Page 85 of The Sleepwalker
Joona finds a Flashback thread in which someone describes the current situation with the robber as being like Russian roulette for johns. He reads the jokey, mocking, aggressive conversation from start to finish, but none of the posts mention a specific location, name or alias.
With a sigh, he turns to the window. He can see the reflection of the small, pointed bulbs from the Advent candles in each of the three layers of glass, and notices that delicate snowflakes have started to fall over the dark park outside.
‘I’ve got her,’ says Stina, turning her screen towards the others.
The ad for Miss Liza is at the very bottom of the page, meaning she isn’t one of the site’s verified users. The first picture is of a pretty, wide-eyed blonde with dimples. She looks to be somewhere around twenty, and is perched on the edge of a gilded armchair in her underwear. In the second picture, she is naked, shot from behind in a lavish hotel room.
Alongside the images, there is a list detailing her height, weight, hair, eye and skin colour, her waist and hip measurements, bra size, pubic hair preference, piercings, and so on.
Beneath that, the services she offers are provided: vaginal, anal and oral sex, oral sex without a condom, CIM, CIF, COB, strap-on, cunnilingus, rimming and domination.
Her phone number and payment details are also given, as are her prices – which vary depending on the time and location of any meeting.
‘OK, so who’s going to call her?’ Stina asks as she takes off her glasses.
‘I can do it,’ Rikard volunteers. ‘So long as I know what to say.’
‘Make up a name,’ Joona tells him. ‘And book a session withher today.’
‘Today? It’s just that I have to go home and take the dog out,’ he explains, leaning back in his ergonomic chair.
‘Would seven thirty work?’ asks Joona.
‘Sure, I guess so.’
‘We need to pick somewhere quiet, but still close to town,’ Joona continues.
‘I don’t know why, but the Dialog Hotell in Lidingö immediately sprang to mind,’ says Stina.
‘Good,’ says Joona.
‘Seven thirty, Dialog Hotell,’ Rikard repeats. ‘What service should I ask about?’
‘Sex without a condom,’ Stina suggests.
‘That’s not listed on her page.’
‘Exactly. Say you’ll make do with oral otherwise.’
‘OK,’ he sighs. ‘Should I try to negotiate on the price?’
‘Maybe .?.?.’
‘No, tell her you’d be willing to pay more if she does what you’ve asked for. That way she’ll know you’ve got money,’ says Joona.
Rikard signs the log, and Stina opens a plastic pouch and hands him a clean, untraceable phone.
Joona plugs in an external microphone, starts the recording and puts on a pair of headphones. Rikard takes a deep breath, runs through what he is going to say and hits dial, but the number is no longer in use.
‘Shall we keep looking?’ asks Stina, lowering her headphones to the desk.
‘Yes – both for Miss Liza and the picture of her linked to different names,’ Joona replies, rolling up his shirt sleeves.
He has a large pink scar on his forearm, from a training exercise in urban warfare in the Netherlands. A red-hot round from an M240 Bravo grazed his arm, melting his jacket onto hisskin.
Stina prints out two A3 copies of the photographs of Miss Liza and pins them up on the wall. The three detectives then go through to the pantry for coffee and gingerbread before returning to the investigation room, sitting down at their computers and divvying up the remaining websites between themselves.
A sluggish fly buzzes through the office and lands between the blue and red folders in an open filing cabinet.
