Page 40 of The Sleepwalker
‘Is he hurt?’
‘No, he’s fine, just a few scratches. But he’s really shaken .?.?.’
Agneta moves over to Bernard so that she can hear what Olga is saying.
‘When he woke up and realised how bad it could’ve been, he flipped,’ she says. ‘He started pacing about, telling me all this weird stuff from the caravan .?.?.’
‘He can be quite groggy if he’s woken from an episode of sleepwalking,’ says Bernard.
‘I didn’t know what to do.’
‘Can I talk to him?’
‘He’s in the shower.’
‘Do you know whether he has his pills with him?’
‘Yeah, he took some Atarax.’
‘Good.’
‘But I still think it would probably be best if he went home. I didn’t want to put him in a taxi without checking you were there first.’
‘We’re here, but I’ll come and get him myself,’ says Bernard, turning towards the hallway. ‘Where do you live?’
‘Jenny Linds gata .?.?. Number eight.’
‘I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.’
‘OK, I’ll bring him out.’
‘Thank you for ringing,’ Bernard tells her before ending the call.
14
The press conference at the Police Authority building has been underway for forty-five minutes when the spokesperson finally opens the floor to questions.
The air in the room is stale, heavy with the scent of coffee, gingerbread and damp coats.
Microphones from the various television and radio stations have been set up on the table at the front of the room where Detective Superintendent Joona Linna is sitting between Noah Hellman and a tall woman in a pair of red glasses.
Noah gets up and jogs over to the podium. He runs a hand through his hair and gazes out at the assembled media with a slight smile. The head of the NCU isn’t in uniform. Instead, he is dressed casually, in trainers, jeans and a grey T-shirt over a red long-sleeved top.
As ever, Agneta was taken to one side to be searched when she arrived, and while she was waiting in the lobby, a journalist from TV4 came over and told her not to stand around doing nothing after someone spilled coffee on one of the tables. Agneta didn’t say a word, just went through to the ladies’ toilet and grabbed some paper towels to mop up the mess.
She is now sitting towards the front of the room, on the right-hand side. She has attended two police conferences previously, for the true crime pod she does work for, but she feels differentthis time. Slightly nervous.
On the whole, many of the grand ideas cooked up late at night – fuelled by a glass of wine or two – never survive to see the pale light of day, but when Agneta went down to the kitchen that morning, she found the table covered in sticky notes. The first row summarised the press coverage of the case, the second all of the information the Police Authority had released so far, and the third focused on their exclusive knowledge of Hugo.
‘I haven’t lost my marbles,’ Bernard had said, beaming at her. ‘But I really do think we could be on to something here!’
‘Writing a book together, you mean?’
‘Yes, it’s perfect,’ he said as he loaded a tray of scones into the oven. ‘Because of Hugo, first and foremost. Because we’re able to tell his story from the inside .?.?. But there’s also the fact that you’re an accomplished crime journalist – even if you haven’t been given credit for it – and my experience as an author, that I can actually write pretty well when I put my mind to it.’
Bernard had tentatively broached the topic with Hugo in the car home from Olga’s apartment the night before. Hugo had been drowsy from his medication, but when Bernard promised to give him a veto over anything that might one day be published, he had given his father the green light.
AnAftonbladetjournalist with a bloated face and white stubble gets up from his chair and sniffs loudly.
