The Flood

by Kristina Ohlsson

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Vendela said, worried that it had all been too much for Henry’s ex-wife. Vera was staring at a note on the fridge.

  ‘Look,’ she said, pointing. ‘Where’s that come from?’

  Vendela hadn’t been in Henry’s kitchen before, so she had no idea what belonged there and what didn’t. What was so strange about a note stuck on the fridge door?

  Vera’s eyes narrowed. ‘I was here a week ago. Henry and I had coffee on the balcony. And this note wasn’t there.’

  Vendela shrugged. ‘I guess it was something he thought about later.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, can’t you read?’ Vera sounded unexpectedly cross. ‘Something he thought about later? He didn’t even know anyone called Alex.’

  Vendela gave up and read the note. ‘So what do you want to do?’

  ‘I’m going to call the police, tell them what I’ve found.’

  Vendela thought that was probably a mistake, but then the police had more experience than she did when it came to brushing off old ladies with a bee in their bonnet.

  ‘I’ll call them as soon as I get home,’ Vera said firmly, turning her attention to the plants.

  Vendela read the message again; she couldn’t imagine why the police would be interested.

  Vera, however, was convinced.

  ‘There’s something about that Alex. I want to know who he is.’

  Vendela wasn’t sure what to say.

  ‘I suppose it can’t do any harm,’ she said eventually.

  ‘No indeed! Let’s see if they’ll listen to me.’

  Maybe she was supposed to feel sad, but Tina Antonsson felt only terror. She’d waited so long, hoping and believing that someone else would get there first. But the days passed, and the headlines didn’t appear.

  Missing Family – Has Anyone Seen Them?

  Tina hadn’t been able to shake off the sense that something was wrong after the last time she and Malin had spoken on the phone. Malin hadn’t called back as she’d promised; that just wasn’t like her. Tina had both texted and emailed, waited for a response. Nothing.

  It just didn’t fit.

  Tina hadn’t known what to do. She’d called the police, then hung up. She wasn’t the family’s next of kin; someone else must be doing something. The problem was that she and Malin didn’t have many mutual friends, so Tina had quickly realised that she was on her own when it came to making a decision. Eventually she’d gone to see Noah, even though she’d only met him a few times. It had been both wonderful and terrible. Wonderful because he shared her concern, terrible for the same reason. There was no going back. Malin and Dan were in danger, and only two people in the whole world had realised that: Tina and Noah.

  And now there was only Tina left. She’d heard the news about Noah’s murder the previous evening, and had been left paralysed with fear. The papers didn’t give Noah’s name, but she knew it was him.

  The police.

  She had to call the police.

  Noah had mentioned someone, said there was an officer who might be able to help them. Alex Recht. It was an unusual name, which was why Tina had remembered it.

  Alex Recht would listen when she told him what she thought had happened.

  Noah was trying to find his brother. Now he’s dead. And I’m wondering how long I’ll survive.

  She sat down on her sofa and called the main switchboard. The apartment door was double-locked, and all the windows were closed. She’d taken some annual leave; she had no intention of returning to work until life got back to normal.

  If it ever did.

  A young woman took her call.

  ‘I’d like to speak to Alex Recht,’ Tina began, unsure of how to pronounce the surname.

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Tina Antonsson. Tell him it’s about the murder of Noah Johansson, and it’s urgent.’

  After a lengthy wait she was informed that Alex Recht was unavailable.

  ‘I can put you through to another officer. He—’

  Tina interrupted. ‘I’d rather speak to Alex Recht.’

  ‘And we’d really like to know what you can bring to the investigation,’ the woman said. ‘Will you have a word with his colleague?’

  Tina gave in. After a few seconds she heard a man’s voice. He didn’t introduce himself, he simply said ‘Hello’ and waited for her to respond. Then he went on:

  ‘You’re calling about Noah Johansson.’

  ‘I know why he died,’ Tina said. ‘He was murdered by whoever’s abducted his brother’s family.’

  There was a long pause.

  ‘Noah’s brother is absolutely fine. He and his family are having a wonderful time in Australia,’ the officer said.

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘You said you had information about the murder?’

  ‘This is information about the murder! I went to see Noah the other day because I’m so worried about Malin and Dan. Noah felt the same, and now he’s dead.’

  Another, even longer pause. Tina had had enough.

  ‘Do what the fuck you want,’ she snapped. ‘I’m not giving up until I find them.’

  She ended the call, her heart pounding. She jumped to her feet, banging her knee on the coffee table.

  She couldn’t stay in the apartment, she had to get out.

  And she knew exactly where she was going.

  ‘Berlin told me to show you this,’ Torbjörn Ross said. ‘Hurry up, there’s something I have to do.’

  There was a whining note in his voice; he didn’t sound anywhere near as confident as when he’d first tried to drag Alex out of the meeting by issuing an order. Or maybe he’d prefer to keep what he’d found to himself.

  Alex stared at the green book Ross had handed him. I Am Putting Everything Right by Morgan Sander.

  ‘We found a copy at Malcolm Benke’s house,’ he said.

  ‘I know that,’ Ross snapped. ‘Do you think it’s a signature?’

  His tone was wary, and made Alex wonder what secrets he was hiding.

  ‘We’ve no idea.’ Alex hesitated, unsure of what he dared ask his colleague. Or what he really wanted to know.

  Are you the murderer we’re looking for, Ross? You seem to be the only one who knew everyone who’s involved.

  Alex coughed; the dry air was making his eyes itch too.

  ‘There is one thing I’ve been thinking about,’ he went on. ‘You said you were convinced Malcolm Benke had been murdered by his son.’

  ‘Did I?’

  Alex looked up.

  ‘Yes, you did. And I’ve been wondering how you could be so certain.’

  Ross shook his head.

  ‘You must have misunderstood. I had no opinion.’

  Alex waited for Ross to backtrack, but instead he took out his mobile and focused all his attention on the screen.

  Alex put down the book. ‘See you later.’

  He didn’t want to be alone with Ross. He decided to go and find a sensible person to talk to – Fredrika.

  ‘You’re always so fucking sure of yourself.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  Ross glanced up from his phone.

  ‘You and your burned hands – I don’t understand how you can be so fucking difficult. And I don’t understand how you can bear to be reminded of such an epic failure every single day.’

  He pointed to Alex’s scarred hands. Alex was deeply shocked; he couldn’t believe a colleague had just said something so grotesque.

  This is sick, he thought, turning away.

  Such an epic failure. Every single day.

  As if Ross could have done any better.

  ‘Hang on,’ Ross said, waving his phone around. ‘I just heard from our colleagues in Haiti.’

  ‘Haiti?’

  Alex had no desire to hang around.

  ‘They called yesterday, but I asked them to double-check a couple of things.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘Lovisa Wahlberg’s boyfriend
– the guy who got her involved in drugs. I thought it was strange that she’d been given a tattoo just like his before she died, and I wondered if it might have something to do with him. It was a long shot, but I wanted to be able to exclude him. Whichever way you look at it, our perpetrator must have known about the boyfriend’s tattoo.’

  Our perpetrator. Who could be you, Ross.

  ‘I’ve been thinking the same,’ Alex said slowly. ‘We can’t see a connection between the victims, but the killer knows a hell of a lot about them.’

  Ross ignored his comment.

  ‘So I contacted the narcotics team in Port-au-Prince, asked if they could put me in touch with Lovisa’s ex in jail. And that’s when I found out he’d died several years ago.’

  ‘Hardly surprising,’ Alex said. ‘Serving time in a place like that can’t be easy.’

  Ross gave him a supercilious look.

  ‘I’m well aware of that. Hardly surprising, you say. But you’re wrong. The guy didn’t die in jail. He absconded after being threatened for a long time. He owed money to several dealers, and asked for protection via his lawyer. He got nowhere, of course.’

  Alex waited, suspecting that there would be more twists and turns before Ross got to the point. He wasn’t wrong.

  ‘He didn’t get very far before they caught up with him. The police don’t know exactly what happened, but the day after he did a runner his body was found, badly beaten.’

  ‘Okay, so he definitely wasn’t involved in Lovisa’s murder,’ Alex said.

  ‘The debts weren’t just his,’ Ross went on. ‘They were Lovisa’s too.’

  Alex suppressed a sigh.

  ‘You think a drugs gang from the West Indies came over here to murder her?’

  ‘No, but I think they inspired our perpetrator when he was deciding how his victims should die. Although I’m not sure how that works.’

  Ross held up his phone so that Alex could see the screen.

  ‘Look at this, but make it quick. I’m in a hurry, I’ve got things to do.’

  Alex blinked, moved closer. Then he recoiled.

  ‘They found him on a private tennis court belonging to some guy who insisted the murder was nothing to do with him,’ Ross informed him.

  The image Alex had just seen was burned on his retina.

  The photograph on Ross’s phone showed a person who had been buried just below the surface of the tennis court, fingers and toes protruding. In the background was a lawn-mower spattered with rust-coloured stains.

  Why did the most important decisions always have to be taken when people were shocked and stressed? Fredrika had to decide what to do about what she thought she knew: that Spencer had written the letter Alex had found. That there was a faint chance Spencer could be the perpetrator they were looking for. It wasn’t a hard decision – she wasn’t going to say a word, not until she knew more, not until she had confirmation. The risk was too great, the consequences for Spencer would be too disastrous.

  He was going to die soon anyway.

  And the children would be home at the weekend.

  The very thought of them made her feel weak. If Spencer was the killer, if she could entertain the idea even for a second, then shouldn’t she make sure that she and the children were safe?

  But it’s not him. I know it’s not him.

  In spite of the fact that he’s putting everything right.

  A sharp rap on the door made her jump.

  ‘Come in!’

  Alex appeared. ‘I thought you’d gone.’

  ‘Gone where?’

  ‘That’s what I was wondering – I went back to the Lions’ Den because I thought you were in there. With the letter.’

  Suddenly he looked very tired.

  ‘Sit down,’ Fredrika said.

  ‘I’ve no idea what I’m talking about,’ he said, sinking down on one of the chairs on the other side of the desk and letting out a long sigh.

  ‘What did Ross want?’ Fredrika was keen to avoid the subject of the letter.

  Alex produced a copy of a photo. At first Fredrika couldn’t make out what it was.

  ‘Do you see?’

  ‘No.’ But that was a lie; by now she had realised exactly what she was looking at.

  ‘Lovisa Wahlberg’s boyfriend,’ Alex clarified. ‘He escaped from prison owing drug bosses big money, and they murdered him.’

  Fredrika pushed away the picture.

  ‘Jesus,’ she whispered.

  ‘There’s more. Ross told me they found the book by Morgan Sander in Lovisa’s apartment. According to her boyfriend, someone had left it on the parcel shelf of her bike.’

  Fredrika felt a rush of adrenaline. Her first thought:

  Revenge.

  This was someone out for revenge, a killer who made sure his victims died in the same way as individuals they had let down in some way. Who left books and messages.

  Two dead. Three if Noah was included.

  How many more would there be?

  ‘What the hell is this?’ she said.

  ‘It’s beyond me. It’s obvious how our perpetrator is choosing his methods, but I don’t understand why this is happening right now.’

  ‘He’s punishing them,’ Fredrika said.

  ‘But why only them? If we look at Beata Benke’s circle, for example, you could say that several people deserve to be punished, if you’re thinking along those lines.’

  Fredrika couldn’t make any sense of it either.

  ‘The messages to you,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t understand those either. I haven’t a fucking clue about what this mess has to do with me.’

  Alex was clearly disturbed by the link between such brutal murders and himself.

  If you knew who’d written the letter you found in Noah Johansson’s office, you’d realise that I’m scared too.

  ‘There’s something I haven’t told you,’ Alex went on.

  Fredrika stiffened, on her guard.

  ‘Okay?’

  Alex couldn’t meet her gaze. He obviously didn’t know how to start.

  ‘It’s about Noah. The funeral director.’

  Fredrika waited, clutching the armrests of her chair. She wondered if Alex had forgotten he’d talked to her about Noah after Lena’s death. He’d praised him to the skies, described him as an everyday hero disguised as a funeral director. Those words had stayed with Fredrika, which was why she and Spencer had chosen Noah.

  ‘He called me. About his brother. He thought his brother, sister-in-law and their kids had disappeared, been abducted.’

  Fredrika relaxed a fraction. ‘Why did he contact you?’

  ‘I’m the only police officer he knows. He took care of all the practical stuff when Lena died.’

  ‘I remember your mentioning him.’

  Fredrika was on the verge of tears, overwhelmed by the situation.

  Alex sighed.

  ‘You think it’ll get easier over the years. And it does, in a way. But when he called . . . All those memories came flooding back.’

  ‘I can understand that.’

  Alex remained silent, taking a moment to compose himself.

  ‘The brother. I’ve checked with our colleagues, looked into Noah’s original report. I don’t have a good feeling about how it was handled.’

  Fredrika sensed there was more to come. She was right.

  ‘Do you know who helped to make the decision that there was no point in proceeding with an investigation?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘Torbjörn Ross.’

  Fredrika stared at him.

  ‘That’s exactly how I reacted,’ Alex said.

  ‘Ross. Again.’

  ‘Again,’ Alex echoed.

  Fredrika’s blood pressure rose. Torbjörn Ross. And Spencer?

  Impossible.

  ‘What do you think?’ she asked.

  ‘What do you think?’

  She smiled, but her cheeks felt tight and the smile died away.

  If th
e letter was going to be mentioned, Alex would have to do it.

  ‘You know more than me,’ she said. ‘Noah’s brother’s disappearance – what’s the connection with the other murders?’

  Alex spread his hands wide.

  ‘I don’t know. We can’t even be sure he’s actually missing.’

  ‘Surely that can’t be difficult to establish? Where do you hide an entire family?’

  ‘You tell me.’ In a few short sentences Alex filled her in on what he’d learned so far. As he spoke, Fredrika’s unease grew. A father and a mother. A son and a daughter. Gone. Vanished. And no one was looking for them.

  ‘We need to try and get a fresh investigation going,’ she said when Alex had finished.

  ‘We can certainly try, but remember – the police have been in contact with the brother.’

  Fredrika shook her head.

  ‘No. I’m on Noah’s side. He knows, I mean knew, his own brother. I would have reacted in exactly the same way, particularly if the police were seriously relying on one conversation with the brother, which he cut short because he had to attend a business meeting. In the middle of the night. A psychologist. And do they actually know what his voice sounds like?’

  She had to rein it in, curb the enthusiasm she was showing for a case that didn’t necessarily have any connection with the others.

  But it would lead them away from Spencer.

  ‘You asked what I thought,’ Alex said. ‘But you weren’t talking about Noah’s missing brother, were you? You were talking about Ross.’

  Fredrika fiddled with the necklace she was wearing – a present from Spencer and the children.

  ‘Yes, I was. Why was he so convinced that Malcolm Benke had been murdered by his son?’

  ‘I tried asking him, but he didn’t have a sensible explanation. He insisted he’d never said it in the first place.’

  ‘I suppose he might be feeling under pressure,’ Fredrika said, thinking aloud.

  ‘Under pressure?’

  ‘He must realise he keeps coming up in one case after another. That could put him on the defensive, even if he’s not involved.’

  ‘But that’s exactly what we want to know,’ Alex said. ‘Whether he’s involved or not.’

  Fredrika felt the hairs on her arms stand up.