Lars Kepler 2-book Bundle (91 page)

“Come in,” Axel calls out.

Robert marches in looking disturbed.

“I realise that you play that crap in order to drive me crazy, but—”

Axel smiles and starts to sing along:

Robert does a few dance steps and walks over to the open drinks cabinet. He takes a look at the bottles.

“Go ahead and help yourself,” Axel says drily.

“Could you take a look at my Strosser—can I turn off the music for a moment?”

Axel shrugs. Robert hits stop.

“The Strosser is finished?”

“I was up all night,” Robert says with a broad smile. “I attached the strings early this morning.”

There’s a moment of silence between them. A long time ago, their mother had been adamant that Axel would be a famous violinist. Alice Riessen had been a professional musician and played for ten years as second violin in the Stockholm Opera’s chamber music orchestra. She’d openly favoured her firstborn son.

Everything fell apart when Axel, at the Royal College of Music, had become one of the three finalists in the Johan Fredrik Berwald Competition for young soloists. It would have been a straight shot from there into the world’s elite.

But after the competition, Axel had entered the Military Academy in Karlberg. Robert had enrolled in the Royal Swedish Academy of Music. He never became a star violinist. On the other hand, he plays in a chamber orchestra and now owns a renowned atelier where he takes orders for stringed instruments from around the world.

“Show me your violin,” Axel says after a while.

Robert nods and goes to get the instrument. It’s a beautiful violin with a fiery-red lacquer and a bottom of tiger-striped maple.

He stands before his brother and begins to play a trembling strain from a Béla Bartók piece inspired by a journey through the Hungarian countryside. Axel has always liked Bartók, who as an open opponent of Nazism was forced to flee his native land. Axel admires Bartók’s ability to be deeply thoughtful yet able to create short bursts of pure joy.
Or to write melancholy folk music amid the ruins of a great catastrophe
, Axel thinks as Robert finishes the piece.

“It sounds very good,” Axel says. “But you should move the sound post slightly as there’s a dead spot that—”

Robert’s face shuts down.

“Daniel Strosser said that he wanted … a sound like this,” Robert says. “He wants the violin to sound like a young Birgit Nilsson.”

“Then you should absolutely move the sound post,” Axel says with a smile.

“You don’t understand! I just wanted you to—”

“Otherwise it’s an excellent instrument,” Axel hurries to add.

“You hear the sound—dry and sharp and—”

“I’m not saying it’s a bad violin,” Axel continues impassively. “I’m only saying that there’s a spot in the sound that is not alive—”

“Alive? This is a Bartók performer buying this violin,” Robert says. “We’re talking about Bartók, and that’s not the same thing as David Bowie.”

“Maybe I heard wrong,” Axel responds quietly.

Robert opens his mouth to answer when there’s a knock on the door. It’s Robert’s wife, Anette.

She opens the door and smiles when she sees Robert holding his violin.

“So you were trying out the Strosser?” she asks expectantly.

“Yes,” Robert says harshly. “But Axel doesn’t like it.”

“That’s not true,” Axel says. “I’m sure his customer will be perfectly satisfied. What I was saying might just be a figment of my imagination—”

“Oh, Robert, don’t listen to him,” Anette says with irritation. “What does he know?”

Robert now just wants to leave and take his wife with him to avoid a scene, but she turns to Axel.

“Confess that you just imagined a fault,” she demands.

“There is no fault in it. Just an adjustment of the sound post that—”

“And when was the last time you played? Thirty years ago? Forty? You were nothing more than a child then. You owe Robert an apology.”

“Let it go,” Robert says.

“Say you’re sorry,” Anette demands.

“All right. I’m sorry,” Axel says. He feels his cheeks flush.

“You don’t want Robert to have the fame his new violin deserves.”

“I’m sorry.”

Axel turns his stereo back on very loud.
Ziggy Stardust
drops into rotation. The music sounds like two guitars that haven’t been tuned properly and a singer who is searching for the right note:
Goodbye love, goodbye love …

Anette mutters something more about Axel’s lack of talent, but Robert tells her to just shut up as he pulls her out of the room. Axel raises the volume even higher and the drums and bass guitar turn the music around:
Didn’t know what time it was and the lights were low oh oh. I leaned back on my radio oh oh.

Axel shuts his eyes and feels how they burn in the dark. He is already very tired. There are times when he can sleep for half an hour and at other times he can’t sleep at all, even when Beverly is in bed next to him. At those times, he wraps himself in a blanket and goes to sit on the glassed-in veranda with its view of the beautiful old trees in the garden. He will sit there until the dampened light of dawn appears. Of course, Axel understands completely what is wrong with him, and he closes his eyes and thinks back again to the day when his whole life changed.

Penelope and Björn study each other with tired, serious eyes. Through the closed door, they can hear Ossian Wallenberg singing ‘Do You Want to See a Star?’ like Zarah Leander as he’s rearranging the furniture.

“We can take him on,” Penelope whispers.

“Maybe so.”

“We’ve got to try.”

“And what then? Are we going to torture him to get his PIN number?”

“I think he’ll give it to us once we’re in control,” Penelope says.

“What if he doesn’t?”

She sways from exhaustion as she walks to the window and begins to loosen the hooks. Her fingers are tender and swollen. Her fingernails are broken and embedded with dirt and clay and scabs.

“Maybe we can head further up the beach,” she says.

“Good,” he says. “Go ahead.”

“I’m not going to leave you behind.”

“I can’t keep going, Penny,” he says, and he doesn’t look at her. “My feet—I can’t run any more. At the most, maybe I could walk for another half hour.”

“I’ll help you.”

“Maybe there’s no one else with a phone on the whole island. We don’t know. We haven’t the slightest idea.”

“I don’t want to be part of his disgusting—”

“Penny, we have to contact the police. We have no choice: we have to use his phone.”

Ossian throws open the door with a grin. He’s wearing a leopard-patterned jacket with only a loincloth beneath. Ceremoniously he leads them to an enormous sofa. The curtains are still closed and he’s moved the other furniture to the side to open a big space in the living room for him to move freely. The little man steps into the spotlight formed by two floor lamps, stops, and turns.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Time flies when you have fun on a Friday evening!” he announces, winking. “We’ve reached the competition segment of our show and tonight we welcome this evening’s special guest, known from her appearances on television. She’s a shitty communist and she has an underage lover. This is a truly mismatched couple, if you ask me. A hag and a young man with a well-sculptured torso.”

Ossian winks again, and flexes his arm for the imaginary camera.

“Everybody ready?” he calls, jogging in place. “Do you have your approval buttons? I present: Truth or Consequences! Ossian challenges—the Hag and the Cutie!”

He spins an empty bottle on the floor. It rotates a few times and points to Björn.

“Cutie!” Ossian calls, smiling. “Cutie is the first man to play! Here’s the question! Are you ready to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”

“Absolutely,” Björn says with a sigh.

A drop of sweat falls from the tip of Ossian’s nose as he opens an envelope and reads out loud, “Who do you think about when you’re making love to the Hag?”

“Very funny,” says Penelope.

“Will you give me the phone if I answer?” asks Björn.

Ossian pouts like a child and shakes his head.

“No, but if our audience believes you, you’ll get the first digit of the PIN number.”

“And if I choose Consequence?”

“You’ll compete with me and the audience will decide,” Ossian says. “Time is running out. Tick, tock, tick, tock. Five, four, three, two …”

Penelope watches Björn in the wash of the strong lamplight: his dirty face, his stubble, his greasy hair. His nostrils dark with dried blood and his eyes so exhausted and bloodshot.

“I think about Penelope when we have sex,” Björn says.

Ossian boos and makes a disgusted grimace as he jogs in the lamplight.

“You’re supposed to tell the truth,” he shrieks. “That’s not even close! No one in the audience would ever believe that you think about the Hag when you’re sleeping with her. That’s one, two, three negative points for the Cutie!”

He spins the bottle again and it stops almost at once, pointing towards Penelope.

“Oh, oh, oh!” Ossian yells. “A special case! What does this mean? That’s right! Consequence directly! Direct to go! I’ll open the box and see what the Hippo has to say!”

Ossian picks up from the table a tiny hippopotamus made of dark lacquered wood. He holds it to his ear as if he’s listening and he nods.

“You mean the Hag?” he asks. He listens again. “I understand, Mr Hippo! Yes indeed, thank you so very much!”

Ossian replaces the hippopotamus and turns to Penelope with a smile.

“The Hag will compete with Ossian! The area is Striptease! If you can turn on the audience better than Ossian can, you’ll get all the numbers of the PIN code—otherwise the Cutie will have to kick you in the ass as hard as he can!”

Ossian jumps up and down in front of his music system and hits a button so that the song ‘Teach Me Tiger’ comes on.

“One time I lost this competition against Loa Falkman,” Ossian says in a stage whisper while he swings his hips in time to the music.

Penelope gets up from the sofa and takes a step forward. She stands there wearing sailor boots, the pin-striped trousers, and the hoodie.

“So you just want me to take off my clothes,” Penelope says. “Is that what this is all about? You just want to see me naked?”

Ossian stops singing and his mouth puckers in disappointment. He looks at her coldly before he replies.

“Do you believe I’d ever be interested in looking at a refugee whore’s tiny cunt? That’s easy enough to order on the internet.”

Ossian hits her hard. She sways and almost falls, but manages to keep her balance.

“You need to be polite when you’re talking to me,” he says seriously.

“All right,” she mumbles.

A funny little smile distorts his mouth as he explains.

“I’m someone who often competes with celebrities from television … and I’ve seen you there, though I hurried to change the channel.”

She looks at his excited, flushed face.

“You’re not going to give us the phone, are you?”

“I promise I will. Rules are rules. You’ll get it after I get what I want.”

“You know we need help and you’re using that to—”

“Yes, of course, I’m using it!” he screams.

“All right, then, let’s say we strip for a while and then I get the phone.”

Penelope turns away from Ossian and pulls off the sweater and T-shirt. Her scrapes and wounds are discolourations in the strong light. Her body is covered in bruises and dried dirt. She turns around but keeps her arms over her breasts.

Björn claps and whistles although he looks sad.

Ossian’s face is sweaty, staring at Penelope. Then he stands in the lamplight in front of Björn. He rolls his hips and then whips off the loincloth and twirls it around. He lets it run between his legs before he throws it at Björn. Ossian kisses the air in front of Björn and makes an ‘I’ll call you’ gesture.

Björn claps and whistles louder and keeps clapping as he sees Penelope edging near the fireplace to pick up the iron poker from its rack. The ash shovel next to it sways and clangs slightly against the large tongs.

Ossian is dancing in glittery gold underwear.

Penelope holds the poker with both hands as she walks up behind Ossian, who is rolling his hips at Björn.

“Get on your knees, Cutie,” Ossian whispers. “Get down and give it to me.”

Savagely Penelope brings up the heavy poker between his legs as hard as she can. There’s a loud smack and Ossian falls, screaming with an unearthly sound. He holds himself and writhes around on the floor, howling. Penelope walks over to the music system and gives it four vicious strokes, smashing it to bits while the music squeals to a stop.

Ossian is panting and moaning as he lies on the floor. Penelope walks over to him and he squints up at her with fearful eyes. She stands there looking impassively down. The heavy poker sways slightly in her right hand.

Penelope says calmly, “Mr Hippo tells me that you’ll give me the phone and the PIN number right now.”

It’s extremely humid in Ossian Wallenberg’s summerhouse. Björn keeps getting up from a chair to look out the window at the ocean and the dock. Penelope is on the sofa with the phone in her hand, waiting for the police to call her back. They had taken her emergency call and had promised to call back once the maritime police boat got closer. Ossian is sitting in an armchair with a large whisky glass in front of him. He watches them. He’s taken painkillers and says, depressed, that he’ll live.

Penelope keeps looking at the phone and notices that the signal is weaker but still strong enough to take a call. Anytime now they should be returning her call. She leans back. The humidity is suffocating. The T-shirt she’s wearing is damp with sweat. She closes her eyes and begins to think about the time she was in Darfur: the oppressive heat as she traveled to Kubbum by bus in order to join Jane Oduya and her work with Action Contre la Faim.