Lars Kepler 2-book Bundle (51 page)

Kennet sees her stop, and looks at her inquiringly. Without speaking, she points down into the dry dock. The crouching figure moves away from the light.

Kennet and Simone dash towards a set of narrow steps leading down the wall. The figure starts to run towards something that looks like a door down there. Kennet clings to the rail as he runs down the steep steps; he slips but regains his balance. There is a heavy, acrid smell of metal, rust, and rain. Keeping close to the wall, they continue downwards, their footsteps echoing in the depths of the dry dock.

The bottom of the dock is covered with several inches of water; Simone shivers as she feels the cold water seeping in through her boots.

“Where did he go?” she shouts.

Kennet moves among the enormous blocks big enough to hold a ship in place when the dry dock is emptied of water. He points to the spot where the boy disappeared.

“It’s not a door,” he says, “it’s some kind of air vent.” He peers inside but sees nothing. Out of breath, he runs his hand over his forehead and neck. “Out you come,” he puffs. “That’s enough.”

They hear a rasping noise, heavy and rhythmic. Kennet begins to crawl inside the air vent.

“Careful, Dad.”

There’s a knocking sound, then the sluice gate begins to creak. Suddenly there’s a deafening hiss, and Simone realises what’s happening.

“He’s letting the water in,” she yells.

“There’s a ladder in here,” Kennet bellows.

With terrifying pressure, thin streams of ice-cold water begin to gush into the dry dock through the tiny gap between the sluice gates. As the doors continue to move apart, the onrushing water builds into a deafening cataract. Simone races towards the steps, but the vast space fills rapidly, and soon she is struggling through knee-deep freezing water. The light from the crane flickers over the rough walls. The strong current sends the water in powerful eddies, dragging Simone backwards. She bangs into a large metal mounting and feels white-hot pain. An ocean of black water is engulfing her. Weeping with terror, she reaches the steps and lunges for the hand-rail, gripping it tightly and searching for purchase with her numbed feet. Finally, step by step, she is climbing above the level of the water, outdistancing it. When the water is safely below her, she turns around. She can’t see her father. The water has completely covered the vent in the wall. The sluice gates are screaming. Her body is shaking with fear and cold, but she presses on, her lungs burning. Then the roar of the water gradually begins to diminish. The gates close, and the influx stops. She gasps, aching to catch her breath. She’s lost all feeling in the hand holding on to the rail. Her clothes are heavy, pulling across her thighs. She begins climbing again, unsure of what awaits her at the top.

Kennet is on the opposite side of the dry dock. He waves at her. He grips a boy by the upper arm and is marching him toward the containers.

At a distance, Simone follows them, through the containers and past the enormous tanks, until they reach the car.

Kennet’s expression is strange. Simone cannot read it. The boy stands there passively, his head drooping.

“Where’s Benjamin?” Simone screams before she even gets to them.

The boy doesn’t respond. She grabs his shoulders and spins him around, then recoils at what she sees, gasping.

The boy’s nose has been cut off.

It looks as if someone has tried to stitch up the wound, but in haste and without any medical expertise. The boy’s expression is one of total apathy. The wind howls; all three of them get into the car, Kennet joining the boy in the backseat. Shivering uncontrollably, Simone turns on the engine to get the heat going. The windows quickly steam up. She finds a bar of chocolate and offers it to the boy. The inside of the car is very quiet.

“Where’s Benjamin?” Kennet asks harshly.

The boy looks down at his knees. He munches the chocolate and swallows hard.

“You’re going to tell us everything, you hear me?”

“You’ve beaten up kids, stolen their money,” says Simone.

“I don’t exist now,” he whispers.

“Why did you do it?” Kennet asks.

“That’s just the way it was when we—”

“That’s just the way it was?” Kennet snaps. “Where are the others?”

“How am I supposed to know? Maybe they’re in new gangs now,” says the boy. “I hear Jerker is.”

“Are you Wailord?”

The boy’s mouth trembles. “I’ve stopped now,” he says faintly. “I promise I’ve stopped.”

“Where’s Benjamin?” Simone asks shrilly.

“I don’t know,” he says quickly. “I’ll never hurt him again, I promise.”

“Listen to me,” Simone says. “I’m his mother. I have to know.”

But she is interrupted by the boy, who begins to rock back and forth, sobbing pitifully and saying over and over again, “I promise, I promise, I promise, I promise, I promise …”

Kennet places a hand on Simone’s arm. “We need to take him in,” he says emptily. “He needs help.”

The boy who called himself Wailord was actually Birk Jansson, and his last known address was that of a foster family in Husby. At the Astrid Lindgren Children’s Hospital, where Kennet took him after dropping Simone off, he was found to be suffering from dehydration and malnutrition; infected sores were found on his body, and a small amount of frostbite on his toes and fingers. Social Services were called; the boy’s case worker was contacted.

As Kennet was about to leave, Birk started crying. “Please stay,” he whispered, his hand covering his mutilated nose.

Kennet could feel his pulse hammering much too fast, and his nose was still bleeding from all the running. He stopped in the doorway.

“I’ll wait here with you, Birk, on one condition.” He sat down on a green chair next to the boy. “You have to tell me everything you know about Benjamin’s disappearance.”

Kennet sat there for the two hours it took for the social worker to arrive, feeling increasingly dizzy and trying to get the boy to talk. All he really managed to establish was that somebody or something had frightened Birk so much that he’d stopped hassling Benjamin. He didn’t even seem to know that Benjamin had disappeared.

In the car, Kennet calls to check on Simone. She replies that she has slept for a while and is thinking of pouring herself a substantial brandy.

“Nice idea. I’m going to talk to Aida,” says Kennet.

“Ask her about that picture of the grass and the fence. She wasn’t telling me the truth, I’m sure of it.”

Kennet parks the car in Sundbyberg in the same place as before, not far from the hot-dog stand. It’s freezing now; a few sparse snowflakes drift onto the front seat when he opens the car door. He spots Aida and Nicky immediately. They sit on a park bench by an asphalt path leading down to Lake Ulvsunda. She looks on as Nicky shows her something. She has a certain air of patience that makes Kennet like her. He stands watching them for a little while. Something about the two of them strikes a chord with him; the way they seem to relate to and depend on each other. They seem so alone, so abandoned. It is almost six o’clock in the evening; bands of light from the city are reflected in the dark surface of the lake.

Kennet feels dizziness blur his vision for a moment. Carefully he crosses the icy road and walks down toward the lake across the frost-covered grass. “Hi, you two,” he says.

Nicky looks up. “It’s you!” he calls out, running over to hug Kennet. “Aida,” he says excitedly, “Aida, it’s him, the man who’s really old!”

Kennet hugs the boy back, hard. “Really old, am I?”

The girl wears a pale, uneasy smile. The tip of her nose is bright red with the cold. “Benjamin?” she asks. “Have you found him?”

“No, not yet,” Kennet replies, as Nicky laughs and continues to hug and jump around him.

“Aida,” shouts Nicky, “he’s so old they took his gun away!”

Kennet sits down on the bench next to Aida. They are surrounded by dense, dark groves of bare trees.

“I came to tell you that Wailord has been taken into care.”

Aida turns to look at him, her expression sceptical.

“The others have been identified,” he tells her. “There were five of them, right? Five Pokémon characters? Birk Jansson, the kid who was Wailord, has admitted everything, but he had nothing to do with Benjamin’s disappearance.”

Nicky has stopped dead on hearing Kennet’s words and is staring open-mouthed at him. “You’ve beaten Wailord?” he says.

“Yes,” says Kennet. “He’s finished.”

Nicky starts dancing around on the path again. His huge body steams with warmth in the cold air. Suddenly he stops and looks at Kennet. “You’re the strongest Pokémon, you’re Pikachu! You’re Pikachu!”

He hugs Kennet happily and Aida laughs, her face full of surprise.

“But where’s Benjamin?” she asks.

“We don’t know, Aida. They might have done a lot of stupid things, but they didn’t take Benjamin.”

“Who else could it be?”

“I don’t know.” Kennet gets out the photo Aida sent to Benjamin. “Aida, tell me the truth about this picture,” he says, in a kind but firm tone.

The colour leaves her face and she shakes her head. “I promised,” she says quietly.

“Promises don’t count when it’s a matter of life and death.”

But she clamps her lips together and turns away.

Nicky comes over and looks at the picture. “That’s the picture his mum gave him,” he says cheerfully.

“Nicky!” Aida snaps.

“Well, it is,” Nicky says indignantly.

“Why can’t you just keep quiet?” says Aida.

Kennet waves a hand. “Hush. Did Simone give Benjamin this photo? What do you mean, Nicky?”

But Nicky is looking anxiously at Aida, as if waiting for permission to answer. She shakes her head. Kennet’s skull is aching from the impact of the accident, a pulsing, persistent throbbing.

“Answer me, Aida,” he says, struggling to remain calm. “I promise you it’s wrong to keep quiet in this situation.”

“But the picture has nothing to do with anything,” she says unhappily. “I promised Benjamin not to tell a single soul, whatever happened.”

“Just tell me about this photograph!”

Kennet hears his own voice echo loudly between the buildings. Aida stubbornly compresses her lips even more tightly. Kennet studies her and forces himself to calm down. His voice sounds unsteady as he begins again.

“Aida, please listen carefully. Without his medicine, Benjamin is going to die if we don’t find him. He’s my only grandchild. I can’t let a single clue go without investigating it.”

There is total silence for a moment. Then Aida says resignedly, with tears in her voice, “Nicky’s already told you.” She swallows hard before going on. “His mother gave him that photo.”

“What do you mean?” Kennet looks at Nicky, who nods eagerly.

“Not Simone,” says Aida. “His real mother.”

Kennet feels a wave of nausea sweep over him. All of a sudden his whole chest is gripped by pain; he tries to take a few deep breaths and hears his own heart pounding heavily. Not now, he thinks. You can’t die just yet. He just has time to think he’s having a heart attack when the pain abruptly subsides.

“His real mother?”

“Yes.”

Aida gets a pack of cigarettes out of her rucksack, but before she has time to light up Kennet gently takes them from her.

“You’re not allowed to smoke,” he says.

“Why not?”

“You’re under eighteen.”

She shrugs. “Whatever.”

“Fine,” says Kennet, feeling as if his mind is working very slowly for some incomprehensible reason.

He fights his way into his memory, searching for facts relating to Benjamin’s birth. The images flicker through his mind: Simone’s face, swollen with weeping after the miscarriage, and then that midsummer when she was wearing a huge flowery tent of a dress, heavily pregnant, glowing. In the maternity ward, she showed him the baby: “Here’s our little man,” she said with a smile, her lips trembling. “We’re going to call him Benjamin, Son of the Right Hand.”

Kennet rubs his eyes hard and scratches his head beneath the bandage. “So what’s the name of his … his real mother?”

Aida gazes out across the lake. “I don’t know,” she replies in a monotone. “I don’t, honestly. But she told Benjamin his real name. She always called him Kasper. She was nice. She used to wait for him after school, she helped him with his homework, and I think she gave him money. I think she was really sad because she’d been forced to give him up.”

Kennet holds up the photo. “And this? What’s this?”

Aida glances at the printout. “That’s the family grave, the grave belonging to Benjamin’s real family. His relatives are buried there.”

The few hours of daylight are already over, and darkness has settled upon the city. Advent stars glow in almost every window. A heavy aroma of grapes rises from the brandy glass on the low table in the living room. Simone is sitting in the middle of the floor, looking at some sketches. After she’d got home, she’d peeled off her wet clothes, wrapped herself in a blanket, and had instantly fallen asleep on the couch, waking up only when Kennet phoned. Then Sim Shulman had arrived.

Now, in her underwear, she places the sketches in a row: four lined sheets outlining an installation he is planning for the art gallery in Tensta.

Shulman is talking to the director of the gallery on his mobile. He paces the room as he talks. The parquet flooring that creaks beneath his feet is suddenly silent. Simone notices he has positioned himself so that he can see between her thighs. She can feel it. She gathers up the sketches, picks up her glass, and takes a sip, ignoring Shulman. She opens her thighs slightly and imagines his burning gaze boring its way in. He is shutting down the conversation now, anxious to end it. Simone lies on her back and closes her eyes. She waits, feeling the heat below, the surge of blood, the slow wetness. She needs to feel something,
anything
, to muffle the thoughts in her head, to mute the panic. Shulman has stopped speaking; he moves closer. She keeps her eyes shut, opens her legs a little more. She hears the sound of him unzipping his trousers. Suddenly she feels his hands on her hips. He rolls her onto her stomach, pulls her roughly to her knees, yanks her panties down around her thighs, and pushes into her from behind. She isn’t really ready. She can see her fingers splayed on the oak floor. The nails, the veins on the back of her hand. She has to brace herself to avoid falling forwards as he thrusts into her, hard and alone. The heavy smell of the grappa is making her feel ill. She wants to ask Shulman to stop, to do it a different way, to start again in the bedroom, properly. He sighs heavily and ejaculates into her, pulls out, and goes into the bathroom. She hitches up her underwear and remains lying on the floor.