Page 104 of The Sleepwalker
Telling a person that someone they love is dead is probably the most fraught type of communication there is.
A few words marking the point of no return.
So final, almost an insult to the concept of free will.
Our utter impotence in the face of destiny is never clearer than in that moment.
The brain frantically searches for a way out, a mistake, but eventually has no choice but to give up. And a moment later, the heavy wave of grief hits the bereaved with full force.
The lift reaches the top floor, and Joona opens the gate and steps out onto the landing. He takes a deep breath, then moves forward and presses a finger to the bell. It doesn’t make a sound, but Caroline Bandling quickly opens the door.
She is a striking woman in her fifties, wearing a pair of wide-legged beige trousers and a matching cardigan with a fitted waist.
Behind her, Joona can see a spacious oval hallway with milky marble flooring, an enormous chandelier and a pale-grey silk ottoman.
Caroline is wearing barely any makeup, and is enveloped in the scent of expensive soap. She tries her best to maintain her composure, but it is clear from her eyes that she is petrified.
‘My name is Joona Linna, and I’m a detective superintendent with the National Crime Unit in Stockholm,’ he begins, holding up his ID.
‘No .?.?.’ she whispers, clasping her shaking hands.
‘Could I come in?’
It is as though he can feel the power of her frightened heartbeats pulsing through the air. The colour drains from her cheeks, her chin begins to tremble, and she swallows firmly.
‘Is it Pontus?’
‘I’m afraid to have to tell you that—’
‘No,’ she cuts him off, shaking her head.
‘He has been found dead.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’
‘No, no, no .?.?.’
Her face crumples and becomes a picture of unbearable loss, and she slumps to the floor. Joona rushes forward and helps her back to her feet. She falls into his arms, clutching him to her. Her body feels red-hot, trembling against his.
‘God, I don’t want .?.?.’
‘I know,’ he says softly.
Her breathing is ragged, but after a moment or two she pulls back and attempts to compose herself. She looks up at him, tears running down her cheeks, and tries to dry her eyes with shaking hands.
‘Sorry,’ she says between sobs. ‘Please, come in.’
‘I really am sorry for your loss.’
‘Thank you,’ she says, pressing a hand to her mouth for a few seconds. ‘I have a private detective here. She’d just turned down the job.’
‘I can come back later.’
‘No, she’s about to leave .?.?. If you’ll excuse me, I just need to .?.?. Give me a few seconds,’ Caroline says, turning away.
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