The Silent Girl (Sebastian Bergman 4)

by Michael Hjorth

  He took a deep breath. The air was clear and a little chilly, even though the sun was shining in an almost cloudless sky. His nostrils were filled with the smell of forest and dampness and earth. For a moment he was transported straight back to the forest behind the house where he had grown up; he had spent virtually all his spare time out there, playing games with Ray and Peter.

  Vanja pushed her way through the crowd, nodded to one of the uniformed officers by the cordon and slipped under the blue-and-white tape as he held it up for her.

  ‘I’ve spoken to the Swedish International Development Corporation,’ she said before she even reached Billy. ‘Nicole’s mother is on a plane that’s due to land at 16.25 this afternoon.’

  ‘Does she know what’s happened?’

  ‘Yes, they told her.’

  ‘Is someone picking her up, or shall I go?’

  ‘Torkel can sort that out. How are things going?’

  Billy shrugged. ‘No idea.’

  ‘How long has he been in there?’

  Billy glanced at his watch. ‘Almost forty-five minutes.’

  ‘What the hell are they talking about for all this time?’

  ★ ★ ★

  Nothing, at the moment.

  Sebastian had talked about everything under the sun, trying to remember as much as he could about Nicole. He wanted to make her feel safe, make her understand that they knew who she was. Win her trust.

  It obviously hadn’t worked.

  Sebastian stretched his legs out in front of him, pushed back his shoulders and tried to sit up straight. He was getting really, really uncomfortable now. He wanted to sort this, not just so that he could get to his feet and leave the icy darkness behind, but because it was what he was supposed to be good at. No one had questioned his authority when he ordered everyone out of the cave. A traumatised little girl on one side of a stone wall, a well-educated, highly competent psychologist on the other. He was expected to succeed. So far he had got nowhere. He hadn’t managed to make that vital connection. Factual information, coaxing, assurances – none of it was enough. He was going to have to give more of himself if she was going to trust him.

  He took a deep breath and lowered his voice in the hope that it would sound more sincere, more honest.

  ‘Sometimes when something happens, when you’re sad because you’ve lost something, people say they understand how you feel, but most of the time they haven’t a clue, because they’ve never lost anything precious.’

  He turned and fixed his gaze on the crevice, pictured the little girl from the photo in the police station sitting there listening to him.

  ‘But I think I really do know how you feel. I know what it’s like when people you love suddenly aren’t there any more.’ He paused. Was this the right way to go? Did he actually want to do this? What he wanted didn’t matter, he told himself. This was about what had to be done. ‘I lost my wife and daughter in the tsunami,’ he went on. ‘Do you know what that is? It’s a massive wave that came racing ashore in Thailand on Boxing Day in 2004.’

  He fell silent again. He very rarely allowed himself to revisit these memories when he was awake. There was a reason for that. It wasn’t too late to turn back, try something else. Choose a simpler approach. But no. With his unseeing eyes gazing into the darkness, he went back there.

  To 2004.

  To the disaster.

  ‘We were down on the beach, my daughter and I. Her name was Sabine. My wife, Sabine’s mother, had gone for a run. We were playing in the water, when suddenly the wave came. It was several metres high. I grabbed hold of Sabine just before the water hit us. I held her hand in my right hand, told myself I mustn’t let her go. But somehow she disappeared. I couldn’t hold on to her. I dream about it almost every night. I clench my right hand so tightly that it hurts.’

  He was doing it now, he realised. He took a few more deep breaths and forced his fingers open.

  ‘Sabine was four years old. I never found her. I never found my wife either. They were just snatched away, like your cousins and Karin and Emil. One second everything was perfectly normal, and the next everything was shattered. It hurt so much that I thought I would never be able to feel anything but pain for the rest of my life.’

  He took a moment; he could hardly tell a ten-year-old the truth. That the pain never went away, that it became part of his life, that all the bad choices he had made, all the one-night stands, all the successful attempts to alienate everyone around him stemmed from that pain. That it was slowly poisoning him, combined with the guilt he still felt. Instead he shuffled around so that he could reach in through the crevice with his right hand.

  ‘I let go of my daughter, but … there’s no giant wave here, Nicole. No natural disaster. Just … a bad guy, and I can protect you from the bad guys. If you take my hand, I will hold on to you. I won’t let you go until you want me to. When you’re whole again. When it doesn’t hurt any more. I can do that, I promise. I can help you. Please, Nicole – let me help you …’

  His voice was breaking; he had to stop. For the second time that week, he felt the tears pouring down his face. He reached in as far as he could. This was no longer about getting a little girl out of a cave; this was about the possibility of reconciliation.

  At first he didn’t notice the movement, but then he felt it.

  A little cold hand in his.

  ★ ★ ★

  He carried Nicole towards the ambulance. She weighed more than he had expected, and the ground was uneven and strewn with loose stones. Several times he stumbled and almost fell. Nicole’s arms were wound tightly around his neck. She didn’t make a sound, but he could feel her warm breath on his neck. It was as if it gave him oxygen.

  He was going to save her.

  This time he wouldn’t let go.

  They were getting closer to the ambulance, very slowly. Two of the paramedics caught sight of them and ran over.

  ‘How is she?’ the first one asked; he was a muscular man in his mid-thirties, with multiple tattoos.

  ‘OK, I think, but she’s in shock,’ Sebastian replied, feeling the child’s grip tighten as the paramedic touched her forehead. She turned away and buried her face in Sebastian’s chest.

  ‘Shall I take her?’ the paramedic asked gently.

  Sebastian shook his head, straightened his back and kept on going.

  ‘No, it’s fine. I’ve got her.’

  He spoke mainly to reassure the small figure in his arms. He felt her body relax a little; not much, but enough for him to realise that she trusted him. A wonderful feeling that gave him strength. He increased his speed.

  ‘I’ll sort out the trolley,’ the paramedic said, running back to the ambulance. Sebastian nodded, but thought it was unlikely that Nicole would let go even if they offered her the softest four-poster bed in the world.

  ‘Nicole, you’re safe now. Everyone here wants to help you,’ he said. There was no reply, but he felt her relax a little more, and her breathing slowed down. Words were superfluous; her body told him what he needed to know.

  She was listening. That was enough.

  They reached the ambulance, and the paramedics wheeled the trolley forward. The onlookers had begun to gather close by, cameras and mobile phones at the ready. A number of police officers and five or six civilians, presumably from Missing People, formed a protective circle around them. Suddenly it infuriated him, the silent, motionless group waiting for them. They didn’t care if the girl was alive or dead, they were just nosy. The public. He and Nicole were the entertainment they had been waiting for.

  ‘Get out of the way!’ he yelled. They took a few steps back, and he felt Nicole’s arms tighten the closer they got, as if she sensed that someone would soon try to force her to let go. The paramedic was holding up a pale orange blanket.

  ‘Nicole, I’m going to have to put you down. The paramedics need to check you over, make sure you’re OK,’ he said as gently as he could. He tried to stroke her hair. ‘You’ll be seeing
your mum very soon – won’t that be lovely?’

  She reacted immediately.

  A glimmer of hope in her eyes. The fear that had filled her was defeated for a second. He held her even closer, looked into her eyes, drowned her in tenderness. Repeated the words that had had such an effect.

  ‘I’m going to take you to your mum. I promise. I’m going to take you to your mum.’

  He knew that repetition healed, particularly loving assurances. Trauma was a wall, love a way through, repetition the hammer that broke down the barrier.

  Torsby Hospital was surprisingly modern, and Dr Hansson and her team of four, who met them as soon as they arrived, gave an impression of calm competence. Nicole and Sebastian were quickly transferred to a private room. Dr Hansson was a woman aged about fifty-five, with glasses and short, curly hair. She spoke gently to Nicole but the girl didn’t answer; she merely pressed herself closer to Sebastian’s chest with every question she was asked.

  The consultant gave up and turned to Sebastian.

  ‘Has she been this uncommunicative all along?’ she asked, her expression grave.

  ‘Yes, and she’s been holding on to me like this ever since I persuaded her to come out of the cave.’

  The doctor nodded and stroked the child’s hair.

  ‘Nicole, you’re safe here. We just want to check that you’re OK,’ she ventured in a motherly tone.

  The caress and the soft words seemed to help. Sebastian felt Nicole’s muscles relax slightly. Dr Hansson leaned closer to him.

  ‘I’d like to give her a mild sedative – could you help me?’ she whispered.

  ‘No problem.’ He looked down at the little girl, caught her eye. ‘The doctor wants to give you some medicine. Would that be all right?’

  Nicole gazed up at him enquiringly; the fact that she trusted him touched Sebastian deeply. He smiled at her.

  ‘It’s OK, Nicole. I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you.’

  Hansson held out a pipette; Nicole didn’t turn away, but allowed the doctor to slip it into her mouth and empty the contents.

  ‘Good girl. It will take a little while for the drops to work – I’d like to do some tests in the meantime,’ Dr Hansson said, turning to Sebastian. ‘Could you help me with that too?’

  Sebastian nodded, not taking his eyes off Nicole.

  ‘Of course. Any news of her mother? Is she on her way?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘I can give you the number of the Senior Investigating Officer – he should know.’

  ‘Give it to Sister Samira,’ Dr Hansson said, pointing to a slender, dark-haired young woman in green scrubs. She looked as if she came from the Middle East, but answered in a broad Värmland accent. Sebastian gave her Torkel’s number and she went off to make the call.

  Meanwhile another nurse had brought over a small trolley so that she could take blood samples. Sebastian stroked Nicole’s hair and got her to hold out her hand.

  It took fifteen minutes for the sedative to work. Meanwhile the staff managed to take the samples they needed, and to check both her pulse and blood pressure. Nicole’s grip gradually loosened, and after a few minutes she let go completely. It was as if all the anxiety flowed out of her, to be replaced by much-needed sleep. Now Sebastian was the one who didn’t want to let go, but he knew that he must; there was a lot to do.

  Samira returned; she had spoken to Torkel. He was about to hold a press conference and would then come over to the hospital, but Vanja was already on her way. Sebastian decided to lay the sleeping child on the bed. She was really sweet, especially now, without those anxious eyes following every movement, that tense jawline. Now she was just a little girl again, a sleeping ten-year-old. Only the grazed knees and her dirty face, hands and clothes betrayed something of what she had been through. Sebastian settled her gently, then picked up a compress from the bedside table, moistened it with cleanser and began to dab at her face. The white compress was grey in no time. He exchanged it for a fresh one; the same thing happened again.

  He didn’t notice Vanja standing in the doorway until she spoke. He had the feeling she’d been watching him for a while.

  ‘How’s she doing?’

  ‘She’s slightly dehydrated, but all her values are normal. She’s sleeping now.’

  ‘Good. Can I have a word?’

  Sebastian straightened up; before he left he tucked an orange hospital blanket around Nicole. To tell the truth, he didn’t want to leave her. The last hour had been so emotionally intense that he had no desire to return to reality. To the murder investigation. To a team groping in the darkness.

  He went out into the long, empty corridor with Vanja. It could have been a hospital corridor anywhere in Sweden, with its green vinyl floor reflecting the fluorescent lights. Sebastian wondered if anyone had researched what a hospital corridor should look like in order to make the patients want to get out as quickly as possible. He couldn’t remember seeing that unpleasant shade of green anywhere else.

  From a room further along he could hear voices talking eagerly; presumably they were gossiping about the latest admission. About the police. About the crime, what they’d read and heard. That was how it worked. Events became real and important only when the newspapers and television took an interest. And now they were more than interested. Now they had a survivor. The girl from the ‘House of Horror’, as Expressen had so poetically described her.

  ‘Has she said anything?’

  ‘Nothing at all, I’m afraid.’

  Vanja managed to look both surprised and annoyed at the same time.

  ‘Nothing? Surely she must have said something?’

  ‘Not a word. She’s deeply traumatised.’

  Vanja moved on to scepticism.

  ‘So you’re telling me we have no new information, in spite of the fact that we’ve found a possible eyewitness?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. But we’ve done a good job – we’ve found Nicole. That’s the most important thing, after all.’

  Vanja didn’t reply, but her expression made it clear that she didn’t agree. She wanted to catch the killer. She was glad they’d found Nicole, of course, but as far as Vanja was concerned, the girl had only one function: she was a lead. A route to the perpetrator. Her possible contribution to the investigation was more important than her well-being. Sebastian understood perfectly; he usually felt the same.

  ‘We’re holding a press conference at the council offices,’ she said. ‘Do you want to be there?’

  Sebastian shook his head. He’d been up since five. Sat in a cave. Carried a little girl in his arms. But the exhaustion had only just caught up with him. He sighed.

  ‘What’s the point of a press conference?’

  ‘The fact that we’ve found her is already all over the Net,’ Vanja explained. ‘If we don’t say something, they’ll just start speculating.’

  ‘Surely they’ll speculate anyway?’

  ‘It’s Torkel’s decision, and I think he’s right.’

  Sebastian had no intention of arguing with her over something they both knew was a necessary evil. It was just a fact of life.

  ‘She must have seen something,’ Vanja said, nodding towards Nicole’s room. ‘Get her to start talking. That’s your job.’

  With that she disappeared around the corner. He let her have the last word.

  It no longer mattered to him.

  Torkel stepped up to the pale wooden lectern, surrounded by microphones bearing company logos, clearly visible to the cameras: SVT, TV4, SR, TT, NRK.

  He had intended to hold the press conference at the police station, but had changed his mind because there wasn’t a room big enough. Erik had suggested asking Pia if they could use the council chamber, and now Torkel was about to speak in a room where political rather than police matters were normally discussed. Not that there would be a great deal of discussion; most of those gathered in front of him already knew more or less everything there was to know. This performance was more for fo
rm’s sake – playing to the gallery, in a way. ‘In order to show openness between the police and the media’ as it had said in a message from on high in which senior officers were also encouraged to open a Twitter account.

  Torkel waited until the hum of conversation died down, then briefly ran through the information known to the police.

  The girl was related to the Carlsten family. She had probably been in the house when the family was shot, and since then had managed to remain hidden. She had been found – as everyone was no doubt aware – in the Bear’s Cave, roughly ten kilometres north of the town, and was now in hospital. She was slightly dehydrated and there was some evidence of hypothermia, but there were no physical injuries. As far as the murders were concerned, the investigation was ongoing, but there were no suspects at present. Until forensic tests had been completed he couldn’t confirm that Jan Ceder had been killed with the same gun, but a connection between the murders of Ceder and the Carlsten family could not be excluded.

  Torkel fell silent and took a deep breath. This was the part he disliked the most.

  ‘Any questions?’ he said, his gaze sweeping the room as a forest of hands shot up, waving to attract his attention. He pointed to a red-haired woman he didn’t recognise on the front row.

  ‘Have you found a motive for the murder of the family?’ she asked in melodic Norwegian.

  ‘No, but there definitely was a motive – they weren’t chosen at random.’

  ‘How can you be sure of that?’

  ‘I’d rather not say,’ Torkel replied, and was immediately asked what he was prepared to say with regard to the motive.

  Vanja was leaning on the wall at the back of the room. Torkel had offered her the opportunity not only to get involved, but to lead the press conference. She had declined, and she was very glad she had made that decision as she watched him calmly answering question after question. It was good to be working again, she thought, rather than having too much time on her hands, getting bogged down in illness and lies. Good to focus on something else. However, she knew she didn’t have the patience to run a press conference; she became irritated and snappy far too easily these days.