Page 45 of The Sleepwalker (Joona Linna #10)

It is just after eight in the morning, but the sky outside is stubbornly dark. Bernard is at the computer in his office, still in his navy-blue dressing gown, with a mug of coffee beside the keyboard in front of him.

Against the back wall of the room, he has a seventeenth-century J?rvso cabinet painted in egg tempera to look like a summer sky dotted with white clouds.

In the window, a candle is burning in a bronze chamberstick. The warm yellow flame is reflected in the glass, and beyond it, he can see himself sitting beneath the beams in the cold glare of his computer screen. The unruly grey hair on his head looks like a tuft of frosty grass.

Bernard has just typed up Agneta’s notes from the police press conference and her conversations with Joona. She has done a great job, her observations full of nuance and vivid details.

The day before yesterday, he managed to get hold of Hugo at the lab and he asked how the hypnosis session had been.

‘You don’t get it,’ his son had said. ‘It was like I was right back there in the nightmare. I was fucking traumatised afterwards, had to take some Atarax just to keep it together.’

‘But did you manage to help the police?’ Bernard asked.

‘Don’t think so, it was pretty much all nightmares, but they were right that I remembered some stuff from the campsite. I saw the caravans and the snow .?.?. and maybe the killer, too. A woman with an axe.’

‘A woman? Was it a woman?’

‘I don’t know, Dad. That could’ve just been part of the dream, too. I’m so confused right now.’

‘Sorry, I’m just curious,’ Bernard had explained. ‘I don’t mean to put any pressure on you, because there’s absolutely no rush as far as the book is concerned. You share what you want to share, at your own pace. You know that. It’s what we agreed.’

When Bernard is focused on his writing, he tries not to worry about Hugo. He blocks out anything that makes him feel stressed or anxious and attempts to avoid all thoughts of email interviews with Spanish newspapers or readers’ letters to his column in Expressen .

He has been in his office since five thirty this morning, and has finally managed to find his creative flow, writing well.

The rattle of his fingers on the keys slows, and he looks up as though he has just come round to reality.

The candle seems to have paled since the sun came up, with the sky brightening and the choppy waters of Lake M?laren taking on the same colour as raw steel.

Bernard glances down at his phone and sees that it is now quarter past nine.

He checks his emails, and quickly skims through a message from his agent, telling him that he has been nominated for a German literary prize and encouraging him to share the news on social media.

There is an email from a French film producer, confirming their plans for dinner this evening, and his American publisher has forwarded a starred review from Publishers Weekly , along with a message to say that they are still keen to organise a tour for him next autumn.

Bernard has just signed a digital renewal agreement for his first three books with an Italian publisher when Agneta sends a personalised bitmoji of herself waking up happy on a heart-shaped pillow.

Bernard replies with his own bitmoji in which he has huge hearts for eyes, then gets up and heads down to the kitchen to make her a coffee.

On Saturdays, he likes to make various pasta dishes for brunch, taking them upstairs with two small glasses of red wine and crawling back into bed with Agneta to eat.

Today, the plan is to fry off some garlic in butter and olive oil before adding red pepper and ginger, sugar snap peas, fresh prawns and penne.

But first, she needs to drink her coffee and read the news.

Bernard climbs the stairs to their bedroom with a mug of coffee and some dark chocolate. Agneta has already opened the curtains, and is sitting in her bed with her iPad. She gives him a strange look as he comes into the room.

‘What is it?’ he asks.

‘Hugo has given an interview to Aftonbladet ,’ she says.

‘What?’

His hand shakes as he sets the cup down on her bedside table and takes the iPad. The headline of the piece is AXE MURDERS – SLEEPWALKER POLICE’S ONLY WITNESS .

‘What on earth .?.?. Did they go to the lab?’

‘Read it and you’ll see.’

He skims through the piece, staring in disbelief at the photographs of Hugo leaning back against a damp concrete wall.

A sense of unease rises up in Bernard as he sits down on the edge of the bed and rereads the entire text.

‘God,’ he whispers.

‘I know,’ Agneta mumbles, reaching for his hand.

‘Why is he doing this?’

*?*?*

After getting dressed, Agneta heads down to the kitchen. She reads a press release from the Swedish Publicists’ Association on her phone and sends a quick message to turn down an assignment reviewing a performance at the Modern Dance Theatre.

Through the walls, she hears Bernard shuffle down the hall to open the door for Hugo.

‘Could you take your earbuds out?’ he asks.

‘I’m not listening to anything.’

‘Do it anyway.’

Agneta is still at the table when they come into the kitchen. She realises she hasn’t taken her beta blocker yet, and her heart rate immediately picks up.

Hugo’s clothes are crumpled, and his messy shoulder-length hair is tied back in a low ponytail.

She has given up in her attempts to hug him, but she smiles and says hello, holding his gaze for as long as she can before asking if he would like a coffee.

The teenager shrugs, says something she doesn’t catch and drops his earbuds into his shirt pocket.

‘Shall I make you a latte?’ Agneta asks.

‘He can make one himself if he wants one,’ Bernard replies.

‘What a warm welcome,’ Hugo mutters, slumping down onto a chair at the table.

He hasn’t shaved, Agneta notices, and he has bloodshot eyes and dirt beneath his nails.

‘We need to talk,’ Bernard says, taking a seat opposite him.

‘Yeah, you said on the phone.’

‘Could you tell us why you ran away from the lab?’

‘I didn’t run away , I just grabbed my stuff and left.’

Agneta sees Bernard nod slowly and run a hand over the table.

‘I’m going to have to call Lars to apologise,’ he says, more to himself than anything.

‘What, why? It’s not like I have to be there,’ Hugo replies, his eyes on his phone.

‘That’s why we need to apologise. It’s a matter of trust, of common courtesy.’

‘Fine, whatever,’ he sighs.

‘Could you put your phone down?’

‘God, chill out,’ Hugo says with an irritated smile.

He is still looking at his phone, scrolling between posts, clearly aware that they are both watching him, that Bernard is waiting.

‘Where did you sleep last night?’

‘Crashed at a friend’s place,’ he says, lowering his phone to the table.

‘Not at Olga’s?’

‘Nah.’ Hugo tugs gently on the ring in his lower lip.

‘Why not?’ asks Bernard.

‘She was working.’

‘Where?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Is it a secret?’

‘God, can we stop talking about this now?’

‘I’m just trying to understand what’s going on in your life, Hugo,’ Bernard explains, placing one hand on top of the other in an attempt to stop them from trembling.

‘You can’t.’

‘Not if you won’t tell me anything, no.’

Hugo gets up and walks over to the fridge. He takes out a can of Red Bull, cracks it open and takes a sip, then burps and drinks some more.

‘You’ve been sleepwalking a lot lately, and you seem to be having one of your worst episodes yet,’ Bernard continues.

‘Yup,’ Hugo says with a sigh, shaking the last few drops into his mouth.

‘Don’t you think that’s something you should consider?’ Agneta asks, conscious that her breathing is quick and shallow.

‘I don’t care.’

‘That’s rather immature.’

Hugo tosses the empty can into the sink and looks straight at her.

‘I’m talking to my dad.’

‘I know that, and I—’

‘So maybe you should go and do something else while—’

‘Hugo,’ Bernard snaps. ‘This attitude of yours is not OK. Agneta is as much a part of this family as you or I.’

‘More, seems like.’

‘More?’ Agneta repeats.

‘Come on, Dad. You’ve got to agree that I have the least say round here.’

‘Oh, stop.’ Agneta smiles, but her heart is racing.

‘I wasn’t talking to you!’

‘But maybe you should—’

‘Everything in this house, it’s all on your terms. Everything ,’ Hugo shouts. ‘I have to tiptoe around just so I don’t end up being kicked out of my own home.’

Agneta attempts to laugh, but she quickly stops when she realises there is a risk he might take it the wrong way.

‘OK,’ says Bernard, holding up both hands. ‘Can’t we just try to act like normal people and talk about the things we need to talk about?’

‘Gotta do what you gotta do,’ Hugo mutters, biting his thumbnail.

‘We saw your interview in Aftonbladet ,’ Bernard begins.

‘Yeah, sorry if I spoiled your book,’ Hugo says as he takes a seat at the table again.

‘Is that what you think this is about?’

‘Yeah, I do, because the books always come first.’

‘Oh, you’re being too childish right now,’ Bernard tells him, raising his voice.

‘I’m leaving if you’re just going to shout at me,’ says Hugo.

‘Hugo, please listen to your dad,’ says Agneta. She feels like she is finally starting to regain control of herself. ‘This has nothing to do with our book. You know he’s upset because he’s worried. This could be dangerous. You’ve just been outed as the sole witness to a murder.’

The teenager stares at her with a blank look on his face.

‘But I don’t remember anything.’

‘ We know that, but no one else does,’ says Bernard. ‘To anyone reading your interview, it sounds like you’re a real eye witness. Don’t you see that?’

‘But I said .?.?. I just said I was there, that I’m trying to work through my memories .?.?. The journalist twisted everything.’

‘Because they don’t care. They don’t care that you’re a target now.’

‘Stop it .?.?.’ Hugo says, a flicker of fear passing over his young face.

‘I don’t want to frighten you, but this killer, she’s not just going to give up. She doesn’t want to stop, and she won’t allow anyone to stop her,’ says Bernard. ‘And if she believes what she reads in the paper then there’s a real risk she might try to find you and stop you from talking.’

‘You should be given witness protection,’ says Agneta.

‘Probably .?.?.’ Hugo nods, holding her gaze for a moment.

‘OK, good. I’ll speak to the detective, but I think the bar for that sort of thing is usually quite high,’ says Bernard.

‘Otherwise, I think the lab is probably the best place for you right now. Certainly better than here. I mean, the staff are there around- the-clock, and they have high security. Alarms, cameras.’

Hugo picks up his phone to check whether he has any new messages, and Agneta finds herself wondering whether he might have had a fight with Olga. She noticed a darkness to his expression when her name came up earlier.

‘Is that plan OK with you?’ she asks. ‘Going back to the lab unless we can get you police protection?’

‘Guess so.’

‘But?’

‘The hypnosis .?.?. I don’t know, it was really horrible.’

‘Wasn’t Lars there?’ asks Bernard.

‘Yeah, but what was he meant to do?’

‘He’s meant to look out for your best interests,’ says Bernard. ‘That’s his job.’

‘I want to help the police, though.’

‘And that’s great.’

‘But I can’t hack being hypnotised again. I’m not going back if I have to.’

‘I can bring it up with Lars, if you like.’

‘Yeah.’

‘You started to remember things you saw that night, though, didn’t you?’ asks Agneta.

‘I dunno, it was crazy. They seem to think I saw the killer, and maybe even the murder, too.’

‘Hugo, it would be an incredible help if you could write everything down,’ says Bernard. ‘Anything to do with the hypnosis. How it felt, what the hypnotist said, what you said, et cetera, et cetera.’

‘I’ll try.’

‘Have they told you they want to try again?’ Agneta asks.

‘No. I don’t know. But I’ve been thinking about it and don’t think I can take it.’

‘You absolutely don’t have to, just so you know,’ Bernard tells him. ‘I mean .?.?. they’ve already had you in custody and accused you of all sorts of terrible things.’

‘OK, I know that wasn’t right,’ Agneta speaks up. ‘But at the same time, we’re talking about a murderer here. Someone who has killed at least two people with an axe. Slaughtered them .?.?. Imagine if you could help stop this madwoman.’

‘I know,’ Hugo replies, his voice little more than a whisper.