Page 187 of The Sleepwalker

A grubby police car is parked with the engine running in one of the icy bays outside Millesgården Museum. The two officers inside are eating clementines, dropping the peel into a paper bag on the centre console between them.

A handful of thujas loom tall behind the stone wall, snow clinging to the side closest to the water.

The sun is shining, and the large windows above the main entrance to the museum reflect the light like the lens in a lighthouse.

The officer in the passenger seat is called Petrus Lyth, though at the station in Lidingö he is better known as Pingu, because of his tendency to make a loud tooting sound to get people to shut up whenever a discussion spirals out of hand. Petrus has been having trouble with his hip lately, so he asked his new partner to drive. He is due to retire in the New Year, and is looking forward to playing golf with his older brother. His colleagues have jokingly started telling him to be careful while he is out on patrol, because cops who are looking forward to retirement have a tendency to meet an early death in Hollywood movies.

Petrus’s new partner, Danny Imani Ingmarsson, is still a trainee, which also puts him at risk in the film version of their profession. Danny is young and ideological, full of admiration for his older colleagues, and desperate to be fully acceptedas a member of the team. He is muscular, with short hair, kind brown eyes and slanted brows that give him a slightly melancholic air. His father is a car salesman, and his mother fled from Iran following the revolution. She studied in Sweden and now has her own dental practice.

Despite his long career, Petrus has only fired his service weapon once in the line of duty. That was ten years ago now, but he still thinks about it every single day.

The young man didn’t even suffer any lasting damage.

He had – like some sort of Don Quixote – been wearing a pan on his head as he roamed around a supermarket with a samurai sword, and it was obvious to anyone who saw him that he was having some sort of psychotic episode.

He had stabbed a watermelon, displayed threatening behaviour, and refused to drop his sword.

The confrontation had ended with Petrus Lyth shooting him in the thigh, and the officer has never forgotten his face, the way his eyes welled up and he thrust out his lower lip like a toddler before collapsing to the floor and screaming in pain.

Petrus looks down at the control unit.

He can’t explain it, but he has always been able to sense when an alert is about to come in, as though he can see the dispatcher taking a call at their computer, making a split-second assessment and pressing the pedal on the floor.

As a result, Petrus is ready and waiting when the call comes in from regional command, and he realises that the situation must be serious before the words ‘priority one’ have even been uttered.

The operator’s voice is sharp, with a slight note of stress, as she briefs them about the ongoing attempted murder at a villa on Jaktstigen.

The information also flashes up on the display.

Danny turns on the blue lights and sirens and speeds out ofthe parking area. He takes a sharp right, mounting the pavement and scraping up against a wall.

‘Shit, shit .?.?.’

They thud back down onto the road, and he accelerates up the hill and takes the next right onto Stjärnvägen. The tyres skid on the tarmac, and the car slams into the grey bank of ploughed snow at the edge of the road, sending lumps of ice flying up over the bonnet and windscreen.

Petrus pushes his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose and focuses on the directions as he talks to the operator.

Both men understand that the call is likely to do with the serial killer known as the Widow, and also that they will be the first unit at the scene.

* * *

Nina feels the heat from her phone against her ear as the operator explains that a patrol car in the area is on its way.

‘Should I leave the house?’ she asks. ‘Or should—’

‘Stay on the line,’ the operator tells her, quickly adding that she is going to patch Nina through to a detective superintendent.

‘Hi, Nina,’ says a man with a Finnish accent. ‘We’ve got a car in the area, and there are another two on the way. I’ve also requested a tactical unit.’

‘What should I do?’ Nina asks, conscious of her own frightened breathing.

Through the window, she sees Frank open a wardrobe door, pull out a drawer and pick some underwear.

‘I understand that you’re on the first floor and that you can see your husband and a woman with an axe on the ground floor, is that correct?’

‘I don’t want to die,’ Nina whimpers.

‘Are you able to leave the house?’