The Man Who Wasn't There

by Michael Hjorth

  She gathered her team. They would go through every detail of Lithner’s affairs and finances, both personal and private. This time they knew what they were looking for.

  Veronica Ström didn’t have time.

  She really didn’t have time. There was so much to do before the move to Nairobi in February. She had no desire to sit in a café pretending to enjoy a cup of coffee while she waited for Alexander Söderling. With a certain amount of irritation she flicked through the magazine on the table in front of her.

  A journalist from M Magazine had been calling her for weeks, begging for an interview. Veronica had had such a fantastic career and she seemed to be such an inspiring woman, the journalist had chirruped. Exactly the kind of person their readers wanted to know more about.

  Veronica couldn’t deny that she was right. She had a degree in business administration from the School of Economics in Stockholm, and had progressed via banks and newspapers to become the editor of the press and information bureau at the Foreign Office. After three years she had been promoted to the post of adviser to the foreign secretary, and in 2002 a new post was created for her, co-ordinating security policy within the government. Since 2008 she had held a senior post in the Defence Department, and from February she would be the Swedish ambassador in Kenya.

  Veronica hadn’t known much about the magazine when the journalist called her, so she had checked it out online. Features, beauty, fashion, health, travel, financial tips and advice for the over-fifties, it said. Veronica didn’t know whether to feel slightly insulted. She would be forty-nine in December. She had spoken to her colleagues, and they were all agreed that it was a good platform. The journalist had been overjoyed when she said yes, assuring Veronica that it would be fun. They had arranged to meet next week.

  But now she had a different meeting.

  Where the hell was Söderling?

  She had been surprised to hear from him. She hadn’t given a thought to the events in Jämtland for many years. She didn’t think Söderling’s call was a reason to start worrying. OK, so the bodies had been found, but the risk of anyone ever working out the whole picture was infinitesimal. The conversation with Söderling had been like a fly on a summer’s day: irritating, but easily swatted away.

  Then he had called again, wanting to meet. Which meant there were problems. She looked around. It was Söderling who had suggested the location: an old building on Riddargatan. The café was split over several floors, with a narrow stone staircase leading from one to the next. Small rooms designed to give the impression of familiarity, the feeling that you were in someone’s home, with mismatched chairs, old sofas and wobbly tables. Veronica thought it was grubby, musty, and cluttered with too much furniture. It was like having coffee in the middle of a flea market.

  He came up the stairs looking stressed and started checking out the various rooms. He didn’t notice her at first, which was exactly what she wanted. There was nothing odd in their meeting, but nor was it something they needed to publicise.

  Alexander came over, apologised for his late arrival and sat down. He placed his briefcase on the floor and leaned forward.

  ‘I’ve given quite a lot of thought to . . . recent events,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I haven’t,’ Veronica said coldly. ‘To be honest, I’m hoping to avoid the subject in the future too.’

  Alexander shook his head.

  ‘Unfortunately I don’t think that will be possible,’ he said apologetically. ‘I need help.’

  Veronica sighed. She didn’t want to help him. She wanted to carry on getting ready for the coming move to Nairobi. She wanted to become Swedish ambassador and forget all about the autumn of 2003.

  ‘With what?’ she asked anyway, well aware that everything Alexander Söderling did to protect himself also protected her.

  ‘You remember the refusal to grant asylum that we made sure was marked classified?’

  Veronica nodded. One of the simpler elements in the operation. A word to the right person and it was done. The Solna police had enough to do without looking for refugees who had gone on the run, so they were almost grateful. No one had reacted.

  ‘We need to remove one of the names,’ Alexander went on. ‘The referral.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, they’ve found the bodies,’ he said, sounding surprised. He obviously thought she ought to understand. ‘There’s only a small risk that they’ll make the connection, but if they do . . .’

  He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. She understood perfectly. The threads that remained were long and tangled, but it would be possible to follow them. Of course it was best to snip off as many as possible. Better late than never. She nodded.

  ‘I’ll sort it. Anything else?’

  ‘Not that I can think of.’

  ‘So this is the end of it.’

  ‘Hopefully.’

  ‘Good.’

  She got up and left the little room without even looking at him. No one took any notice of her departure. She would make the call, make sure the name disappeared, and then she would put this whole sorry mess behind her.

  That was the plan. It was a good plan.

  Unfortunately something deep down inside told her it probably wasn’t going to be that easy.

  The minute hand on the clock above the door edged onto the twelve as Torkel entered the room to start the meeting. The others were already gathered.

  They had said eleven o’clock.

  Torkel walked in at eleven o’clock.

  To the second. Vanja realised it was pure chance, but she couldn’t help smiling. Torkel would have been pleased with his entrance if he had known.

  ‘What have we got today?’ he said, sitting down.

  ‘We’ve checked the relevant reports from October 2003,’ Billy began, pushing sets of printouts into the middle of the table. The others helped themselves; Sebastian didn’t bother. Ursula caught his eye and gave him a little smile; Sebastian responded with a nod.

  Torkel was just about to ask Sebastian why he hadn’t taken a copy of the material, but stopped himself when he saw the nod. He watched as Ursula sat back in her chair, her smile a little wider. For a moment Torkel felt a pang of jealousy, but he quickly and efficiently pushed it aside.

  Ursula and Sebastian.

  It was out of the question. Unthinkable. Ursula was the member of the team who disliked Sebastian the most. They had been colleagues back in the Nineties and, if Torkel remembered rightly, they had got on very well. Then something happened. They carried on working together, but it seemed more . . . professional, more strained. The closeness, the friendship between them was gone. Then Sebastian left. Ursula had never talked about it. Torkel assumed Sebastian had hurt her in some way. That was his speciality, even back then. Whatever had happened, it hadn’t gone away. On previous occasions when Sebastian had worked with Riksmord, Ursula had made her displeasure very clear. She had accepted him after he had saved Vanja’s life, but no more than that.

  ‘We focused on the week when Jan and Framke Bakker went missing,’ Billy went on, and Torkel turned his full attention to the matter in hand. ‘There are no reports of anyone taking off without paying their bill in any hotel, guest house or hostel in the area.’

  Jennifer took over: ‘No abandoned cars were found or towed away, and no camping equipment was found on the mountain or handed in.’

  ‘And, as we already know, there are no further reports of missing persons in the area at the time,’ Billy finished off.

  Vanja looked at them. Twenty-four hours and they were already taking it in turns to speak. Like Huey, Dewey and Louie in the Donald Duck cartoons. Or Chip ’n’ Dale. Sweet, but slightly disturbing.

  ‘I’ve heard from Umeå,’ Ursula said. ‘Nine millimetre. Probably the same gun, probably an automatic handgun, but this is only a preliminary report.’

  Sebastian nodded to himself. Suddenly the case was slightly more engaging. An automatic handgun. Not nearly as common up here as a r
ifle. Not the kind of thing someone would usually take with them if they were out walking in the mountains. Everything suggested that the perpetrator had deliberately chosen those four, had known exactly where they were, and when. The victims knew their killer, Sebastian was sure of it. As soon as they were identified, the case would open up.

  ‘I’ve been looking for reports of missing families and missing children,’ Vanja began. Sebastian leaned forward; this was much more like it. ‘Three families fit so far: two adults, two children. But none of them disappeared in the autumn of 2003.’

  She too placed a set of printouts on the table; Sebastian took one this time. It wouldn’t hurt to show an interest in Vanja’s work. He hoped she would notice that he had picked up her notes, no one else’s.

  ‘As you can see, the Thorilsen family from Norway went missing during a holiday up near Trondheim in summer 2000.’

  ‘That’s close,’ Billy said, more or less to himself.

  ‘The children are the right age, if Ursula’s estimate is correct,’ Vanja went on. ‘Six and eight. They’ve never been found.’

  ‘But that means they disappeared three years before they ended up in the grave,’ Torkel said. He knew everyone around the table was thinking the same thing, but no one wanted to be the one to point out the holes in a promising lead. No one apart from Sebastian, but he wasn’t saying anything. Oddly enough. Instead Billy spoke up:

  ‘Or they disappeared in 2000, but they didn’t die until 2003.’

  ‘So where were they for three years? There’s nothing in the Norwegian police investigation to suggest that they were staying away deliberately,’ Vanja countered. Billy didn’t reply. The idea that someone would have held the family captive for three years then killed them was highly unlikely.

  ‘Let’s move on,’ Torkel said, turning to the next page in Vanja’s notes.

  ‘The second family, the Hagbergs from Gävle, went missing in 2002, but their disappearance was written off as a flight to some tax haven. When they started looking into the family’s affairs, it turned out that the father had embezzled large amounts of money from his employer. However, the children are the right ages: five and eight.’

  No one had anything to say, so Vanja continued.

  ‘The last family are the Cederkvists. Went missing at some point after February 2004 during a round the world sailing trip; they set off from Gothenburg in November the previous year. The father’s brother got a postcard from Zanzibar in the first week of February, then nothing. Neither the family nor the boat were ever found.’

  Vanja fell silent. No one had anything to say this time either, and Torkel knew why. They were disappointed. There was nothing to suggest that they had found one of the missing families. The Norwegians were the best option, but there were too many question marks for the team to feel they had actually got somewhere.

  ‘When it comes to single individuals with children, the list is a little longer. But not much. Three men disappeared with their children in 2001, 2003 and 2004. All are believed to have kidnapped the children and taken them back to their home countries. You have all the details in my report. A woman and her daughter went missing in Örebro in 2002; the mother was deeply depressed, and the assumption is that she took her own life and that of her child. They were never found. A four-year-old disappeared in Trollhättan in 2005, he was never found either.’ Vanja threw down her notes.

  Silence. They had felt quite optimistic yesterday; if only they could identify the victims, it would bring them closer to the killer. Much closer. Two adults, two children. Someone somewhere must have missed them; a whole family couldn’t just vanish, and yet that was exactly what they seemed to have done.

  ‘We need to expand the search,’ Torkel said with an audible sigh. ‘Get in touch with Europol, go international. This is a popular tourist destination. Vanja, co-ordinate the search with Billy and Jennifer, make sure it’s as wide-ranging and efficient as possible.’

  Vanja nodded and gathered up her papers, a satisfied little smile on her face.

  ‘The Dutch couple’s kit,’ Billy said, leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his neck.

  ‘What about it?’ Ursula wondered.

  ‘We haven’t found it.’

  ‘So?’

  Billy lowered his hands, leaned forward and shrugged.

  ‘They were still wearing their clothes, so where’s the rest of their stuff?’ He glanced at Sebastian as if expecting opposition from that direction. ‘They were supposed to be spending a week walking in the mountains, so they must have had a fair amount with them.’

  ‘Perhaps he took it,’ Vanja suggested. ‘The killer, I mean.’

  ‘Why? That just gave him more to carry.’

  ‘But we don’t know how he got there. He might have had a four-wheel drive.’

  ‘Billy has a point,’ Ursula broke in. ‘Their bags could still be up there.’ She turned to Torkel. ‘I’d like a wider area around the grave excavated.’

  Torkel sighed again, which wasn’t like him at all. He disapproved of sighs and groans in meetings; they lowered the energy level, brought an air of negativity that he preferred to avoid.

  ‘OK, but I think there have already been protests; it’s a nature conservation area.’

  ‘And this is a murder inquiry,’ Ursula snapped. ‘It’s a question of priorities.’

  ‘Tell that to the tree-huggers.’

  ‘I thought that was your job.’

  She smiled at him and gathered up her papers. They weren’t going to get any further; everyone began to make a move.

  ‘There was just one thing . . .’ Jennifer’s voice stopped them. ‘Something I found when I was looking into missing cars.’

  Everyone sat back down and looked encouragingly at the newcomer.

  ‘The dead body of a woman was found in a burnt-out car up here on 31 October 2003.’

  The whole team unconsciously straightened up; this was interesting, the most interesting thing that had been said since they started.

  Billy turned to Jennifer, hoping she would meet his enquiring look. Why hadn’t she told him about this? He was more than a little annoyed. They had worked side by side for an hour or so after yesterday’s meeting, and all morning since breakfast. He understood perfectly if she felt she needed to prove something, justify her place on the team, given that she was here for a trial period only, but surely she could have said something to him. Naturally he would have let her pass on the information to the others, let her take all the credit. She refused to meet his eye; her gaze was fixed on Torkel. A hint of doubt crept in. They had got on really well from the start, he and Jennifer. She had told him several times how pleased she was to have been given this opportunity. He was pleased too. He hadn’t really admitted the reason to himself, but it was nice to have someone who was new, who was feeling their way forward. Who, to be honest, was below him in this unspoken hierarchy. But then this, out of nowhere. Important information that she had kept from him, in spite of the fact that they were supposed to be working together. Why? Had he failed to realise how ambitious she was? Did she want to be the leading investigator on the team? Did she want to be the best? Was she the new Vanja in every way?

  ‘The woman was never identified; there were no documents in the car,’ Jennifer went on, apparently oblivious to Billy’s questioning looks. ‘But the vehicle had been rented by a Patricia Wellton the previous day in Östersund. However, Patricia Wellton doesn’t exist.’

  ‘What do you mean, she doesn’t exist?’ Vanja wondered.

  ‘She doesn’t exist. Fake ID. No one knows who she is. According to the report she spoke English and had an American driver’s licence.’

  ‘But she wasn’t reported missing in the USA?’

  Jennifer shook her head. ‘There has never been a Patricia Wellton with her ID or driver’s licence number in the USA, again according to this report, which is extremely detailed.’

  Jennifer handed out her notes, and Torkel quickly glan
ced through them.

  ‘Double-check everything,’ he said, his glance sweeping over Vanja, Jennifer and Billy. ‘See if we can find out where she entered the country, get hold of everything there is on the accident – pictures, post-mortem report, the lot. When did you say she was found?’

  ‘On the morning of 31 October.’

  ‘Where?’

  Jennifer got up and went over to the map. She circled a small area to the side of the E14 in red.

  ‘Here. They think she lost control of the car and went into the ravine.’

  ‘And it caught fire?’ Vanja said.

  ‘Yes.’

  Vanja carried on looking through the material in silence. It was extremely unusual for a car to catch fire or explode in an accident involving only one vehicle. It happened all the time in films, of course – in reality it was very rare, which made this crash even more suspicious.

  ‘An unidentified woman with false ID is found dead in the same week as we think six people ended up in a mass grave on the mountain.’

  Torkel didn’t need to say any more. There was a faint possibility that the two events weren’t connected, but experience and the laws of probability made it unlikely.

  Suddenly they had a new set of priorities.

  * * *

  ‘Could I have a word?’

  Billy grabbed hold of Jennifer just as she was about to leave the room. He knew that what had just happened would eat away at him all day, if not longer. Best to deal with it now. Get it out of the way.

  ‘Of course, what is it?’ Jennifer was still glowing from all the praise she had been given before Torkel brought the meeting to a close. She noticed that Billy didn’t look quite so happy.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me about the burnt-out car?’

  ‘Sorry?’ There was genuine surprise in Jennifer’s voice.

  ‘When we were working together before the meeting,’ Billy clarified. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about the burnt-out car?’

  ‘I was looking for anything to do with cars during the relevant period, and it just came up.’