Ларс Кеплер

The Nightmare


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94: White, rustling plastic

      

       Chapter 95: Missing

      

       Chapter 96: Raphael Guidi

      

       Chapter 97: Escape

      

       Chapter 98: The prosecutor

      

       Chapter 99: Missing

      

       Chapter 100: Pontus Salman

      

       Chapter 101: The girl with dandelions

      

       Chapter 102: The other side of the picture

      

       Chapter 103: Closer

      

       Chapter 104: The nightmare

      

       Chapter 105: The witness

      

       Chapter 106: The father

      

       Chapter 107: The empty room

      

       Chapter 108: Loyalty

      

       Chapter 109: The contract

      

       Chapter 110: On board

      

       Chapter 111: Traitor

      

       Chapter 112: Automatic fire

      

       Chapter 113: The knife-blade

      

       Chapter 114: The final struggle

      

       Chapter 115: Conclusion

      

       Axel Riessen

      

       Beverly Andersson

      

       Penelope Fernandez

      

       Saga Bauer and Anja Larsson

      

       Disa Helenius

      

       Joona Linna

      

       Epilogue

      

       Read on for an exclusive extract from the next Joona Linna thriller, The Fire Witness:

       KEEP READING…

      

       About the Author

      

       Also by Lars Kepler

      

       About the Publisher

       Preface

      There’s no wind when the large leisure cruiser is found drifting in Jungfrufjärden in the southern part of the Stockholm archipelago one light evening. The water is a sleepy bluish-grey colour, and is moving as gently as fog.

      The old man in a rowing boat calls out a couple of times even though he has a feeling he’s not going to get any answer. He’s been watching the boat from shore for almost an hour as it’s been drifting slowly backwards on the offshore current.

      The man angles his rowing boat so that the side butts up against the motor cruiser. He pulls the oars in, ties the rowing boat to the swimming platform, climbs up the metal steps and over the railing. In the middle of the aft-deck is a pink sun-lounger. When he can’t hear anything he opens the glass door and goes down a few steps into the saloon. The large windows are casting a grey light across the polished teak interior and dark-blue upholstery of the sofa. He carries on down the steep wooden steps, past the dark galley and bathroom and into the large cabin. Pale light is filtering through the narrow windows up by the ceiling, illuminating the arrow-shaped double bed. Towards the top of the bed a young woman in a denim jacket is sitting against the wall in a limp, slumped posture with her legs wide apart and one hand resting on a pink cushion. She’s looking the old man straight in the eye with a bemused, anxious smile on her face.

      It takes a moment for the man to realise that the woman is dead.

      In her long, dark hair there’s a clasp in the shape of a dove, a peace dove.

      When the old man goes over and touches her cheek, her head topples forward and a thin stream of water trickles out of her mouth and down her chin.

       The word ‘music’ actually refers to the artistry of the muses, and comes from the Greek myth of the nine muses. All nine were the daughters of the great god Zeus and