Page 18 of The Sleepwalker (Joona Linna #10)

Bernard glances over to Joona and pulls out a chair for himself, then hesitates with his hand on the backrest and asks whether he would like a coffee.

‘Please.’

‘Strong and black, I’m guessing?’

‘Sounds good,’ Joona replies with a smile. He takes out his phone and sets it down on the table, then turns back to Hugo. ‘I’ll be recording our conversation today, just so you know.’

‘Look, I don’t want to be rude or anything,’ Hugo tells him, ‘but I really need to study for .?.?.’

He pauses when the coffee grinder starts whirring and leans back in his chair, scratching his stomach through his faded Actes Sud T-shirt.

‘I won’t take up too much of your time,’ says Joona.

‘It’s just that I’ve got a test today.’

The hissing and bubbling from the coffee machine fades, and Bernard sets a cup and saucer down in front of Joona.

‘Thanks.’

‘I guess I’m also not really sure why you’re here,’ Hugo continues, though he closes his chemistry book.

‘We consider you a witness, even though you’ve said you don’t remember anything.’

‘I don’t.’

‘I’m assuming your solicitor took you through what to say before the first interrogation?’ Joona begins.

‘We talked, yeah.’

‘But things changed following the second murder?’

‘Yeah.’

‘That must have come as quite a relief?’

‘I mean, I already knew I was innocent, so .?.?.’ says Hugo.

‘Of course.’ Joona smiles. ‘But ultimately it comes down to you convincing everyone else .?.?. And in order to do that, it’s not unusual for people to fine-tune their story a bit.’

‘What are you trying to say?’

‘That I’ve come here so that you – now that you’re a witness rather than a suspect – can tell me anything you might have been advised not to share before. Anything that might have made you look suspicious even if you were innocent.’

‘I just told the truth,’ Hugo says, fiddling with the ring in his lower lip.

‘You said that you sleepwalked to the campsite and woke up in the caravan when one of the police officers fired his weapon. That, for you, it was like you jumped from being awake in your bed at home to lying on the bloody floor. In your first interview, you said that you didn’t remember anything between those two points, but I think you do. ’

‘Nope.’

‘But sleepwalkers see their surroundings, even though they’re not awake. They don’t crash into furniture, they’re capable of unlocking doors, and so on,’ Joona points out.

‘That doesn’t mean they remember it, though.’

‘But you do, don’t you?’

‘You don’t have to answer that,’ says Bernard.

‘What do you remember?’

‘Don’t answer that,’ Bernard repeats. ‘You don’t have to—’

‘It’s fine, Dad,’ Hugo snaps. ‘I want to help, but I really don’t remember. I never do. I think the dreams are too powerful.’

‘What dreams?’

‘Intense nightmares .?.?. They’re the reason I sometimes wake up in weird places.’

‘Do you remember the dreams afterwards?’ Joona asks as he takes a sip of his coffee.

‘Bits and pieces,’ Hugo replies with a shrug.

‘So do you remember any bits and pieces from the night you woke up in the caravan?’

‘No idea, but it’s always the same thing: I have to get away. None of it means anything.’

‘But what did you see when you woke up?’

‘I was fucking terrified. They were screaming at me, and there was blood everywhere.’

‘That’s your immediate impression, but what did you really see ?’ Joona presses him.

‘What do you mean?’

‘There was a lot of blood in that room, but it wasn’t everywhere .’

‘No, OK,’ Hugo says wearily.

‘I’m looking for specific observations. Details.’

‘I’ve told you what I remember.’

‘We often register more than we realise.’

‘Do we?’ Hugo sighs.

He gets up, takes a glass from the cabinet above the counter and stands with his back to the room as he runs the cold tap.

‘You’re wearing a silver ring in one nostril, another in your lower lip, and six earrings.

The one in your left lobe is a garnet heart.

Your dad doesn’t like it when you bite your nails, but you do it anyway, whenever you’re stressed.

You broke your collarbone as a child, and you’re wearing a washed-out T-shirt from Actes Sud , which is a French publisher, but—’

‘I didn’t know that,’ Hugo says, turning off the tap once his glass is full.

‘You also wear designer clothes, like your Tom Ford cardigan, but you don’t take care of them. There’s a thread hanging from the left cuff, by the way. You should cut it off and—’

‘Bravo,’ Hugo interjects, turning to face Joona. ‘Except I’ve never broken a bone.’

‘Sometimes I’m wrong .?.?. but not about the fact that you have bandages on three fingers and a fresh bruise on your cheek,’ Joona continues, looking up at him.

‘No,’ Hugo says as he sits down.

‘What happened?’

‘I sleepwalked again last night. Tried to open a door using a knife and ended up cutting myself.’

‘Here?’ Joona asks, though he already knows the answer.

‘No, at my girlfriend’s place,’ Hugo replies as he takes a sip of water.

‘Go on.’

‘So .?.?.’ He sighs. ‘I dreamed I was being chased and was about to jump off her balcony when she caught me.’

‘You dreamed that you had to escape from her apartment?’

‘No, I’m always at home in my nightmares. It doesn’t matter where I actually am. Someone is trying to kill my family, and sometimes I manage to get Mum and Dad out, but I usually fail.’

‘You remember trying to jump off your girlfriend’s balcony?’ says Joona.

‘No, that’s just what she told me once I’d calmed down.’

‘But before you calmed down, you remembered details from the campsite?’

‘Who told you that?’ Hugo takes his hand from the glass and presses his cool fingertips to his eyelids.

‘What did you remember?’

‘I’ve forgotten,’ the teenager mumbles.

‘Do your nightmares always take place in the same location here?’ asks Joona.

‘No. Sometimes they start in my room, or in my old bedroom upstairs. Sometimes I’m running down the stairs, sometimes down the hall. Sometimes I’m in the basement. I think they’re more connected to Mum and Dad than the place itself.’

‘Could you show me your old room?’

‘There’s nothing to see .?.?.’

‘It’ll be quick.’

‘Fine.’ Hugo sighs and gets up.

Joona’s real reason for wanting to see the old bedroom is that it gives him a natural excuse to ask to see the teenager’s current room.

They leave the kitchen and walk through a handsome library filled with tall bookcases, armchairs and a large fireplace.

‘I’ve been asking about your nightmares because I think they’re obscuring your real memories from the caravan,’ Joona explains as they climb the creaking staircase.

‘I don’t have any memories.’

When they reach the landing, they turn left, through a door with a window in it and into a small room.

The walls are pale blue, and the navy blind is dotted with stars.

There is a narrow bed and a set of shelves full of children’s books and plastic trophies.

The floor is cluttered with moving boxes and games like Monopoly and Scrabble.

A folded chessboard has been shoved into a bag, and there are cables, games consoles, Lego sets and a Super Mario Bros skateboard.

‘So you sometimes dream about this room?’ Joona asks as he looks around.

‘Yup,’ Hugo replies, scratching his tattooed forearms.

‘And does it look like this, or how it was when you were younger?’

‘Like when I was younger.’

‘Could you describe it for me?’

‘Listen .?.?. I really don’t feel like we’re getting anywhere here,’ says Hugo. ‘And I seriously need to study.’

‘I know,’ Joona replies, holding his gaze. ‘But I’d like to remind you that we’ve got a sadistic killer on the loose, and that’s no small thing.’

When he turns back out into the hallway, Joona gets a glimpse of another bedroom straight ahead. He can see a large bed with a grey quilted throw, a floor lamp with a grey snakeskin shade and a grey lambskin armchair.

Joona and Hugo make their way down the stairs, turning right and passing the narrow entrance to reach another hallway with white panelling.

On the wall to the left, there is an old Chinese abacus.

Joona gets a brief look at the lounge at the end of the hall before Hugo shows him into his current bedroom.

‘You’re in a nightmare when you sleepwalk,’ he says. ‘That’s what drives you, but you’re also seeing reality – furniture, people .?.?. Yet when you wake up in the morning, you don’t remember anything you really saw.’

‘Pretty much, yeah.’

‘But if you’re woken while you’re sleepwalking, you’re still in contact with the part of your brain responsible for storing real visual impressions.’

‘Maybe. I dunno. How would I know?’

The large bed is unmade, and there are books and pieces of clothing strewn across the floor. The round lampshade sways softly in the draught.

An armchair has been pushed up against a door that doesn’t seem to be in use.

On the wall above the desk, there is a framed page from the manuscript of Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian , complete with clear imprints from the typewriter.

In the half-open desk drawer, there is a pack of condoms, a pale-blue handkerchief and a black plastic vape. On a spiral-bound notepad, Joona notices the words, ‘I can never catch up with her in my dreams, but in reality, I’m getting close.’