Stalker (26 page)

When Erik parks the car beside the school where Olivia Toreby works as a teacher, Nelly hesitates with her hand on the door handle.

‘Do you want me to come?’ she asks. ‘Say what you think.’

‘I don’t know … no, maybe it would better if you wait here.’

‘So you can use your charm?’ she smiles.

‘Exactly!’

‘I’ll stay here with your dream woman,’ she says, pointing at the little monkey in the pink skirt, hanging from the ignition key.

Erik walks across the playground, asks a caretaker for Olivia Toreby, and he points her out.

Olivia is in her fifties, a thin woman with a pale, worn face. She’s standing with her arms folded, watching the children on the climbing frame. Now and then one of them calls out to her, or runs over wanting help with something.

‘Olivia? My name’s Erik Maria Bark, and I’m a doctor,’ Erik says, handing her his card.

‘A doctor,’ she repeats, putting the card in her pocket.

‘I need to talk to you about Rocky Kyrklund.’

Her thin face hardens for a moment, then reverts to neutral.

‘The police again,’ she says simply.

‘I’ve spoken to Rocky Kyrklund, and he—’

‘I’ve already said, I don’t know anyone of that name,’ Olivia interrupts.

‘I know,’ Erik says patiently. ‘But he talked about you.’

‘I’ve got no idea how he managed to get hold of my name.’

She looks at some children with skipping ropes round their necks, playing horses, and hurries over and puts the ropes round their waists instead.

‘I’m supposed to have finished work, really,’ she says when she returns to Erik.

‘Just give me a few minutes.’

‘Sorry, I have to get home and prepare appraisals for twenty-two children,’ she says, and starts to walk off towards the school building.

‘I believe Rocky Kyrklund was convicted of a murder he didn’t commit,’ Erik says, hurrying after her.

‘I’m sorry to hear that, but—’

‘He was a priest, but he was also addicted to heroin at the same time. He exploited the people around him …’

She stops in the shade in front of the steps and turns towards Erik.

‘He was utterly ruthless,’ she says in a toneless voice.

‘So I understand,’ Erik replies. ‘But he still doesn’t deserve to be convicted of a murder he didn’t commit.’

Olivia’s greying hair falls over her forehead and she blows it away.

‘Will anything bad happen to me if I lied to the police before?’

‘Only if you lied under oath in a court.’

‘Of course,’ she says, and her thin mouth quivers nervously.

They sit on the steps. Olivia looks down at her trainers, picks something off her jeans and clears her throat.

‘I was a different person then, and I don’t want to get mixed up in anything,’ she says quietly. ‘But it’s true, I did know him back then.’

‘He says you can give him an alibi.’

‘I can,’ she admits, and swallows hard.

‘Are you sure?’

She nods, her chin starts to tremble and she looks down again.

‘Nine years have passed,’ Erik says.

She tries to swallow the lump in her throat, rubs her top lip, then looks up with shiny eyes and swallows hard once more.

‘We were in the rectory in Rönninge … that’s where he lived,’ she says in an uneven voice.

‘We’re talking about the evening of April fifteenth,’ Erik reminds her.

‘Yes,’ she replies, and quickly brushes some tears from her cheeks.

‘How can you remember that?’

Her mouth starts to quiver and she bites her bottom lip to pull herself together before she answers.

‘We were on a bender together,’ she says in a whisper. ‘We started on the Friday, and … it was at its worst on Sunday night …’

‘You’re sure about the dates?’

She nods and loses control of her voice:

‘My little boy died in his cot on the fifteenth … I only found him the next day. It was sudden infant death syndrome – that was medically proven, it wasn’t my fault, but if he’d been with me then it might not have happened …’

‘I’m sorry to—’

‘Oh, God,’ she sobs, and gets to her feet.

Olivia turns away from the playground, wraps her arms tightly around herself, and forces herself to be quiet, to stop her grief pouring out. Erik tries to give her a handkerchief, but she doesn’t see it. She takes a few trembling breaths and wipes her tears away.

‘For years after that I just wanted to die,’ she says, swallowing hard again. ‘But I’ve never touched drugs since, I haven’t had sex with anyone … I must never get pregnant again, I don’t have the right, I … He took everything with him … I hate him for getting me to try heroin, I hate him for everything …’

They are interrupted by a ball rolling under the bench. A child comes running over to fetch it and Erik hands Olivia his handkerchief.

‘Don’t worry, Marcus,’ she says warmly to the little boy, who’s standing looking at her with the ball under his arm. ‘I just need to blow my nose.’

The child nods and runs off with the ball. Erik thinks about Rocky’s erratic memory. At some moments during his years at Karsudden he must have known that he had been wrongly convicted, because of Erik’s betrayal.

‘Olivia,’ Erik says quietly, ‘I appreciate that this isn’t easy, but are you prepared to swear on oath that you were with Rocky when the murder took place?’

‘Yes,’ she says, looking him in the eye.

Erik thanks her, and at that moment notices Nelly standing behind the climbing frame, watching them. He starts to walk back, and wonders if she’s going to report him when she finds out. Maybe he himself could file a report about a patient suffering harm while receiving treatment before she does.

Before the paint dries completely, Erik and Madeleine carefully pull off the masking tape from the skirting boards and around the door and window, fold up the stiff protective paper and pull the plastic off the furniture that they stacked in the middle of the room. Although he’s taken two tranquillisers, he still feels overwhelmed with remorse whenever he thinks about the priest who has been locked up for longer than Madeleine has been alive, because of his lie.

They carry on cleaning until the pizza delivery guy rings the bell. Madeleine holds Erik’s hand as they go out into the hall to open the door.

‘How does it look?’ Jackie asks when they come into the kitchen.

‘Great,’ Madeleine says, looking up at Erik.

Outside in the street rain is falling through the thin sunlight and the day feels pleasantly slow, like something from childhood. Erik cuts up the pizza and puts it on their plates.

‘Robots eat pizza,’ Madeleine says happily.

Her face is totally relaxed, she’s so relieved that she starts to sing a song from the Disney film,
Frozen
, even though Jackie tries to tell her several times that she shouldn’t sing at the dinner table.

‘Clever robot,’ Madeleine keeps saying to Erik.

‘But what if he starts to get rusty?’ Jackie smiles, as she feels something against her foot.

‘He won’t,’ the little girl says.

‘Maddy, what’s this?’ she asks, carefully shaking a blister-pack of Morfin Meda that must have fallen out of Erik’s jacket as it hung over the back of the chair.

‘That’s mine,’ he says. ‘It’s just some headache pills.’

He takes the pills from her hand and puts them in his pocket.

‘Erik,’ Jackie says. ‘Can I ask you for a favour …? Maddy’s got a match on Wednesday, and I’m playing at the evening service in Hässelby Church … I don’t like to ask, it feels wrong, but Rosita who usually brings Maddy home has been ill all week.’

‘You’d like me to pick her up?’

‘I can walk on my own, Mum – it’s only at Östermalm Sports Club,’ Madeleine says quickly.

‘You’re certainly not walking on your own,’ Jackie snaps.

‘I’ll pick her up,’ Erik says.

‘It’s actually a lethal road,’ Jackie says seriously.

‘Lidingövägen and Valhallavägen are completely mad,’ Erik agrees.

‘She’s got her own key, and you don’t have to stay if you can’t – I’ll be back by eight.’

‘I might have time to watch the match,’ Erik says hopefully to Madeleine.

‘Erik, I’m incredibly grateful, and I promise I won’t ask again.’

‘Don’t say that, I’m only too happy to help.’

Jackie whispers a silent thank you to him, and he gets up to clear the table just as his mobile buzzes in his shirt pocket.

It’s Casillas, from Karsudden District Hospital. After his meeting with Olivia Toreby, Erik called him to discuss the chances of Rocky Kyrklund being allowed on excursions outside the hospital, and beginning his rehabilitation.

‘I’ve spoken to the Administrative Court today,’ Casillas tells him. ‘And you won’t be surprised to hear that you and I are in complete agreement.’

‘That’s great,’ Erik says.

‘The big problem is that Rocky refuses to sign … he says he murdered a woman, and that he doesn’t deserve to be free.’

‘I can talk to him,’ Erik volunteers quickly.

‘It’s just that there’s not much time if it’s going to be considered at the next quarterly meeting.’

One and a half hours later Erik passes through the security doors of Section D:4, is shown through the corridor and out into the fenced exercise yard. The patients in Rocky’s section have all committed serious violent crimes under the influence of severe mental disorders, but most of them are doing relatively well with their medication and are no longer considered particularly dangerous.

On the other side of the high fence is a low hedge. The bushes press against the fence as if they wanted to get inside the yard.

Rocky Kyrklund squints at him in the broken sunshine as he approaches along the path.

‘No nice pills today, Doctor?’

‘No.’

A man shouts something at Rocky from a distance, but Rocky ignores him.

‘I’ve spoken to Olivia Toreby,’ Erik begins.

‘Who’s she?’

‘We talked about her last time … and she confirms your alibi.’

‘My alibi for what?’

‘For the murder of Rebecka Hansson.’

‘Good,’ Rocky smiles, and runs his huge hand through his steel-grey hair.

‘She was addicted to heroin at the time, and I don’t think her evidence would have affected the verdict against you, but I wanted you to know that all the evidence suggests that you’re innocent.’

‘You mean this is really happening?’ he says sceptically.

‘Yes.’

‘An alibi,’ Rocky repeats to himself.

‘Olivia Toreby is living a different life these days, and she’s sure of what she says. You were together at the time of the murder.’

Rocky focuses his eyes on Erik’s.

‘So I didn’t murder Rebecka Hansson?’ he says quietly.

‘I don’t think so,’ Erik replies, without looking away.

‘How sure is she?’ Rocky asks, and his jaw muscles tense.

‘She knows, because you were high on the night of the murder … and it was the same night her son died of sudden infant death syndrome.’

Rocky nods and stares straight up at the white sky.

‘And that matches the register of deaths,’ Erik concludes.

‘So all this crap has been for nothing,’ Rocky says, taking a crumpled packet of cigarettes from his pocket.

‘She was a drug addict, and I don’t think the court would have believed her testimony at the time,’ Erik repeats.

‘I might still have ended up here, but I’d have felt completely different if I’d known …’

The air currents between the buildings are picking up dust and loose particles in the sunlit park. The man who shouted is walking towards them across the yard. Erik looks at his face, swollen with medication, at the clumsy tattoos on his cheeks and forehead, as he passes them, whispering to himself.

‘It’s time for you to give your consent to the application for permission to leave the hospital …’

‘Maybe.’

‘What are you going to do when you get out?’ Erik asks.

‘What do you think?’ Rocky smiles, pulling a half-smoked cigarette from the packet.

‘I don’t know,’ Erik says.

‘I’m going to fall to my knees and thank God,’ he says sarcastically.

‘You’ll be free, but your alibi also means something else that I need to talk to you about.’

‘Nice.’

‘The reason why I’ve been coming here is that the police are hunting a serial killer whose methods are reminiscent of what Rebecka Hansson was subjected to.’

‘Say that again …’

A gentle breeze fills an empty plastic bag with air and sends it tumbling across the exercise yard, as if it were unfettered by time itself.

Rocky clenches his teeth and leans back against the fence, so that the light shining through the links changes.

‘The police are hunting a serial killer,’ Erik repeats. ‘And the murders are reminiscent of that of Rebecka Hansson.’

‘I’m trying to take in the fact that I’m innocent,’ Rocky says in a loud voice. ‘I’m trying to understand that I haven’t killed another person …’

‘I can appreciate that …’

‘I’ve been living with a fucking killer for nine years now,’ he concludes, pointing to his own heart.

‘Rocky?’ the guard calls as he approaches.

‘Isn’t a person allowed to be happy?’

‘What’s going on?’ the guard asks, stopping in front of them. ‘Are you going back inside?’

‘Do you know, I’ve been wrongly convicted,’ he says.

‘Then we’re back to one hundred per cent innocent here at Karsudden,’ the guard says, and goes in.

Rocky watches him with a smile, and puts his packet of cigarettes in his pocket.

‘Tell me why I should try to help the police,’ he says, cupping his hands around a match.

‘Innocent people are dying.’

‘That’s debatable,’ he mutters.

‘The real murderer was responsible for you ending up in here,’ Erik says. ‘You understand? He did this to you, no one else.’

Rocky inhales the smoke and wipes the corners of his mouth with his big, nicotine-stained thumb. Erik looks at his worn face and deep-set eyes.

‘You could end up getting a complete pardon in the Appeal Court,’ Erik says tentatively. ‘And maybe get your job as a priest back.’

Rocky smokes for a while, then flicks the cigarette towards another patient, who thanks him and picks it up off the ground.

‘What could I do for the police?’ he asks.

‘You might be a witness. It’s possible that you knew the perpetrator,’ Erik goes on. ‘From what you’ve said, it sounds like he could be a colleague of yours.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘You’ve spoken about a preacher,’ Erik says, watching Rocky closely. ‘An unclean preacher who could have been a heroin addict, just like you.’

The priest seems lost in the view of the trees. A prison service van is visible in the distance, driving along the road between the tree trunks.

‘I don’t remember that,’ Rocky says slowly.

‘You seemed frightened of him.’

‘The only people you’re frightened of are the dealers … Some are completely crazy, I know, there was one whose mouth was full of gold teeth … I remember him because he loved the fact that I was a priest … so I always had to do loads of crap … money wasn’t enough, he wanted me on my knees, denying the existence of God before he would let me buy any gear, that sort of thing …’

‘What was his name?’

Rocky shakes his head and shrugs.

‘It’s gone,’ he says in a low voice.

‘Could the preacher have been the name you gave the dealer?’

‘No idea … But I used to feel like I was being stalked in those days. Presumably it was withdrawal, but you know … once when I was supposed to pick up some new liturgical vestments … It was morning, and the light was coming in through the Christening window … there were a thousand colours on the altar rail and along the aisle …’

Rocky falls silent and just stands there with his arms hanging by his sides.

‘What happened?’

‘What?’

‘You were talking about the church.’

‘Yes, the vestments had been dumped in front of the side-altar … someone had pissed on them, it had run all over the floor, in the cracks around the flagstones.’

‘It sounds like you had an enemy,’ Erik says.

‘I know I thought people were creeping around outside the rectory at night. I used to turn the lights off, but I never saw anyone … But once I did find big tracks in the snow outside the bedroom window.’

‘But did you have an enemy who—’

‘What do you think?’ Rocky asks impatiently. ‘I knew a thousand idiots, and practically all of them would have killed their own brothers and sisters for a couple of wraps … and I’d smuggled a load of amphetamines from Vilnius and was waiting for the money.’

‘Yes, but this is a serial killer,’ Erik persists. ‘The motive isn’t money or drugs.’

Rocky’s pale green eyes stare at him.

‘I might have met the murderer, like you say. But how am I supposed to know? You’re not telling me anything … give me a detail, it might trigger my memory.’

‘I’m not involved in the investigation.’

‘But you know more than I do,’ Rocky says.

‘I know that one of the victims was called Susanna Kern … Before she got married, she was Susanna Ericsson.’

‘I don’t remember anyone of that name,’ the priest replies.

‘She was stabbed in … in the chest, neck and face.’

‘Like they said I’d done to Rebecka,’ Rocky says.

‘And the body was arranged so that her hand was covering her ear,’ Erik goes on.

‘Is it the same with the others?’

‘I don’t know …’

‘Well, I can hardly help unless I know more,’ he says. ‘My memory has to have something to latch on to.’

‘I understand, but I don’t—’

‘What were the other victims’ names?’

‘I don’t have access to the preliminary investigation,’ Erik concludes.

‘So what the hell are you doing here, then?’ Rocky roars, and marches off across the grass.