Читать книгу Stalker - Ларс Кеплер - Страница 37

Joona and Margot have taken their shoes off and are standing looking through a pane of glass. The room inside is warm and damp.

‘I’ve tested for allergens, and it turns out that I’m allergic to mindfulness,’ she says.

To the strains of Indian music, about thirty perspiring women are moving with mechanical symmetry on their yoga mats.

Margot got five officers to check through Maria Carlsson’s Internet traffic once more: her email, Facebook and Instagram accounts. The stud in her tongue is only visible in a few pictures, and is only mentioned by one of her friends on Facebook before all communication between them ceased.

‘You got lick it, before we kick it. Me too wanna pierce my tongue.’

The woman who had posted that was called Linda Bergman, and she was an instructor in Bikram yoga in the centre of Stockholm. They were in very regular contact for six months before she suddenly unfriended Maria.

Linda Bergman emerges from the staffroom dressed in jeans and a grey sweater. She’s suntanned, and has quickly showered and put on some make-up.

‘Linda? I’m Margot Silverman,’ Margot says, shaking the woman’s hand.

‘You didn’t say what this was about, and I can honestly say that I have absolutely no idea,’ she says.