The call came just after seven thirty on Monday morning. Torkel had just fetched his first coffee of the day. He moved the mouse to wake his computer from sleep mode, took a sip of the hot drink and answered.
‘Torkel Höglund.’
The caller introduced herself as Superintendent Hedvig Hedman. Torkel immediately placed her in Jämtland, not because he had the names of all the local superintendents at his fingertips, but because Hedvig Hedman had just been reported to the Attorney General for something she had said about a member of her team. It was unlikely to go any further, but her name was fresh in Torkel’s mind.
‘How can I help you?’ he asked, taking another sip of coffee and settling himself in his chair.
A few minutes later he hung up.
Six bodies.
Out on the mountain.
They had been there for quite some time, apparently.
Hedvig Hedman had begun by saying that they had found a mass grave. Torkel wasn’t sure if six bodies really constituted a mass grave, but the four major newspapers had used the term, so Torkel assumed they did. Not that it mattered.
It was enough to get them up there.
He left the office. Christel, his PA, hadn’t yet arrived, so he left her a note asking her to check flights to Östersund and get back to him as soon as possible.
Back in his room he sank down in his chair and finished off his coffee as he considered his next move.
He needed to gather the team, but there were two things to think about.
First of all, Vanja’s application to join the FBI training programme. She had passed the first round of the selection process, and was now down to the last eight. There were three places. Torkel was 100 per cent convinced that one of those places had Vanja’s name on it. He had given her the best possible reference – with mixed feelings, he had to admit. He thought the world of Vanja, she was an outstanding police officer, an important member of the team, and she really deserved the opportunity to develop and to progress in her career. But that meant he would lose her; she would be away for three years.
Three years without his best investigator.
Torkel had already started searching for her replacement, temporary or permanent, depending on whether she decided to come back to them after her time in the USA, or whether she opted for a different route. He hadn’t advertised the post or made it generally known that he was looking, partly because there was a microscopic chance that Vanja wouldn’t get in, and partly because he wanted to avoid a long drawn out recruitment process which, in the worst case scenario, might involve dealing with hundreds of applications. It was his intention to respectfully ignore years of service, formal qualifications and anyone who might have priority for some reason. No doubt this contravened any number of employment regulations, but he didn’t give a damn.
Riksmord was a team.
His team.
He intended to choose the person he wanted. In the end, who you were mattered far more than what you’d done. He wanted an outstanding, conscientious police officer, of course, but that wasn’t enough. The right candidate needed something else, something indefinable. They would have to be able to fit in. Torkel knew several experienced officers who had worked for five, ten, twenty years, all of whom would probably do an excellent job from a procedural point of view, but he couldn’t really see any of them as a member of his team. In addition, most of them were men, and Torkel was fairly sure he was going to replace Vanja with another woman. Not because of any quotas or some equality ruling, but for the simple reason that, in his experience, mixed teams worked better. He knew where this was going. He kept thinking back to a letter from a young woman who had just finished her cadet training in Sigtuna.
Jennifer Holmgren.
She had written to him a few weeks ago, on a purely speculative basis, explaining why she would really like to work for Riksmord, and something about her letter had immediately appealed to Torkel. It had been full of commitment, a desire to develop, to grow, to work with the best in order to learn rather than to climb the career ladder.
When Vanja told him she had applied to Quantico, Torkel had called Jennifer in for a brief interview. He didn’t seriously think she was a potential replacement, but he was curious.
She hadn’t disappointed him. She was sociable, driven, committed. Torkel had the impression that she had to make a real effort to stop herself from bubbling over with enthusiasm when she talked about what she wanted police work to encompass. She reminded him of Vanja when he had first met her, and that was the best recommendation he could give. Obviously her youth and total lack of experience counted against her, and no doubt he would get plenty of criticism on that point if he decided to give her a try. However, you could also say that she wasn’t stuck in any ingrained patterns of behaviour, that she would never object to new ideas on the basis that ‘We’ve always done it this way.’ She was open and malleable.
Vanja would hear in a week or so, and leave in November. It wouldn’t be out of order to bring in someone who could perhaps take her place at this stage.
Torkel decided to call Sigtuna and see if they would release Jennifer.
The other issue he needed to consider was Sebastian.
Sebastian Bergman.
Hopeless, but brilliant.
During the last two investigations he had managed to worm his way into the team. None of them had really wanted him there, but he had done some good work on both occasions, there was no denying it. Particularly in the Hinde case – he had saved Vanja’s life.
At the same time, his presence created conflict that the group didn’t need. A murder investigation was always stressful, and there was no doubt that with Sebastian on board it became even more difficult than necessary. With his arrogance, his egotism and his total lack of interest in his surroundings, he was a constant irritant. He was like a black hole, threatening to suck the energy out of everyone in the room and destroy the group from the inside.
A brilliant source of conflict.
For and against.
Should he bring Sebastian in once more?
Decisions, decisions.
If Vanja hadn’t accepted Sebastian, Torkel wouldn’t even have considered it, but the last time he spoke to her she had almost seemed to be looking forward to working with him again. Billy liked him, and so did Torkel, deep down, although it sometimes drove him crazy to see how difficult his old friend made things for himself in any given situation. Ursula had the ability to focus on what was important rather than allowing herself to be provoked. What annoyed her most was being presented with a fait accompli rather than feeling she was part of the decision-making process. If he just explained what he was thinking, Ursula wouldn’t oppose him.
At first glance, six bodies in a mass grave didn’t exactly cry out for Sebastian Bergman’s skills.
But six bodies meant either a serial killer or a mass murderer, and there was no one in Sweden who knew more about that particular subject than Sebastian.
Decisions, decisions.
Torkel knew what he was going to do.
First Sigtuna, then he would go down and see Ursula, make her feel part of it all. Then Vanja, Billy, and, finally, Sebastian.
Decision made. He reached for the telephone.
‘You have to move out.’
Sebastian pushed the butter knife back into the pack of Bregott on the table and turned to Ellinor, who was putting her coffee cup in the dishwasher. He had chosen his moment with care. Under no circumstances could he cope with forty-eight hours of tears, reproaches, hysterical discussions and fury – which he knew would end with him physically ejecting her from the apartment – so he waited until after Ellinor had had the weekend off. Right now she was about to leave for work; she was the conscientious type and there was no chance that she would stay at home with such short notice. If she even took in what he said, which was by no means certain.
‘You’re so funny,’ she said without even glancing at him, which confirmed his suspicion
s.
‘No, I’m serious. You have to go, otherwise I’ll kick you out.’
Ellinor closed the dishwasher, straightened up and looked at him, an amused smile on her lips.
‘But, sweetheart, how would you manage without me?’
‘I’d manage perfectly well,’ Sebastian said, keeping the irritation out of his voice. He hated being spoken to as if he were a child.
‘You’re so funny,’ she repeated as she came over to the table and gave his cheek a quick stroke. ‘You need a shave, you’re all scratchy,’ she said with a smile. She bent down and kissed him on the mouth. ‘See you tonight.’
She left the kitchen and Sebastian heard the bathroom door close. The all-too familiar sounds told him she was brushing her teeth. He sighed. Nothing had changed. What had he expected? With Ellinor, every conversation that wasn’t about the banalities of everyday life went round in circles. She never listened to him, to what he was actually saying. She interpreted everything to her own advantage. If it wasn’t possible to transform what he said into something positive, she simply chose not to take it in. Like now.
You have to move out.
Those words were not open to interpretation. They were crystal clear. They were the reality.
But reality was neither a constant nor an exact science in Ellinor’s world. She could turn it into whatever she wanted. He had let her get away with it far too often, but not any more. This time he was going to make her listen. He let his irritation and frustration come to the surface; he got to his feet and made for the bathroom. He opened the door – she never locked it – and stood in the doorway. Ellinor met his gaze in the mirror.
‘Don’t you want to know where I was on Thursday night?’
Ellinor carried on brushing, but her expression in the mirror was clear. No, she didn’t want to know.
‘Don’t you want to know why I didn’t come home?’
Ellinor spat in the hand basin, replaced her toothbrush in the plastic glass on the shelf, then wiped her mouth on one of the striped towels she had brought home from work.
‘No doubt you had your reasons,’ she said, pushing past Sebastian.
‘Yes – her name is Gunilla, she’s forty-seven and she’s a nurse.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you would never do that to me.’
‘Yes, I would.’
Ellinor shook her head as she put on her coat.
‘No, you wouldn’t. Because that would mean you wanted to hurt me, and why would you want to do that?’
Sebastian stared at her as she bent down and pulled on her boots with rapid, jerky movements. She lost her grip on the leather. Tried again. Even more jerky this time, as if she were struggling not to lose control. Sebastian could feel the irritation dwindling and a certain level of sympathy trying to take its place. He fought back. He had to be firm with her, but to his disappointment he heard his voice take on a gentler tone.
‘I don’t want to hurt you, I just want you to understand that you can’t live here any longer.’
‘Why not?’
‘It was a mistake, you should never have moved in. It’s my fault, I felt some kind of, I don’t know . . . guilt. For a while I thought this was what I wanted, but it isn’t.’
For the first time since they came into the hallway, Ellinor looked up and met his eyes.
‘Haven’t things been good between us?’
‘No.’
Silence. Sebastian thought he could see tears in her eyes. Was he getting through, in spite of the fact that he had been more measured than he had intended? It was about time, if so. Now he must make sure he didn’t give her any opportunity to misunderstand, to re-interpret the situation. He must hammer the message home.
‘You’re like a home help that I have sex with. I don’t care about you, and you care a little too much about me; it’s sick.’
Ellinor didn’t respond, but Sebastian thought he could see a slight change in her expression. Something hardened; there was a glimmer he had never seen before. He got the feeling that someone else had once called her sick. Several others, perhaps, on several occasions. It was obvious she didn’t like it.
‘We’ll talk about this tonight.’
A harsh note in her voice that he had never heard before either. She had definitely been listening for once. He mustn’t lose his grip now.
‘There’s nothing to talk about. It’s perfectly simple. You have to move out. You should never have moved in.’
‘As I said, I’ll see you tonight.’
Ellinor opened the door and left. No kiss, which was something. But the battle was far from over. Sebastian knew her well enough by now to assume that she would come home with a conciliatory gift, cook a fantastic dinner, apologise for the fact that they had quarrelled, such a silly tiff. She would want to make love and forget the whole thing.
There was a chance that she would succeed. Somehow she always managed to get past his defences, so he had to make sure she didn’t have the opportunity.
When Ellinor moved in, she had brought nothing more than a small cabin case. Admittedly she had been back home a few times to pick up bits and pieces, but she didn’t have many possessions in Sebastian’s apartment. Her black case and a carrier bag would do. He would pack for her.
Happy with his plan he headed for the bedroom, but just then his mobile rang. He quickly went through his pockets and fished it out. Looked at the display. He was afraid it might be Ellinor, but it was Torkel. Sebastian was surprised by the surge of hope that shot through his body before he answered.
He wasn’t disappointed.
Six bodies. Storulvån. They were flying to Östersund in three hours.
As he packed it was as if he had been transported fifteen years back in time. Gathering up the essentials as quickly as possible, never knowing how long he was going to be away, hoping that a challenge was waiting for him. He hadn’t given it a conscious thought for many, many years, but as he moved between the wardrobe and the open suitcase, it struck him: he had missed this.
He wouldn’t only be using his expertise, he would be working with Vanja. And he had got rid of Ellinor.
Things just couldn’t be better right now.
Shibeka had got up early, woken her beloved boys and given them breakfast. Freshly baked roht, the sweet bread made of flour, yoghurt and cardamom, served with chai tea and a bowl of dried apricots that she had bought down in the square. The boys also had Frosties with milk. When they were little, Shibeka had decided that there should be Swedish food on the breakfast table too, and without hesitation they had both chosen Frosties, probably because of the sweetness, but also because they loved the big tiger on the box. She had made a few attempts to introduce different, more nutritious cereals, but without success.
It was sports day for Mehran; he was going to learn orienteering, so she made him a packed lunch. Eyer looked on enviously as she placed the plastic boxes containing yesterday’s korma in Mehran’s bag. He immediately asked if he could take some of his favourite curry too. She smiled at him; that was just typical of Eyer. He was always the one who went for it, tried to get more out of life. Mehran was more serious, more reserved, nowhere near as talkative. She shook her head.
‘There’s some for you, but you can have it as a snack when you get home.’
Eyer nodded and went back to his Frosties. Shibeka gazed at them as they sat there eating. Her boys. She had spent the whole weekend wondering what to do. Should she tell them? Mehran was old enough; he really ought to know, perhaps even go with her. Speak on her behalf. Protect her. But she didn’t want that. She wanted to protect them, speak to the man on her own. Nine years ago such a thought would never even have crossed her mind. The idea that a woman could act as she was doing now was not part of her world. There was something shameful about what she was planning, yet at the same time it felt liberating. She was proud of herself, in spite of the clump of guilt deep down in her belly.
The boys got ready to leave; they usually walked to school together. Shibeka kissed them on the forehead and opened the door. They ran down the stairs and she stood there listening for a little longer than usual. She really did have two wonderful boys. Respectful and polite, unlike the children of some of her friends, where the clash between the customs of the old and new countries often led to conflict. She liked to think this was down to her; she had made a real effort to encourage them to take the best from both cultures. It wasn’t easy, but she did try.
She went back inside and finished off the lukewarm tea, ate a piece of the sweet, delicious roht, then went to get ready. She had no intention of dressing up, but she wanted him to take her seriously. She opted for a black shawl around her head to hide her hair. She was grieving, after all, even if many years had passed since Hamid’s disappearance. She was going to be early, but she was too restless to stay at home any longer. She picked up her railcard and set off.
The metro station was ten minutes away. If she met anyone she knew, she would say that she was going shopping, and hope they didn’t decide to accompany her. It would be a lie, but sometimes lies were necessary.
The blue line went straight to the central station, so there was no need to change. The train was half-full. Shibeka realised she had no way of contacting the man if she couldn’t find the café. She didn’t have a mobile phone; she had never thought she needed such a thing. The boys both had one; all the young people in Sweden seemed to have a mobile. Perhaps she should have borrowed one of theirs? But that would have seemed strange, and they would have started asking questions she didn’t want to answer. Not right now, at any rate. There were a lot of things she hadn’t considered. She had been so focused on getting a reaction, and now that something was happening at long last, after all this time, she wasn’t really prepared for it. Shibeka decided that if the man chose to pursue her story, she would get herself a mobile. Some of her friends, and particularly their husbands, wouldn’t like it, but then they wouldn’t like what she was doing anyway. Not in the slightest.
The Man Who Wasn't There Page 5