Page 180 of The Sleepwalker
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Svanhildur accompanies Hugo to Lars Grind’s office. They have decided not to mention the camera unless necessary, but feel they need to confront him if they are going to be able to stay at the lab.
Lars answers his door with a surprised smile, says something about special guests and asks if they would like a hot chocolate as he welcomes them in.
‘No, thanks,’ Hugo replies, noticing that someone has blotted red lipstick on a piece of tissue and thrown it into the bin.
‘Please, sit,’ says the doctor.
‘We need to talk,’ Hugo tells him.
‘Crikey, that sounds ominous.’ Lars smiles.
‘Yeah .?.?. I was medicated against my will last night.’
‘What makes you—’
‘I told you this morning that my head felt heavy.’
‘Did you?’
‘You have no right to hide whatever’s going on from me,’ says Hugo. ‘I want to see my records, right now.’
‘And I want to see mine,’ says Svanhildur.
‘I understand,’ Lars mumbles, rubbing his bald head.
‘I’m going to talk to Dad,’ Hugo continues. ‘This really doesn’t feel good, but we need to know what’s going on here.’
62
Agneta watches from the doorway as Bernard’s taxi pulls up outside the house, completing the circle from the moment he left in the back of the ambulance. He gets out, and the car turns around and disappears up the steep driveway.
Bernard walks slowly towards her, cold air clinging to his body as he makes his way inside and locks the door behind him.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asks.
‘Fine. My back and hip are a bit stiff, but I’m OK.’
He groans in pain as she helps him with his coat.
‘Are you hungry? There are some leftovers I could reheat,’ she says.
‘Please.’
Bernard kicks off his shoes, leaving them in the middle of the mat as he moves forward and hugs her.
They stand in the dimly lit hallway for a moment or two, enjoying the heat of each other’s body and their familiar, comforting scent.
‘Maybe you could stop scaring me now?’ Agneta tells him as they break the embrace.
‘Sorry,’ he says, following her through to the kitchen. ‘I actually got a bit of a fright myself. I was thinking: this is it, I’m going to be beaten to death now, have my head lopped off .?.?.’
‘Did you see her? Was it the killer?’ she asks, her voicetrembling.
‘I don’t know. I felt a crack on the head and I dropped like a rock.’
‘So someone hit you?’
