Titus realises that he has gone down the wrong track. It is ridiculous to try to follow other people’s recipes to create a bestseller. He could read all the bestselling books in the world without being able to find a pattern. No, he must find The Best Book in the World within himself.
Now he is the little boy at the woman’s bosom again. He licks away his milk moustache and waves goodbye to Eddie and his crazy dad.
Quick recap. What has he got?
He has an overweight and charismatic detective chief inspector who has cracked an important slimming code and will soon change the world’s view of leadership. On top of that, he has a polished serial killer, a frightfully tasty pizza and the best artist in the world throughout the ages, his soul mate Salvador Dali. Plus lots of good ideas and a synopsis that will soon overflow from his brain. Wonderful.
Time to go to work.
CHAPTER 14
Serial Salvador
Serial Salvador. He had seen the name on the placards for several weeks now. It was repulsive. A way of simplifying and uglifying. His task was much more beautiful than that. His art would not fit on a newspaper placard. His art would not fit in a museum or an art hall. They would get to see. They would feel it.
Sure, there had been artists before him who had worked in his spirit. The American photographer Andres Serrano, for example: his photos of dead people in mortuaries were dazzlingly beautiful. Murdered gang members and innocent mugging victims. Naked, broken, bloody and seductive. Serrano’s pictures were hated by some, loved by others. But was it art? Wasn’t it simply documentation of the art works of others? Somebody had killed another person deliberately, perhaps for revenge or some other desire.
It must surely be the person who triggers the experience who is the artist, not the one who experiences it, looks at it or just consumes it? Serrano portrayed experiences, he didn’t create them. Did that make him an artist? Or was he just a tool in the service of the murderers? A paintbrush, a canvas, a palette with paint. Yes, it must have been the murderers who were the real originators.
Serial Salvador. He sniffed at the name. No, he would once and for all rub out the boundary between moral and immoral, between art and reality. When the crime-scene technicians from the police took pictures of his installations, those works of art became eternal. The police became Serrano-clones, obedient tools in his service. Without understanding it themselves, they became artists, public and critics at one and the same time. Shocked and in despair, they stood there and lit up his installations with their camera flashes. Dead and mutilated bodies hung up on weird crutches in the strangest of places. Men, women and children, nobody escaped. When the photos were subsequently spread between colleagues, prosecutors and media leaks, the whole world became his art hall. The guardians of morality became the foremost apostles of immorality. His art was spread at the speed of light via TV, radio, the Internet and newspapers.
The person who spread it most and best of all was that slimmed-down Håkan Rink, who presided over press conferences and theorised about his offender profiles. It was repulsive. Repulsively delightful.
The days pass in the sign of mass murder. Titus has full sail. He is relaxed and writes at a furious pace.
Better to be obsessed than dependent.
Serial Salvador hangs people up on crutches.
Chief Inspector Håkan Rink is right on his tail.
CHAPTER 15
The Return of Fabian Nadersson
Sometimes Titus has to take a rest from his writing. Not because he wants to, but because the computer turns itself off at regular intervals. Astra has decided that Titus must rest now and then. Besides, he must stay sober as he has to use the BAC lock every time he wants to start working again.
Yes, Astra is a wise editor. The alcohol lock ensures that Titus slaves away at the computer when it is turned on. Each session lasts for exactly six hours. When the computer turns itself off, he can’t start it up again for two hours. As if out of respect for the computer and its sleep mode, Titus always puts the lid down and says ‘Sleep tight!’ During the breaks Titus manages to eat, rest and communicate with the outside world. He turns his mobile on and checks whether he has any messages. He rarely does.
Today the fridge is desolate. A half-eaten pizza tries to make itself look interesting through its transparent and greasy plastic container. It is unsuccessful. Titus sighs deeply and looks at the clock. Yes, he’s just got time to get down to the shop if he hurries.
Then the telephone rings. He answers angrily:
‘Yes? Titus Jensen here.’
‘Hello, Titus. This is Fabian Nadersson! Can you spare a minute?’
‘Hello… er, no, I’m just about to go shopping. What is it about? Wasn’t it you who tried to sell Mensa courses to me a while back?’
‘That’s right, Titus! We had a really nice offer there.’
‘Fabian Nadersson… what sort of name is that actually?’
‘It’s my name, Titus.’
‘But I mean Nadersson. Never heard it before.’
‘Exactly. I used to be called Andersson. Now I’m called Nadersson. A bit more personal. I feel very comfortable with it. That’s how it is, Titus. Can I tell you what is on my mind today?’
‘Do I have any choice?’
‘Haha. Of course you do, Titus. Obviously you have a choice. Today I’m phoning on behalf of the Multi-therapy Association.’
‘What did you say it was called? Multivitamin Association?’
‘Multi-therapy, Titus. Multi-therapy Association.’
‘And what on earth is that?’
‘Well, thank you for asking, Titus. I’ll tell you. The Multi-therapy Association offers solutions for motor-skill and mental blocks. The pedagogy assumes that all problems can be solved. Does that sound good?’
‘Good? It sounds ridiculous. What do you mean “all problems can be solved”? Can they go and do my shopping, the people in this association? I need milk and bread. And eggs. And quick as hell.’
‘Haha, nice one. No, multi-therapy is a form of treatment that deals with – for example – obsessive-compulsive disorder. What I can offer is an open house at a multi-therapist near you. On Saturday, the association has open house across the country. It is free to get information, and if you want you can then buy a test consultation which costs only four hundred and ninety-nine kronor for the first hour. Since you live in Stockholm, I can warmly recommend a visit to Dr Rolf on Valhallavägen. He has a very good reputation.’
‘What, is it free?’
‘Yes, the actual information is free. And the first hour is at the giveaway price of four hundred and ninety-nine kronor, as I said. Does that sound interesting?’
‘What do you mean? You don’t want to sell me anything, here and now?’
‘This conversation is a part of a national telemarketing campaign that the Multi-therapy Association is carrying out. You don’t need to buy anything. Shall I book you in for a free session now on Saturday? Shall we say at 10 o’clock at Valhallavägen 1?’
‘I’m not sure about that. Are you certain it won’t cost anything?’
‘Not an öre. Thank you, Titus, then that’s settled. You are booked in to see Dr Rolf on Saturday at 10 o’clock, Valhallavägen 1. Good luck!’
Titus shakes his head. Multi-therapy sounds New Age. If there’s anything that Titus dislikes, then it is incense and new spiritual things. At the same time, it will do him no harm to leave the flat for a couple of hours and gather some new impressions. He knows, too, that spiritual things sell like hotcakes, regardless of whether they are new or old. Who knows, perhaps he can get some ideas that Håkan Rink can use in his hunt for Serial Salvador. A good chief inspector must be an expert on relationships and therapy, he has always thought that. Now he’ll have the chance to learn some more.