She took a deep gulp of wine and looked idly through the menu, even though she wasn’t planning to eat anything.
Bondegatan – Commercial District
SOFIA ZETTERLUND HAD gone to the Tjallamalla boutique on Bondegatan in the hope of finding something nice to add to her wardrobe, but walked out instead with a small painting of the Velvet Underground, Lou Reed’s former group. She’d listened to them a lot when she was a teenager.
She had been surprised to find that the shop sold art as well; it never used to. But she hadn’t hesitated for a moment; she thought the picture was a bargain.
She sat down at one of the tables along the pavement outside Harvest Home, just a stone’s throw away, resting the painting on the next chair.
She ordered a half-carafe of house white. The waitress smiled in recognition, and she smiled back and lit a cigarette.
She was thinking about Samuel Bai and their therapy session a few hours earlier. She shuddered at the thought of what she had unleashed, and how she herself had reacted.
When he was angry he was unpredictable, with an impenetrable facade, totally divorced from any sort of rationality. Sofia recalled how she had tried to cut right into a noisy, chaotic consciousness, taking root there and becoming something for him to cling to. But she had failed.
She loosened her scarf and felt her sore neck. She had been lucky to survive.
Everything had been going fine until the moment when the new Samuel showed himself.
Without any warning, she had witnessed a terrifying transformation. Almost in an aside about one of his childhood friends, Samuel had mentioned something called the Pademba Road Prison.
When he reached the third word his voice changed and the word came out as a muffled hiss.
‘Prissson …’
She knew that dissociative personalities could switch very rapidly. A single word or gesture could be enough to change Samuel’s personality.
He had let out a loud laugh that had scared the life out of her. His broad smile was still in place, but it was completely empty, and the look in his eyes quite blank.
Her memory of what followed was unclear.
She remembered Samuel getting up from his chair, knocking the desk as he rose and tipping the jar of pens into her lap.
And she remembered what he had snarled at her.
‘I redi, an a de foyo. If yu ple wit faya yugo soori!’
I’m ready, and am here to get you. If you play with fire, you’ll be sorry.
‘Mambaa manyani … Mamani manyimi …’
It had sounded like baby talk, and the grammar was odd, but there was no doubting the words’ meaning. She had heard them before.
Then he had picked her up with a firm grip around her neck, like she was a doll.
Then everything had gone black.
As Sofia lifted her wine glass to her lips with a trembling hand, she discovered that she was crying. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse and realised that she had to try to make sense of her memories.
The social worker arrived to collect him, she thought.
Sofia remembered that she had smiled as she handed Samuel over to his contact from social services. As if nothing unusual had happened. But what about before that?
The strange thing was that her only memory was of a perfume she recognised.
The one Victoria Bergman usually wore.
I can’t keep my clients apart, she concluded numbly as she took a few sips. That’s the real reason I can’t cope with this.
Samuel Bai and Victoria Bergman.
Along with the shock and the lack of oxygen, her judgement wasn’t working properly, which was why her only memory of what had happened with Samuel at the practice was of Victoria Bergman instead.
I can’t do this, she repeated silently to herself. It’s not enough just to postpone my next session with him, I’ll have to cancel the whole lot. I can’t help him right now. Sometimes you have to be allowed to be weak.
Her thoughts were interrupted by her mobile phone. It was a number she didn’t recognise.
‘Yes?’ she said warily.
‘My name’s Jeanette Kihlberg, I’m calling from the Stockholm police. Am I talking to Sofia Zetterlund?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s about one of your patients, Karl Lundstr?m. We believe he might be involved in a case I’m investigating, and Lars Mikkelsen suggested I contact you about your conversations with Lundstr?m. I’m interested in finding out if Karl Lundstr?m has said anything to you that might help us.’
‘Obviously, that depends. As I’m sure you know, I’ve got a duty of confidentiality, and unless I’m mistaken there has to be a court order authorising me to discuss a patient.’
‘It’s on its way. I’m investigating the murders of two boys who were tortured before they died. I presume you read the papers or watch the news, so I doubt you could have missed it. I’d be very grateful if you had anything to tell me about Lundstr?m, no matter how insignificant it might seem.’
Sofia didn’t like the tone of the woman’s voice. It was ingratiating and patronising at the same time. It looked like the woman was trying to pull a fast one and milk her for information she had no right to divulge. ‘Like I said, I can’t discuss anything until you have a court order. Besides, I haven’t got access to my notes on Karl Lundstr?m at the moment.’
She could hear the disappointment in the woman’s voice. ‘I understand. Well, feel free to get in touch if you change your mind. I’d be grateful for anything.’
Monument – Mikael’s Apartment
THAT EVENING SOFIA and Mikael were chatting in front of the television, and as usual he was mainly preoccupied with telling her about his successes at work. She knew he was self-obsessed, and most of the time she liked listening to his voice. But that evening she felt a need to talk about what she had been through.
‘I was attacked by a patient today.’
‘What?’ Mikael looked at her in surprise.
‘Nothing serious, he just hit me, but … well, I’m thinking of saying I can’t see that patient again.’
‘But surely that sort of thing must happen all the time?’ Mikael said, stroking her arm. ‘Of course you can’t keep seeing a patient who’s dangerous.’
She said she needed a hug.
Later, as she was lying against Mikael’s shoulder, she could see the shadow of his profile close to her in the dim light of the bedroom.
‘A few weeks ago you asked if I wanted to go to New York with you. Do you remember?’ She stroked his cheek, and he turned towards her.
She saw how keen he looked, and for a moment regretted mentioning it. But, on the other hand, it was probably time to tell him.
‘Lasse and I were there last year, and …’
‘Are you sure this is something you want me to hear?’
‘I don’t know. But what happened is important to me. I wanted to have children with him, and …’
‘I see … And this is something I want to hear?’ Mikael sighed.
She switched on the light and sat up in bed. ‘I want you to listen,’ she said. ‘For once, I’ve got something to say to you that actually means something.’