Page 30 of The Sleepwalker (Joona Linna #10)

Joona clears the table, starts the half-empty dishwasher and then moves over to the window in the living room and looks down at the church tower outside.

Not for the first time, he tells himself that he needs to stop this killer. That the responsibility lies with him.

If he manages it, and Noah Hellman is happy .?.?. well, then he might just be able to get the boss to listen to him about wanting to work with Saga again.

Joona thinks back to his initial encounter with her, to the colourful ribbons in her hair, her temperament and her self-confidence, and he smiles when he remembers that her first words to him were, ‘I don’t want you here, this is my investigation.’

His eyes drift over the rooftops to the pale green towers of Police Headquarters, and he mumbles, ‘The hunt starts now’ and dials Erixon’s number.

‘How’s it going?’ Joona asks. ‘What does the lab say?’

Erixon takes a deep breath. ‘I feel like lying down and dying like a beached whale,’ he replies.

‘How long?’

‘Given the hair is broken and doesn’t have a root, we’re talking about mitochondrial DNA .?.?.’

‘I know,’ says Joona.

‘There’s a three-week wait. We—’

‘Ask them to prioritise it. We need answers. We’ll have another victim soon.’

‘I’ve already told them that,’ Erixon replies with a sigh.

‘Tell them again.’

Joona rests his head against the cool glass for a moment before sitting down in his armchair and checking to see if he has any messages.

He sent out a request over the national communication system used by the various emergency services earlier, asking for information about any cases that bear even the slightest resemblance to his.

Don’t wait, get in touch right away. This is urgent. Incredibly urgent.

He has tried to secure additional resources, but it is the same old story as ever. Thanks to chronic understaffing, following the recommendations laid out in the Police Authority’s framework for tackling serious crime is simply not possible.

Despite that, every member of his team understands the gravity of the situation and has been working flat out to comb through cold cases, knock on doors in the area around the tennis club and trawl through the CCTV.

Joona’s work phone starts ringing, and he takes it out of his jacket pocket, looks down at the display and answers the call.

‘Hi. I’m sorry to ring outside of working hours,’ says a woman’s voice.

‘What are those ?’ he asks.

‘Sorry?’

‘Working hours.’

‘Ah, I’m not sure,’ she says with a laugh. ‘My name is Anna Gilbert, from the prostitution unit here in Stockholm.’

‘You’ve been doing great work.’

‘I saw your request,’ she continues. ‘And this might not have anything to do with your case, but I felt like I should reach out all the same, so at least I can say I passed it on.’

‘Good.’

‘Because you’ll never find a link in any of the databases. It’s really nothing but a persistent rumour.’

‘Go on.’

‘For the past few years, there’s been talk among the sex workers we come into contact with of a blonde woman who robs johns – and she’s been doing it with increasing levels of violence,’ she says.

‘I’m listening.’

‘This is outside of my purview, and like I say .?.?. we don’t even know whether it’s just an urban myth. But at the same time, you know .?.?. for obvious reasons, johns aren’t usually keen to talk to the police, even if they’re the victim of some sort of crime.’

‘No.’

‘I reached out to the Mika Clinic, which helps people selling sex .?.?. Two of them had heard about this blonde woman, and one of them actually had a counselling session with a girl who mentioned her just last week.’

*?*?*

Anna Gilbert helped Joona to arrange a meeting with the sex worker in question that same evening. Her name is Tiffany Eklund, and she operates out of a studio flat close to Frihamnen.

Joona is now on his way over there, driving past the University of the Arts and the brutalist concrete building housing the Swedish Film Institute beneath a dark winter sky.

It doesn’t take him long to reach the huge warehouses and storage tanks on the outskirts of the port, and he turns off onto Sandhamnsgatan and pulls up outside Tiffany’s building.

Her apartment is on the ground floor, with bars over the windows.

The stairwell is shabby but clean.

Joona rings the buzzer on a door with a label for TOP SOLUTIONS on the letterbox, then waits as she studies him through the peephole. The lights in the stairwell go out, but he presses the button on the wall and they immediately come back on.

He hears the security chain rattle, and the door opens.

‘I’ve got an appointment at nine,’ he says.

Tiffany Eklund is a slim woman in her thirties. Her dyed blue hair is growing out, and she has chapped lips, a swollen eye and dark bruises on her cheek and throat. Her pink fluffy dressing gown is untied, and beneath it she is wearing nothing but a pair of silver hotpants and a see-through bra.

The air in her hallway smells like sweat, chewing gum and old clothes.

Tiffany sniffs loudly and turns around on unsteady legs, leading him past a small kitchen nook where there are two packs of quick-cook macaroni on a shelf.

Joona takes off his coat, drapes it over his arm and follows her into a cramped room.

The sheets on the bed are crumpled, and the floral curtain is drawn over the only window.

On the little dining table, there is a plastic bag full of makeup and medication.

He notices a box of condoms on the nightstand, beside a pump bottle of lube, a pack of gummy dummies and a roll of kitchen paper.

As Tiffany sits down on the edge of the bed with a sigh, her robe opens wider. She has a number of tattoos, piercings in her bellybutton and nipples, and a pale scar down one side of her torso.

Joona pulls the only chair across the scratched linoleum floor and drapes his coat over the backrest, then sits down opposite her and holds up his ID.

‘Right, so you’re a cop who thinks he’s getting freebies, huh?’ she says impatiently.

‘I just need to ask you a few questions.’

‘Yeah, sure, everyone needs something .?.?. Not my problem,’ she says, staring at him with an open mouth.

Her makeup looks several days old, like she has just touched it up rather than washing her face and starting afresh.

‘I’d like—’

‘You’re so fucking ugly,’ she cuts him off. ‘If I had a knife, I’d slice your face right off, and I’d be doing you a fucking favour.’

One of her legs has started bouncing up and down, and she mumbles ‘God’ and glances towards the hallway.

On the floor beneath the table, there is a pink perfume bottle with the words SHEER LOVE on the gold label.

‘I’ll go once you’ve answered m—’

‘Go fuck yourself! You hear that? If people see me with a pig .?.?. who’s gonna pay for that, huh? You’ll scare ’em all off.’

She reaches up to scratch her head, and Joona notices that she has needle marks on her wrist and the back of her hand.

‘I can pay you to talk,’ he explains.

‘It’ll cost you double.’

‘OK.’

She agitatedly rubs the corner of her mouth and stares at him.

‘C’mon, then. Didn’t you want to talk? What the fuck is this?’ she asks.

‘I was wondering if—’

‘Talk!’ she snaps, waving impatiently.

‘I will.’

‘The clock’s ticking, pig.’

She has goosebumps on her legs, small beads of sweat glistening on her forehead.

‘There’s a woman who has been robbing johns,’ he says.

‘You’re in the wrong place, ’cause I’ve never robbed anyone. I’m a good girl. I love my guys and they love me.’

‘I wasn’t talking about you .?.?.’

‘Are you thick in the head, or did you have a stroke or something? You’re so fucking slow,’ she says with a hoarse laugh.

‘Can I go on?’

‘Jesus Christ.’

‘Are you listening?’

‘This whole cop thing .?.?. is it like rehab or something?’

‘Tiffany, I’m not going to pay you if you don’t—’

‘Man, it’s war,’ she shouts, pointing at him. ‘I’ll ring Sorab, I swear. And you definitely don’t want him showing up.’

Her nose has started running, and she licks the mucus from her top lip.

‘I can see that you’re antsy because you’re going into withdrawal, and—’

‘You can’t see shit. What the hell do you know? Go fuck yourself.’

‘I just wanted to say that there’s help if you need it. The methadone programme, for exa—’

‘Give me money. Give me a bunch of fucking money,’ she snaps. ‘That’s all the help I need.’

‘Can I ask my questions now?’

‘Why, you need to get back to the care home or something?’ she asks, her leg bouncing again.

‘Last chance, Tiffany,’ Joona says, leaning forward. ‘There’s a blonde woman who has been robbing johns across Stockholm.’

‘It’s easier just to spread your legs.’

‘She assaults the men. Have you heard of her?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, what the hell, I just told you. I had a guy who got fucked up, but it was a while back now. Last year, maybe.’

‘Do you have his name?’

‘Do you have his name?’ she parrots in a mocking voice.

‘Come on, Tiffany.’

‘You really are thick,’ she says, baring her yellow teeth in a grin.

Joona gets up and buttons his jacket.

‘Fine,’ she blurts out. ‘He was all jumpy when he came over here, so I asked what his fucking deal was and he said he’d been unlucky with some girl, that she’d robbed him, snapped his dick and knocked three teeth out.’

‘Did he say anything else about her?’

‘Nah, just that she was an ugly fucking whore.’

‘I really need to talk to him, Tiffany.’

‘Not my problem, darling.’

‘I’m just thinking .?.?. it can’t be good for you if the johns are scared, can it?’

She stares at him, pouting unhappily.

‘When are you seeing him next?’ he asks.

‘Time’s up.’

‘Call Sorab and I’ll talk to him instead.’

‘I’ll kill you,’ she shouts. ‘You’re not talking to him. He’ll break your fucking neck and throw you out the window.’

‘Call him.’

‘No way!’

‘When is the john next coming to see you?’

‘You’re a pain in the goddamn ass, man,’ she says, scratching her neck. ‘Look, he’s not coming again .?.?. we didn’t click. I heard he’s a regular with a girl called Lena O now.’

Joona reaches for his coat, pays and leaves two cards on the table, one for the Blenda women’s refuge and the other for Talita, a non-profit that helps women find a way out of prostitution.

‘Call them. They’re on your side. Truly,’ he says as he leaves.