‘He didn’t disappear because he wasn’t allowed to stay. And he didn’t disappear so that we could stay.’ Shibeka raised her voice and looked Lennart in the eye for the first time. ‘You always say that’s why he disappeared, but it’s not true!’
Lennart gazed at her. Gone was the wary, slightly circumspect woman. Her eyes burned with passion. Lennart could see her inner strength, and suddenly he understood the fight for her husband that had gone on for so many years. This was a woman who never gave up, whatever the odds against her.
‘That’s not what I’m saying, but it is what the police and the Immigration Board are saying: that Hamid went missing after a meeting with the Immigration Board where he was informed that you were probably going to be sent back.’
Shibeka knew that she had to protest. She shook her head and clenched her fists.
‘They don’t know Hamid. He would never leave us, never let his boys grow up without a father. Never. Something else must have happened.’
Her expression was almost pleading as she gazed at the man sitting opposite. After a brief silence he put down his pen and asked with genuine curiosity: ‘So what do you think happened?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But you think it’s something to do with the man who turned up a week or so after Hamid went missing?’
‘Yes.’
‘The man you thought was a police officer?’
‘He sounded like a police officer, but he wasn’t in uniform.’
‘And he didn’t give you a name?’
‘No.’
‘So you have no idea where he was from?’
She shook her head. ‘He asked questions like a police officer.’
‘What did he ask you?’
Shibeka thought back. Where to begin? There had been so many questions, all centred on Hamid and his cousin. She realised that what she said now was crucial. She had to make Lennart Stridh understand that the Swedish man in the dark jacket who came to her apartment was important. That his visit was significant. He had been after something, something she hadn’t been able to give him even if she had wanted to.
‘He asked mostly about Hamid,’ she said slowly. ‘And Said, his cousin. Had they said where they were going, had they taken anything with them, had they met up with anyone beforehand, had they been away in the last few weeks, and . . . and . . .’
She stopped in mid-sentence. Her thoughts always returned to the other man. He and the Swede in the dark jacket had something to do with Hamid’s disappearance, she was sure of it.
‘And about Joseph.’
Lennart wrote down the name.
‘Who’s Joseph?’
‘I don’t know. He knew Said.’
‘And Said went missing at the same time as your husband.’
She nodded. ‘Said saw Joseph often. Hamid didn’t like him. He told me that.’
‘But you’ve never met this Joseph, or heard anything about him since?’
‘No. I tried, but I couldn’t find him.’
Suddenly Lennart wasn’t sure what to think. Shibeka Khan seemed reliable; he couldn’t for the life of him see why she would lie. She had been trying to find out what had happened to her husband for a very long time – longer than if she actually knew, and was doing it for show. However, the fact that she didn’t know didn’t necessarily mean there was anything worth pursuing as far as he and the programme were concerned. There could be any number of reasons behind the disappearance, reasons that were tragic for the family, but of no interest to an investigative journalist or the TV viewers.
And yet there was something about this woman that piqued his interest. Something in her story that didn’t quite fit. No, not in her story – he believed her – but in the response from the authorities. It wasn’t so much what they had said, but what they hadn’t said. The small amount of research he had done after receiving her letter hadn’t led to anything concrete; quite the reverse. He had started by calling the Immigration Board, and as usual he had been passed on to one official after another before he was able to speak to the right person. The Board confirmed that Hamid Khan had gone missing a few days after a meeting with them, and that they suspected he was deliberately staying away. They had no current details; the latest note on his file stated that they were awaiting the results of the police investigation. The note was dated August 2003. Nothing had happened since then, except that Hamid’s wife Shibeka and her two children, Eyer and Mehran, had been granted a residence permit in 2006. Then Lennart had contacted the police, and was told that the investigation had concluded that Hamid’s disappearance was probably connected to an imminent deportation order, but they were unable to comment further. Lennart had wondered why. The case was classified, he was informed. That was the real reason why he was sitting here with Shibeka. He couldn’t remember any other instance where a refusal to grant asylum had been classified.
Then there was the story of Said Balkhi, Hamid’s cousin, who had disappeared at the same time. He had arrived in Sweden several years earlier and had been given a residence permit back in 2000. He owned and ran a shop on Fridhemsplan where Hamid sometimes worked. On the night they went missing in 2003 he had called his wife and said he was on his way home. They had closed the shop and locked up, and nobody had seen them since. Said’s wife was expecting their first child just a few months later. He had no reason to disappear, none at all. Something about this whole business just didn’t feel right; Lennart was becoming more and more convinced that it was worth looking into.
He decided to go with his gut. It would take time and resources, but it wouldn’t do any harm to do a little more digging.
‘Shibeka, we’re going to take this on. I can’t promise anything, but we’ll make a start at least.’
Her whole face lit up, and she almost spilt her tea as she leapt to her feet.
‘Thank you! Thank you so much!’
Lennart couldn’t help smiling at her obvious joy.
‘Just remember, I can’t promise anything.’
‘I know. I know, but I’ve waited so long for this.’
Shibeka calmed down, realised that several people were looking at her, and sat down again. However, the happiness was still bubbling away inside her, making it difficult to keep still.
‘OK, we’ve got a lot of work to do,’ Lennart went on. ‘I need a list of all your friends and relatives who might know something. I need copies of all the letters you’ve sent, and an authorisation from you so that I can request all the relevant material from the authorities. Then we need to sit down and go through everything you remember in detail. Can you do that?’
There were a lot of words, and he spoke very fast. She couldn’t follow everything, but she did understand the last question, and she knew the answer.
‘I can do anything,’ she said, holding his gaze, and Lennart instinctively knew that it was true.
Their flight took off on time and was expected to land ten minutes early. This information passed Sebastian by completely in his aisle seat. Nor did he listen to the safety briefing. He had no idea how long the flight time was expected to be, or what the weather was like in Östersund. He waved away the hot drink and the roast beef wrap that the cabin crew offered him.
Vanja was going to be away for three years.
He couldn’t get it out of his head. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t happen. What was he going to do? He knew what he wanted to do.
Go with her.
Or follow her, at least.
There was nothing to tie him to Stockholm or Sweden, apart from Vanja. He wanted to be where she was. However, he realised that the idea of following her to the USA was impossible. She would think he was crazy. It was crazy. She would start avoiding him again, with good reason. Distrust him. Hate him. He couldn’t let that happen.
Vanja was coming towards him from the toilet at the front of the plane. Sebastian touched her arm as she was passing, and she stopped.
‘I hear you’ve applied for a place on an F
BI training programme.’
‘That’s right.’
For a moment he considered saying what he was thinking, begging her not to go. But he had no way of following up such a plea, no response to her inevitable question: ‘Why?’
‘How far have you got?’ he asked instead, hoping that she still had a long way to go. Several difficult hurdles. Demanding tests that she might fail.
‘I’ve done ballistics, the physical and written tests, and this weekend I saw Persson Riddarstolpe for my psych assessment.’
‘He’s an idiot,’ Sebastian said, almost reflexively.
‘I know you think so.’
‘I don’t think so, he is an idiot. It’s a fact, just like the fact that the earth is round.’
Vanja smiled at him. He loved that smile.
‘Anyway, I think it went well. He has to submit a report, and then I think there are just a few role plays left.’
Of course it went well. The tiny spark of hope Sebastian had allowed himself to feel faded away and died. Of course she had passed everything with flying colours. Of course she would be accepted.
She was the best.
She was his daughter.
‘Torkel thinks I’ll get in,’ Vanja went on. ‘That’s why Jennifer’s here.’
‘Yes, he told me.’
Vanja stayed where she was; she seemed to be waiting for something more.
Congratulations, for example.
Or good luck.
It never came.
* * *
Superintendent Hedvig Hedman was waiting for them in the arrivals hall. She welcomed them and apologised for being unable to offer them better weather. When they had collected their luggage, they accompanied her to a waiting people carrier. They left Frösön and drove alongside the lake until they joined the E14.
As they headed towards Storulvån Hedvig told them what she knew. It wasn’t much. A walker had stepped out onto an overhang that had presumably been eroded by the rain. The ground had fallen away, exposing a skeleton. The police then began to dig around the remains and came across another skull. By the time they had finished they had found six bodies, side by side. Hedvig had gone through every possible database and archive, but there were no reports of a group of six people going missing at any point in the last fifty years.
‘Do you know how long they’ve been there?’ Torkel asked.
‘No, we’ve left them on the mountain. We haven’t started investigating; we thought it was better to wait for you.’
Ursula nodded approvingly. Far too many local police forces wanted to show how clever they were, prove they could get somewhere before Riksmord turned up. Hedvig Hedman seemed to have a different approach – quite rightly, in Ursula’s opinion. She had realised that the case was likely to prove too complex and had called for reinforcements right away rather than waiting until they were stuck.
‘Do you know how they died?’ she asked, meeting Hedvig’s eyes in the rear-view mirror.
‘Initial indications suggest that they were shot, but we can’t be certain until we’ve examined them.’
Jennifer was sitting right at the back with Billy, revelling in the experience. She couldn’t believe how lucky she’d been. She was actually sitting in a people carrier with Riksmord. Six bodies. Shot. Buried on a mountainside. This was a bit different from running speed checks and sorting out drunken brawls on a Friday night. This was why she had joined the police. Murderers. Clues. A complex investigation. The chase, the excitement. She was bubbling over inside. She wanted to tell everyone.
Jennifer Holmgren, Riksmord.
She could hardly keep still. Billy turned to her. Jennifer knew she was sitting there with a smile on her face, but she couldn’t help it.
‘Why are you so happy?’
She told him the truth.
‘I’m just so pleased to be here.’
Vanja glanced back at her replacement. She almost expected Jennifer to add ‘with you’, aimed at Billy. The two of them seemed to have clicked right away. They had sat together on the plane, laughing and chatting about who they followed on Twitter, and other stuff that Vanja couldn’t care less about. In just a few hours Jennifer had managed to make her feel old. She turned her attention back to the road. She had to pull herself together. She would be leaving the team, so it was a good thing if Billy hit it off with her replacement. She wasn’t jealous, but . . . it was her place. Jennifer would be taking her place. Vanja had chosen to go, but even so. For the first time since she embarked on her FBI adventure, she realised that she wasn’t only on the way to somewhere new, she was also leaving something behind. Something good.
* * *
They turned left in Enafors, then right before they reached Handöl. Drove along a valley where the mountains rose up on both sides of the road, their warm autumn colours glowing in the rain. The narrow road grew even narrower, then suddenly opened out into a large car park. They had arrived. A long, low building with extensions in all directions. One side ended in some kind of octagonal offshoot that looked like a silo. Grey roofs. Everywhere. At first glance 80 per cent of the place seemed to be roof. Sebastian knew nothing about architecture, but he knew when he thought something was ugly. This was ugly. Functional, perhaps, as a mountain station, but nobody could call it attractive.
They hurried inside and were welcomed in reception by a couple who introduced themselves as Mats and Klara, issued them with keys and explained the arrangements for the next few days. They could stay as long as they liked, even though the hotel had closed for the season. There would be staff on-site during the day, getting ready for the winter; a few would stay overnight in the staff lodges. A cook would come in each day to prepare lunch and dinner. They could help themselves to breakfast in the kitchen. There might be the odd workman carrying out minor repairs, but only during the day. If they needed anything or had any questions, Mats and Klara were always available.
They decided to drop their luggage in their rooms, have a quick snack then get out onto the mountain as soon as possible, while it was still light. Hedvig had two vehicles at their disposal.
* * *
Torkel put his suitcase on the bed then went over to the window. He had a view of the river; it was high water. A suspension bridge spanned the torrent, and he could see the well-trodden track that led walkers out into the mountains. Torkel was glad to be here. He couldn’t pretend that he didn’t have certain hopes when it came to this trip, hopes that were nothing to do with police work. Perhaps he and Ursula could find their way back to one another. Move forward, even. For a long time they had lived by the rules that Ursula had laid down.
Only at work.
Never on home ground.
No plans for the future.
They were simple rules, they had followed them for several years, and it had worked. But then things had changed. Ursula had come to his apartment. Sought him out. Wanted him. On home ground. In Stockholm. Two of the rules had been broken, in his opinion, and it was Ursula who had broken them. It seemed to Torkel that this had complicated matters. On the few occasions when they had met or talked recently, he had got the feeling that Ursula had changed. Not much, nothing major, just small signs. Details. He thought perhaps it was because she was afraid they were on the way to breaking the third rule as well. Maybe the idea of a future together frightened her. Torkel wanted nothing more, but he knew better than to take the initiative. Everything they did was on Ursula’s terms. Always. He wanted to move forward, but now they had the chance to regroup.
Go back.
Follow the rules once more.
There was no doubt that everything had been simpler then; he hoped that they could find their way back to that place, then move on. A few nights in a hotel, far away from her husband. Take a step back so that they could make some kind of progress. That was what Torkel wanted, what he was hoping for.
As usual he hadn’t a clue what Ursula was thinking.
After a meal consisting of goulash soup, bread, coffee and
chocolate almond biscuits, they gathered outside the mountain station. The rain was coming down more heavily now. It was pouring as they made their way across the bridge to the two four-wheel-drive vehicles waiting on the other side. Sebastian hated rain. It didn’t matter that he was dressed for the weather; after just a few minutes he felt as if he was soaked to the skin. Soaking wet and cold.
‘There’s no such thing as bad weather, only the wrong clothes.’
Only a brainwashed fucking nature fascist would say such a thing. This was bad weather. From a purely objective point of view it was bloody awful weather, however you were dressed. Sebastian thought about turning back, waiting in the hotel. He didn’t really need to see the place where the bodies had been found, but by now they had reached the cars and protection from the rain. He pushed past Jennifer and jumped in.
Half an hour later they had arrived. A large white tent had been erected over the remains, and a petrol-driven generator provided power for the floodlights both inside and outside the tent in the gathering dusk. Hedvig led them over to a man in his fifties who introduced himself as Jan-Erik Kask. He shook hands with them all, then set off through the mud.
‘The overhang gave way, and this is what we found . . .’
He held open the tent flap and Sebastian walked straight in, with Ursula close behind. Torkel stopped and looked around.
‘Is there room for all of us?’
‘Should be. Just don’t go too near the edge or you could end up down there too.’
Torkel, Billy, Vanja and Jennifer stepped inside the tent. The air was stuffy and damp; the combination of the lights and the rain made it feel like a butterfly house. They all undid their jackets.
In the middle they saw a hole approximately two by five metres, less than a metre deep. Six skeletons lay more or less side by side down at the bottom; two of them were significantly shorter than the others. Two still had rotten scraps of clothing clinging to their legs. The skeleton furthest away from the entrance had one arm stretched out under the side of the tent as if it was checking whether it was still raining outside. They could hear the water rushing past down below. Jan-Erik crouched down by the grave and nodded at the remains at the far end.
The Man Who Wasn't There Page 7