The Hypnotist Read Online Free PDF Page B

leather and wood in the room. The sun shines playfully through the aquarium, casting dancing beams of undulant refracted light on the walls.
    “I want the Tumba case,” he says, coming straight to the point.
    The troubled expression takes over Carlos’s wrinkled, amiable face for a moment. He passes a hand through his thinning hair. “Petter Näslund rang me just now, and he’s right, this isn’t a matter for the National CID,” he says carefully.
    “I think it is,” insists Joona.
    “Only if the debt collection is linked to some kind of wider organized crime, Joona.”
    “This wasn’t about collecting a debt.”
    “Oh, no?”
    “The murderer attacked the father first. Then he went to the house to kill the family. His plan from the outset was to murder the entire family. He’s going to find the older daughter, and he’s going to find the boy. If he survives.”
    Carlos glances briefly at his aquarium, as if he were afraid the fish might hear something unpleasant. “I see,” he says. “And how do you know this?”
    “Because of the footprints in the blood at both scenes.”
    “What do you mean?”
    Joona leans forward. “There were footprints all over the place, of course, and I haven’t measured anything, but I got the impression that the footsteps in the locker room were . . . well, more lively, and the ones in the house were more tired.”
    “Here we go,” says Carlos wearily. “This is where you start complicating everything.”
    “But I’m right,” replies Joona.
    Carlos shakes his head. “I don’t think you are, not this time.”
    “Yes, I am.”
    Carlos turns. “Joona Linna is the most stubborn individual I’ve ever come across,” he tells his fish.
    “Why back down when I know I’m right?”
    “I can’t go over Petter’s head and give you the case on the strength of a hunch,” Carlos explains.
    “Yes, you can.”
    “Everybody thinks this was about gambling debts.”
    “You too?” asks Joona. “I do, actually.”
    “The footprints were more lively in the locker room because the man was murdered first,” insists Joona.
    “You never give up, do you?” asks Carlos.
    Joona shrugs his shoulders and smiles.
    “I’d better ring and speak to the path lab myself,” mutters Carlos, picking up the telephone.
    “They’ll tell you I’m right,” says Joona.
    Joona Linna knows he is a stubborn person; he needs this stubbornness to carry on. He cannot give up. Cannot. Long before Joona’s life changed to the core, before it was shattered into pieces, he lost his father.
    Maybe that’s when it all began.
    Joona’s father, Yrjö Linna, was a patrolling policeman in the district of Märsta. One day in 1979 he happened to be on the old Uppsalavägen a little way north of the Löwenström Hospital when Central Control got a call and sent him to Hammarbyvägen in Upplands Väsby. A neighbour had called the police and said the Olsson kids were being beaten again. Sweden had just become the first country to introduce a ban on the corporal punishment of children, and the police had been instructed to take the new law seriously. Yrjö Linna drove to the apartment block and pulled up outside the door, where he waited for his partner. After a few minutes the partner called; he was in a queue at Mama’s Hot Dog Stand, and besides, he said, he thought a man should have the right to show who was boss sometimes.
    Yrjö Linna never was one to talk much. He knew regulations dictated that there should always be two officers present at an incident of this kind, but he said nothing, although he was well aware that he had the right to expect support. He didn’t want to push, didn’t want to look like a coward, and he couldn’t wait. So, alone, Yrjö Linna mounted the stairs to the third floor and rang the doorbell.
    A little girl with frightened eyes opened the door. He told her to stay on the landing, but she shook her head and ran into the apartment. Yrjö Linna followed her and walked into