Third Voice

by Börjlind, Cilla

  What if she didn’t?

  * * *

  A few people turned their heads, both men and women, as a long shapely body was ushered down the corridor to the interrogation room.

  Gabriella Forsman exuded charisma.

  When she sat down in the designated chair, she pulled her dress up just enough to allow her to cross her legs. Bosse noticed that. He was standing against a wall next to Lisa. Mette was sitting opposite Forsman. Forsman looked very calm: she’d applied fresh lipstick and tied her hair up so that it resembled a bale of red hay on top of her head. Forsman assumed that the conversation was going to be about the dreadful events concerning Bengt Sahlmann.

  If she could help, she was more than willing to do so.

  ‘A large stash of 5-IT went missing at Customs and Excise a while ago,’ Mette began. ‘It was part of the stash you’d seized earlier during the autumn, right?’

  ‘Right. I was the one who discovered it had gone missing.’

  Forsman’s deep alto voice filled the room.

  ‘And what did you do then?’

  ‘I told Bengt. He is, he was… responsible for… for…’

  Forsman had trouble speaking. She picked up her neat matching handbag and got out a handkerchief. Mette glanced at Lisa and Bosse. Forsman managed to pull herself together.

  ‘…I’m sorry, I haven’t… every time I think about him I get… sorry. So yeah, Bengt was the main person in charge of the seized goods, so he was the one I told.’

  ‘And what did Bengt do?’

  ‘He was shocked. It was a large stash that had gone missing. He felt it was very worrying. It wouldn’t be very good for us if it came out, right?’

  ‘So he launched an investigation.’

  ‘Yes. We didn’t know whether or not it had disappeared during the handling process, internally, and whether it might turn up somewhere. It had happened before.’

  ‘You didn’t contact the police?’

  ‘No. Bengt wanted to investigate this himself first. I suppose he thought it wasn’t necessary to drag in the police if they’d just got lost somewhere in the building.’

  ‘Do you know what he found out?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So you don’t know if he found out anything about whether anyone on the inside had been part of their disappearance?’

  ‘No. Unfortunately not.’

  Forsman smiled a little and crossed her legs the other way, her free leg dangling calmly and rhythmically. She’d done this before.

  ‘Do you know whether he made a written report about his investigation?’

  ‘No, I would have heard about that.’

  ‘What’s your relationship with Clas Hall?’

  Forsman looked at Mette with very big eyes. Bosse spent a few seconds wondering whether they were always this large. They were certainly beautiful.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Forsman finally said.

  ‘He’s a waiter who’s been convicted of numerous drugs charges. At the moment he’s selling 5-IT around the city, the same drug that disappeared from Customs and Excise. Do you know Clas Hall?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You don’t hang out?’

  ‘No. Why would I hang out with a drug dealer? Who do you take me for?!’

  Forsman had recrossed her legs again. Even her voice had changed. Rather less alto and more soprano. Mette picked up a plastic file and laid out a number of photographs in front of Forsman.

  ‘These pictures were taken at the Riche restaurant last night.’

  Forsman remained seated, upright.

  ‘Please could you have a look at them?’ Mette said.

  Forsman leant forward a little, her voluptuous bosom almost resting on the table. She looked at the enlarged photographs.

  ‘That woman sitting at the table is you, yes?’ Mette said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the man you’re sitting with, who’s that?’

  ‘That was some guy who approached me and wanted… he wanted to dance.’

  ‘Dance?’

  ‘That’s what he said, but there isn’t any dancing there, so I just assumed he was trying to chat me up. It happens quite a lot when I go out.’

  I wonder why, Lisa thought to herself.

  ‘Who is he?’ Forsman asked.

  ‘It’s Clas Hall. The guy you claim you don’t know.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘So his chat didn’t work on you?’

  ‘No, I’m not that type of girl.’

  Forsman tried to smile again. Mette pulled out a few more photographs. Lisa loved this. Pinning down prey.

  ‘On these pictures, taken outside the restaurant a while later, you’re kissing each other. Pretty passionately.’

  A few seconds passed before Forsman forced herself to look at the pictures.

  ‘That’s what it looks like.’

  ‘Yes, it does.’

  Forsman leant back, sat up straight, shook her arms out in front of her and attempted an apologetic smile.

  ‘Forgive me, I lied,’ she said. ‘I actually fell for his charm. We kissed. But that’s hardly illegal? I had no idea who he was.’

  Mette and Lisa looked at each other.

  * * *

  The bus driving along Odengatan was forced to brake sharply. A young girl had walked straight out into the road. The bus driver screamed at her from the other side of the windscreen. Sandra didn’t hear or see his reaction, all she could see around her were blurry people, blurry buildings and blurry movements. All sounds had gone, she was walking in a dark cloud, first one way and then she turned off in the other direction. Occasionally she looked up at the sky, it was grey and low. Her green jacket was unzipped and she felt the wind blowing against her neck. A while ago she’d been sitting on an iron bench in a park, but then got up again. She didn’t know where she was, it was silent in her head. She was now walking along a row of houses, right up close, she brushed the inside of her arm against the rough stone and didn’t feel anything except the little flat package she was holding in her clenched fist, deep down inside her pocket.

  The feeling calmed her.

  * * *

  The crackdown was coordinated. Bosse was in charge of the investigations at Roslagsgatan. Clas Hall wasn’t there but there were clear signs of drug dealing in the flat.

  The technicians were called.

  Mette and Lisa organised the raid on Gabriella Forsman’s place. She’d been released after questioning. She lived on Sandhamnsgatan. When the police charged through the door, Mette chose to stay on the street. Forsman lived on the third floor and Mette wasn’t sure whether there was a lift. She remained in constant communication with Lisa. Just when she heard that they’d got into the flat, a car came driving out from the garage under the house. Mette saw who was sitting in it: Clas Hall at the wheel and Gabriella Forsman next to him. Mette screamed at Lisa as she moved towards the car. It came out onto the street and turned towards Mette. Forsman caught her eye. Mette lifted her arm and stepped out into the street. The car swept right past her. Mette ran after it. Lisa had run back down to the entrance by then and saw what happened from the doorway, she watched as Mette took another few steps, more slowly, as though in slow motion, and then suddenly lost her balance, slammed into a parked car and fell to the ground with a thud.

  Hall’s car disappeared out of sight.

  * * *

  It was cold and dark, but that didn’t stop Luna. She’d rigged up a strong floodlight that illuminated the entire deck. She’d decided to take a huge chest freezer down to the galley. She’d bought it second-hand on the Internet and had it delivered to the barge. Then she’d waited for Stilton. When he showed up he sensed there were problems as soon as he stepped onto the ladder.

  ‘Hi!’ Luna shouted. ‘You’re so late!’

  ‘Am I?’

  Stilton wasn’t aware of any curfew. But he went over towards the floodlight and saw the chest freezer. Then he understood.

  ‘Have you bought this?’


  ‘Yes, we need to get it down below deck. Pitch in, will you!’

  Stilton didn’t like the tone. He was a tenant. He didn’t have any obligations. If she wanted help with something then she should use a different tone! But she’d also taken care of Muriel so he had to help her with her freezer.

  ‘How are you going to get it down there?’

  ‘We’ll do it. I’ve got straps. You go first.’

  Going first meant going first down the steep and narrow iron steps – backwards.

  ‘Have you taken measurements to…’

  ‘Yes, obviously. Come on now!’

  Stilton went towards the freezer and lifted a couple of straps and pulled them over his shoulder. Luna did the same thing on the other side.

  ‘Now let’s lift,’ she said.

  They lifted.

  It’s not as heavy as I imagined, Stilton thought, and started down the iron steps. After a couple of steps he was shouldering more or less all the weight and he understood why he was supposed to go first. The freezer got heavier and heavier with each step and was almost brushing against the sides of the bulkheads.

  But Luna’s measurements were correct and they managed to get the freezer below deck with some tinkering and tweaking. Once in place they removed the straps.

  ‘Are you going to deduct that from my rent now?’ Stilton wondered aloud.

  ‘No, but I can make you dinner.’

  ‘OK.’

  It was the first time she’d offered to make him dinner, so why not? Stilton went to his cabin and changed, which involved him taking off his leather jacket and putting on his woolly socks. There was a cold draught on the floor in the lounge. He went back in and sat down at the oval table. Luna had put some lights and music on.

  ‘Can I do something?’ he called, dutifully.

  ‘You can lay the table!’ was the response from the kitchen.

  Stilton went to the cupboard that he knew contained crockery. He lifted out a couple of fine ivory-coloured plates and two robust glasses, assumed the cutlery was in the galley, put the plates and the glasses on the table and sat down again. The table was laid. A while later he smelled many tempting odours coming from the kitchen and he noticed how hungry he was. Starving. Hopefully she’ll come in with a fatted calf, he thought.

  She didn’t.

  The first thing she put in front of him was a plate of asparagus with a knob of butter. This was followed by a number of large and small plates, all filled with vegetables. The last thing she brought in was a jug of water and a large blue casserole dish.

  ‘What’s that?’ Stilton wondered, hoping that there were a couple of rabbits hidden in there.

  ‘It’s carrot soup.’

  ‘How delicious.’

  Luna started plating up.

  ‘Lots of vegetables,’ Stilton said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you vegetarian?’

  ‘No, I’m allergic to meat.’

  ‘You don’t like it?’

  ‘No, I do, but I’m allergic. I can’t eat meat from four-legged animals.’

  ‘But ostrich is fine?’

  ‘Ostrich is fine, it’s just quite hard to get hold of.’

  ‘Are you being serious? You’re allergic to meat?’

  ‘Yes. Apparently it was caused by a tick bite, or that’s what the doctors said anyway. It’s quite an unusual allergy. Are there ticks on Rödlöga?’

  ‘Loads.’

  Stilton helped himself to carrot soup. It was delicious, nicely seasoned, and certainly superior to seafood risotto. When Luna gave him some more he saw her hand trembling. He assumed that it was the result of all that carrying.

  ‘So, how are things going for you, then?’ Luna asked.

  ‘What things?’

  ‘I don’t know… you must be doing something?’

  He hadn’t said a word about what the Marseille trip had been about. She’d asked whether it had gone well and he’d answered ‘I don’t know’. And changed the subject. So now she was trying again.

  ‘Or do you just roam the streets all day?’

  ‘Basically. How much did you pay for the freezer?’

  Luna was tempted to throw a beetroot at Stilton, but she stopped herself. This man doesn’t divulge very much, she thought to herself, and she wasn’t sure whether she liked it or not.

  But the freezer was in at least.

  * * *

  Olivia was lying in her bed reading. She’d wandered around Moderna Museet, checking out all the artwork by living Swedish artists.

  And making notes.

  And calling Sandra. Three times without a reply.

  She’d also managed to have a proper chat with one of the museum’s curators and recorded their conversation. It had provided her with lots of useful information. She also gathered a load of different books and magazines, and borrowed an old printer from Lenni. She’d got masses of material from the Internet – she wanted to be able to scribble all over it.

  Once she’d crammed all this she wouldn’t need to do a bloody course, she thought.

  This is hard core.

  But she was going to be well-prepared when she met Jean Borell.

  That was important.

  She picked up one of the thick art tomes that she’d dragged home from the library in Medborgarhuset.

  It was about the golden ratio equation.

  She put it down again and thought about Sandra.

  Charlotte had called an hour ago. Sandra had come home. She hadn’t said much other than that she’d been wandering around the city.

  ‘The whole day?’

  ‘Yes, apparently.’

  ‘Can I speak to her?’

  ‘She’s in the bath.’

  ‘Can you ask her to ring me when she’s done?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Sandra still hadn’t called. Olivia looked at the clock, it was almost eleven now. Should she ring again or didn’t Sandra want to speak to her? Was she upset or angry? Why should she be?

  Olivia brushed her teeth and got undressed. As she was about to creep under the covers, Sandra called.

  ‘Hi,’ Olivia said. ‘I’ve been trying to call you!’

  ‘I saw that. I haven’t been feeling very well today, I couldn’t face picking up.’

  ‘No worries. You’d gone when I woke.’

  ‘I didn’t want to wake you.’

  ‘That’s sweet. I saw the note you wrote.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So what have you been up to today?’

  ‘Wandering. What have you done?’

  Olivia felt that Sandra was distant. She heard it in her voice, in the way she expressed herself, there wasn’t any connection any more. Not like yesterday, in the kitchen.

  ‘I’m studying art,’ Olivia said.

  ‘I thought you were starting in the spring.’

  ‘I am, I just want to do some preparation.’

  ‘Oh right.’

  And then there was silence. Olivia thought about Mårten. How was she going to suggest a meeting with Mårten to Sandra? Should she even mention it? How much should she involve herself in Sandra’s situation? But she already was involved, right up to her neck.

  ‘Sleep well.’

  It was Sandra who said it and Olivia didn’t get the chance to reply before she ended the call. She sat on the edge of her bed for a while with her mobile in her hand, then she sank down on the covers. After a couple of minutes of staring at the ceiling, she’d decided. One thing at a time. Focus on what’s next on the agenda. Tomorrow it was Jean Borell.

  Then she’d deal with Sandra.

  Chapter 16

  He opened up the special little plastic box. There were three glass eyes sitting next to each other in a clear fluid, one with a blue iris, one with a brown one and one without an iris. He chose the brown one, it matched his good eye. He carefully rinsed the glass eye under warm running water, washed it with unscented soap, poured over a splash of sterile water and pushed it into the empty
eye cavity.

  Then he closed the plastic box.

  Olivia had looked up the address on her phone and got a good idea of how to get to Jean Borell’s house out on Värmdö. It lay far out on Ingarö. By the water. When she turned off from the main road it started to rain. She followed a sign towards Brunn. The whole time she tried to remind herself who she was going to act like, a person who certainly didn’t allow their feelings to shine through. She was going to meet a man whom she deeply despised, without ever having met him, a man who intentionally risked other people’s wellbeing to increase his own private fortune. A first-class arsehole, as Alex had said.

  An arsehole who might actually have killed Sandra’s father.

  She was going to smile at him.

  Her big, charming smile.

  She was going to listen to him, compliment him on his exquisite taste in art, praise him for being able to see what so few others could: the depth of expression of great artists.

  She was going to massage his ego.

  She turned off at Brunn and carried on along a small lane through the forest. There were no road signs. She carried on down the lane for quite a while. The rain got heavier and the forest became tighter and darker. She couldn’t see any houses, no lights. He’s probably bought up all this land to make it as private as possible. People like him tended to do that sort of thing. They don’t want other people around, they want space. Privacy. They want a little kingdom.

  Out of sight.

  After driving even further through the darkness she started to wonder whether she was going the right way. The windscreen wipers were on full trying to clear the rain and she had more and more trouble seeing where she was going. Then she saw it, in the distance. A large iron gate, hanging on two large marble pillars. She started slowing down. To the right of the gate was a small gravelled area. There was a dark car standing there. She pulled over in her Mustang and turned off the engine.

  So this was where he lived?

  She got out, locked the car and approached the iron gate. There was a little white box with a button on one of the pillars. She pressed the button. There was a crackling noise. She waited. Then she pressed again and thought the gate might open. It didn’t. She leant up to the box and said: ‘This is Olivia Rivera. I have a meeting with Jean Borell at six o’clock. I’m standing outside the gate.’