Page 103 of The Sleepwalker

‘We found half a vial of meth in his hotel room, maybe three grams, plus some coke and a bit of weed.’

‘For personal use, I presume?’

‘We’ll have to see what the autopsy shows,’ Jaromir mumbles.

The maritime police back up against the current, turn their boat and disappear into the distance.

Tiny snowflakes swirl over the dark water.

Jaromir turns back to the suspension bridge, where the remains of the rope are swaying in the current.

‘Hard to believe he could’ve lost both his head and his arm in the rapids,’ he says.

‘It was an axe,’ Joona replies.

‘You could see that from the bridge?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I’m guessing you probably want to take a look at his room?’ says Jaromir, heading back towards the cars.

* * *

After a short drive to the Officers’ Villa on Laxön, the two detectives park on both sides of the dead man’s Bentley, get out of their cars and pause around twenty metres from the cordoned-off building. Jaromir explains that forensics have already photographed everything, but that the technicians won’ttouch anything until Joona gives them the green light.

The blue-and-white tape flutters and strains in the wind.

Jaromir shoves his hands in his pockets and pulls his coat tight as he explains that Pontus’ wife Caroline called the police at seven a.m. on 2 December to say that she was worried because she couldn’t get hold of her husband. The call handler tried to reassure her, to say that he had probably just slept in, that his phone had run out of charge.

An hour later, Caroline phoned again, having spoken to the university in Falun where he works; he had never been late for the morning meeting before.

‘We sent a car over here and found the door unlocked,’ Jaromir continues as they move towards the building. ‘He hadn’t checked out, and all his things were still here. The place was a bit of a mess, but we couldn’t see any blood, no sign of violence. It was only when my colleagues found the vial of white powder that they cordoned off the room to wait for forensics.’

Jaromir hands Joona a pair of shoe covers and tells him that the dead man’s wife has already been in touch with Missing People to request a search party. Her lawyer has also called the regional police chief to demand a dog patrol, and added that they would be hiring a private investigator from Stockholm.

The detective stamps the snow from his combat boots before he and Joona pull on their shoe covers and head inside, sticking to the step plates that have been laid out.

The air in the bedroom smells like perfume and smoke, and the sheets are messy, the duvet heaped on the floor.

A pair of navy-blue boxer shorts have been draped over the valet stand, and there is a dark-brown leather briefcase leaning against the radiator beneath the window, a single man’s sock on top of a Burberry cabin bag.

On the floor by the stove, there is a near-full bottle of Highland Park whisky.

Over by the bed, on the nightstand, a small mirror flecked with powder has been left beside a metal straw and a tarot card. It is the Hanged Man, featuring a picture of a youngster in a pale-blue shirt, hanging upside down from a wooden post with a snare around his foot.

A reproduction Carl Larsson painting has been taken down and propped up, facing the wall, and a pair of black lace knickers have been hung from the nail in its place.

* * *

Joona is driving back towards Stockholm on the E4 when Jaromir calls to tell him that the deceased’s identity has now been confirmed as Pontus Bandling. Breaking the news of a death is one of the toughest jobs a police officer can face, but Joona offers to stop off in Uppsala to let Bandling’s widow know.

They are looking at three premeditated murders now, he thinks, which makes it a definite series. This will undoubtedly be the biggest investigation of the year. There is nothing wrong with Noah Hellman – he’s a good boss – but he refuses to admit that their chances of stopping the killer would be much higher if he would just allow Saga to join the team.

* * *

Joona opens the door to a handsome building from the late-nineteenth century and gets into the lift. He presses the button for the top floor, and the mechanism creaks as it carries him upwards.

He can’t bring himself to look in the mirror.