‘It just didn’t happen,’ he replied automatically.
‘You seem to like children. You’re good with them.’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you never been married?’
‘No.’
The lies.
They came so easily.
Without any thought for the possible consequences. Without any thought at all.
‘Hm …’ she said, with the hint of a smile on her lips.
‘What does that mean? Hm?’
‘It’s just strange.’ She edged a fraction closer. ‘You’re a wonderful person.’
‘Thanks.’ No one had ever called him wonderful before. No one. Ever. His hand edged over towards hers, and she took it; her touch was warm and gentle. He moved closer to Nicole and felt her soft skin against his cheek.
The mother’s hand in his.
The daughter between them.
He never wanted to fall asleep.
Erik called just as Torkel left the hotel, heading for his car. He sounded excited, almost elated. Something had happened.
‘I’ve just spoken to Thomas Nordgren’s ex-wife, Sofie. She was working last night.’
‘Good.’
‘Better than good. She knew about the situation with the Carlstens. Apparently Thomas was furious when they refused to sell – he had tried to put one over on her, but failed.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Torkel said as he opened the car door.
‘Thomas bought her out in 2009, even though he couldn’t really afford it. He took out a sizeable loan on the house. It was only afterwards that Sofie realised he had been planning to sell the place on to FilboCorp right away, making a huge profit.’
Torkel could see a motive emerging from the shadows.
‘And that’s not all,’ Erik went on.
‘Go on,’ Torkel said, settling down behind the wheel. He heard Erik take a deep breath.
‘Thomas knew Jan Ceder.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘According to Sofie, they were members of the same hunting club when the Nordgrens were living in Torsby from 2002 to 2009. She remembered Ceder very well – she thought he was a nasty piece of work.’
‘So why didn’t Thomas appear on Ceder’s list of friends and acquaintances?’ Torkel demanded crossly.
‘Because he left the club when he moved to Sunne in 2009. They haven’t had any contact since then, but they did know one another.’
Torkel nodded to himself. A motive and a direct link to the man who owned the murder weapon. That was more than they’d had up to now; he could understand why Erik was so excited.
‘Where are you now?’ he asked.
‘At the station.’
‘I’ll come and pick you up – we’ll go over to Sunne and search the house.’
‘Right now?’
‘Right now.’
Torkel ended the call and started the car.
★ ★ ★
Torkel and Erik arrived at the same time as the locksmith.
Arnebyvägen 27 in Sunne was a drab, grey, three-storey apartment block. Thomas Nordgren lived on the second floor; there was no lift, so they had to take the stairs. There were four identical doors, and they quickly found the right one. Torkel rang the bell several times, but he had no intention of waiting longer than thirty seconds; he wasn’t expecting anyone to answer.
He turned to the locksmith.
‘Open the door, please, but don’t go inside.’
The locksmith nodded; he was a fit-looking man wearing glasses, dungarees and a polo shirt with the company logo on the pocket. He put down his toolbox and opened it while Torkel pulled on his shoe protectors.
‘I’ll go in first, decide if we need to bring in Fabian.’
Erik stepped back, trying to manage his expectations. This could be a blind alley. However, there had been no sign of Nordgren for a week, and he had links to all those involved. They might solve the case here and now, several days before Hans Olander was due to march in and take over.
The locksmith started work. Torkel was about to put on his gloves when his phone rang. His first thought was to ignore it, but he glanced at the display and saw that it was one of the last people he wanted to talk to: Malin Åkerblad.
He gave Erik a weary look.
‘Did you tell Malin we were coming here?’
Erik was taken aback. ‘No.’
‘Good.’
He took the call; she was responsible for the preliminary investigation after all.
‘Torkel Höglund.’
‘It’s Malin Åkerblad.’
‘I know that. Is it something important? I’m rather busy.’ He had no intention of telling her what he was doing unless it was absolutely necessary.
‘Yes, it is.’ Her tone was sharper than usual; she sounded as if she was already angry about something. Torkel got ready to defend himself. ‘I have to step down from this investigation.’
Torkel didn’t know what to say; he certainly hadn’t been expecting this. He should have been delighted, but he just felt tired. A new person meant more work. Surely she wasn’t walking away because they’d had one or two differences of opinion? Perhaps he should do a bit of grovelling; it might be worth it to avoid the hassle of bringing someone new up to speed on the case.
‘What’s happened?’
‘I’ve done some thinking, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I can’t be in a situation that involves a conflict of interests.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘My brother owns land that the mining company is interested in, and with this new lead I—’
Torkel interrupted her.
‘Hang on, what the hell are you saying? Your brother owns land up there? What’s his name?’
‘Thomas Nordgren. I mean, we’re not close, but I’ve—’
The world tilted on its axis, and Torkel interrupted her again, with some force.
‘Thomas Nordgren is your brother?’
‘Yes.’ Malin sounded vaguely embarrassed. Torkel glanced at Erik and couldn’t help smiling. The whole thing was too absurd to do anything else.
‘Shall I tell you where we are, Malin?’ he went on, slowly and icily. He didn’t bother waiting for a reply. ‘We’re standing outside your brother’s apartment in Sunne, and we’re about to carry out a search.’
A sharp intake of breath told him how shocked she was.
‘What does that mean?’ she asked faintly.
‘It means we are no longer talking about a conflict of interests as far as you’re concerned – you’ve just become a suspect. I want to see you at the police station in Torsby as soon as possible.’
He ended the call. His assertion that Malin was now a suspect wasn’t strictly true, but he really did want to speak to her, and a slight exaggeration would make her more inclined to come in and explain herself. And she really did have a great deal to explain. First things first, however.
‘Get this bloody door open right now.’
Billy and Jennifer walked out of the red, barn-like building that was Kiruna airport, straight into at least half a metre of snow. May was just over a week away, and Billy honestly didn’t understand how the residents of Kiruna could stand it.
He hated snow.
In Billy’s world, snow made cycling difficult and running impossible; it was slippery and horrible, you couldn’t park the car, you were always cold and wet, and you brought in half a litre of water every time you stepped through the front door. A year or so ago there had been snow in Stockholm from the middle of November until the end of April, and Billy had seriously thought he would go mad. Most people who talked about the winter as far north as Kiruna were worried about the lack of daylight, but Billy would choose darkness over snow any day.
Bastard white stuff covering the ground for more than half the year.
Every bloody year. Year after year after year.
He would kill himself.
‘Have you been this far north before?’ Jenn
ifer wondered as they headed for the car park to pick up the Citroën C3 that Gunilla had rented for them, to Billy’s horror. Getting in such a tiny car would feel like pulling on a rucksack.
‘Yes, I did Kungsleden a while ago.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a hiking trail. I walked from Abisko to Kebnekaise, and up onto Sydtoppen.’
They found the car, put their overnight bags in the tiny boot and set off on the nine-kilometre drive into the centre of town. As they turned left onto the E10 and Billy put his foot down, Jennifer mentioned the only thing she actually knew about Kiruna.
Apparently they were going to move it.
Neither of them was familiar with the details; they’d just heard that the town centre was going to be relocated several kilometres to the east because of the extensive iron-ore mine that was causing subsidence, threatening homes and public buildings. Billy thought he’d read somewhere that LKAB, the mining company, were putting in something in the region of fifteen billion kronor in order to carry out the relocation, which would enable them to continue mining. That gave some kind of perspective on the sums involved in the industry. The deposit outside Torsby couldn’t be compared with the amount of iron ore under Kiruna, but if they could move an entire town, it didn’t seem unlikely that someone might decide to move a family who were in the way.
They didn’t talk much for the final part of the journey, although Jennifer gazed out of the window with interest and commented approximately every 500 metres on how beautiful it was. Billy made vague noises of agreement, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
In Stockholm.
With Maya.
She hadn’t been able to let go of the fact that he didn’t want her to accompany him to Kiruna. Yesterday evening hadn’t worked out the way he had hoped or imagined at all. As soon as he walked in he had been required to sit down and discuss the wedding plans. Many decisions had to be made now he was finally home for a few hours. Things had got a little tetchy; they had gone to bed late and had bad sex. Neither of them had really been interested. As they were having breakfast Billy had asked if she could drive him to the airport as she had a day off, but she had said she had a lot to do, so he had to catch the Arlanda Express from the central station.
However, his bad mood had evaporated as soon as he met Jennifer in the departures hall; she was so openly delighted to see him. She had run towards him as if they were in a romcom, hugging him and giving him a warm kiss on the cheek.
‘I’ve missed you!’ she’d said, in case her welcome hadn’t made that clear, and he realised he had missed her too.
More than he had thought.
They hadn’t chatted a great deal on the plane; Jennifer had studied the case notes while Billy had got out his iPad and read the new issue of one of the gadget magazines he subscribed to. Apparently there was a new vacuum cleaner that shone a UV-light onto the floor as it worked; according to the manufacturer, it would kill bacteria, viruses, fleas and lice by breaking down the DNA structure of their cells. Billy had no idea whether that was even possible, but it made him think about the padded envelope he had finally dropped in the postbox in the departures hall. He had made up his mind on the train. If there was a relationship between Vanja and Sebastian, he wanted to know. What he would do with that knowledge was a separate issue, but when had it ever been a disadvantage to have as much information as possible? Never.
They arrived on the outskirts of the town that would soon be moved. Gunilla had booked them into the Railway Hotel, which according to Billy’s satnav lay one and a half kilometres from the railway station, for some inexplicable reason. They decided to check in, find something to eat, then travel the twenty kilometres or so up to Kurravaara and Matti Pejok’s brother.
She didn’t recognise the room right away.
But she did feel safe.
Her mother on one side.
The man who had saved her from the darkness on the other.
Part of her still wanted to run. The apartment was big. Plenty of places to hide.
But she didn’t need to. She didn’t need to run away any more.
She sat up. There was something else she needed to do.
She needed to open the door of the house.
The house she had run away from.
But the blood frightened her. The blood that had stuck to her feet, oozed up between her toes, found its way under her nails.
She didn’t want to open the door. She didn’t want to.
She lay down again. Between them. She wanted to stay here.
Feel safe.
The blood could wait.
The house could wait.
The others were dead anyway. They didn’t exist any more. Opening the door wouldn’t change that.
But the person who had killed them. The man with the shotgun.
The man who had found her in the cave.
The man who apparently had almost found her at the hospital.
He was still out there. With his gun. The gun that tore bodies apart, let the blood come pouring out.
He was still out there.
The man who had saved her had promised to catch him, but he needed help. Her help.
He needed that open door.
She sat up again, shuffled down to the foot of the bed and left the safe place behind her.
Sebastian woke up at nine o’clock. It was a long time since he had slept so well. He discovered that he was holding Nicole’s little hand in his; that must be why he hadn’t woken in a panic. He hadn’t had the dream, because he had managed to hold on to her this time. Sabine.
He had been searching for a little girl’s hand to hold every night for ten years.
Now he had found one.
Maria was facing away from him, breathing softly. He gazed at her long dark hair, realised that the occasions when he had contemplated a sleeping woman in the morning without wanting to leave were few and far between. Perhaps it was because they hadn’t had sex, but it was more likely that the answer was lying between them.
He stretched and heard something fall on the floor at the foot of the bed. He sat up cautiously and looked down. The pad and the pens.
They had been in the living room at bedtime; he stiffened. Had Nicole got up during the night?
He glanced at her; she looked so peaceful. There was nothing to indicate that she had sat there on her own, drawing in the middle of the night. And yet it was the only scenario that made sense, the only logical explanation. He pushed back the covers, swung his legs over the side of the bed and got up. Crept over to the picture lying on the floor. He recognised it immediately. He had seen the crime-scene photographs from the Carlstens’ house.
She had seen the reality.
Karin Carlsten lying in her own blood in the hallway.
He picked up the sheet of paper. Studied it. The image was incredibly powerful in its simplicity. The precise but childish lines made the terrible subject even more horrific. A little girl was standing by an open front door. Inside, the body lay twisted on the floor. Karin’s brown hair in a sea of red, coloured in with violent strokes.
The girl lying in his bed was braver than anyone he had ever met in his entire life.
She had found the courage to face her demons alone.
In the middle of the night, when the adults preferred to forget. Preferred to dream.
His mobile rang. He gave a start, reached the bedside table in two strides and grabbed it. Vanja. He rejected the call in order to avoid waking Nicole and Maria.
He picked up the pad and the pens and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
He decided to hide the drawing. He needed to prepare Maria; this could be too much for her. She wasn’t as ready as Nicole. His phone rang again; he knew Vanja never gave up.
‘Hi, sorry, I couldn’t really answer just now.’
‘So you haven’t heard?’ Straight in, no pleasantries.
‘Heard what?’
‘About your extremely poor jud
gement.’ Vanja sound almost hostile; he was completely unprepared for her tone, and started to feel annoyed.
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Your fuck buddy Malin Åkerblad is now one of our suspects,’ Vanja explained with unmistakable relish. Sebastian tried to understand what she meant, but to no avail.
‘I still don’t get it.’
‘Her brother owns land up in Storbråten, and he knew Jan Ceder. Now do you understand? The Jan Ceder she insisted on releasing!’ The words came flooding out. Sebastian was totally confused.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure. Torkel is just about to interview her.’
‘That sounds crazy.’
‘Indeed. How do you do it? You slept with Ellinor too. The woman who shot Ursula. And you slept with the mother of the murderer in Västerås, if I remember rightly.’
‘That’s enough—’
‘Perhaps we should start all our new investigations with you choosing someone to screw, then we just arrest them,’ Vanja went on without any indication that she was thinking of stopping. ‘That would make our job so much easier.’
‘Very funny, but I need to call Torkel,’ Sebastian said, feeling stressed.
‘Believe me, he’s no more impressed than I am.’
‘Vanja, I have to—’
‘I can tell you exactly what he’s going to say. You’re not to go anywhere near Malin, you’re to help me here in Stockholm, and I will be picking you up in twenty-five minutes. Make sure you’re ready.’
With that she was gone.
Sebastian stood there, still trying to get his head around what Vanja had just told him. Could it be true? Was Malin involved? Could he really have been so unlucky?
He glanced towards the bedroom. Realised he probably ought to get Maria up before Vanja arrived. It wouldn’t look good if she was lying in his double bed when Vanja walked into the apartment. Not after the conversation they’d just had.
Vanja was annoyed that she was no longer in Torsby. It might be childish, but she couldn’t help feeling that she had been sent away from the heart of events. To the periphery.
The Silent Girl (Sebastian Bergman 4) Page 29