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The Hypnotist
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“Yes,” she says, with a smile.
Erik goes up to her. “What are you hunting?”
“Hare,” she replies.
“Can I have a look at your gun?”
Obligingly, she breaks it and hands it over. The tip of her nose is red. Dry pine needles are caught in her sandy-coloured hair.
“Evelyn,” he says calmly, “there are some police officers here who would like to talk to you.”
She looks anxious and takes a step backwards.
“If you have time,” he says, with a smile.
She gives a faint nod and Erik shouts in the direction of the house. Joona emerges with an irritated look on his face, ready to order Erik back to the car. When he sees the woman he stiffens.
“This is Evelyn,” says Erik, handing him the shotgun.
“Hello.”
The colour suddenly drains from her face, and she looks as if she’s going to faint.
“I need to talk to you,” Joona explains, in a serious voice.
“No,” she whispers.
“Come inside.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You don’t want to go inside?”
Evelyn turns to Erik. “Do I have to?” she asks, trembling.
“No,” he replies. “You decide.”
“Please come in,” says Joona.
She shakes her head but begins to head for the house anyway.
“I’ll wait outside,” says Erik.
He walks a little way up the drive. The gravel is covered in pine needles and brown cones. He hears Evelyn scream through the walls of the house. Just one scream. It sounds lonely and despairing, an expression of incomprehensible loss. He recognises that scream well from his time in Uganda.
Evelyn is sitting on the sofa with both hands clamped between her thighs, her face ashen. On the floor by her feet is a photograph in a frame that looks like a toadstool. It’s a mother and father—her mother and father—sitting in something that looks like a hammock, with her little sister between them. Her parents squint into the bright sunlight, while the little girl’s glasses shine as if they were white.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” says Joona.
Her chin quivers.
“Do you think you might be able to help us understand what’s happened?” he asks. The wooden chair creaks under his weight. He waits for a while, then continues. “Where were you on Monday, 7
December?”
She shakes her head.
“Yesterday,” he clarifies.
“I was here,” she says faintly.
“In the cottage?”
She meets his gaze. “Yes.”
“You didn’t go out all day?”
“No.”
“You just sat here?”
She makes a gesture toward the bed and the textbooks on political science.
“You were studying?”
“Yes.”
“So you didn’t leave the house yesterday?”
“No.”
“Is there anyone who can confirm that?”
“What?”
“Was anyone here with you?” asks Joona.
“No.”
“Have you any idea who could have done this to your family?”
She shakes her head.
“Has anyone threatened you?” She doesn’t seem to hear him. “Evelyn?”
“What? What did you say?” Her fingers are still tightly clamped between her legs.
“Has anyone threatened your family? Do you have any enemies?”
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