The Flood

by Kristina Ohlsson

  And then that bastard came along, smashing into Ylva’s car then driving away. He had also extinguished a life (Peder refused to think about Ylva inside the burning vehicle), but for no good reason and without the slightest inclination to take responsibility for what he’d done. A cowardly little shit who couldn’t face the consequences of his actions. And Peder sank. He hadn’t been on solid ground since he left the Solomon Community, and after Ylva’s death things got steadily worse. His behaviour rang alarm bells with his employers, who begged him to seek help. Eventually they had to let him go. Which was fine. Peder hadn’t enjoyed working there anyway. Might as well start over somewhere else, but first he had to pull himself together.

  He didn’t realise until much later, but ironically it was Ylva’s death that released him, in a way. That was when he understood what separated him from others who killed, and he was satisfied with that difference. Peder had killed to make the world a better place. Somewhere deep down he knew why the law must be written as it was, why the state didn’t kill its own citizens. However, the law was one thing, the duty of the individual another. Something that Bernhard Benke had grasped, for example, but not his worthless father.

  But now he knows. Now I’ve helped him to put right everything he did wrong.

  A long series of decisions had simply made themselves. This was about duty, nothing more, nothing less. Ylva’s murderer was never going to be allowed to get away with it, no fucking chance. Peder made sure he got in first, took him before the court got the chance to fuck everything up with a pathetic eighteen-month sentence. As far as Peder was concerned, it was essential that the punishment, the revenge, was proportional. And it was. Afterwards he acknowledged that he had now become a double murderer. He had felt a little uncomfortable, but there had also been a sense of pride, particularly when he got away with it so easily. That was when the next thought was born: what else could Peder do to achieve justice for those who had been wronged?

  If only he’d known there were others who thought the same way. On a smaller scale, admittedly, but the basic principle was the same. It was in the early summer when he’d first realised there was something wrong about Torbjörn Ross and The Sanctuary. He was busy with his own preparations when he began to wonder what Ross wanted with that horrible place. It was pure instinct, he couldn’t explain it. Ross wouldn’t leave him alone, and Peder had found it hard to resist his pleas. He needed The Sanctuary and its unique properties, that was how he’d put it when he contacted Peder, begging for his help to persuade the Solomon Community to let him lease the place. His voice breaking, he had told Peder about the daughter he’d never been allowed to call his, the daughter who was now living with the threat of death hanging over her. Like Peder, Ross had sought alternative methods when he was looking for a solution to his daughter’s problem.

  ‘I’m the only one who can fix this,’ he’d said. ‘You understand what I mean, don’t you? She’s abroad at the moment, but when she comes home later in the spring, I have to be ready.’

  Peder had nodded, and had vouched for Ross’s background and credibility with the Solomon Community.

  But then came that nagging feeling that he really hadn’t understood anything at all. Peder had visited the house several times after Ross had taken over the tenancy. He had his own plans to take care of, a timetable he must stick to. He didn’t want Ross dragging him into any of his crap – he had to keep the summer free. The first time he didn’t believe his eyes. He had peeped in through a window and seen a whole family, just as Ross had said. But this wasn’t just any family. Peder immediately recognised Dan Johansson, and his first reaction had been to take action. Ross had gone crazy and kidnapped an entire family.

  Fucking lunatic.

  But then he’d given himself time to try and throw some light on why Ross had done such a thing, and Peder had changed his mind. He didn’t really have a problem with Ross’s actions, even though he would have preferred it if the children hadn’t been involved. He also knew that one day he would probably need someone to blame. Ross was the ideal candidate, and had therefore dictated Peder’s choices to a certain extent, albeit unconsciously. Peder restricted himself to people who had a link to Ross. Little by little he began to protect Ross, make sure no one realised what was going on. It was fairly straightforward; the only person who seemed to think that something had happened to the family was Dan’s brother Noah. No one else contacted the police, anyway. Peder got into the habit of driving past Noah’s funeral business, keeping an eye on things.

  The second time he went by, he saw Spencer Lagergren standing there. Peder had been very surprised; why would Spencer be visiting a funeral director? He had to know, so the following night he broke into Noah’s office, causing no damage, leaving no trace behind. His most important discovery was Spencer’s last will and testament, along with an accompanying letter that made Peder furious. Spencer of all people had seriously injured a woman by driving while under the influence. Without incurring any punishment – it had been years since the accident. The time scale didn’t matter as far as Peder was concerned; under no circumstances was he going to let Spencer get away with what he’d done.

  Until he read the letter again, and grasped that Spencer was dying. Peder had many sources, many methods of accessing people’s private business. Through his various jobs he’d built up a solid network of informants in hospitals and other institutions; he also used Ross. It transpired that Spencer had a brain tumour and was refusing treatment. He had even arranged the date of his death, so Peder decided that fate clearly took care of certain things without the need for human intervention, for which we should all be thankful. However, Peder kept Spencer in mind just in case Ross didn’t work out as his scapegoat, in case he had to abandon his mission earlier than planned, before Spencer died. The last few days had been tricky. Ross had failed to monitor Noah properly, hadn’t realised what steps he’d taken to find his brother, along with his newfound friend Tina. Peder had had to fix that too, check Noah’s emails, keep tabs on his contact with the police. And finally he’d had to stop him when he threatened to go too far. There was a risk that Alex would believe him, and that couldn’t be allowed to happen. Peder had tried to destroy Noah’s credibility, convince Alex that he was a complex, volatile individual who couldn’t be trusted.

  It had never been Peder’s intention to kill Noah. He’d only wanted to scare him into silence. He’d explained that unless Noah stopped playing detective, Dan and his family would die, but Noah’s reaction had been totally unexpected. He had been furious, attacked Peder, yelled that Peder had to tell him where Dan was, why he’d taken him. That had enraged Peder – he wasn’t the one who’d abducted Dan!

  ‘You’re not blaming me for your fucking brother’s misfortune!’ he’d shouted, giving Noah a hard shove. Noah had fallen backwards, hitting his head on the sharp corner of the desk.

  Shit.

  After that there had only been one way forward: to continue according to his plan. He made as much mess as possible in Noah’s office, making it look as if there’d been a break-in. Finally he took out Spencer’s terrible confession, which had proved a great source of inspiration the first time he read it.

  Because that was where he’d found the words that suited him so perfectly. I am putting everything right. That was exactly what Peder was trying to do. He had been so pleased when he realised those words were also the title of a book. As an author once said: I am putting everything right. The book wasn’t easy to find, but after a few days Peder had managed to pick up several copies. Spencer’s letter had given him the perfect link; Peder’s concept had its unique signature. And now he was going to have to break off, in spite of months of preparation, after just a few days.

  But what days they had been.

  At some point in the future he would resume his task, he knew that. However, there would be no signature, no books left behind. Maybe he would also review his modus operandi, consider killing his chosen victims in a different w
ay from the one in which those they’d let down had died. He didn’t regret his messages to Alex; quite the reverse, they were important. Alex in particular must understand that there was an intelligent person behind everything that happened. Peder felt no sympathy for those who’d died; they didn’t deserve any better. Alex would agree, if only he sat down and thought about it. He might even forgive Peder for having lied to him, necessary white lies to keep the police away from him and Ross, but also from Noah.

  You understand that, don’t you, Alex?

  Eventually Peder fell asleep. The fluttering butterflies of fear and anxiety had settled.

  He hadn’t done anything wrong.

  And as long as he behaved himself, he wouldn’t get caught.

  AUTUMN 2016

  The sun shone on the day Spencer Lagergren died. In fact it shone uninterruptedly, wherever Fredrika Bergman happened to be. First of all in Switzerland, then in Stockholm.

  Alex rang her when she was sitting on the kitchen floor, crying. Five days after she came home from Switzerland with Spencer in a coffin.

  ‘I just wanted to see how you were,’ he said.

  ‘Terrible.’

  ‘And the children?’

  ‘They’re with my parents today.’

  ‘But they’ll be at the funeral tomorrow?’

  ‘That’s the plan.’

  ‘Sounds like a good idea.’

  Alex ended the call, got in the car and drove over to see her. And that was how it came about that on a September afternoon, not one but two people were sitting on the kitchen floor crying. Fredrika would always be grateful to Alex for that.

  ‘I miss him so much I think I’m going to die,’ she said. ‘But I don’t. I go on living, and I just don’t see the point.’

  Alex wiped the tears from his cheeks.

  ‘I felt exactly the same after I lost Lena. I couldn’t leave the kids, though. And when a little time had passed I realised that I wanted to stay around after all. Dying is so . . . definitive.’

  ‘Horribly definitive,’ Fredrika agreed.

  She had cried so much that her head was aching and her eyes were swollen. That’s how it is when someone you’ve loved for more than half your life dies. Grief poured out of her body, disguised as tears. How she could possibly go on without him was beyond her comprehension. And yet, in an astonishing way, it simply happened. Extraordinary. However much she wept, however much pain she felt, however impossible it was to imagine a future without Spencer. Time passed, days which the previous evening had been the future became the present. Fredrika found this fascinating. To think that a person could die of a heart attack, but not of a broken heart.

  ‘Are you really going to move to London?’ Alex asked.

  ‘I think it’ll be good for both me and the children to experience something different. A friend of mine has moved there with her family, and my brother’s working there during the autumn. The children can attend the Swedish school, and . . . I’m sure it will all work out.’

  ‘And what will you do with yourself?’

  ‘I haven’t given it much thought. Play, I suppose.’

  Fredrika and her violin.

  ‘I’d like to hear you some time,’ Alex said.

  ‘I’m sure that can be arranged.’

  He stroked her arm.

  ‘How much leave do you have?’

  ‘Berlin gave me six months, but she said I could have more if I need it. Anything at all as long as I don’t resign – that’s what it sounded like.’

  Alex couldn’t help smiling.

  ‘So Berlin’s not all bad,’ he said.

  ‘Just mostly.’

  They sat in silence for a while. That was one of Alex’s many positive qualities, in Fredrika’s opinion. He understood the art of silence.

  ‘Anyway, how are you?’ she said, tired of thinking about something that couldn’t be changed. ‘How was Österlen?’

  ‘Really good – sick,’ he said.

  Fredrika burst out laughing, even though she sometimes felt as if she would never laugh again, as if it was the wrong thing to do.

  ‘Sick? I’ve never heard you say that before.’

  ‘My kids say it all the time.’

  Alex placed a hand on her arm.

  ‘It’ll be all right,’ he said quietly. ‘Eventually. You won’t be lonely forever.’

  Fredrika stiffened.

  ‘Do you seriously think that’s something I’m worrying about right now?’

  Alex shrugged. ‘I did.’

  ‘In that case we’re very different.’

  For a long time Fredrika had been convinced that people could just as easily live alone or as part of a couple, and therefore she had never compromised when it came to love and relationships. Love was a bonus, not an essential, and it definitely wasn’t something you could order up with a click of the fingers. The years with Spencer had changed her. She had begun to love being part of a couple. Not just any couple, but the two of them. The idea of replacing Spencer was as ridiculous as the thought of replacing her mother if she died. It was impossible, it couldn’t be done. Love wasn’t something to be pursued, as far as Fredrika was concerned; it simply created itself, and sometimes people were lucky enough to experience that process. She couldn’t imagine it happening more than once in a lifetime.

  ‘Tell me about tomorrow,’ Alex said.

  ‘The service is in the afternoon, then dinner. Lots of people will be at the church, but not everyone will stay around.’

  ‘So the apartment will be full of overnight guests?’

  ‘No. Some of Spencer’s friends from overseas are coming, but they’re staying in a hotel.’

  Alex looked at Fredrika.

  ‘I’d love to visit you in London.’

  ‘I’d like that too. I’ll even play for you.’

  They sat in silence again, then Alex just had to say what had been on his mind.

  ‘Peder.’

  ‘I think about him sometimes,’ Fredrika said.

  ‘We’ll never nail him.’

  ‘But at least Ross’s trial is due to start soon.’

  ‘The prosecutor is going for a custodial sentence of twelve years. I can’t see Ross being able to handle that,’ Alex said.

  ‘But the Johansson family – they’re okay?’

  ‘Not the father, obviously.’

  ‘No, but . . .’

  ‘The others are okay, but no more than that.’

  Fredrika hesitated, but she had to ask.

  ‘What do we do if we bump into Peder? What do we say?’

  Alex shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea.’

  *

  The funeral took place the next day. The sun shone once more, and Fredrika dressed the children in bright clothes. The church was full, and she wondered who all these people were. Alex and Berlin were in the pew behind her, and when the cantor began to play the introduction to the first hymn and Fredrika burst into tears, she felt Alex’s hand on her shoulder.

  ‘It will get better,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘Trust me, it will get better.’

  Maybe that was true, maybe not.

  Two weeks later Fredrika was on a plane heading for London, with a child on either side of her.

  Saga had the window seat, and pointed at the big, fluffy clouds beneath them.

  ‘Is that where Daddy is now?’ she asked.

  Who knows.

  ‘Yes,’ Fredrika replied. ‘Daddy’s there now instead of with us.’

  ‘Let’s wave to him!’ Saga said.

  So they did.

  Two months later, Alex flew to London. No one could understand why the hell he was going there in November, but he missed Fredrika as a friend and colleague, and wanted to see how she was getting on. That was reason enough for the trip. He took his daughter with him; she didn’t know Fredrika, but he wanted company, and they didn’t see each other often enough. Diana understood, and stayed at home.

  Alex adjusted his jacket, thought about the note in hi
s inside pocket. The note he was going to show to Fredrika, a final message from Peder.

  I’m stopping now.

  It had arrived in the middle of August, and Alex had taken it straight to Berlin.

  ‘What does he mean?’

  Alex thought it was perfectly clear; Peder meant exactly what he said. There would be no more murders.

  ‘Do you think Fredrika’s okay?’ his daughter asked. ‘I’ve thought about her a lot, about how fragile life is. I realised that when Mum died, but you kind of forget, don’t you?’

  ‘You do. And it’s probably just as well.’

  His daughter took out her book and settled down to read while Alex looked out of the window. Eden Lundell had called him just as they were about to board. She asked if there might be an opening for her in Alex’s department, if he knew of any interesting senior posts. He did, because rumour had it that Berlin was on her way out.

  ‘Could you seriously cope with me as your boss?’ Eden had said, laughing.

  ‘Yes. You couldn’t possibly be worse than Berlin.’

  Which was a little harsh. Berlin had improved, upped her game, but she was still a long way from the kind of boss Alex wanted to work for.

  His daughter gave him a nudge.

  ‘You didn’t answer my question. Do you think Fredrika’s okay? And what do we do if she’s in a total mess when we arrive? What if she can’t cope?’

  Alex stretched, fixed his gaze on one of the clouds.

  ‘Fredrika Bergman will always be able to cope,’ he said.

  AFTERWORD AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I think you’ve just read what will be the last Fredrika Bergman novel. I say ‘think’, because of course one can never be sure. Both Fredrika and Alex are alive and in good health, so who knows – maybe one day they will be reunited in the hunt for some dreadful criminal. But the way things look right now, there are no plans for such a reunion.