hidden.
“
“Happy.”
“She looked happy?”
“
When Joona can’t get any other description out of her, he asks about details, turns his questions around, and makes suggestions, but it’s obvious that Anabella has told him everything she saw. He thanks her and Jarl Hammar for their help.
On his way back upstairs, Joona calls Anja. She answers immediately. “Anja, have you found out anything about Eva Blau yet?”
“I might have, but you keep calling me up and disturbing me.”
“Sorry, but it
“I know, I know. But I haven’t got anything yet.”
“Fine, call me when you do.”
“Quit nagging,” she says, and hangs up.
Chapter 74
Erik is sitting in the car next to Joona, blowing on a paper cup of coffee. They drive past the university, past the Natural History Museum. On the other side of the road, down toward Brunnsviken, the greenhouse shines out in the falling darkness.
“You’re sure of the name, Eva Blau?” asks Joona.
“Yes.”
“There’s nothing in any telephone directory, nothing in the criminal records database, nothing in the database of suspects, or in the register of those licensed to carry a weapon, nothing in the tax office records, the electoral register, or with the vehicle licensing authority. I’ve had every local record checked: the county councils, the church records, the National Insurance Office, the immigration authorities. There is no Eva Blau in Sweden, and there never has been.”
“She was my patient,” Erik persists.
“Then she must have another name.”
“Look, I damn well know what my- ”
He stops as something flutters by, the faintest awareness that she might indeed have had another name, but then it simply disappears.
“What were you going to say?”
“I’ll go through my papers. Perhaps she just called herself Eva Blau.”
The white winter sky is dense and low; it looks as if it might start snowing at any moment.
Erik takes a sip of his coffee, sweetness followed by a lingering bitterness. Joona turns off into a residential area. They drive slowly past houses, past gardens dusted with snow, with bare fruit trees and small ponds covered for the winter, conservatories equipped with cane furniture, snow-covered trampolines, strands of coloured lights looping through cypress trees, red sledges, and parked cars.
“Where are we actually going?” asks Erik.
Small round snowflakes whirl through the air, gathering on the hood and along the windscreen wipers.
“We’re almost there.”
“Almost where?”
“I found some other people with the surname Blau,” says Joona.
He pulls up in front of a detached garage but leaves the engine idling. In the middle of the lawn stands a plastic Winnie-the-Pooh, six feet high, with the colour flaking off its red sweater. Other toys are scattered throughout the garden. A path made up of irregular pieces of slate leads up to a large yellow wooden house.
“This is where Liselott Blau lives,” says Joona.
“Who’s she?”
“I’ve no idea, but she might know something about Eva.” Joona notices Erik’s dubious expression. “It’s all we have to go on at the mo ment.”
Erik shakes his head. “It’s been a long time. I never think about those days now.”
“Before you gave up hypnosis.”
“Yes.” Erik meets Joona’s ice-grey eyes. “Perhaps this has nothing to do with Eva Blau.”
“Have you tried to remember?”
“I think so,” Erik replies hesitantly, looking at his coffee cup. “Really tried?”
“Maybe not really.”
“Do you know if she was dangerous?”
Erik looks out the window and sees that someone has taken a felt pen and drawn fangs and ugly eyebrows on Winnie-the-Pooh. He sips his coffee and suddenly remembers the day he heard the name Eva Blau for the first time.
It was half past eight in the morning. The sun was pouring in through the dusty windows. I’d slept in my office after night duty, I felt tired, but I was packing my gym bag anyway. Lars Ohlson had been postponing our badminton matches for several weeks. He’d been too busy travelling between the hospital in Oslo and Karolinska and lecturing in London; he was due to take a seat on the board. But he’d called unexpectedly yesterday.
“Erik, are you ready?”
“Damn right I’m ready,” I’d said.
“Ready to get beaten,” he’d said, but without the usual vigour in his voice.
I poured the last of the coffee down the sink, left the cup in the pantry, ran downstairs, and biked over to the gym. Lars Ohlson was already in the chilly locker room when I got there. He looked up at me, then turned away and pulled on his shorts. Something in his expression was strange, almost afraid.
“You won’t be able to hold your head up for a week when I’m done with you today,” he said, looking at me. But his hand was shaking as he turned the key in his locker.
“You’ve been working too hard,” I said.
“What? Well, yes, it’s been- ” He stopped and slumped down on the bench.
“Are you OK?” I asked.
“Absolutely. What about you?”
I shrugged. “I’m seeing the board on Friday.”
“Of course. It’s the end of your funding. Same song and dance every time, isn’t it?”
“I’m not particularly worried,” I said. “I think it’ll be fine. My research is making good progress, after all. I’ve had some excellent results.”
“I know Frank Paulsson,” he said, getting to his feet. Paulsson was a member of the board.
“Oh? How do you know him?”
“We did our military service together; he’s very much on the ball and quite open.”
“Good,” I said quietly.
We left the locker room and Lars took my arm. “Should I give him a call and tell him they just have to invest in you?”
“Can you do that sort of thing?”
“Well, it’s not exactly accepted practice. But what the hell.”
