Stalker

‘Can I ask you something?’ Erik asks.

‘Yes,’ she says simply.

‘You turn your face towards me when you talk – does that come naturally, or do you have to learn that?’

‘It’s a concession to what sighted people find pleasant,’ she answers honestly.

‘That’s what I thought,’ Erik says.

‘Like switching the light on when you enter a room to alert sighted people that you’re there …’

She falls silent and her slender fingers trace the rim of her glass.

‘Sorry, I’m being horribly rude and embarrassing, asking about such things …’

‘Most people prefer not to talk about their impaired vision. Which I can understand,’ Jackie says. ‘We’d all rather be seen as individuals and all that … but I think it’s better to talk.’

‘Good.’

He looks at her soft pink lipstick, the curve of her cheekbones, her boyish haircut and the green-tinted vein pulsing in her neck.

‘Isn’t it odd, being able to hypnotise other people and see into their secret, private thoughts?’ she asks.

‘It’s not like I’m spying on them.’

‘Isn’t it?’

25 (#ulink_fba1494c-6f87-5325-a73b-67e16f6fe60c)

The bright sky is reflected in the cellophane covering the carton of ten packets of cigarettes on the seat beside Erik as he slowly drives into the area of parkland, past a sign saying that access is prohibited and that all visits must be announced in advance.

Karsudden District Hospital is the largest secure psychiatric facility in Sweden, with room for one hundred and thirty criminals who have been sentenced to treatment rather than prison as a result of mental illness.

His stomach is churning with anxiety. Soon he will be seeing Rocky Kyrklund, to ask him about his supposed alibi.

If it is genuine, then the latest murder could be connected to the old one, and Erik will have to tell the police everything.

Because if Rocky was innocent, there may well be parallels between the old murder and the new one. And it would be no coincidence that Susanna Kern was found with her hand strapped to her ear.

It’s not inevitable that I’ll lose my job, he tells himself. That will depend on whether the police decide to pass the case on to a prosecutor.

In front of the entrance to the administrative block is a sign showing a camera with a line across it. Yet at the same time this place is full of surveillance cameras, Erik thinks.

He picks up the cigarettes and starts to walk towards the white building.

A snail’s trail shimmers across the path in front of the reception area.

In the sharp sunlight inside the doors, the dust is clearly visible as it drifts towards the battered furniture and worn floor.

Erik shows his ID, is given a name badge, and gets no further than the magazine rack next to the waiting area before a man with blond highlights in his hair comes in.

‘Erik Bark?’

‘Yes,’ Erik replies.

The man stretches his lips into a semblance of a smile, and introduces himself as Otto. There’s something exhausted about the man’s face, a sadness that’s impossible to hide.

‘Casillas would have liked to have been here himself, but …’

‘I understand, don’t worry,’ Erik says, and feels his face flush as he thinks of his lies about Dr Stünkel and the research project.

They set off, and the man explains that he’s a care assistant, and has worked at Karsudden for years.

‘We’ll go the long way round … no one likes the tunnels,’ Otto mutters as they head outside.

‘Do you know Rocky Kyrklund?’ Erik asks.

‘He was here when I started,’ Otto says, gesturing towards the high fences and dismal brown buildings.

‘What do you make of him?’

‘A lot of people are a bit frightened of Kyrklund,’ he replies.

They go in through Entrance D, and over to a locker room where Erik has to leave any loose possessions.

‘Can I take the cigarettes with me?’ Erik asks.

Otto nods. ‘They’ll probably come in useful.’

The orderly puts Erik’s keys, pen, mobile and wallet in a plastic bag, seals it and hands him a receipt.

Then he unlocks a heavy door that leads to another door with a coded lock. They pass through and walk down a corridor with a grey linoleum floor and secure doors leading to small rooms with beds in them.

The air is heavy with disinfectant and stale cigarette smoke.

From one room comes the sound of a porn film. The door is open and Erik sees a fat man lean forward on a plastic chair and spit on the floor.

They go through another airlock and find themselves in a shadowy exercise yard. Six-metre-high fences link two brick buildings, forming a cage around a yellowing patch of grass edged with cinder paths.

A skinny man in his twenties is sitting on a park bench, his face tense. Two carers are talking over by one of the brick walls, and at the far end a thickset man is standing facing the fence.

‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Otto asks.

‘No need.’

The former priest is standing smoking as he faces the high fence. His eyes are roaming across the grass of the parkland towards the leafy trees. By his feet is a mug of instant coffee.

Erik walks along the path, which is littered with cigarette butts and discarded plugs of chewing tobacco.