The Fire Witness
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- Жанр: зарубежная психология, зарубежные детективы, современная зарубежная литератураРедактировать
THE FIRE WITNESS
LARS KEPLER
Translated from the Swedish by Neil Smith
Copyright
This is entirely a work of fiction. Any references to real people, living or dead, real events, businesses, organizations and localities are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. All names, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2013
Copyright © Lars Kepler 2011
Translation copyright © Neil Smith 2018
All rights reserved
Originally published in 2011 by Albert Bonniers Förlag, Sweden, as Eldvittnet
Lars Kepler asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work
Cover design © Claire Ward HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Cover photography © Svetlana Bekyarova/Arcangel Images
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books
Ebook Edition © APRIL 2018 ISBN: 9780007467761
SOURCE ISBN: 9780008241834
Version: 2018-02-21
International Praise for Lars Kepler:
‘A terrifying and original read’ Sun
‘A rollercoaster ride of a thriller full of striking twists’ Mail on Sunday
‘Sensational’ Lee Child
‘An international book written for an international audience’ Huffington Post
‘Ferocious, visceral storytelling that wraps you in a cloak of darkness. It’s stunning’ Daily Mail
‘One of the best – if not the best – Scandinavian crime thrillers I’ve read’ Sam Baker, Red
‘A creepy and compulsive crime thriller’ Mo Hayder
‘Intelligent, original and chilling’ Simon Beckett
‘Mesmerizing … a bad dream that takes hold and won’t let go’ Wall Street Journal
‘One of the most hair-raising crime novels published this year’ Sunday Times
‘Grips you round the throat until the final twist’ Woman & Home
‘A serious, disturbing, highly readable novel that is finally a meditation on evil’ Washington Post
‘A genuine chiller … deeply scarifying stuff’ Independent
‘Far above your average thriller … you’ll be terrified’ Evening Standard
‘A pulse-pounding debut that is already a native smash’ Financial Times
‘The cracking pace and absorbing story mean it cannot be missed’ Courier Mail
‘Utterly outstanding’ Morgenavisen Jyllands-Posten, Denmark
‘Disturbing, dark and twisted’ Easy Living
‘Creepy and addictive’ She
‘Brilliant, well written and very satisfying. A superb thriller’ De Telegraaf, Netherlands
and all liars shall have their part in the lake
which burneth with fire and brimstone
Revelations 21:8
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
International Praise for Lars Kepler
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
Chapter 116
Chapter 117
Chapter 118
Chapter 119
Chapter 120
Chapter 121
Chapter 122
Chapter 123
Chapter 124
Chapter 125
Chapter 126
Chapter 127
Chapter 128
Chapter 129
Chapter 130
Chapter 131
Chapter 132
Chapter 133
Chapter 134
Chapter 135
Chapter 136
Chapter 137
Chapter 138
Chapter 139
Chapter 140
Chapter 141
Chapter 142
Chapter 143
Chapter 144
Chapter 145
Chapter 146
Chapter 147
Chapter 148
Chapter 149
Chapter 150
Chapter 151
Chapter 152
Chapter 153
Chapter 154
Chapter 155
Chapter 156
Chapter 157
Chapter 158
Chapter 159
Chapter 160
Chapter 161
Chapter 162
Chapter 163
Chapter 164
Chapter 165
Chapter 166
Chapter 167
Chapter 168
Chapter 169
Chapter 170
Chapter 171
Chapter 172
Chapter 173
Chapter 174
Chapter 175
Chapter 176
Chapter 177
Chapter 178
Chapter 179
Chapter 180
Chapter 181
Chapter 182
Chapter 183
Chapter 184
Chapter 185
Chapter 186
Chapter 187
Chapter 188
Chapter 189
Chapter 190
Chapter 191
Chapter 192
Chapter 193
Chapter 194
Chapter 195
Read on for an Exclusive Extract From the Next Joona Linna Thriller, The Sandman
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About the Author
Also by Lars Kepler
About the Publisher
A medium is a person who claims to have a paranormal gift, an ability to see connections beyond accepted scientific parameters.
Some mediums offer contact with the dead through spiritualist seances, while others offer guidance with the help of Tarot cards, for instance.
Trying to contact the dead through a medium is a practice that reaches a long way back through human history. A thousand years before the birth of Christ, King Saul of Israel attempted to ask the spirit of the dead prophet Samuel for advice.
All over the world the police seek the help of mediums and spiritualists with complex cases. This happens many times every year, even though there isn’t a single documented case of a medium contributing to solving a case.
1
Elisabet Grim is fifty-one years old and her hair is peppered with grey. She has cheerful eyes, and when she smiles you can see that one of her front teeth sticks out a bit further than the other.
Elisabet works as a nurse at the Birgitta Home, a children’s care home north of Sundsvall. It’s a privately-run home, and takes girls aged between twelve and seventeen who have been placed in care.
Many of the girls have problems with drugs when they arrive, almost all have a history of self-harm and eating disorders, and several of them are very violent.
There aren’t really any alternatives to secure children’s homes with alarmed doors, barred windows, and airlocks. The next step is usually adult prison and compulsory psychiatric care, but the Birgitta Home is one of the few exceptions, offering girls a path back to open care homes.
Elisabet likes to say that the Birgitta Home is where the good girls end up.
She picks up the last piece of dark chocolate, puts it in her mouth and feels its blend of sweetness and bitterness tingle on her tongue.
Slowly her shoulders start to relax. It’s been a difficult evening, even though the day started so well: lessons in the morning, and swimming in the lake after lunch.
After supper the housekeeper went home, leaving her on her own at the home.
The number of night staff was cut four months after the Blancheford holding company bought the care business of which the Birgitta Home forms a part.
The residents were allowed to watch television until ten. She spent the evening in the nurses’ office, and was trying to catch up with her journal entries when she heard angry shouting. She hurried to the TV room where she found Miranda attacking little Tuula. She was yelling that Tuula was a cunt and a whore, and dragged her off the sofa to kick her in the back.
Elisabet is starting to get used to Miranda’s violent outbursts. She rushed in and pulled her away from Tuula, earning herself a blow on the cheek, and she had to shout at Miranda about this being clearly unacceptable behaviour. Without any discussion she led Miranda away to the isolation room along the corridor.
Elisabet said goodnight, but Miranda didn’t answer. She just sat on the bed staring at the floor, and smiled to herself when Elisabet closed and locked the door.
The new girl, Vicky Bennet, was booked for an evening conversation, but there was no time because of the trouble with Miranda and Tuula. Vicky tentatively pointed out that it was her turn, and got upset when she was told it would have to be postponed, smashed a cup, then slashed her stomach and wrists with one of the fragments.
When Elisabet came in, Vicky was sitting with her hands in front of her face and blood running down her arms.
Elisabet bathed the cuts, which turned out to be superficial, put a plaster on her stomach, and bandaged her wrists, then sat and comforted her until she saw a little smile. For the third night in a row she gave the girl ten milligrams of Sonata so that she’d get some sleep.
2
All the residents are asleep now, and the Birgitta Home is quiet. There’s a light on in the office window, making the world outside seem impenetrable and black.
With a deep frown on her face, Elisabet is sitting in front of the computer writing up the evening’s events in the journal.
It’s almost midnight, and she realises that she hasn’t even found time to take her evening pill. Her little habit, she likes to joke. The combination of nights on call and exhausting day-shifts have ruined her sleep. She usually takes ten milligrams of Stilnoct at ten o’clock so that she can be asleep by eleven and get at least a few hours’ rest.
The September darkness has settled on the forest, but the smooth surface of Himmelsjön is still visible, shining like mother-of-pearl.
At last she can switch the computer off and take her pill. She pulls her cardigan tighter around her and thinks how nice a glass of red wine would be. She’s longing for a chance to sit in bed with a book and a glass of wine, reading and chatting with Daniel.
But she’s on call tonight, and will be sleeping in the little overnight room.
She jumps when Buster suddenly starts barking out in the yard. He sounds so agitated that she gets goosebumps on her arms.
It’s late, she should be in bed.
She’s usually asleep by now.
The room turns darker when the computer shuts down. Suddenly everything seems incredibly quiet. Elisabet becomes aware of the sounds she herself is making. The sigh of the office chair when she stands up, the tiles creaking as she walks over to the window. She tries to see out, but the glass just reflects her own face, the office with its computer and phone, the yellow and green patterned walls.
Suddenly she sees the door slip open behind her.
Her heart starts to beat faster. The door was only just ajar, but now it’s half-open. There must be a draught, she tries to tell herself. The wood-burning stove in the dining room always seems to pull in a lot of air.
Elisabet feels peculiarly anxious, and fear starts to creep through her veins. She daren’t turn around, just stares into the dark window at the reflection of the door behind her back.
She listens to the silence, to the computer, which is still ticking.
In an attempt to shake off her unease, she reaches out her hand and switches off the lamp in the window, then turns around.
Now the door is wide open.
A shiver runs down her spine.
The lights are on in the corridor leading to the dining room and the girls’ rooms. She leaves the office, intending to check that the vents on the stove are closed, when she suddenly hears whispers from one of the bedrooms.
3
Elisabet stands still, listening as she looks out into the corridor. At first she can’t hear anything, then there it is again. A slight whisper, so faint that it’s barely audible. ‘It’s your turn to close your eyes,’ a voice whispers.
Elisabet stands perfectly still, staring off into the darkness. She blinks several times, but can’t see anyone there.
She has time to think that it must be one of the girls talking in her sleep when she hears a strange noise. Like someone dropping an overripe peach on the floor. And then another one. Heavy and wet. A table leg scrapes as it moves, then another two peaches fall to the floor.
Elisabet catches a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye. A shadow slipping past. She turns around, and sees that the door to the dining room is slowly swinging closed.
‘Wait,’ she says, even though she tells herself it was just the wind again.
She hurries over and grabs the handle, but meets a peculiar resistance. There’s a brief tug-of-war before the door simply glides open.
Elisabet walks into the dining room, very warily, trying to scan the room with her eyes. The scratched table stands out in the darkness. She moves slowly towards the stove, sees her own movement reflected in its closed brass doors.
The flue is still radiating heat.
Suddenly there’s a crackling, knocking sound behind the stove doors. She takes a step back and bumps into a chair.
It’s only a piece of firewood falling against the inside of the doors. The room is completely empty.
She takes a deep breath and walks out of the dining room, closing the door behind her. She starts to head back towards the corridor where her overnight room is, but stops again and listens.
She can’t hear anything from the girls’ rooms. There’s an acrid smell in the air, metallic, almost. She looks for movement in the dark corridor, but everything is still. Even so, she is drawn in that direction, towards the row of unlocked doors. Some of them seem to be ajar, while others are closed.
On the right-hand side of the corridor are the bathrooms, and then an alcove containing the locked door to the isolation room where Miranda is sleeping.
The peephole in the door glints gently.
Elisabet stops and holds her breath. A high voice is whispering something in one of the rooms, but falls abruptly silent when Elisabet starts to move again.
‘Quiet, now,’ she says.
Her heart starts to beat harder when she hears a series of rapid thuds. It’s hard to localise them, but it sounds like Miranda is lying in bed kicking the wall with her bare feet. Elisabet is about to go and check on her through the peephole in the door when she sees that there’s someone standing in the alcove. There’s someone there.
She lets out a gasp and starts to back away, with a dream-like sense of wading through water.
She realises at once how dangerous the situation is, but fear makes her slow.
Only when the floor of the corridor creaks does the impulse to run for her life finally manifest itself.
The figure in the darkness suddenly moves very quickly.
She turns and starts to run, hearing footsteps behind her. She slips on the rag-rug, and knocks her shoulder against the wall, but keeps moving.
A soft voice is telling her to stop, but she doesn’t, she runs, almost throwing herself along the corridor.
Doors fly open then bounce back.
In panic she rushes past the registration room, using the walls for support. The poster of the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child falls to the floor. She reaches the front door, fumbles, and manages to open it, shoves the door open and runs out into the cool night air, but slips on the porch steps. One of her legs folds beneath her as she lands awkwardly on her hip. The stabbing pain from her ankle makes her yell out loud. She slumps to the ground, then hears heavy steps in the porch, and starts to crawl away. She loses her indoor shoes as she struggles to her feet with a whimper.
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