‘And I really love being here,’ he goes on.
‘That’s nice to hear … But if you’re going to learn how to play, you’ve got to …’
Jackie tails off in the middle of the sentence and blushes, before raising her chin again.
‘Are you flirting with me?’ she asks with a sceptical smile.
‘Am I?’ he laughs.
‘OK,’ she says seriously.
‘I’ll try playing the piece I practised, if you promise not to laugh.’
‘What will happen if I laugh?’ she asks.
‘That will just prove that you’ve got a sense of humour.’
She smiles broadly just as Madeleine comes in, dressed in her nightie and a pair of slippers.
‘Goodnight, Erik,’ she says.
He smiles. ‘Goodnight, Madeleine.’
Jackie gets up and follows her daughter to her bedroom. Erik watches them go, and has just put his left hand on the keys when he sees that Madeleine has forgotten her stuffed hedgehog on the armchair.
He picks it up and goes after them, turning right into the corridor. The door of the girl’s room is open and the light is on. He can see Madeleine’s back, and Jackie turning back the covers.
‘Maddy,’ he says, opening the door. ‘You forgot …’
He gets no further before the door slams into his face and bounces back. Madeleine is screaming hysterically and slams the door again. Erik tumbles backwards into the wall of the corridor and puts his hand to his nose as the blood starts to flow.
Madeleine is still screaming in her room, and he hears something fall to the floor and break.
He goes into the bathroom, puts the hedgehog down, squeezes his nose and hears the girl calm down. After a while Jackie emerges into the hall and knocks softly on the bathroom door.
‘Are you OK? I don’t understand what—’
‘Tell her I’m sorry,’ Erik interrupts. ‘I forgot the sign, I just wanted to give her hedgehog back.’
‘She was asking where it was.’
‘It’s on the cabinet in here,’ Erik says, opening the door. ‘I didn’t want to get blood on it.’
‘Are you bleeding?’
‘Not really, just a slight nosebleed.’
Jackie takes the hedgehog and goes back to her daughter while Erik rinses his face. He returns to the piano as Jackie comes out again.
‘Sorry,’ she says, holding her hands out. ‘I don’t understand what got into her.’
‘She’s wonderful,’ Erik says.
Jackie nods. ‘Yes, she really is.’
‘My son is eighteen, and he’s still never managed to switch the dishwasher on … But now he’s living with his mother, and she’s a bit tougher than me …’
They fall silent. Jackie is standing in the middle of the room, she can smell Erik, a smell of clean clothes and warm wood from his aftershave. Her face is sombre as she wraps her knitted cardigan more tightly round her, as if she were cold.
‘Would you like a glass of wine?’ she asks.
35
Erik and Jackie are sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table. She’s got out wine, glasses and bread.
‘Do you always wear dark glasses?’ he asks.
‘My eyes are light-sensitive – I can’t see anything, but they can hurt a lot,’ she says.
‘It’s almost completely dark in here,’ he says. ‘Only the little lamp behind the curtain is switched on.’
‘Do you want to see my eyes?’
‘Yes,’ he confesses.
She takes a small bite of bread and chews slowly, as if she were thinking about it.
‘Have you always been blind?’ he asks.
‘I had retinitis pigmentosa when I was born. I could see fairly well for the first few years, but I was completely blind by the time I was five.’
‘You didn’t get any treatment?’
‘Just Vitamin A, but …’
She falls silent, then takes off her dark glasses. Her eyes are the same sad, bright blue as her daughter’s.
‘You have beautiful eyes,’ he says quietly.
It feels strange that they aren’t staring at each other, even though he’s looking into her eyes. She smiles and almost closes her eyes.
‘Can you get scared of the dark if you’re blind?’ he asks.
‘In the dark the blind man is king,’ she says, as if she were reciting a quotation. ‘But you get scared of hurting yourself, of getting lost …’
‘I can understand that.’
‘And earlier today I got it into my head that someone was looking at me through my bedroom window,’ she says with a short laugh.
‘Really?’
‘You know, windows are strange things for blind people … a window is just like a wall, a cool, smooth wall … I mean, I know you can see straight through a window like it wasn’t there … So I’ve learned to close the curtains, but at the same time you don’t always know …’
‘I’m looking at you now, obviously, but I mean, does it feel uncomfortable to have someone watching you?’
‘It’s … it’s not without its challenges,’ she says, with a brief smile.
‘You don’t live with Madeleine’s father?’
‘Maddy’s father was … It wasn’t good.’
‘In what way?’ Erik asks.
‘He was damaged … I found out later that he’d tried to get psychiatric help, but was turned down.’
‘That’s a shame,’ Erik says.
‘It was for us …’
She shakes her head and takes a sip of wine, wipes a drop from her lip and puts the glass back on the table.
‘There are different ways of being blind,’ she goes on. ‘He was my professor at music college, and I didn’t realise how unwell he was until I got pregnant. He started saying it wasn’t his child, called me all sorts of horrible things, wanted to force me to have an abortion, said he fantasised about pushing me in front of an underground train …’
‘You should have reported him.’
‘Yes, but I didn’t dare to.’
‘What happened?’
‘One day I put Maddy in her pushchair and walked to my sister’s in Uppsala.’
‘You walked there?’
‘I was just glad it was over,’ Jackie says. ‘But for Maddy … Obviously, it’s impossible for anyone to know how much longing a child can live with. How much fantasising and magical thinking a child can manage, to explain why her dad never gets in touch …’