The Chosen

by Kristina Ohlsson

  It was hard to disagree. Fredrika had just one more question.

  “Who was the boy who survived? Does he still live here?”

  Gali turned and started walking back toward her house.

  David didn’t move, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at Fredrika.

  At that moment she realized what he was going to say.

  “It was Gideon,” he said. “Gideon was the Hunter’s last victim. It was Gideon who put Saul’s father in prison.”

  Twice he had been to her apartment block. On both occasions he had seen the tall man emerge with the girls. On the Sunday they had gone to Vasa Park, on the Monday to day care. But he had seen no sign of Eden, which led Efraim Kiel to conclude that she had gone away.

  And that worried him. Because Eden ought to be shaken up by what had happened—by the fact that he now knew he was the father of her children—yet she had taken the risk of leaving her family alone. Admittedly her husband looked more than capable of defending his children if he had to. Efraim had seen him once before, in London. It had been a bad idea. Feeling overconfident, Efraim had gone to Eden’s house. He had been standing in the street when they came out hand in hand.

  Eden had watched him to the very last second. That was when he discovered she had fallen in love with him.

  But right now Efraim had bigger problems than Eden. The woman who was following him was one of them. She wasn’t sticking to the rules. She wasn’t keeping out of the way. And what the hell was she doing in Stockholm? Efraim couldn’t shake off the feeling that he had seriously misjudged the situation. Made a mistake, in fact.

  Or several mistakes.

  Because now he was caught up in an unpleasant dilemma, and he couldn’t see a way out.

  I have to get out of this country. Fast.

  But that wouldn’t solve the problem of the Paper Boy. There were certain things you couldn’t run away from, however much you wanted to.

  He also had to work out what to do with the girl, Polly. Time was running out; he had to act.

  They called when he was in his hotel room getting changed. He had walked over to Torsgatan in the hope of spotting the woman he had followed the previous day, but instead he had seen the police entering the building. Plainclothes officers, instantly recognizable to Efraim’s trained eye. Right in front of the Säpo goons, who were also watching the woman’s apartment. He couldn’t understand why Säpo and the police apparently didn’t know about each other. Why weren’t they working together?

  His phone rang as he was pulling on his jeans. He stopped dead. It was his dedicated work cell phone, the one only his employer knew about.

  “Yes?”

  “Can you talk?”

  “Yes.”

  His boss got straight to the point.

  “We have a problem. There’s a Swedish police officer over here asking questions about the Paper Boy.”

  He had been expecting this and had an answer ready.

  “It’s a different Paper Boy,” he said. “Not the one you’re thinking of.”

  “Excuse me—there’s more than one?”

  His boss sounded irritated.

  “Yes. The original. A child killer from a kibbutz outside Netanya. And then there’s the one both you and I are familiar with,” Efraim said.

  “And it’s the first one the Swedish police are interested in?” his boss said with a certain amount of relief.

  “I think we can assume so. There’s no reason to believe they would know about the Paper Boy on the West Bank.”

  It sounded as if the boss was tapping away on his keyboard.

  “Nothing would make me happier than to be absolutely certain you’re right,” he said. “But there are complications.”

  “Like what?”

  “The Swedish police have also been asking questions about Mona Samson. If you’re not familiar with the name, let me inform you that she used to be known as Nadia Tahir. Now do you understand what’s worrying me?”

  Efraim didn’t answer immediately; he wasn’t sure what to say.

  Oh yes, I knew that Nadia had changed her name.

  “They don’t know what they’re asking about,” he said. “Believe me, the only Paper Boy they’re interested in is the child killer.”

  “I still think they’re too damn close.”

  Efraim went over to the window and gazed out at the wintry landscape.

  “I made it clear to our friends in the police in Jerusalem that they must stay away from the Paper Boy,” his boss went on. “That his fate was a matter for the Israeli security service and no one else. Not our own police force, and definitely not the Swedes’. I’m aware that I humiliated them. My actions may well have had a negative effect on the way in which they subsequently dealt with their Swedish colleagues, but to be honest, I don’t really care.”

  Efraim watched a mother and two children on the other side of the street. The little ones kicked at the snow, laughing as it swirled around their feet.

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he said distractedly.

  The Stockholm police had surprised him with their creativity, traveling all the way to Israel to ask questions about the Paper Boy. And Nadia, or Mona, as she was calling herself these days. Efraim knew perfectly well that his own behavior had been less than cautious. It wouldn’t surprise him if the police started asking questions about him, too.

  Perhaps he should send them off in another direction.

  A plan began to take shape. It wasn’t pretty, but neither was the reality he had to deal with.

  “Is it Alex Recht who’s gone to Israel?”

  “No, it’s a woman: Fredrika Bergman.”

  Fredrika Bergman. Efraim had never heard of her, but now his curiosity had been aroused. And he was annoyed.

  “I assume you’ve been following the investigation in Stockholm?” his boss said.

  “To a certain extent. It’s difficult to get hold of information without seeming too pushy. I don’t want to draw attention to myself.”

  “Very wise. But what worries me most of all is the murdered boys’ surnames.”

  Efraim closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the cold windowpane. Remembered what the cool metal had felt like in his hands before he threw the gun into the Baltic Sea.

  “Eisenberg and Goldmann,” he said.

  “It’s hardly a coincidence, is it? Gideon and Saul must be their fathers.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you still maintain this is about a different Paper Boy from the one we got to know on the West Bank?”

  “I don’t know. But the Paper Boy the Swedish police are asking questions about is an imaginary figure in a tale told in a couple of kibbutzim outside Netanya.”

  “Saul Goldmann and Gideon Eisenberg haven’t made contact with us, but surely they must see the connection.”

  “Presumably,” Efraim said. “But once again: the murders have an equally clear link to the Paper Boy I referred to as the original.”

  He outlined briefly what had happened to Gideon and Saul when they were young. He had heard their story himself only when they did their military service together. They had formed an unbeatable quartet: Efraim, Saul, Gideon, and Daphne, who became Saul’s wife. It was Daphne who had confided in Efraim, explained why Gideon had so many terrible scars on his body, and told him about the role Saul’s father had played in the events of the past.

  It had been Saul’s suggestion that they should call their source on the West Bank after their shared childhood trauma, and no one had objected.

  “I did actually know that story and how it had affected Gideon and Saul,” his boss said when Efraim had finished. “But I didn’t know that the residents of the kibbutz had their own nickname for the murderer.”

  He sighed and went on: “I don’t like this. It stinks of revenge, and we can’t allow that.”

  “Saul and Gideon turned their backs on us,” Efraim said. “I stayed, but they went away.”

  “I know, but
we can’t set a precedent, looking the other way when someone attacks Israeli citizens in another country.”

  “Of course not.”

  He waited, wanting the call to end.

  “The Paper Boy,” his boss said. “By which I mean ‘our’ Paper Boy. Do you have any idea where that person is right now?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think he’s involved in these murders?”

  “That would involve making the assumption that he’s in Stockholm, and I have no reason to believe that he is.”

  “But I do,” his boss said, and Efraim froze. “Or at least I have information indicating that the person in question has traveled to Stockholm on a number of occasions over the past year. And has stayed for quite long periods.”

  Breathe in, breathe out.

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “There was no reason why you should. But now things have changed. There’s one last thing I want you to do before you leave Stockholm, Efraim. I want you to track down the Paper Boy in order to confirm that he has nothing to do with these murders. Can you do that?”

  Efraim sank down on the bed. That was exactly what he had been doing for the past few days.

  But the Paper Boy found me before I found him.

  “No problem.”

  “Good. In that case I shall expect a rapid resolution of the matter.”

  “I’ll do whatever is necessary,” Efraim said.

  “Excellent. If this really is about what happened in Gideon and Saul’s childhood, then I shall feel happier. Sorry for their sake, of course, but happier. Otherwise we have a major problem.”

  And with those words he ended the call.

  Efraim remained sitting on the bed, his cell phone in his hand.

  The Paper Boy refused to rest, refused to leave him in peace.

  Which actually suited Efraim Kiel very well.

  Because he had never loved anyone as much.

  Like most other people, Eden Lundell had always assumed that when she had children, it would be with the love of her life. Ironically, that was exactly what she had done, in a way.

  Because for several years, years she would prefer not to remember, Efraim Kiel had been just that. The biggest thing that had ever happened to her. The most overwhelming love affair. The very thought of how willingly she had accepted him made her feel sick.

  She went straight to her office and closed the door when she got in just before lunch. Mondays always involved a long series of meetings, which she loathed. Meetings were for people who didn’t have enough to do. Eden’s agenda was always packed, and today she had no intention of turning up at a single meeting. She had more important things to think about.

  A threat to her family.

  Apart from Eden, only one person knew that Efraim was the father of her children.

  And that was Efraim himself.

  If it was Efraim who had murdered Simon Eisenberg and Abraham Goldmann, there was no reason to assume that he would attack his own daughters. But Eden was convinced the boys had been killed in revenge for the boy who had died on the West Bank, and she couldn’t see why that revenge shouldn’t encompass Efraim’s children as well. After all, he had been there, too, when the boy died in the explosion.

  Her heart was racing, exhaustion creating ghosts in her mind.

  She told herself to calm down. Reminded herself that the only two people on earth who knew the truth about her daughters were her and Efraim.

  Why would he have told anyone else?

  And in such a short time.

  She took off her jacket. Why could they never get the heating right in this place? Sometimes it was too hot, sometimes too cold. Today it was suffocating.

  She ran a finger over one pant leg, smoothing out a crease.

  Her mother’s voice echoed faintly in her head:

  “You must always make sure you’re neat and tidy, Eden. That will get you a long way in life!”

  As if her mother had gotten anywhere to speak of.

  “Your life has stood still ever since you got married, Mother dear.”

  An assistant knocked on her door.

  “Yes?”

  “GD asked us to keep a lookout for you. He expressly said that he wanted to see you as soon as you came in.”

  Did he indeed.

  “I’ll go and see him in a minute.”

  The question was what she was going to say to him.

  Everything Fred had told her was in confidence; she had to keep it to herself, even if it meant that the investigation ground to a halt. And even if it meant going behind GD’s back.

  “By the way,” she said to her assistant. “I’d like you to book one of Säpo’s apartments for me, please.”

  “Have you joined the ranks of the homeless?” her assistant said with a smile.

  Eden forced herself to smile back.

  No, I just want to make sure my family has somewhere to hide from a killer.

  “We’re having some work done at home and we need a place to sleep for the next few days. I’d really appreciate it if you could take care of that for me.”

  I’d really appreciate it. Please. Words that Eden often forgot, with predictable results.

  Her assistant nodded and disappeared.

  Eden followed her out of the office and headed for the elevators. She had decided to tell GD as little as possible. There was no logical reason to think that Efraim had anything to do with the murders; however, it still bothered her that he had been sent to Stockholm at the same time. She just couldn’t come up with a satisfactory explanation.

  Which left her with another alternative: it really was pure chance that Efraim’s visit to Stockholm coincided with the murder of his former colleagues’ children.

  The problem with that theory was that Eden Lundell didn’t believe in chance. Could this be an exception? She realized she had to call Alex and check how the investigation was going. Find out whether he was anywhere near the truth and a solution. It would be an indescribable relief if Alex had discovered a completely different reason behind the murders.

  I won’t be that lucky.

  Eden was standing outside Buster Hansson’s office when it struck her.

  She was paralyzed with shock at the realization that she had missed the obvious.

  The person who had killed Simon and Abraham had also known about the Paper Boy and left a reference to the source on the West Bank. Which significantly reduced the number of suspects, because source names were classified.

  In certain cases not even the source knew what his or her name was within the organizations he or she worked for.

  Suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

  If the killer was someone who knew who the Paper Boy was, then he must be part of Mossad. Therefore, it could be Efraim.

  Or the father of one of the boys.

  Modern man seemed incapable of grasping or accepting that he always left a trail—electronic if not physical. It was difficult to avoid making mistakes, which was some small consolation for the police; without all those mistakes, many crimes would never be cleared up. Alex Recht knew that only too well.

  He heard from Lasse in the tech department less than two hours after they had last spoken.

  “You asked about Saul Goldmann’s cell phone.”

  “Yes?” The tension was unbearable.

  “You wanted to know where he was when he called Mona Samson’s cell phone at three o’clock: Karlaplan.”

  Alex’s chest felt tight. He rubbed his forehead.

  “They live near there,” he said. “Although that doesn’t change anything. If he wasn’t the one who killed Josephine and picked up the boys, I hope he has a good explanation for why he lied in a police interview.”

  “What about his alibi for the morning when the boys were shot?”

  Alex thought for a moment. Had they even checked? All the parents had an alibi for the time when the boys went missing, so it hadn’t occurred to them to look into what they were doing on the mornin
g of the murders.

  Then he remembered.

  “We didn’t ask for alibis because the fathers were involved in the search, and the mothers were in the community center, phoning the boys’ friends and classmates.”

  “Okay . . . Did the parents organize themselves into groups, or did they search individually?” Lasse wondered.

  “Individually.”

  “So Saul Goldmann was alone all night and all morning?”

  Unfortunately, he was right. Saul could have been doing anything during those hours. Alone in his car. Free to go wherever he wanted. Out to Lovön, perhaps, to set up the murders of his son and his son’s friend.

  “To be fair, Gideon Eisenberg was alone, too,” Alex said. “But we’ve got nothing on him. What about Goldmann’s phone traffic for the rest of the night?”

  “There were lots of calls, of course. He spoke to his wife a couple of dozen times, and to Gideon and several other people.”

  “Did he also speak to Mona Samson?”

  Lasse laughed dryly.

  “He did. No fewer than five times.”

  “And where was she when she took those calls?”

  “Kungsholmen.”

  They took the boys in the afternoon, Alex thought. Took them somewhere and kept them there overnight. Drove them out to Lovön in the morning. Let them go, one at a time, then hunted them down and shot them.

  “I think I know how you believe all this fits together,” Lasse said. “And I tend to agree with you. I also think Goldmann and Eisenberg have a lot more going on together than they’ve told us so far. The only problem is that we can’t link either of them to Lovön, nor have we found the vehicle that must have been used to transport the boys to the place where they died.”

  “And we don’t have a murder weapon,” Alex said.

  He felt a sense of mounting frustration. The resolution was so close and yet so far away. What worried him most was the fact that Polly Eisenberg was still missing. His opinion on her chances of survival had shifted slightly: if she had been dead, they would have found her. The ritual of the paper bags was too important to the murderer for him—or her—to miss the chance of displaying the latest victim. If Mona Samson was involved, that could explain her absence.