The Silent Girl (Sebastian Bergman 4)

by Michael Hjorth

‘Who might have moved whom? I really don’t know what you’re talking about.’ The man who could have been armed let go of the door and took a step towards the journalist. This was his chance to find out more.

  The reporter suddenly looked weary as he realised he wasn’t going to get any answers, just more questions. He shook his head.

  ‘It’s just a rumour I picked up, but I thought I’d hang around, see if it was true. Sorry to have bothered you.’ He turned to walk away.

  ‘Hang on – how long have you been here?’

  ‘Since this morning, but I’m giving up now.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’ He raised his hand to bid the journalist farewell. So the police had moved her; if there had been no sign of life all day, that was the most likely scenario. He went inside and waited until the journalist had got in his car and driven off.

  Back to square one. Or even worse; now he didn’t have a clue where she was. She could be anywhere. He had to find a different way of tackling the problem. The journalist had given him an idea. If he couldn’t find the girl, perhaps he could find someone who visited her? Someone who needed her, maybe even cared about her? Someone apart from her mother, he thought as he stood there in the stairwell.

  The man he had seen in the cave.

  The same man had been the first to arrive at the hospital in Torsby that night. He had seen the car screech into the car park as he lay hiding in the bushes up above, and the tall, slightly overweight man had got out and run inside. Even then it had occurred to him that this man must be important to the girl in some way. It was hardly a coincidence that he was first on the scene both times.

  He didn’t think he was a police officer, but he was definitely part of the Riksmord team that had been brought in from Stockholm.

  Sebastian – that was how he had introduced himself to the girl in the cave.

  There couldn’t be many Sebastians working for Riksmord, could there?

  After a light lunch at the Railway Hotel, Billy and Jennifer got in the car and continued north along the road to Kurravaara, which according to Jennifer might well be the most beautiful route she had ever seen. Billy called Per Pejok who promised to keep an eye open for them. He was expecting them within the next twenty minutes; otherwise they had gone wrong and would need to call him again.

  To start with there wasn’t much chance of getting lost: one straight road. When they reached Kurravaara and the inlet that didn’t have a name, according to Billy’s satnav, they turned left and continued along Norra Vägen following the shore of the lake for a while, then reached the small community which consisted of a collection of red buildings that appeared to have been randomly positioned at varying distances from one another and the water, where the ice had already started to break up. However, the snow seemed deeper here, Billy noted with a shudder. There were only 300 inhabitants in Kurravaara, but there were also a number of summer cottages, which made the community seem bigger. North of the inlet they took the second left and followed the road until it ran out. The green door of a small red two-storey house opened as they pulled in, and a weather-beaten man in his forties came towards them. He was wearing a sheepskin-lined leather jacket over a woollen jumper, jeans and heavy boots. A pair of bright blue eyes were the only facial feature visible between an enormous but well-groomed beard and the peak of a cap. Billy could hear dogs barking inside the house as he got out of the car. Hunting dogs, presumably. He could easily picture this man with a shotgun over his shoulder.

  ‘Per Pejok. Welcome to Kurravaara,’ the man said in a strong Kiruna accent as he held out his hand. ‘You found your way easily enough, then?’

  Billy and Jennifer introduced themselves and Jennifer told their host how beautiful she found his village. Billy was expecting to be invited indoors, into the warmth, but instead Per pointed to a red Range Rover parked nearby.

  ‘Would you like to go and see the mine?’

  ‘Yes, please, absolutely,’ Jennifer enthused, sounding as if she was off on an adventure. Billy couldn’t help but admire her endless enthusiasm.

  ‘We’ll take my car – it’s better suited to the terrain,’ Per said, and Billy could have sworn he saw a scornful little smile as Per glanced at the little Citroën before setting off towards the Range Rover.

  Billy sat in the front, Jennifer in the back, and the interior was soon pleasantly warm as they drove through the stunning landscape.

  ‘Matti fought those bastards all the way,’ Per explained as he confidently manoeuvred the vehicle along the narrow, snow-covered roads. ‘From the very first day when he heard about their plans until … well, until he disappeared.’

  ‘But FilboCorp has a contract to buy the land,’ Jennifer said. Per Pejok let out a snort that made it clear how much he thought that was worth, spraying the windscreen liberally with saliva at the same time.

  ‘They get what they need.’

  ‘But you reported your brother to the police as a missing person, didn’t you?’ Billy asked, even though he already knew the answer.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And what did they do?’

  ‘Fuck all. The company waved that contract you mentioned, and the police lost interest. Said Matti had probably taken off somewhere with the money.’ Per snorted again, and for the first time Billy wondered whether the car should be fitted with a windscreen wiper on the inside. ‘But no doubt the boys in blue are on their payroll, just like all those corrupt fucking politicians who gave them permission to dig here.’ Per turned to Billy. ‘The company reckons they’ll make almost five hundred billion over the next twenty years, so they can afford to buy whatever they need.’

  He turned onto a wider road that had obviously been resurfaced fairly recently, then after a few kilometres took a smaller track that immediately began to climb steeply. Soon they were driving along something that couldn’t even be described as a track, climbing even more steeply.

  ‘We can’t get any closer than this,’ Per said, stopping at the top of the slope. Seconds later Billy and Jennifer were gazing down on a valley that was totally dominated by a huge grey hole, an opencast mine; to Billy it looked more like a gigantic gravel pit. An ugly wound in the otherwise idyllic landscape.

  ‘Three kilometres long, one kilometre wide and three hundred and ninety metres deep,’ Per said without being asked.

  ‘What do they mine here?’

  ‘Copper. They bring up fifteen million tons of ore each year, but there are plans to increase production to more than double that amount.’

  Fifteen million tons. Jennifer couldn’t even begin to imagine how much that was. How on earth did they get such quantities from a hole in the ground?

  ‘They work twenty-four/seven, all year round,’ Per said as if he had read her mind, pointing to a truck down below. ‘It takes four hundred litres of diesel an hour just to transport the ore to the crushing shed.’ He pointed to a building further down the valley. ‘From there the crushed ore goes to the processing plant on a conveyor belt, but you can’t see that from here.’

  Per turned his attention back to the opencast mine down below.

  ‘As you can see, the mining operation itself destroys the landscape, and they diverted a river not far away which more or less emptied a lake, but that’s not the main problem.’

  Once again he waved his hand in the direction of the crushing shed and the dark grey mountain of rock beside it, completely different in both shape and colour from everything else around it. Jennifer and Billy immediately understood what he meant.

  ‘Five kilometres long, two kilometres wide – waste rock and tailings left over after processing. Fifty thousand tons are spewed out every day, but when they’re exposed to the air, there’s a chemical reaction which means that any residual heavy metals are released.’

  ‘Doesn’t the company have procedures for dealing with that kind of thing?’ Jennifer wondered.

  ‘We get sewage sludge from Stockholm – it’s mixed with earth, then used to cover the waste to k
eep the metals in, but no one knows if it will work, or for how long.’

  Per turned to face them, and Billy could have sworn he saw a tear in the corner of his eye.

  ‘The company will be mining here for maybe another twenty years, but that will be there for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years. Who’s going to take the responsibility for it?’

  The question was rhetorical, but neither Billy nor Jennifer would have been able to provide an answer. This was all new to them – new and slightly scary. Per ran his index finger under his nose and along his cheek; Billy had been right about the tear.

  ‘They say it provides work up here, but the place doesn’t employ that many people, and most of those are specialists from overseas. FilboCorp doesn’t even pay corporation tax in Sweden. Matti checked.’

  Per set off past the parked car, heading for the other end of the plateau on which they were standing. From this viewpoint the unspoilt landscape of the fells and mountains lay before them once more. Jennifer found it difficult to grasp that they had moved no more than fifty metres, yet the prospect was so different. Untouched, magnificent, extending towards the horizon, while behind them there was heavy industry.

  ‘Matti lived just over there,’ Per said, pointing to the forest below. Neither Billy nor Jennifer could see a house, so they assumed Per was indicating the general direction rather than a specific spot.

  ‘What will happen when the mine closes in twenty years?’

  ‘The opencast pit will be filled with water – it will become a kind of artificial lake. But it will take a long time for the environment to recover. Everything takes longer up here because of the cold. Matti taught me all this. He made me get involved. Do you really think he would have sold his land, when it looked like this?’ His sweeping gesture encompassed the wilderness before them. ‘To them?’ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder to the mine behind.

  Once again the question was rhetorical, but this time both Billy and Jennifer knew the answer.

  It was more than unlikely.

  Which meant that FilboCorp had a great deal of explaining to do.

  FilboCorp’s head office was on the second floor at Kungsgatan 36–38. Vanja and Sebastian had given their names on the entryphone and been buzzed in. The walls of the waiting room in reception were covered with photographs of opencast and deep-shaft mines, with exotic names beneath the pictures. The decor was dark, with plenty of mahogany; ornate, expensive leather sofas and armchairs; and a thick green fitted carpet. Vanja sat down on one of the sofas while Sebastian remained standing, contemplating the photos. One attack after another on the unspoilt beauty of nature, all tastefully displayed in a room that was the very epitome of wealth.

  ‘Who are we supposed to be seeing?’ he asked.

  ‘We have an appointment with Carl Henrik Ottosson, head of Information Services,’ Vanja replied as she looked around.

  ‘Not with the managing director?’ Sebastian sounded disappointed.

  ‘He didn’t have time.’

  Sebastian shook his head. ‘It’s hardly likely to be the head of Information Services who asked that lawyer to call Maria, is it?’

  ‘Maybe not, but that’s who we’re seeing,’ Vanja said acidly; she was beginning to regret bringing Sebastian with her. He seemed to be on the warpath.

  ‘His job is to handle the press and give evasive answers. We’re police officers. We ought to be talking to the organ grinder, not the monkey.’

  ‘Just leave it, OK? And you’re not a police officer, you’re a consultant, if we’re being picky.’

  Sebastian beamed at her.

  ‘So does that mean I can go in a bit harder?’

  ‘As long as you don’t get us thrown out.’

  ‘I promise. Trust me.’

  Before Vanja had time to reply, a slim man in an expensive suit and matching tie walked in. He was wearing horn-rimmed glasses, his hair was short, well cut and slicked back, and a broad smile revealed white, even teeth. He looked as if he had come straight out of business school. Sebastian took an instant dislike to him.

  ‘Carl Henrik Ottosson, head of Information Services here at FilboCorp. I can promise you we don’t throw anyone out,’ he said, holding out his hand. Vanja shook it and introduced herself; Sebastian didn’t move.

  ‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep,’ he said. The well-dressed man with the Teflon smile took no notice.

  ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘We’re investigating a number of murders in Torsby—’ Vanja began.

  ‘Although we’d prefer to speak to your boss,’ Sebastian interjected.

  ‘Unfortunately he’s otherwise engaged. We didn’t have very much notice of your visit.’ Carl Henrik turned back to Vanja. ‘And I don’t understand how we can possibly be involved in this tragedy.’

  Sebastian took a step forward; surely Carl Henrik didn’t think he could be dismissed that easily?

  ‘Which of you asked Rickard Häger to call Maria Carlsten asking to buy her out, just a few days after her sister’s entire family was murdered?’

  Carl Henrik went pale.

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t know.’

  ‘Then perhaps you can understand why we want to talk to the person who does actually know something.’

  Carl Henrik did his best to look in control of the situation, but the smile had disappeared.

  ‘As I said, I’m afraid he’s otherwise engaged. However, I must stress that FilboCorp always operates within the law. If we have acted insensitively, then I can only apologise, but I can’t see that we’ve done anything illegal, although I’m not familiar with the details of this particular case.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose it is illegal. Unethical, perhaps. Definitely immoral. But no doubt you don’t have a problem with that.’

  ‘I can’t respond to vague accusations.’ Carl Henrik was becoming more and more irritated. ‘I thought you had specific questions.’

  ‘Indeed we did,’ Vanja shot back. ‘Which of you asked Rickard Häger to call Maria Carlsten asking to buy her out, just a few days after her sister’s entire family was murdered? But apparently you don’t have an answer.’

  There was a brief silence. Carl Henrik stared at his visitors; Sebastian decided on a change of tactics.

  ‘I believe you deal with the press?’ he began.

  ‘That’s part of my remit, yes.’

  ‘Good, then perhaps you can tell me what you think of this headline: Entire family murdered. This is the mining company that wanted to get its hands on their land. Then perhaps a few pictures of the murdered children celebrating their birthdays or something – you know the kind of thing, their innocent little faces smiling into the camera.’

  Carl Henrik’s face lost a little more colour, but at the same time his expression darkened. He was shocked and annoyed by Sebastian and Vanja’s uncompromising approach, but he wasn’t about to give up.

  ‘It was unfortunate that someone called fru Carlsten so soon after the tragedy, but this is blackmail!’

  ‘Tell that to the local councils when you’re applying for exploration permits,’ Vanja snapped. ‘Or to your shareholders. I’m sure they’ll be delighted to hear that you’re refusing to assist in a murder inquiry.’

  Carl Henrik was getting really angry now, and Sebastian thought he would soon be breaking his promise not to throw anyone out.

  ‘What do you really want?’

  ‘The same thing we wanted in the first place – to speak to the person who can answer our questions,’ Sebastian replied calmly. ‘But apparently that’s not possible. Let’s go, Vanja.’

  He moved towards the door, thinking he would get halfway before Carl Henrik stopped him. He was wrong. It took only two steps.

  ‘Wait, wait. I’ll just check if he’s available after all.’ Carl Henrik swept out of the room, and Vanja smiled at Sebastian and held up her hand.

  ‘High five!’

  ★ ★ ★

  In less than five minutes Sebastian and Vanja we
re shown into a room that was even more affluent, if that were possible. The boardroom, Sebastian guessed. It was dominated by a long, highly polished oak table on which several crystal carafes of water were laid out. The dark panelled walls were filled with paintings which gave the impression of being valuable even if they weren’t. An elderly man in a dark pinstripe suite and shiny shoes was waiting for them at the far end of the room. He was comparatively short and rotund, but with his rugged features, steady gaze and grey, perfectly groomed hair he seemed much taller than he was. He made no attempt to welcome them, but merely observed them with his ice-cold grey eyes. He seemed less than impressed with what he saw. Carl Henrik made the introductions.

  ‘This is Mr Adrian Cole, CEO of FilboCorp Europe,’ he said, his tone suitably obsequious. ‘He’s just interrupted an important meeting in order to see you.’

  ‘So you’re the people who’ve come here making entirely unfounded accusations,’ Cole said in good Swedish, but with a distinct English accent. ‘We usually have an excellent working relationship with the authorities, but of course that is reliant on the willingness of those authorities to work with us.’

  ‘We want answers to certain questions relating to a murder inquiry,’ Vanja replied.

  Cole turned to Carl Henrik. ‘You can go. I’ll take care of this.’ He waited until his subordinate had left the room, then turned back to Vanja.

  ‘We’re happy to answer your questions. We deal with difficult issues all the time. Is there copper beneath that mountain? Is it worth extracting thorium? Will the Environmental Court be able to stop us? We’re used to questions. And accusations. Would you like some water?’

  He pointed to the carafes; Sebastian shook his head. ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘But we don’t like being threatened,’ Cole went on. ‘If we’re going to provide answers, it has to be done in a spirit of mutual understanding. Otherwise you will need to proceed via our legal team.’

  ‘What exactly do you mean by mutual understanding?’ Sebastian asked crossly.

  ‘Whatever we tell you remains confidential, within the bounds of the police investigation. It doesn’t turn up in the media. You behave professionally, to put it briefly. Just as we do.’