Joona tries to call Pontus Salman back to shore. The rowing boat glides farther away. Joona runs from the dock to the meet the psychologist and the two colleagues from Södertälje. He accompanies them back to the dock and tells them to be careful, but he doesn’t believe that Pontus Salman is a danger to himself or others.
“But keep him in custody,” Joona says. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.” He hurries back to his car.
As Joona drives over the bridge over Fittjaviken, he reflects on Pontus Salman and how Salman sat in the rowing boat and told Joona how he was convinced that Axel Riessen would want to sign the Paganini contract.
Joona had asked Salman if Riessen could refuse, but he said that Riessen would not want to.
As he dials the number for Axel Riessen, Joona can see Veronique Salman in his mind’s eye. The disappointed expression around her mouth and the fear in her eyes as she described how once one had kissed Raphael Guidi on the hand, there was no way out.
Those words, the ‘nightmare’, keep returning, Joona thinks. Palmcrona’s housekeeper had used it. Veronique Salman had said that Raphael made sure that everyone would tell him their worst nightmare and Pontus Salman had said that Palmcrona had avoided his nightmare by committing suicide.
Pontus had said, He was able to escape reaping his nightmare.
Joona reflects on the fact that Stefan Bergkvist never knew that Carl Palmcrona was his father. He thinks about the unbearable heat that burned the flesh right off the bones and made the blood boil—the heat that burst the boy’s skull.
You can’t break a Paganini contract even if you die.
Joona tries again to reach Axel Riessen on the phone and then tries the direct number to the ISP.
“Can you connect me to Axel Riessen?” he asks quickly.
“I’m sorry. He is not reachable at the moment,” the receptionist replies.
“I’m a detective with the police and I need to speak to him right away.”
“I understand, but—”
“Interrupt him if he’s in a meeting.”
“He’s not here,” she replies, raising her voice. “He hasn’t come in this morning, and we haven’t been able to reach him by phone.”
“Now I know,” Joona says while hanging up.
Joona parks his Volvo on Brahegatan outside the gate to Axel Riessen’s mansion. The massive front door is just swinging shut as he approaches, and he races to ring the bell. The lock rattles and the door is reopened.
“Hello there,” Robert Riessen says as he sees Joona.
“Is Axel at home?”
“He should be, but I just got here,” Robert replies. “Has something happened?”
“I’ve been trying to reach him.”
“Me, too,” Robert says, and he lets Joona inside.
They walk up a half staircase and enter a large foyer dominated by an elaborate rose-coloured glass-armed chandelier. Robert knocks on the door and then walks right into Axel’s residence. They both hurry up to the private apartment in silence.
“Axel!” Robert yells.
They look around, going from room to room. Everything appears normal—the stereo system is on but no sound comes out, and a volume of the Encyclopaedia Britannica is lying open on the dictionary stand.
“Do you know if he was planning to travel?” Joona asks.
“No,” Robert replies, but there’s an odd exhaustion in his voice. “He does so many strange things.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You think you know somebody and … well, who knows.”
Joona walks into the bedroom and takes a quick look around. He sees a large oil painting leaning against the wall with its back facing the room and a puffy white dandelion past its bloom placed in a whisky glass, and he notices an unmade bed and a book.
Robert has already left the room and started down the stairs. Joona follows him down and to the large kitchen.