Joona Linna Crime Series Books 1-3: The Hypnotist, The Nightmare, The Fire Witness

62

monday, december 14: morning

Without replying, Simone takes a step toward Shulman and kisses him again. She no longer has any thoughts. She fumbles for his skin beneath his clothes and feels his warm hands on her body. His hands search inside her clothes, and when he makes it down to her panties and feels how wet she is, he groans. She wants them to fuck right here, up against the wall, on the desk, on the floor, as if nothing else matters, just as long as she can divert the panic for a few minutes. Her heart is beating fast, her legs are shaking. She pulls him towards the wall, and as he moves her legs to thrust inside her, she whispers to him, telling him to do it, to hurry up but do it. At that moment they hear the cool tone signalling that someone has entered the gallery. The parquet floor creaks, and they let go of each other.

“We’ll go to my place,” he whispers.

She nods, aware that her cheeks are flushed. He wipes his mouth and leaves the office. She stays behind, waits for a while, leaning on the desk for support, her whole body trembling. She tidies herself up, and when she walks out into the gallery Shulman is already standing by the door.

“Have a nice lunch,” says Yiva.

In the taxi on the way to Sim’s apartment, Simone changes her mind. I’ll call Dad, she thinks; then I’ll explain to Sim that I have to go. The very thought of what she is about to do makes her feel sick with guilt, panic, and agitation.

They walk up the narrow staircase to the fifth floor, and as he is unlocking the door she begins to rummage in her bag for her phone. “I just need to call my father,” she says evasively.

He doesn’t reply, simply walks ahead of her into the terracotta hall and disappears down the passageway.

She stands there with her coat on, looking around. Photographs cover the walls, and a recess containing stuffed birds runs along just below the ceiling. Shulman returns before she has time to dial Kennet’s number.

“Simone,” he whispers. “Don’t you want to come in?”

She shakes her head.

“Just for a little while?”

“OK.” She keeps her coat on as she follows him into the living room.

“We’re adults,” he announces. “We can do what we like.” He pours two glasses of cognac, and they toast each other and drink.

“That was good,” she says quietly.

One wall is made entirely of glass. She moves across and looks out over the copper roofs of Södermalm and the dark reverse side of a neon advertising sign depicting a tube of toothpaste.

Shulman comes over, stands behind her, and puts his arms around her.

“Do you realise I’m crazy about you?” he whispers. “I have been right from the start.”

“Sim, I just don’t know … I don’t know what I’m doing,” Simone says.

“Do you always have to know what you’re doing?” asks Shulman, drawing her towards the bedroom.

She goes with him as if she has known all along that this would happen. She has wanted this to happen, and the only thing that held her back was the fact that she didn’t want to be like her mother. No, like Erik: a liar furtively dealing with phone calls and text messages. She has always thought of herself as having a natural barrier against infidelity. But now she has no sense of betrayal whatsoever. Shulman’s bedroom is dark. The walls are covered in something that looks like deep blue silk, the same fabric that has been used for long curtains covering the windows, and the spare, slanting midwinter light penetrates the fibres of the material like a fainter darkness.

With a trembling hand she unbuttons her coat and tosses it on the floor. Shulman removes all his clothes, and Simone’s eyes travel over his muscular shoulders and down the line of thick, curly dark hair that runs along his navel.

He studies her calmly. She begins to undress but is overwhelmed by a dizzying feeling of loneliness as she stands there before him. He lowers his eyes, moves closer, and kneels, his hair spreading over his shoulders. He traces a line over her hipbone with his finger.

He gently pushes her down onto the edge of the bed and begins to pull down her panties; she raises herself up, keeping her legs together, and feels them slip down and get stuck for a moment around one ankle. She leans back, closes her eyes, allows him to part her thighs, and feels his warm kisses on her stomach, over her hipbone and groin. She is panting, running her fingers through his long, thick hair. She wants Shulman inside her; the desire roars through her body like a storm, waves of darkness surging through her blood, pools of liquid heat flooding her, sucking and tickling, down towards her sex. He moves on top, and she hears herself sigh as he pushes inside her. He whispers something she cannot hear. When she pulls him towards her, she does so in a hunger for escape, for just one brief moment of calm.

She feels the weight of Sim’s toned body on top of her, she feels the physical pleasure, but the possibility of escape is gone, and she knows it. It is not attainable. She cannot stop thinking. She has to get home. She has to keep looking for Benjamin. She has to find him.

63

monday, december 14: afternoon

The day is bitterly cold, the sky open and blue. People are moving silently, lost in their own worlds. Tired children are on their way home from school. Kennet stops outside the 7-Eleven on the corner. There’s a special offer on coffee and a saffron Lucia bun. He goes inside, and as he joins the queue his cell phone rings. It’s Simone.

“Have you been out, Sixan?”

“I had to go to the gallery. Then I had a job to do.” She stops abruptly. “I just got your message, Dad.”

“Have you been asleep? You sound—”

“Yes. Yes, I slept for a little while.”

“Good,” says Kennet.

He meets the assistant’s tired eyes and points to the sign advertising the special offer.

“Have they traced Benjamin’s call?” asks Simone.

“I haven’t had a reply yet. This evening at the earliest, they said. I was just going to give them a ring now.”

The assistant is waiting for Kennet to choose which Lucia bun he would like, and he quickly points to the biggest one. She puts it in a bag, takes his crumpled twenty-kronor note, and waves in the direction of the coffee machine and cups. He nods, walks past the grill where the sausages are turning, and manages to extricate a cup from the dispenser while continuing his conversation with Simone.

“You spoke to Nicky yesterday?” she says.

“He’s a very nice kid,” he says.

“Did you find out anything about Wailord?”

“Quite a lot.”

“Like what?”

“Hang on a minute.”

Kennet removes the steaming coffee cup from the machine, snaps on a lid, and takes it and the bag containing the bun over to one of the small round plastic tables.

“Are you still there?” he asks, sitting down on a wobbly chair.

“Yes.”

“I think this is about a group of kids who are shaking Nicky down for his money and telling him they’re Pokémon characters.”

Kennet notices a man with tousled hair pushing an oversize buggy. A big girl in a pink snowsuit—too old to be pushed, Kennet thinks—reclines inside, sucking on a dummy with a tired smile on her face.

“Does this have anything to do with Benjamin?”