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The nightmare / Lars Kepler ; translated from the Swedish by Laura A. Wideburg.

By: Contributor(s): Material type: TextTextLanguage: English Original language: Swedish Series: Killer instinct ; 2 | Kepler, Lars. Joona Linna ; 2.Publication details: London : Blue Door, 2012.Description: 500 pages ; 24 cmContent type:
  • text
Media type:
  • unmediated
Carrier type:
  • volume
ISBN:
  • 9780007414499
Subject(s): Genre/Form: Summary: On a summer night the dead body of a woman is found on board an abandoned pleasure boat drifting around in the Stockholm archipelago. Her lungs are filled with brackish water, but there are no traces of this water on her clothes or other parts of her body. Detective Inspector Joona Linna takes up the case.
Fiction notes: Click to open in new window
Holdings
Item type Current library Collection Call number Status Date due Barcode Item holds
Fiction Davis (Central) Library Fiction Collection Fiction Collection KEPL Available T00852634
Total holds: 0

Enhanced descriptions from Syndetics:

From the bestselling author of The Hypnotist comes the second high-octane thriller featuring Detective Inspector Joona Linna

First published in Swedish as Paganinikontraktet.

"He sees your darkest dreams then he makes them come true" --Cover

Sequel to: The hypnotist.

Sequel to: The hypnotist.

On a summer night the dead body of a woman is found on board an abandoned pleasure boat drifting around in the Stockholm archipelago. Her lungs are filled with brackish water, but there are no traces of this water on her clothes or other parts of her body. Detective Inspector Joona Linna takes up the case.

Translated from the Swedish.

Excerpt provided by Syndetics

The Nightmare By Lars Kepler HarperCollins Publishers Limited ISBN: 9780007414499 1 foreboding A cold shiver runs down Penelope Fernandez's spine. Her heart beats faster and she darts a look over her shoulder. Perhaps she feels a sense of foreboding of what's to come as her day progresses. In spite of the television studio's heat, Penelope's face feels chilled. Maybe the sensation is left over from her time in makeup when the cold powder puff was pressed to her skin and the peace-dove hair clip was taken out so they could rub in the mousse that would make her hair fall in serpentine locks. Penelope Fernandez is the spokesperson for the Swedish Peace and Reconciliation Society. Silently, she is being ushered into the newsroom and to her spotlighted seat across from Pontus Salman, CEO of the armaments manufacturer Silencia Defense AB. The news anchor Stefanie von Sydow is narrating a report on all the layoffs resulting from the purchase of the Bofors Corporation by British BAE Systems Limited. Then she turns to Penelope. "Penelope Fernandez, in several public debates you have been critical of the management of Swedish arms exports. In fact, you recently compared it to the French Angola-gate scandal. There, highly placed politicians and businessmen were prosecuted for bribery and weapons smuggling and given long prison sentences. But here in Sweden? We really haven't seen this, have we?" "Well, you can interpret this in two ways," replies Penelope. "Either our politicians behave differently or our justice system works differently." "You know very well," begins Pontus Salman, "that we have a long tradition of--" "According to Swedish law," Penelope says, "all manufacture and export of armaments are illegal." "You're wrong, of course," says Salman. "Paragraphs 3 and 6 of the Military Equipment Act," Penelope points out with precision. "We at Silencia Defense have already gotten a positive preliminary decision." Salman smiles. "Otherwise this would be a case of major weapons crimes and--" "But, we do have permission." "Don't forget the rationale for armaments--" "Just a moment, Penelope." Stefanie von Sydow stops her and nods to Pontus Salman, who's lifted his hand to signal that he wasn't finished. "All business transactions are reviewed in advance," he explains. "Either directly by the government or by the National Inspectorate of Strategic Products, if you know what that is." "France has similar regulations," says Penelope. "And yet military equipment worth eight million Swedish crowns landed in Angola despite the UN weapons embargo and in spite of a completely binding prohibition--" "We're not talking about France, we're talking about Sweden." "I know that people want to keep their jobs, but I still would like to hear how you can explain the export of enormous amounts of ammunition to Kenya? It's a country that--" "You have no proof," he says. "Nothing. Not one shred. Or do you?" "Unfortunately, I cannot--" "You have no concrete evidence?" asks Stefanie von Sydow. "No, but I--" "Then I think I'm owed an apology," says Pontus Salman. Penelope stares him in the eyes, her anger and frustration boiling up, but she tamps it down, stays silent. Pontus Salman smiles smugly and begins to talk about Silencia Defense's factory in Trollhättan. Two hundred new jobs were created when they were given permission to start production, he says. He speaks slowly and in elaborate detail, deftly truncating the time left for his opponent. As Penelope listens, she forces aside her anger by focusing on other matters. Soon, very soon, she and Björn will board his boat. They'll make up the arrow-shaped bed in the forecabin and fill the refrigerator and tiny freezer with treats. She conjures up the frosted schnapps glasses, and the platter of marinated herring, mustard herring, soused herring, fresh potatoes, boiled eggs, and hardtack. After they anchor at a tiny island in the archipelago, they'll set the table on the afterdeck and sit there eating in the evening sun for hours. * * * Penelope Fernandez walks out of the Swedish Television building and heads toward Valhallavägen. She wasted two hours waiting for a slot in another morning program before the producer finally told her she'd been bumped by a segment on quick tips for a summer tummy. Far away, on the fields of Gärdet, she can make out the colorful tents of Circus Maximus and the little forms of two elephants, probably very large. One raises his trunk high in the air. Penelope is only twenty-four years old. She has curly black hair cut to her shoulders, and a tiny crucifix, a confirmation present, glitters from a silver chain around her neck. Her skin is the soft golden color of virgin olive oil or honey, as a boy in high school said during a project where the students were supposed to describe one another. Her eyes are large and serious. More than once, she's heard herself described as looking like Sophia Loren. Penelope pulls out her cell phone to let Björn know she's on her way. She'll be taking the subway from Karlaplan station. "Penny? Is something wrong?" Björn sounds rushed. "No, why do you ask?" "Everything's set. I left a message on your machine. You're all that's missing." "No need to stress, then, right?" As Penelope takes the steep escalator down to the subway platform, her heart begins to beat uneasily. She closes her eyes. The escalator sinks downward, seeming to shrink as the air becomes cooler and cooler. Penelope Fernandez comes from La Libertad, one of the largest provinces in El Salvador. She was born in a jail cell, her mother attended by fifteen female prisoners doing their best as midwives. There was a civil war going on, and Claudia Fernandez, a doctor and activist, had landed in the regime's infamous prison for encouraging the indigenous population to form unions. Penelope opens her eyes as she reaches the platform. Her claustrophobic feeling has passed. She thinks about Björn waiting for her at the motorboat club on Långholmen. She loves skinny-dipping from his boat, diving straight into the water, seeing nothing but sea and sky. She steps onto the subway, which rumbles on, gently swaying, until it breaks out into the open as it reaches the station at Gamla Stan and sunlight streams in through the windows. Like her mother, Penelope is an activist and her passionate opposition to war and violence led her to get her master's in political science at Uppsala University with a specialty in peace and conflict resolution. She's worked for the French aid organization Action Contre la Faim in Darfur, southern Sudan, with Jane Oduya, and her article for Dagens Nyheter , on the women of the refugee camp and their struggles to regain normalcy after every attack, brought broad recognition. Two years ago, she followed Frida Blom as the spokesperson for the Swedish Peace and Reconciliation Society. Leaving the subway at the Hornstull station, Penelope feels uneasy again, extremely uneasy, without knowing why. She runs down the hill to Söder Mälarstrand, then walks quickly over the bridge to Långholmen and follows the road to the small harbor. The dust she kicks up from the gravel creates a haze in the still air. Björn's boat is in the shade directly underneath Väster Bridge. The movement of the water dapples the gray girders with a network of light. Penelope spots Björn on the afterdeck. He's got on his cowboy hat, and he stands stock-still, shoulders bent, with his arms wrapped closely about him. Sticking two fingers in her mouth, she lets loose a whistle, startling him, and he turns toward her with a face naked with fear. And it's still there in his eyes when she climbs down the stairs to the dock. "What's wrong?" she asks. "Nothing," he answers, as he straightens his hat and tries to smile. As they hug, she notices his hands are ice-cold and the back of his shirt is damp. "You're covered in sweat." Björn avoids her eyes. "It's been stressful getting ready to go." "Bring my bag?" He nods and gestures toward the cabin. The boat rocks gently under her feet and the air smells of lacquered wood and sun-warmed plastic. "Hello? Anybody home?" she asks, tapping his head. His clear blue eyes are childlike and his straw-colored hair sticks out in tight dreadlocks from under the hat. "I'm here," he says. But he looks away. "What are you thinking about? Where's your mind gone to?" "Just that we're finally heading off together," he answers as he wraps his arms around her waist. "And that we'll be having sex out in nature." He buries his lips in her hair. "So that's what you're dreaming of," she whispers. "Yes." She laughs at his honesty. "Most people ... women, I mean, think that sex outdoors is a bit overrated," she says. "Lying on the ground among ants and stones and--" "No. No. It's just like swimming naked," he insists. "You'll have to convince me," she teases. "I'll do that, all right." "How?" She's laughing as the phone rings in her cloth bag. Björn stiffens when he hears the signal. Penelope glances at the display. "It's Viola," she says reassuringly before answering. " Hola , Sis." A car horn blares over the line as her sister yells in its direction. " Fucking idiot ." "Viola, what's going on?" "It's over. I've dumped Sergei." "Not again!" Penelope says. "Yes, again," says Viola, noticeably depressed. "Sorry," Penelope says. "I can tell you're upset." "Well, I'll be all right I guess. But ... Mamma said you were going out on the boat and I thought ... maybe I could come, too, if you don't mind..." A moment of silence. "Sure, you can come, too," Penelope says, although she hears her own lack of enthusiasm. "Björn and I need some time to ourselves, but..." Copyright © 2010 by Lars Kepler Translation copyright © 2012 by Laura A. Wideburg Excerpted from The Nightmare by Lars Kepler All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher. Excerpted from The Nightmare by Lars Kepler All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

Reviews provided by Syndetics

Library Journal Review

On a June night, a pleasure boat is found drifting on a bay in the Stockholm archipelago; its only passenger is a young woman who drowned although her clothes are dry. The next day a well-dressed man is discovered hanging from a lamp hook in his apartment, an apparent suicide. There seems to be no connection between the cases until Insp. Joona Linna identifies the victims. The dead woman is the sister of Penelope Fernandez, a well-known peace activist, and the hanged man is Carl Palmcrona, a government official in charge of approving Sweden's arms exports. Now Joona must race to find Penelope before a ruthless killer does. Verdict As in The Hypnotist, Kepler (a husband-and-wife writing team) displays a sharp talent for intricate multistrand plotting and nail-biting suspense. The scenes of Penelope and her boyfriend trying to escape their single-minded pursuer on a remote island are almost unbearable in their gripping tension, yet the reader can't stop turning the pages. Unfortunately, the gothic creepiness and shocking violence turn cartoonish when the villain is finally confronted in an unbelievable and ridiculous denouement that comes out of a bad James Bond movie. Still, fans of Swedish crime fiction may enjoy, although they will hate themselves for wasting precious vacation reading time after finishing this disappointing thriller. [See Prepub Alert, 1/21/12; previewed in Kristi Chadwick's "Crime Travels" spotlight feature, LJ 4/15/12.-Ed.]-Wilda Williams, Library Journal (c) Copyright 2012. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Publishers Weekly Review

Scandinavian sleuth Joona Linna of the National Homicide Squad has a way with odd murder cases, and in Kepler's latest, he faces two real puzzlers. A young woman is found dead on a deserted yacht, her lungs full of water, but her body and clothes dry as a bone. The following day, a government official is discovered in his Stockholm apartment hanging from a high rafter, an apparent suicide-except there is no furniture in the room on which he could have made his fatal climb. Narrator Mark Bramhall smoothly handles tongue-twisting Nordic names, and sets a pace that allows the listener to properly process the often-perplexing events without diminishing their chilling effect. He also provides a variety of appropriate voices for a large cast that includes a surprisingly emotional antiterrorist expert, a frightened young peace activist on the run from an unstoppable assassin, and the evil mastermind behind the deaths. An FSG/Sarah Crichton hardcover. (July) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

Booklist Review

In this follow-up to The Hypnotist (2009), icy Swedish inspector Joona Linna investigates two murders, and nothing is as it seems. People are already feeling a bit disoriented, for it's June in Sweden, when the sun shines more than 20 hours a day. A young woman is found dead, having drowned but inside a boat where there is no water. A high-profile government-agency head is found hanging in his apartment, an apparent suicide yet the ceiling beams are far too high for him to have done it alone. The killings are obviously the work of a professional assassin, yet Linna easily finds mistakes at the scenes were the mistakes leftdeliberately? As she gets further into the investigations, a web of blackmail, international politics, bureaucracy, and stick with it classical-music theory emerges. While the plot is overstuffed and the pacing is stiff, Kepler (a pseudonym for husband-and-wife team Alexander and Alexandra Ahndoril) creates a terrific, almost palpable atmosphere, which is sure to please fans of Swedish crime fiction.--Vnuk, Rebecca Copyright 2010 Booklist

Kirkus Book Review

Aren't Swedes supposed to be nice socialists? Not if they're arms dealers, the milieu of this latest whodunit by the Stockholm couple who writes as Lars Kepler (The Hypnotist, 2011). Scene one: The sister of a Central American peace activist, her skin "the soft golden color of virgin olive oil or honey," is brutally murdered. The activist's boyfriend, it seems, may know why. But then comes scene two: The director of the National Inspectorate of Strategic Products--for which read weaponry--turns up dead, too, dispatched most brutally. Mulls the investigating officer, "Joona. I have to talk to Joona Linna immediately." Et voil: As world-weary as, if slightly less morose than, Henning Mankell's Kurt Wallander, Joona Linna, detective extraordinaire, is on the scene. Did we say extraordinaire? Yah, sure: As one cop recalls, "I'd say I'm fairly well versed in forensics...but Joona walked in, took a look at the blood spatters...He knew right away when each murder had occurred." Things don't go quite so smoothly for Joona this time around, though, as the novel's 500-plus pages might suggest. For one thing, those arms dealers are an oily, nasty, evil, sneering and altogether sinister bunch, even if they have nice haircuts and well-manicured nails. For another, there are countless red herrings in herring-rich Sweden. Suffice it to say that Kepler has a most pronounced penchant, la Larsson, for describing exceptionally nasty criminal behavior ("Answer me! You want me to shoot your wife again or rape your sister?"). And suffice it to say that when the bad guys are finally revealed, it's not a minute too soon--and not just because those 500-plus pages are 100-odd pages more than the story really calls for. Overall, less expertly told and deeply layered than a Henning Mankell yarn, less politically charged than a Stieg Larsson caper, and less well-written than any of Janwillem van de Wetering's procedurals down Holland way--but still a satisfying thriller.]] Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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