Joona Linna: Stalker Part 44

A woman in her forties is sitting in the next doorway. Her hair is pulled up into a messy ponytail and she's wrapped in a thick jacket. She's wearing a pair of stained red shorts, and her legs are bare and covered in scabs.

'Excuse me,' Joona says.

'I'm going,' the woman slurs.

She stands up with the manner of someone who is used to being moved on, her coat falls open, revealing her cropped T-shirt, and she looks up.

'Liza?' Joona says.

Her eyes are watery, and her face is wrinkled and tired.

'They told me you were dead,' she says.

'I came back.'

'You came back.' She laughs hoa.r.s.ely. 'Doesn't everyone?'

She rubs her eyes hard, smearing her make-up.

'Your son?' Joona says, leaning on his stick. 'He was with a foster-family, you were going to start seeing him again.'

'Are you disappointed in me?' she asks, turning her face away.

'I just thought you'd packed this in,' he replies.

'So did I, but what the h.e.l.l ...'

She takes a few unsteady steps, then stops and leans on an overflowing rubbish bin.

'Can I get you a coffee and a cheese roll?' Joona asks.

Liza shakes her head.

'You have to eat, don't you?'

She looks up and blows some strands of hair from her face.

'Just tell me what you want to know.'

'Do you know a place called the Zone? It sounds like a lot of girls work there, it's pretty Russian, it's existed for ten years or so, and you can get hold of heroin fairly easily there ...'

'There used to be a place out in Barkarby what the f.u.c.k was it called?'

'Club Noir ... that's gone now.'

A flock of sparrows takes off from the trees.

'There's the ma.s.sage parlour out in Solna, but ...'

'That's too small,' Joona says.

'Try the Internet,' she suggests.

'Thanks, I'll do that,' he says, and starts to walk off.

'Most men are OK,' she mutters.

Joona stops and looks at her again. She's standing unsteadily with her hands on the rubbish bin, licking her lips.

'Do you know where Peter Dahlin hangs out these days?' he asks.

'In h.e.l.l, I hope.'

'I know ... but if he hasn't got there yet?'

She bends over and starts scratching her leg.

'I heard he'd moved back into his mum's flat in the Fltversten building, over at Karlaplan,' she says quietly, and stares at her nails.

75.

Erik pulls up in the car park beneath the shopping centre at Fltversten, and as they walk towards the lifts Joona explains that he's not allowed to be there.

'I've got a restraining order,' he says, and his smile makes Erik shiver.

On the sixth floor they walk along a dull corridor with names on letterboxes, dusty doormats, prams and trainers.

Joona rings on a door bearing an ornate bra.s.s sign with the name Dahlin on it.

After a while a woman in her twenties opens the door. There's a frightened look in her eyes, she's got bad skin and her hair is in old-fashioned rollers.

'Is Peter watching television?' Joona asks, walking in.

Erik follows him and closes the door. He looks around the drab hall with floral embroidery on the walls, as well as colour photographs of an old woman with two cats in her lap.

Joona pushes the gla.s.s door open with his stick, walks straight into the living room and stops in front of an older man sitting on a brown leather sofa with two tabby cats. He's wearing thick gla.s.ses, a white shirt and red tie, and his wavy hair has been combed over a bald patch in the middle of his head.

An old episode of Columbo is showing on television. Peter Falk puts his hands in the pockets of his crumpled raincoat and smiles to himself.

The man on the sofa gives Joona a quick glance, pulls a cat treat from a dusty bag, throws it on the floor and then smells his fingers.

The two cats jump down on to the floor without much enthusiasm and sniff the treat. The young woman limps off to the kitchen and squeezes out a dishcloth.

'Did you do your usual?' Joona asks.

'You don't know anything,' Peter Dahlin says in a nasal voice.

'Does she have any idea that this is only the start?'

Peter Dahlin smiles at him, but the corners of his eyes are twitching nervously.

'I've undergone voluntary sterilisation, you know that,' he says. 'My conviction was overturned in the Court of Appeal, I was awarded damages, and you're not allowed to come anywhere near me.'

'I'll leave as soon as you answer my question.'

'You can count on me reporting this,' he says, scratching his groin.

'I need to find a place called the Zone.'

'Good luck.'

'Peter, you've been to all the places people aren't supposed to go, and ...'

'I'm so very, very bad,' the man says sarcastically.

The girl in the kitchen puts her hand against her stomach and closes her eyes for a moment.

'She's not wearing any pants,' Peter says, putting his feet up on the end of the sofa. 'They're soaking in vinegar under the bed.'

'Erik,' Joona says. 'Get her out of here, explain that we're from the police, I think she needs to see a doctor.'

'I'll only find another one,' Peter says nonchalantly.

Erik leads the girl into the hall. She's holding her hand to her stomach, and sways as she pulls her boots on and picks up her bag.

Before they've even closed the door Joona grabs hold of one of Peter's ankles and starts walking towards the kitchen. The older man manages to grab hold of the arm of the sofa, which moves with him, crumpling the Persian carpet.

'Let go of me, you're not allowed ...'

The sofa catches on the threshold of the kitchen and Peter slides over the armrest and groans loudly as he hits the floor. Joona drags him across the linoleum kitchen floor. There's a clatter of cats' paws as they scuttle away. Peter tries to grab hold of one leg of the table, but can't quite reach.

Joona leans his stick in the corner, opens the door to the balcony and drags Peter out on to the green plastic gra.s.s before letting go.

'What are you playing at? I don't know anything, and you're not-'

Joona grabs him and heaves him over the railing, and he thuds into the outside of the red balcony screen. He doesn't let go until he sees that Peter is holding on properly.

'I'm slipping, I'm slipping!' Peter cries.

His knuckles are turning white and his gla.s.ses tumble to the ground far below.

'Tell me where the Zone is.'

'I've never heard of it,' he gasps.

'A large place, could be Russian ... with prost.i.tutes, a stage, plenty of drugs circulating.'

'I don't know,' Peter sobs. 'You have to believe me!'

'Then I'm leaving,' Joona says, and turns away.

'OK, I've heard the name, Joona! I can't hold on any longer, I don't know where it is, I don't know anything.'

Joona looks at him again, then pulls him back over the railing. Peter's whole body is shaking as he tries to get into the kitchen.

'That's not enough,' Joona says, pushing him back towards the railing.

'A few years ago ... there was a girl, she mentioned some guys from Volgograd,' he says quickly, moving along the railing to the wall. 'It wasn't a brothel, it sounded more like a ring ... you know, tough as h.e.l.l, everyone watching each other ...'

'Where was it?'

'I've got no idea, I swear,' he whispers. 'I'd tell you if I knew.'

'Where can I find the woman who told you about it?'

'It was in a bar in Bangkok. She'd spent a few years in Stockholm, I don't know what her name is.'

Joona returns to the kitchen. Peter Dahlin follows him, and closes the door to the balcony.

'You can't just do this,' he says, pulling himself together and wiping his tears with kitchen roll. 'You'll get the sack, and-'

'I'm not in the police any more,' Joona says, picking up his stick from the corner. 'So I've got plenty of time to keep an eye on you.'

'What do you mean, keep an eye on me? What do you want?'

'If you do as I say, you'll be fine,' Joona replies, turning his stick over in his hands.

'What do you want me to do?' Peter Dahlin asks.

'As soon as you've been to the hospital, you go to the police and ...'

'Why would I be going to the hospital?'

Joona hits Peter Dahlin across the face with his stick. He staggers backwards, clutching both hands to his nose, stumbles into a chair, falls on his back and hits his head on the floor so hard that blood splatters the cat food in the bowls.

'When you've been to the hospital, you go to the police and confess to all the a.s.saults,' Joona says, pushing the stick on to the pit of his throat. 'Mirjam was fourteen years old when she killed herself, Anna-Lena lost her ovaries, Liza got caught in prost.i.tution, and the girl who was here just now-'

'OK!' Peter cries. 'OK!'