Stalker. Ларс Кеплер

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.

      I’m about to meet the priest I let down because I’d already judged him, he thinks. If Rocky Kyrklund does have an alibi, I’m going to confess what I did to the police, and take the consequences.

      Dust from the path swirls around his legs, and he knows Rocky can hear him approaching.

      ‘Rocky?’ he says.

      ‘Who wants to know?’

      ‘My name is Erik Maria Bark.’

      Rocky lets go of the fence and turns round. He’s tall, one metre ninety. His shoulders are even broader than Erik remembers, he’s got a full beard, specked with grey, and back-combed hair. His eyes are green, and his face radiates a chilly pride. He’s wearing a pilled, camouflage-green sweater with worn elbows. His sturdy arms are hanging by his sides, a cigarette clasped between his fingers.

      ‘The senior consultant said you liked Camels,’ Erik says, and attempts to give him the cigarettes.

      Rocky juts his chin out and looks down at him. He doesn’t reply, and shows no sign of accepting the gift.

      ‘I don’t know if you remember me,’ Erik says. ‘I was involved in your trial nine years ago, I was part of the group that conducted the psychological assessment.’

      ‘What conclusion did you reach?’ Rocky says in a dark voice.

      ‘That you needed neurological and psychiatric treatment,’ Erik replies calmly.

      Rocky flicks his glowing cigarette at Erik. It hits him in the chest and falls to the ground. A few sparks fly out.

      ‘Go in peace,’ Rocky says calmly, then purses his lips.

      Erik stubs the cigarette out and sees that two carers are approaching across the grass, carrying an alarm.

      ‘What’s going on here?’ one of them asks as they stop.

      ‘It was an accident,’ Erik says.

      The men stay for a few moments, but neither Erik nor Rocky say anything. In the end the guards go back to their coffee.

      ‘You lied to them,’ Rocky says.

      ‘I do that sometimes,’ Erik replies.

      Rocky’s face remains impassive, but there’s a flicker of interest in his eyes now.

      ‘Have you received neurological and psychiatric treatment?’ Erik asks. ‘You have a right to it. I’m a doctor, do you want me to look at your notes and rehabilitation plan?’

      Rocky shakes his head slowly.

      ‘You’ve been here for a long time, but have never applied for parole.’

      ‘Why would I do that?’

      ‘Don’t you want to get out?’

      ‘I accept my punishment,’ Rocky says in his deep voice.

      ‘You had trouble remembering back then – is that still the case?’ Erik asks.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘But I remember our conversations, and sometimes it sounded like you thought you were innocent of the murder.’

      ‘Naturally … I surrounded myself with lies in an attempt to escape, they crawled all over me like a swarm of bees, and I tried to avoid responsibility by blaming someone else.’

      ‘Who?’

      ‘That doesn’t matter … I was guilty, but I let the lies crawl all over me.’

      Erik bends over and puts the cigarettes down at Rocky’s feet, then takes a step back.

      ‘Do you want to talk about the person you wanted to blame?’ he asks.

      ‘I don’t remember, but I know I thought of him as a preacher, an unclean preacher …’

      The priest falls silent and turns back towards the fence. Erik