The spider, p.1
The Spider, page 1
Lars Kepler would like to give readers advance warning that certain events and details from Lazarus and The Sandman are revealed in The Spider.
Contents
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
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright
Once upon a time, there was a serial killer by the name of Jurek Walter. He was more cruel, and he killed more people, than any other murderer in northern Europe.
The man who eventually brought his killing spree to an end was Detective Superintendent Joona Linna. Joona doesn’t believe in innate or metaphysical evil, and would probably suggest that Jurek had simply lost the part of his soul that enables a man to be human.
Only a handful of people knew of Jurek’s existence, but the majority would no doubt argue that the world became a better place without him.
Jurek Walter is now dead, but just because something is gone doesn’t mean it has disappeared entirely, as though it never existed. When something ceases to exist it leaves behind a dangerous void – a void that will eventually be filled in one way or another.
1
Margot Silverman hears the thudding of the horse’s hooves against the bark chips as it gallops along the illuminated trail.
The sky is dark, the August air cool.
The trees race by on either side of her, fading away into the night before reappearing in the glow of the next lamp post.
Margot is head of the National Crime Unit in Stockholm, and she goes riding in Värmdö, to the east of the capital, four times a week. It helps to clear her head and centre herself.
The horse charges along the narrow trail, and the quick pace makes her heart race.
She catches brief glimpses of things in her periphery: fallen trees, the far edge of the field, a damp sweater with a smiley face on it, draped over a barrier.
Margot leans forward and feels the breeze on her face.
The horse’s movements are asymmetrical as it gallops, its left hip higher than the right.
Each three-beat gait ends with its right front leg pushing off from the ground, followed by a moment of suspension.
In those few seconds as they fly through the air, she feels a tingle in her thighs.
Catullus is a Swedish warmblood gelding with long legs and a powerful neck, and Margot needed only to shift her outside leg back and push her hip forward to help spur him into a gallop.
Her braid thuds against her back each time his hooves hit the ground.
She sees a deer bolt across a clearing through the swaying ferns.
The lights are broken on the last part of the trail, and Margot can no longer see the ground in front of her. She closes her eyes and puts her faith in Catullus, allowing herself to be carried forward.
When she opens her eyes, she spots the bright stable between the trees and slows to an extended trot.
Margot’s chest and back are sweaty, and she can feel the lactic acid burning in her muscles after an hour’s interval training.
She walks Catullus in through the gates and dismounts.
It is almost 11 p.m., and Margot’s silver Citroën is the only car still parked outside the stable block.
She leads the horse through the darkness towards the building. His bit clinks, hooves beating softly against the dry, trampled grass.
From one of the stalls inside, she hears a couple of loud thuds.
Catullus stops dead, lifting his head and pulling back slightly.
‘Hey, what’s up?’ Margot asks, squinting into the darkness between the tractor and the nettles.
The horse is afraid, exhaling heavily through his nostrils. She strokes his neck and tries to coax him towards the stable, but he refuses to budge.
‘What’s going on, buddy?’
He shudders and veers sharply to one side, as though he is about to bolt.
‘Whoa-oh-ho.’
Margot grips the reins and firmly leads him in a half-circle, through the tall meadow grass and out onto the gravel. The lights outside the stable block give everything nearby three sharp shadows.
Catullus snorts and lowers his head.
Margot squints at the end of the building, and though she can’t see anything, she shudders.
Once they are safely inside the bright stable building, she takes off her helmet. The tip of her nose is red, her blonde braid heavy against the back of her quilted jacket. Above the tops of her long boots her jodhpurs are dirty.
The smell of hay and manure hangs heavy in the air.
The other horses are quiet as she leads Catullus to the wash stall, takes off his saddle and hangs it up in the heated tack room.
A couple of stirrups clink against the wooden wall.
Her first job is to rinse Catullus down and give him a blanket, then she needs to take him to his stall, feed him, give him a little extra salt and turn out the lights before heading home.
She reaches into her pocket to make sure she hasn’t lost her father’s old hip flask. She uses it for hand sanitiser rather than liquor – not because it’s especially practical but because it brings her luck and amuses her.
The door onto the yard creaks, and Margot feels a rush of unease. She steps out into the main area and peers towards the front of the building.
She hears Catullus shuffling in the wash stall behind her. The hose is dripping, a dark trickle of water flowing around the sweat scraper towards the drain.
Several of the other horses snort, their hooves striking the ground, while the electrical cabinet on the wall emits a low hum.
‘Hello?’ says Margot.
She holds her breath, standing perfectly still with her eyes on the door and the dark window for a moment before turning back to Catullus.
She can see the ceiling light mirrored in the curve of his black eye.
Margot hesitates, then takes out her phone and calls Johanna. Her wife doesn’t pick up, and she feels a knot of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. For the past two weeks, Margot has had the sense that someone is watching her. She even began to wonder whether Special Investigations or the Security Service has her under surveillance. She isn’t a paranoid person, but a number of anonymous calls and a pair of missing earrings have left her wondering whether she or Johanna have themselves a stalker.
Margot tries calling again. The phone rings and rings, but right as the voicemail is about to kick in, she hears a crackling sound.
‘Drenched and naked,’ Johanna answers.
Margot smiles. ‘How do I always manage to call at the right time?’
‘Hang on, let me put you on speakerphone.’
Something rustles and the background noise changes. An image of a nude Johanna, standing in the middle of their brightly lit bedroom, fully visible from the apple orchard outside, flashes through Margot’s mind.
‘Sorry, I’m just drying off,’ says Johanna. ‘Are you on your way back?’
‘Need to give the little man a quick hose down first.’
‘Remember to drive ca refully.’
Margot can hear Johanna rubbing herself with a towel as they talk. ‘Make sure you close the curtains and check the door is locked,’ she says.
‘It’s like we’re in Scream. You’re watching me from the garden right now, aren’t you? And by the time I manage to lock the door, you’ll already be in the house.’
‘This isn’t funny.’
‘OK, boss.’
‘Ugh, I don’t want to be the boss anymore; I’m no good at it. I was fine as a detective, even if I was a bit cocky, but now that I’m in charge—’
‘Stop,’ Johanna interrupts her. ‘I’d have you as my boss any day.’
‘Oh la la,’ Margot laughs, her mood improving.
She hears Johanna lower the blind, the cord clinking against the radiator.
‘Put the blue lights on and come home,’ Johanna tells her. Her voice sounds faint, distant.
‘Were you able to get the girls into bed?’
‘Yeah, although Alva asked me whether you like your horse more than you like her.’
‘Ouch,’ Margot says, laughing.
The minute they hang up, the feeling of unease comes creeping back up on her. She can still hear a faint clinking sound, which continues for a moment or two before stopping. It must be coming from somewhere in the stable building, Margot thinks. It sounds like when the buckets hanging in the aisle knock together.
One of the horses pushes up against the wall, making it creak.
Margot turns towards the door.
It looks like someone tall is trying to hide in the shadows over by the feed room. The rational side of her knows it’s just the cabinet where they keep the brooms, but it seems to be standing much further out than usual.
The wind barrels over the metal roof, shaking the windowpanes.
Margot walks down the aisle. She sees the bars of the stalls flickering at the edge of her vision, heavy horseheads gleaming in the light’s glow.
She has to make a real effort to stop herself calling Johanna again to ask her to double check the outside door; the kids always have trouble bolting it properly. All she is going to do is see to Catullus, drive home, take a shower, and crawl into her nice, warm bed to go to sleep.
The light flickers and dims.
Margot stops to listen, peering past the wash stall to the changing room.
The stable block is quiet, but then she hears a rapid ticking sound, like something metal rolling across the floor.
She turns around, but the noise stops. She can’t tell where it was coming from.
Margot steadies herself against one of the stalls and peers over to the main door.
She hears the ticking again, getting closer and closer now behind her.
Catullus anxiously raises his head, and Margot feels something slam into her back. One of the horses must have kicked her, she thinks as she falls.
The world disappears for a moment, and she hears a roaring sound in her ears.
Margot is lying face down on the floor, her lips and forehead bleeding where they struck the concrete. She feels a strange burning, tugging sensation in her spine, and can smell something sharp in the air.
As it dawns on Margot that someone has just fired a gun at her, her ears start ringing. The horses are frightened, shifting in their stalls, bumping against the walls, stamping their feet and snorting.
She has been shot, she thinks.
‘Oh God, oh God . . .’
She needs to get up, drive home and tell her daughters that she loves them more than anything.
She hears footsteps, and feels a sudden jolt of fear.
There is a creaking sound, followed by the same clicking she heard earlier.
Margot’s lower body is numb, but she realises that she is being dragged towards the door by her legs.
Her hips scrape against the rough concrete.
Margot tries to cling to a trough of feed, but she is too weak.
A bucket tips over and rolls away.
Her jacket and undershirt ride up.
Her breathing is shallow, and she knows that the bullet must have hit her spine. Wave after wave of pain shoots up through her torso.
It feels like she’s been struck with an axe.
As she’s pulled across the floor, Margot feels like an animal being dragged away to slaughter, like a bark boat caught in a current, like a zeppelin floating above the fields.
She knows she can’t give up, that she has to keep fighting, but now she’s so weak she can no longer keep her head up.
Her face has been torn to shreds by the rough floor, and the last thing Margot notices before she loses consciousness is the slick trail of blood on the floor.
2
Lisa is standing with her back to the window, resting the cold glass in her hand on the window ledge. It’s the middle of the night, and she and two men are in a single-storey villa in Rimbo, around fifty kilometres north of Stockholm.
One of the men is in his fifties, wearing a suit and a pale blue shirt. His short hair is greying at the temples, and his neck seems stiff. He tosses the empty ice cube tray into the sink, pours some gin into a pitcher and then tops it off with tonic water.
The other man is in his early twenties, broad-shouldered and tall. He has a shaved head and is smoking a cigarette by the extractor fan.
Lisa says something and covers her mouth as she laughs.
The older of the two men leaves the kitchen, and the light in the bathroom comes on a moment later. From outside, his shadow is visible through the thin curtains.
Lisa has just turned twenty-nine, and she is wearing a pleated skirt and a silvery blouse that stretches over her breasts. Her dark hair is glossy. She was born with a cleft lip, and she has a pale scar above her mouth.
The younger man drops his spent cigarette into a beer can, moves over to Lisa and shows her something on his phone. He studies her reaction with a smile, says something and then pushes her hair back from her cheek.
She looks up and meets his eye, standing on tiptoe to give him a peck on the lips. His face turns serious, and he glances back towards the hallway before leaning in and giving her a deep kiss.
Saga Bauer watches through the display on her camera as the younger man reaches beneath Lisa’s skirt and cups her between the legs. Saga has been filming the villa from the neighbour’s garden for the past hour, perched on top of a wheelbarrow beside the tall fence. The light from the large windows in the kitchen and living room spills out onto the trunks of the pine trees and the cones scattered across the grass.
The older man reappears, pausing in the doorway, and the others break off their kiss and move towards him.
Saga rests her telephoto lens on top of the fence in order to get a sharper image, but the threesome have already made their way into the hall.
Lisa’s husband was in the same class as Saga at the police academy, and he ended up joining Norrmalm Police after graduating. He suspects his wife has been cheating on him while he works nights, but he hasn’t confronted her yet. Instead he got in touch with the detective agency where Saga now works. She warned him during their very first meeting that he might not actually want to know the truth, but he hired her anyway.
Lisa and the two men are now just outside the dark bedroom. Saga can’t see what they are doing, but their shadows are dancing across the skirting board and through the open doorway.
She double checks that the camera is still filming.
One of the men turns on the floor lamp by the bedside table. All three have started stripping, and Lisa is standing with her back to the window. She tugs down her underwear, steps out of them and scratches her right buttock. Her tights have left a groove around her waist, and Saga can see a bruise on one of her calves.
The walls are the colour of honey, and the enormous bed has an ornate brass headboard. The bright lamp glares in the glass of a framed photograph of the boxer George Foreman, but when the younger of the two men sits down on the edge of the bed, he blocks out most of the light.
The older man lies down and takes a condom from the top drawer of the bedside table. Lisa moves over to him, straddles him and waits until he is ready.
She says something, and he grabs a yellow cushion from the floor and pushes it beneath his hips.
Lisa crawls upwards and kisses him on the chest and lips. Just as he is about to enter her, her face disappears into the shadows again.
The younger man is still sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to get himself hard enough to put on a condom.
The floor lamp by the bed starts rocking in time with Lisa’s movements, causing the golden tassels to shake.
Saga waits patiently for her face to come back into view. Unless she manages to capture her face on film during the act itself, Lisa can always deny she has been unfaithful. She could show remorse for kissing another man and claim she left the house just as the other woman arrived.
