The Man Who Wasn't There

by Michael Hjorth

  ‘Shall I come in with you?’

  Maya switched off the engine and turned to Billy. They had just pulled up outside Terminal 4 at Arlanda. Billy glanced at his watch; his flight took off in forty-five minutes.

  ‘No, there’s no need. And it’s incredibly expensive to park here.’

  ‘OK.’

  Billy undid his seatbelt, leaned over and gave her a kiss.

  ‘I’ll be in touch when I know how long I’m going to be away.’

  Maya nodded. Billy opened the door and got out. He was just getting his bag out of the boot when he heard the driver’s door open, and Maya appeared.

  ‘When you get back—’ she began.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t know when I’ll be back,’ Billy clarified, slamming the boot shut. ‘I’ll be in touch as soon as I know.’

  ‘That’s not what I said.’ Maya grabbed his open jacket and came closer. ‘I said when you get back.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What do you think about the two of us moving in together?’

  Billy could easily have listed twenty things Maya could have said that would have surprised him less. More, perhaps. He had no idea what to say, but he was painfully aware that to say nothing at all was probably the worst possible response. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of their moving in together. How long had they been together? Since midsummer, how long was that? Approximately three months. Wasn’t it a bit soon? Could he say that? He definitely had to say something.

  ‘You don’t want to,’ Maya stated; he had obviously remained silent for too long.

  ‘I’m just a bit surprised.’

  ‘Because we haven’t known each other very long?’

  ‘Well yes, partly that, and . . .’ He didn’t finish the sentence. He still didn’t know what to say. He had nothing more sensible in his head than ten seconds ago. ‘Yes, I guess so,’ he admitted.

  ‘But we like one another, and we’re practically living together now, but at two different addresses.’

  That was true. They had spent a lot of time with each other right from the start, but now it was just as Maya said: they were practically living together, sometimes at her place, more often at his. He hadn’t been working so much. Recently there hadn’t been a great deal to do, and before that he had been suspended while the internal investigation into the fatal shooting of Edward Hinde had been carried out. Any case in which a police officer fired his or her gun was investigated, particularly if there was a fatal outcome. Billy had been interviewed several times, and had had two appointments with the Police Board’s psychologist, Håkan Persson Riddarstolpe, and that was the end of that.

  Billy realised Maya was looking encouragingly at him. It was definitely his turn to say something.

  ‘So would you move into my place?’ he managed eventually.

  ‘Your place, my place, somewhere new – we can talk about that later. But it has to be what you want.’

  ‘It . . . it is,’ he said. ‘Honestly,’ he added, hoping she was listening to the words rather than the hesitation behind them.

  ‘Excellent, in that case we’ll sort it out when you get home. Good luck.’ She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. He remained standing behind the car as she got back in and drove off.

  He waved. She waved back.

  A taxi sounded its horn as he was crossing the road. He looked over and saw Vanja in the passenger seat.

  She waved. Billy waved back and stopped to wait for her.

  It was a strange thought, but he was struck by the realisation that Vanja and Maya had never been so close as just now, in different cars at the airport. They had never met. He and Maya were about to start living together, yet Vanja, his closest colleague and perhaps his best friend – or at least she had once been his best friend – had never even met her. Wasn’t that a sign that things were moving a little too fast? Or was it just a sign that he was too much of a coward to introduce them to one another? Was that why he hadn’t wanted Maya to come into the terminal with him? He was pretty sure that Vanja wouldn’t like Maya, and there was a distinct possibility that the feeling would be mutual.

  Which was a problem.

  However, it might well solve itself. Vanja was on her way to the USA. He was pretty sure she would be allocated one of the three places. He hadn’t applied. He had told himself that it was because he didn’t want to live overseas for three years, that it wasn’t really his thing, and that he would go for something else if he ever decided to go in for advanced training. Something more technical, more his area of expertise.

  That was partly true, but deep down he knew that one of the reasons why he hadn’t even applied was because he wasn’t sure how he would react if Vanja was successful and he wasn’t.

  ‘Hi, you look as if you’re deep in thought!’ Vanja said as she came over and hugged him.

  ‘Not really . . .’

  His suspension, a department on the back burner and Vanja’s focus on her FBI tests meant they had hardly seen each other over the past few months. He realised he had missed her.

  ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘Maya gave me a lift.’

  ‘Oh, so you’re still with Maya?’

  Was it his imagination, or was there a hint of disappointment in her voice?

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Cool.’

  She didn’t ask when she was going to meet Maya.

  He didn’t mention it either.

  They set off towards the terminal.

  * * *

  As Billy and Vanja walked in they saw Torkel and Ursula standing by the screens showing arrivals and departures. There was a young woman with them, perhaps around twenty-five years old. Tall, taller than Vanja. Long brown hair tied back in a simple ponytail, a slim face, alert, bright blue eyes that turned to Billy and Vanja as Torkel raised a hand in greeting. After the usual round of hugs and hellos, Torkel introduced their companion.

  ‘This is Jennifer. She’ll be travelling up with us.’

  Vanja held out her hand.

  ‘Hi. Vanja.’

  ‘Jennifer. We’ve met before actually.’

  ‘Have we?’

  ‘Yes, at a gravel pit in Bro. I found a burnt-out car you were interested in.’

  Of course. Vanja nodded. It was hardly surprising that she hadn’t remembered Jennifer, who had been a uniformed officer at the time. Her report to Vanja had taken approximately thirty seconds, plus Vanja had actively tried to forget that particular day. It had been unbearably hot, she had been hung-over and furious, and she had told Billy that she was a better cop than he was, which had threatened to destroy their relationship and tear the team apart. She and Billy had talked about it later. Sorted it out. But sometimes Vanja felt as if they hadn’t really found their way back to what they had had before that day at the gravel pit in Bro.

  ‘Did you find the boy?’ Billy asked when he had shaken hands with the new arrival.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Weren’t you looking for a missing boy when you came across the car?’

  ‘That’s right – Lukas Ryd. Yes, we found him. He’d set off on a little trip all by himself and got lost.’

  Jennifer smiled at Billy. Unlike Vanja, he remembered her and what she had been doing when they met. He had noticed her. Billy returned her smile.

  Vanja took a step back.

  When Torkel had said that he was intending to bring in a potential replacement, Vanja hadn’t expected her to be so young. She looked even younger when she smiled. The slightly harsh lines around her eyes were erased, and she looked more relaxed. Could someone so young and inexperienced really replace Vanja? What was Torkel thinking?

  Wasn’t she better than that?

  Of course she was.

  Vanja was off to Quantico. That was why Jennifer was here. Vanja was actually glad that Torkel had already brought someone in, because it meant he was certain she would go all the way. He needed to make sure his team was
in place, and to be honest Vanja had also been young and inexperienced when she started working with him. Not that young though.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Ursula.

  ‘So that’s the end of any chance of peace and quiet.’

  Vanja turned towards the doors and saw Sebastian heading towards them, wearing a satisfied and slightly smug smile. A smile that would have driven her crazy a few weeks ago, but today she merely registered it.

  ‘I guess you’re waiting for me,’ he said, putting down his bag and giving Vanja a hug. ‘Good to see you again.’

  ‘You too.’

  Billy watched them. He couldn’t quite work out their relationship. He understood that Vanja had accepted Sebastian after he had offered to take her place as Edward Hinde’s hostage; he got that. But there was something else.

  Edward Hinde’s targets had been women who had had a temporary sexual relationship with Sebastian. Vanja’s mother had been on a list of possible victims that Billy had found, so there was little doubt that Sebastian had slept with Anna Eriksson. Billy had dug a little further while he was under investigation, but he hadn’t got very far. It was virtually impossible to work out where and when it had happened, and eventually he had decided that trying to find out more about the sex life of his colleague’s mother was a little seedy. If Anna Eriksson was being or had been unfaithful with Sebastian, it was really none of his business. Of course he wondered whether Vanja would be so positively inclined towards Sebastian as she was now if she knew, but Billy had no intention of being the one to tell her. He didn’t want to jeopardise his slightly battered friendship with Vanja all over again.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ Sebastian said once he had greeted everyone. ‘I was waiting for a locksmith.’

  ‘Had you locked yourself out?’ Ursula wondered, with what Sebastian interpreted as a hopeful smirk.

  ‘No.’ He turned back to Jennifer with a warm smile. ‘Jennifer, was it?’

  ‘Yes. Jennifer Holmgren.’

  Sebastian nodded and repeated her name. Torkel saw Ursula roll her eyes, and he turned to Sebastian.

  ‘A word, please.’

  Without waiting for a response he put his hand under Sebastian’s elbow and drew him to one side.

  ‘You are not going to sleep with her,’ he said quietly but very clearly once they were out of earshot.

  Sebastian glanced over Torkel’s shoulder. Jennifer was chatting to Billy; Ursula met Sebastian’s gaze, distaste written all over her face. Presumably she knew exactly what Torkel was saying. Sebastian grinned at her.

  ‘Do you think she’s interested?’ he said, shifting his focus back to Torkel.

  ‘No, I don’t, but you have a remarkable ability to get women into bed. This time you’re not even going to try.’

  ‘OK.’

  Torkel looked Sebastian in the eye. OK? Just like that? Too easy. He suddenly got the feeling that he had made things worse. If Sebastian was told what to do, he usually did the polar opposite. Sebastian couldn’t let anyone else lay down the law where he was concerned. Had Jennifer just become more interesting because Torkel had told him not to go there?

  The risk was definitely there.

  ‘I mean it,’ he said, emphasising every word. ‘You’ll be out so fast your feet won’t touch the ground.’ He hoped that Sebastian’s pleasure at being back would outweigh his need to defy authority.

  ‘I realise that. Nothing is going to happen.’

  ‘OK. Good.’

  Torkel turned to rejoin the others.

  ‘So why is she here?’ Sebastian asked.

  ‘She might be Vanja’s replacement.’

  Sebastian stopped dead and grabbed Torkel by the arm. A little too quickly, his grip a little too tight. He let go as soon as Torkel looked at him with raised eyebrows.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sebastian made an effort not to sound too surprised and anxious. ‘What are you talking about, Vanja’s replacement?’

  ‘Vanja has applied for a place on an FBI training programme.’

  Sebastian heard the words, understood what they probably meant, but couldn’t really take them in. Didn’t want to take them in.

  ‘In the USA?’ was all he could get out.

  ‘I believe that’s where the FBI usually hangs out.’

  ‘How long for? When?’ Sebastian’s mouth was suddenly dry. He thought his questions sounded like a dry croak, but perhaps that was because of the rushing noise in his ears. Torkel didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘The programme?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Three years, starting in January.’

  Torkel went back to the rest of the team; Sebastian stayed where he was, as if someone had nailed him to the floor.

  Three years.

  Three years without her.

  When he had finally got closer to her.

  He heard his name. Again. Sebastian saw that the others had stopped halfway to the stairs leading to the security check, wondering if he was intending to join them. He started walking. Picked up his bag. His body was on the way to Jämtland, but his mind was in an entirely different place.

  Lennart Stridh jumped out of the cab at Åhlén’s, directly opposite Café Bolero. He was five minutes late and ran over the crossing just as the traffic lights were about to change to green. A driver angrily sounded his horn, but Lennart didn’t even glance in the direction of the car. He hurried over to the café, pulled open the heavy glass door and went inside. The air was filled with the sweet aroma of coffee and cake. He looked around the large room; the place was busier than he had expected. She must be somewhere between thirty-five and forty-five. He knew she had two teenage boys, but that was about all. A short distance away a woman with a black shawl around her head got to her feet and looked at him. Took a few cautious steps towards him. She was slender, with dark eyes and a darker skin tone than most of those around her. That must be her. She had chosen a table away from other people, in a corner, where she was almost invisible.

  ‘Shibeka?’

  She gave a slight nod. He went over and held out his hand.

  ‘Hi, I’m Lennart.’

  She nodded again. He could see that she was uncomfortable in the middle of the room. She was probably nervous. Hardly surprising – most people got nervous when they actually met him.

  ‘Nice to meet you. Are you happy sitting here?’

  She spoke for the first time.

  ‘Yes. Fine.’

  Her accent was less noticeable than it had been on the phone, and she looked slightly more relaxed, as if her anxiety had diminished when she heard the sound of her own voice.

  ‘Can I get you a coffee?

  ‘Tea, please.’

  Even though she hardly ever looked him in the eye, she seemed stronger than he had expected. He had got the impression of a much more downtrodden woman when he spoke to her on the phone. He went over to the counter and bought a cup of tea, an Americano and two cinnamon buns, watching her as he waited for his order to be filled. She seemed tense now, hands clasped on her lap, eyes fixed on the floor. He went over to the table, put down the tray and sat opposite her. He decided to get straight to the point.

  ‘Are you nervous? There’s nothing to worry about.’

  ‘I am not used to this kind of thing.’

  ‘I understand, but it’s quite straightforward. I’ll ask you some questions about your husband, and you try to answer. Anything you say is just between the two of us.’

  She nodded and took a tentative sip of her tea without looking up. Lennart took out his notepad, clicked his ballpoint pen. Some of his colleagues recorded all their interviews, but he preferred pen and paper. A recorder could make people nervous. It meant they couldn’t say they had been misquoted, and Lennart thought that made them more careful, made them start censoring themselves. He didn’t want that. Right now the important thing was to get a mental picture of Shibeka and to assess the potential of her story, to decide whether she was trustworthy and whether her husband’s
disappearance was something worth pursuing, or a dead end. Lennart had come up against several of those already this year and he didn’t want any more.

  ‘Let’s start with you,’ he said, pen poised. ‘You and your husband came to Sweden at the end of 2001?’

  ‘Yes, and the children. They were two and four.’

  ‘From Afghanistan?’

  Shibeka looked at him. He made it sound so easy. As if they had jumped on a plane and landed in Sweden a few hours later. For a moment she let her thoughts stray to the camp in Pakistan where they had ended up when they first fled. The stench, the overcrowding, the fear, and everywhere the sound of children crying. The tents that were ice-cold at night and stifling during the day. Hamid, persuading her that they had to get out of there. Move on. The men they had paid to get them into Iran. The terrible journey in a truck through mountains and stony deserts, days and weeks blending into one long nightmare. All she could remember was sitting pressed against the cab, clutching Eyer and Mehran in her arms. The ache in her arms from clinging to her children was her only real memory of their flight; the rest was a confusion of different images, but she never forgot the pain. She stretched her arms a fraction just to be sure that the pain was gone for ever.

  ‘Yes, but first we went to Greece.’

  ‘So Greece was your first country of asylum?’

  Asylland. What a word. One of the first she had learned in Swedish. The first member state of the EU that a refugee reaches, and the country he or she is sent back to before being sent home.

  ‘But then you came to Sweden?’ Lennart went on when she didn’t reply.

  Shibeka nodded. ‘We had friends and family in Sweden, so Hamid wanted to come here.’

  ‘But you weren’t granted asylum?’

  ‘Not at first. There were many problems.’

  She fell silent. Lennart leaned forward a fraction. This could determine whether he said thanks but no thanks, or carried on.

  ‘Hamid was never granted asylum, was he? And you and your children didn’t get it until a few years later, after he’d disappeared – is that right?’

  Shibeka sighed; she already knew where this was going. It was always the same. Back to what the Swedish authorities always said. She was so tired of it all.