The Silent Girl (Sebastian Bergman 4)

by Michael Hjorth

That was the problem.

  The flight from Kiev wasn’t exactly free. Jan had been putting it off for a while for that very reason, but perhaps an opportunity had arisen now.

  His shotgun hadn’t been stolen.

  He had lent it to someone.

  Before Christmas. He had no real use for it; he hunted almost exclusively with a rifle. Of course there was no reason to assume that his gun had been used in the murder of the Carlsten family – there were plenty of shotguns in the area. The killings could be to do with infidelity or gambling debts or drugs or whatever the hell else people got murdered for, but if someone local had simply had enough of them, then there weren’t too many candidates.

  And one of them had borrowed his shotgun before Christmas.

  He would just have to feel his way. Take it step by step. Bring the conversation around to the murders, gauge the reaction. Find out if it might possibly be worth his while not to reveal who had borrowed his shotgun. Even if he was on the wrong track, the person concerned might pay to avoid being dragged into the police investigation.

  His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of the dog barking again, and a few seconds later he heard a car pull up outside the house. He couldn’t see it through the kitchen window, and not just because it hadn’t been cleaned since Nesha did it eighteen months ago; in fact whoever it was had driven the car as close as possible to the house and parked around the corner. Had the fat cop forgotten something and come back? Jan went into the living room and looked out of the window. Speak of the devil … He recognised the car.

  And the person walking towards his house.

  Carrying Jan’s borrowed shotgun.

  ‘Have you let him go?’

  Pia had called Erik three times before he had the chance to get back to her. Everybody wanted a piece of him after Malin Åkerblad’s decision. Of course Pia had already heard about Ceder, and her voice made it very clear that she was stressed and angry.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, slipping out into the corridor to avoid the curious gaze of his colleagues.

  ‘You said he did it,’ Pia went on, almost accusingly.

  ‘No, I said I wanted to speak to him in connection with the murders,’ Erik replied, adopting a slightly exaggerated, pedagogical tone. ‘He has an alibi, and we don’t have enough evidence to hold him … not at the moment, anyway,’ he added in an attempt to appease her.

  He knew his wife well; it would take more convincing words than he had at his disposal to calm her down once she really got going. It was a side of her that most voters didn’t see; in debates, meetings and local election campaigns she was the very epitome of serenity, but this external stability hid a volatile temperament and a challenging mixture of insecurity and a desperate desire to achieve. Only her nearest and dearest were privy to those aspects of Pia’s character.

  Or were affected by them.

  Now she was worrying once again that Torsby would become known as the place where a crazed killer was at large, rather than the modern, forward-looking community for which she worked so hard. After a lengthy monologue, during which Erik was required only to make small noises of agreement at the appropriate junctures, she ran out of steam and he was able to end the call after hearing himself promise that he would arrange for Pia to have lunch with the SIO from Riksmord, so that she could form her own opinion of the level of competence the team had brought to the case.

  He went to find Torkel straight away. The atmosphere in the room hadn’t improved, and Vanja obviously hadn’t let go of what she regarded as Åkerblad’s pathetic decision. Erik thought she had gone a bit too far in the way she spoke to the prosecutor, but he couldn’t help being impressed by her passion. He didn’t think much of Sebastian; there was no sign so far of his alleged acuity. Insults and a total lack of interest appeared to be his defining characteristics.

  As Erik had expected, Torkel wasn’t exactly thrilled at the idea of lunch with Pia, wanting to know why he needed to meet the chair of the local council, but when he realised she was Erik’s wife, he agreed.

  Together they strolled along to Nya torget 8, which was quite nearby. The council building wasn’t particularly striking; it looked more like two sugar lumps made of dirty red brick which had been stuck together in a way that was anything but harmonious. The woman on reception showed them to the dining room on the first floor. Pia was already there, and had chosen a table over by the wall. She got to her feet as soon as she saw them.

  ‘Welcome to Torsby. Our season lasts all year round,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘Right,’ was the only response Torkel could come up with.

  ‘That’s our slogan. I’m Pia, Pia Flodin. Nice to meet you.’

  Erik smiled as he looked at his wife. Gone was the irritation that had dominated their conversation half an hour ago; right now she was the very picture of calm composure as she stood there in her pale skirt suit with her perfectly styled hair. She led them to the self-service counter where the dish of the day was baked cod with mashed potatoes.

  ‘Thank you for taking the time to come over,’ Pia said when they had sat down.

  ‘No problem. I believe you want to ask me a few questions?’ Torkel said pleasantly as he opened his mineral water.

  ‘I feel a bit pushy, asking you to lunch like this, but I would have wanted to meet you even if Erik and I weren’t married.’

  ‘Although it might have taken you a bit longer,’ Torkel said with a smile.

  ‘True, but there have to be some advantages to sharing a bed with the local police,’ Pia shot back. Torkel laughed; thank goodness they seemed to like one another, Erik thought. He had no desire to play the role of mediator; they both had very strong personalities.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen much of each other over the past few days,’ Torkel went on.

  ‘No, this has been hard on Erik,’ Pia said, placing her hand on her husband’s. ‘He’s only just been promoted, and this is his biggest case so far.’

  Erik felt the need to say something, otherwise it looked as if he was twelve years old, with Mummy and Daddy chatting over his head.

  ‘And the worst,’ he said. ‘But I’m convinced we’ll solve it.’

  ‘Is that what you think too?’ Pia asked Torkel. She sounded genuinely worried.

  ‘Cases like this always take longer than one would like, but yes, I’m sure we’ll find the guilty party. It’s only two days since the shootings, remember.’

  Pia nodded, but she wasn’t happy.

  ‘I know, but how long does it usually take you to solve something like this, and what’s your clear-up rate in percentage terms?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Torkel said, meeting Pia’s gaze and putting down his knife and fork.

  ‘I have to make a statement, partly to say that we’re going to organise a memorial service and an anti-violence demonstration, and partly to inform everyone that we’ve brought in Riksmord to show how seriously we’re taking the situation,’ Pia explained in her ‘official’ tone of voice. ‘It would be helpful if I could tell the community what they can expect.’

  ‘They can expect us to do our best. As always.’

  ‘Of course, but how long does something like this usually take?’

  Torkel shrugged and turned his attention back to his fish.

  ‘It’s impossible to say.’

  ‘Please try. I’ve worked so hard to put Torsby on the map, and now the papers are finally writing about us, the focus is on such terrible events. We need a counterbalance. This is an absolute disaster for the town.’

  ‘A family has been murdered,’ Torkel enunciated slowly and clearly. ‘That’s the real disaster, particularly for those close to them. I expect your town will survive.’ There was no mistaking the coldness in his voice. Erik felt the change in the atmosphere around the table.

  ‘It’s a terrible tragedy, I know that, but someone needs to look at the bigger picture, and unfortunately that someone is me,’ Pia persisted, her eyes fixed on Torkel. ‘I don’t car
e what you think – that’s just the way it is.’

  Erik realised that his wife had gone too far once again, but he still had to stick up for her.

  ‘Pia’s worked incredibly hard to make Torsby feel modern and attractive. She’s just afraid all her efforts will have been for nothing.’

  Torkel looked at the couple sitting opposite, both under stress for different reasons. Erik had only just been promoted, and had to make sure he did everything right in such a high-profile case, while Pia had to appear strong and proactive, when in fact she had no control over the situation whatsoever. This was an election year, so anything could become a political hot potato. He almost felt sorry for them.

  ‘The media will focus exclusively on the horrific details for a while,’ he said, a little more gently. ‘That’s just the way it is – none of us can change that.’

  ‘I do understand,’ Pia said calmly. ‘But letting Jan Ceder go was really stupid. Isn’t he the killer?’

  Torkel took a deep breath. The prospect of an all-out row might have dwindled, but he would be actively avoiding any further lunch engagements with Pia Flodin.

  ‘We don’t know that. The prosecutor took the view that we didn’t have enough evidence to hold him. I’m allowed to have an opinion on that, and so are you, but it is what it is. Our job is to find the evidence, and so far we have failed to do so.’

  Back to his cod and mash.

  ‘So when will you find it?’ he heard from across the table, and decided to put an end to the conversation once and for all.

  ‘I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with outsiders, and if you can’t find anything else to talk about, then I suggest we finish our meal in silence.’

  Pia didn’t say a word.

  Erik felt a pang of guilt, but couldn’t help enjoying his wife’s discomfort just a little. He loved her, but he didn’t often see her lost for words. The last time was when she was nominated to join the party executive.

  That was three years ago now, so it was hardly a frequent occurrence.

  Clearly there were many hidden advantages to calling in Riksmord.

  Sebastian was standing in the doorway of their little room, watching Vanja. She looked as if she needed something else to think about as she sat there irritably flicking through the transcripts of Jan Ceder’s interviews.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said, taking a step closer and gently placing a hand on her shoulder. She shook it off.

  ‘I really want to go through this.’

  ‘You haven’t missed a thing.’ Sebastian was determined not to give up. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’

  Vanja looked up at him.

  ‘I know what you’re trying to do, but I’ll get over it. I just need to be left in peace for a while.’

  Sebastian smiled at her. He loved it when she behaved like a teenager. It was unlikely that everyone around her felt the same, but he was her dad, after all, which meant it was his job to nag her.

  ‘Come on, you need a bit of fresh air.’

  Vanja sighed, but to his delight she got to her feet.

  ‘OK, but with the emphasis on “a bit”.’

  They walked through the police station; it provided a stark contrast with Police HQ at Kronoberg in Stockholm, where it was possible to keep going for fifteen minutes without even getting anywhere near the next floor. In Torsby they were in the car park after ninety seconds.

  ‘Where’s Torkel gone?’ Sebastian asked. Vanja suddenly looked amused.

  ‘To meet Erik’s wife.’

  ‘Sounds like an odd choice of priority.’

  Vanja shook her head. ‘She’s not just Erik’s wife, she’s the chair of the local council too. I’m guessing she thinks she deserves a personal briefing.’

  Sebastian actually felt a little sorry for Torkel. Having to get involved with politicians connected by marriage to the local police wasn’t something he would wish on anyone. The political game was hard enough as it was, especially in small towns, when Riksmord turned up; a council leader who shared a bed with one of the key investigating officers could well prove tricky. This kind of crisis management seemed to get worse with every passing year; sometimes it felt as if Riksmord’s work was increasingly focused on dealing with politicians, various authorities and the mass media, rather than investigating the crimes they had come to solve. If things carried on like this, they would end up getting nothing done.

  ‘What do you think of Ceder?’ Vanja asked, interrupting his train of thought. She looked a bit more cheerful, which was something at least.

  ‘He’s hiding something, but he’s not the killer,’ Sebastian said firmly.

  Vanja seemed to agree.

  ‘I still don’t understand why Åkerblad let him go. What difference would it have made if he’d stayed put for a little while longer?’

  Sebastian suddenly had an idea.

  ‘Let’s do something about that instead of standing here complaining about that idiot of a prosecutor!’

  ‘Like what? Question him again? We can’t bring him in – we don’t have any new information.’

  ‘He’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer, so he might do something as soon as he gets home.’

  ‘Again, like what?’

  ‘I don’t know, but we both think he’s hiding something. He might feel the need to act. We ought to be there.’

  Vanja was grinning now. She understood exactly what he meant, and obviously found his suggestion entertaining.

  ‘Are you saying we should put him under surveillance?’ She could barely stop herself from bursting out laughing. ‘You and me?’

  Sebastian nodded eagerly.

  ‘Have you ever been involved in a surveillance operation?’ Vanja asked sceptically. ‘I mean, you’re more the type who comes swanning in afterwards and takes all the credit.’

  He couldn’t really argue with that, but he raised an eyebrow.

  ‘There’s always a first time.’

  ★ ★ ★

  They borrowed an unmarked police car and drove west through the suburbs before crossing the E16 and continuing north-west. Soon fields and forest took over; significantly more of the former, so the expression ‘the deep Värmland forests’ didn’t really seem to fit – at least not along Östmarksvägen. They crossed the lake just outside Kil, and in Rådom Vanja started paying as much attention to the sat nav as to the road itself, or so it seemed to Sebastian.

  Twenty minutes later she pulled up behind a dilapidated barn at the side of the dirt track they had turned onto, and switched off the engine. Sebastian looked at her with raised eyebrows.

  ‘If we get any closer there’s a risk he might see us,’ she said, pointing.

  Through the trees Sebastian could just see a small house, perhaps 500 metres away. Vanja undid her seat belt and got out of the car; Sebastian stayed put.

  ‘I thought we could keep an eye on him from the car,’ he protested.

  ‘Don’t start. This was your idea,’ Vanja said as she walked around the car and flung open the passenger door.

  He had no choice but to get out and hope he wasn’t going to get his feet wet. He wasn’t exactly prepared for a ramble through the forest, and was wearing thin loafers as usual.

  ‘Cheer up – you said you wanted some fresh air,’ Vanja teased him as she set off.

  They made their way through the dense forest towards Jan Ceder’s house, fighting through the undergrowth. Sebastian regretted his suggestion almost immediately. It wasn’t long before they heard the sound of a dog barking.

  ‘Of course, he’s got a dog. We won’t be able to get much closer without being spotted,’ Vanja said, crouching down behind a moss-covered rock.

  ‘Does it matter? I mean, it’s already barking – what else is it going to do?’

  ‘It’ll bark differently if someone is coming.’

  Sebastian didn’t argue; he knew absolutely nothing about dogs, apart from the fact that he didn’t like them. He looked over towards the house: unimpressive, old, bo
ring, badly maintained. The place was in darkness; there was no sign of a light from anywhere inside. A green pick-up truck was parked outside, and he could just see the dog’s pen next to a ditch. It was surrounded by a tall fence made of chicken wire, and contained a large home-made wooden kennel. The dog running back and forth was a shaggy grey creature with its tail curving up over its back in a semicircle. Some kind of Spitz, Vanja guessed. It was still barking.

  ‘Ceder doesn’t seem to be at home,’ she said after taking a closer look through her binoculars.

  ‘The car’s there,’ Sebastian pointed out.

  ‘True, but maybe he’s gone for a walk.’

  ‘Without the dog?’

  ‘Why not?’

  Why not indeed, Sebastian thought. Although Ceder had been away from the dog for over twenty-four hours; shouldn’t he have taken it with him? Given it some exercise, let it have a good run? Then again, the guy didn’t seem to treat his women very well, so why should his dog fare any better? Nor did he seem to be the type to go for a walk. Were they too late? Had he gone off to dispose of evidence? There wasn’t much they could do but wait. Sebastian leaned against the rock and sighed quietly, but obviously not quietly enough.

  ‘Bored already? We’ve only been here five minutes.’

  ‘I don’t know how you do this. It’s mind-numbing.’

  ‘I’m not really involved in surveillance these days. I’m an investigator with Riksmord, as you might be aware.’ Vanja suddenly looked at him with interest. ‘How come you started working with the police anyway?’

  Sebastian smiled at her and realised that surveillance had its advantages; it gave them time together.

  ‘Do you want me to be honest?’ he teased, enjoying the opportunity to have a conversation that would strengthen their relationship.

  ‘If you know how.’

  Sebastian nodded cheerfully, but he had already decided not to tell the truth. It was sordid and immoral, and not the kind of thing you share if you want someone to look up to you. He leaned closer, ready to confide.

  ‘When I started reading psychology at university, I realised I needed to create my own unique profile, become an expert in one particular field so that I’d stand out. I wrote my thesis on the compulsive fantasies of the classic serial killer and the underlying causes,’ he said; it sounded pretty convincing. ‘It was an excellent piece of work, and I carried on researching that area. It was the end of the 1970s. The whole profiling thing had just started up in the USA, but it hadn’t reached Sweden, so I was the first in this country.’