Lucy spilled some wine on her blouse and put the glass back on the table with a bang.
‘No, you don’t,’ she said, stressing each syllable. ‘Not well enough to pay him a visit and ask a load of questions about Didrik.’
‘Come on, we’ve been to crayfish parties together.’
‘You mean we were there and felt completely out of place? He’s godfather to Didrik’s son. That tells you a lot about where his loyalties are going to lie. You won’t have time to ask more than two questions at most before he calls Didrik, wondering what the hell you’re playing at. And if Didrik isn’t as caught up in it as you think, you risk getting yourself into a hell of a lot of trouble.’
As if I wasn’t already. As if I wasn’t already deep in the shit.
‘I’ve got to take a few risks if I’m going to get out of this,’ I said. ‘It won’t really do any harm if Didrik finds out I’m asking questions about him. He might even start making mistakes and give himself away. Assuming he is involved.’
I thought about the man we’d seen in the footage from Wolfgang’s security camera. It was impossible to say if it was Didrik. That would need someone to enhance the image far beyond what I was capable of.
‘I hate this,’ Lucy said. ‘I hate the fact that we know so little, that we’re so exposed. I mean, for fuck’s sake, we don’t even know why it was so important for that Rakel to pick you up.’
She was absolutely right about that, and it was something that worried me a great deal. It was so easy to trip over all the loose ends. They were everywhere, the whole time.
I yawned so hard that I almost dislocated my jaw. I needed to sleep.
‘Shall we go to bed?’
I phrased it as a question, but it sounded more like a plea. Lucy nodded.
‘Definitely.’
So we moved inside and went to bed. In the same bed, under the same covers. But as physically uninterested in each other as if we were brother and sister. That was going to change when this was all over. I was going to work my backside off to get my old life back. And we would be happy again.
I found it impossible to settle. Lucy fell asleep and I lay there listening to the sound of her breathing. The list of things that were troubling me was practically endless. But two things stood out. Firstly, the question of Didrik’s involvement. And secondly, why Lucifer’s representative hadn’t been in touch. Didn’t he want to hear how things were going? Or were they keeping such a close eye on me that there was no need for telephone calls?
The thought made me shudder. I couldn’t help it, I had to wake Lucy.
‘Wolfgang’s security-camera footage,’ I said. ‘We’re not going to lose it, are we?’
‘Martin, I checked before I got into bed. All three copies are still there.’
Feeling marginally safer, I let my head settle deeper into the pillow. At least I couldn’t be convicted for having put Elias in the boot of my car. Small mercy.
I must have slept for a while. The nightmares were bubbling under the surface but never really got going. Fragments of misery flickered past. I remember dreaming about a spade. About hot soil and blood-stained clothes. But, generally speaking, you could probably say that I slept pretty well. Entirely unaware of what the following day had in store for me.
31
FRIDAY
It started with a phone call from Didrik. I didn’t like his tone of voice on the phone.
‘Could you come into headquarters to give us a DNA sample?’
I stiffened. A DNA sample?
‘What for?’ I said.
‘We need it to rule you out as a suspect,’ Didrik said. ‘There shouldn’t be any problem. After all, you haven’t done anything.’
‘So as a sign of my willingness to cooperate, you think I should trot round to give you a load of my saliva on a cotton-bud?’
‘Something like that.’
Not a chance. My faith in the police had dwindled even further overnight. They could do anything they liked with those samples. Even frame me for the murder of Olof Palme if they felt like it.
‘What sort of material have you got to compare it against?’ I said. ‘I got the impression you didn’t have any forensic evidence.’
‘I don’t know who you could have got that impression from,’ Didrik said, ‘but I don’t feel particularly inclined to discuss my investigation with you. Are you coming?’
I didn’t hesitate so much as a second.
‘No,’ I said. ‘No, I’m not.’
I could hear Didrik’s surprise even though he fought to contain it.
‘Okay, you know the drill, then.’
His voice had gone from soft to hard, and that bothered me. He was firing at random and that meant I had to take care not to sound too cocky. All the same, I couldn’t help feeling worried. Was he seriously implying that he was thinking of taking the matter to a prosecutor and forcing me to give a DNA sample?
‘No,’ I said, rather more aggressively than I would have liked. ‘I don’t know the drill. For which of the murders have you got DNA from the perpetrator?’
He shouldn’t have answered that question. But perhaps he reasoned that I was going to find out sooner or later anyway. Besides, he had already leaked so much information that he might as well leak a bit more.
‘Fredrik Ohlander’s.’
Of all the names he could have said, that was the one that I was least expecting. Fredrik Ohlander. The journalist to whom I had told everything, and with whom I later denied having had any contact when Didrik asked.
‘Fredrik? But . . .’
‘He’s dead and you knew who he was. Surely you can appreciate that that’s enough for us to want to dismiss you as a suspect from the investigation. Particularly in light of what his family have said about him meeting a very secretive person with an extremely challenging story just before he died.’
It was like living under the dangling blade of a guillotine. Fredrik was supposed to have died after being run down. By a car that resembled mine. While the Porsche was in the garage reeking of rotting orange. Now there was suddenly DNA evidence instead. How convenient.
‘It’s an odd story, this,’ I said. ‘First I run him down. Then I get out of the car and dribble some DNA on his body. What have you found? A strand of hair? Two, maybe? Or perhaps some urine?’
I thought I heard Didrik laugh, but that was probably my imagination.
‘Not urine, my friend. And not hair.’
‘We’ll be in touch,’ I said, and hung up.
My stomach clenched as terror crept down my spine. They wouldn’t request a DNA sample unless they had something to compare it to. If the whole thing was a trap, I could be certain that my pursuer would have done his or her very best to incriminate me, once and for all. But what sort of DNA could it be, if it wasn’t loose strands of hair?
Not hair.
Not hair.
Two words I knew were crucial in this particular context. Two words that could explain something I had spent days trying to understand. The answer was right in front of my eyes. But I still couldn’t see it.
Even though I had promised myself that I wouldn’t, I felt I had no choice but to ask Madeleine Rossander for yet another favour. She was reluctant to help.
‘I’m not making any progress,’ I said. ‘I have to get hold of Herman Nilson.’
‘Only because it’s you, Martin,’ she said. ‘And because I’m still telling myself you’re a good person.’
She said I’d find Herman Nilson at the Tennstopet restaurant in Vasastan. He ate lunch there four days out of five. With or without company. And if, against all expectation, I didn’t find him there, I could try getting hold of him at his office. But that would spoil the possibility of a discreet, random encounter, and he would almost certainly be busy. To be honest, I didn’t really give a damn as long as I found him. I no longer had time to waste on a load of fancy footwork.
I made sure I was at Tennstopet at one o’clock. I found him sitting at a ta
ble for two. He was on his own. Seeing as his food had already arrived and he was eating, I assumed he wasn’t waiting for anyone. Walking as relaxed as I could manage, I headed towards his table. He looked up and caught sight of me when I was less than a metre away. At first he didn’t recognise me. Then his face lit up. His cutlery clattered to the floor as he quickly got to his feet.
‘Bloody hell, it’s been a while!’ he said, shaking my hand.
‘What a coincidence!’ I said. ‘I thought I’d try somewhere new for lunch, and voilà – here you are!’
Herman’s reaction was so genuine that there was no way he’d been warned that I was now a terrible and dangerous person.
‘Sit down, sit down!’ he said, gesturing towards the empty chair at his table. ‘It’s good to have company!’
The waiter brought me a menu and fresh cutlery for Herman. I glanced through the menu. I had no appetite; it didn’t matter what I ate. Anything would do, as long as it gave me energy. And a reason to stay at Herman’s table.
‘How’s things?’ he said.
Like you do. And I replied the way you do. Everything was fine, summer had been wonderful. Had I been away anywhere? Oh yes, I’d squeezed in a trip to Texas. But apart from that, work had taken up an unexpected amount of time.
‘How about you?’ I said.
‘Great,’ he said.
‘Good, good,’ I said.
And then: ‘But I heard things weren’t so great with Didrik and his wife.’
It was a gamble. I rarely shoot from the hip, but on this occasion I did. Fairly aimlessly, you could say.
Herman looked concerned.
‘Are they having trouble again?’ he said. ‘I thought everything was much better now.’
While it was excellent to have confirmation that things weren’t right, such a vague reply was less good. Half a fragment of information is as bad as none at all.
My food arrived. I looked down at the soup in surprise.
‘Did I order this?’
‘You said dish of the day. Would you rather have something else?’
The waiter looked uncertain.
‘No, no, this will be fine.’
I hate soup. And porridge.
‘What was it you heard about Didrik?’ Herman said.
I squirmed.
‘Oh, mostly just gossip,’ I said. ‘I’m sure you see Didrik far more often than me.’
Herman didn’t answer. Some of his earlier delight had worn off now.
‘Hardly at all since they moved,’ he said.
‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘I heard that they’d split up, him and Rebecca.’
Herman laughed. Relief spread across his face.
‘Oh, that old rumour,’ he said. ‘No, it’s not like that at all. The family moved to Denmark last year, but Didrik was planning to carry on working in Stockholm for a while, and commute on a weekly basis. He’s going to start applying for jobs in Malmö soon, and commute across the bridge.’
‘That’s good to hear,’ I said. ‘But why did they move?’
Herman turned serious again.
‘That’s a bit of a sensitive subject,’ he said. ‘Might be best if you ask Didrik yourself.’
I tried a joke. After all, Herman wasn’t a particularly sensitive soul.
‘Come on, was he seeing someone else? Was that it?’
Herman looked up, not remotely softened up by my gambit.
‘Definitely not,’ he said. ‘Didrik would never do a thing like that.’
Unlike men such as Herman and myself, I thought.
I tried a spoonful of the soup. It tasted disgusting.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I won’t pry into things that are none of my business.’
Herman’s face looked even sterner.
‘Like I said, I can’t answer that sort of question.’
But someone would. Because now I was more curious than ever about Didrik’s move to Denmark.
I decided to try one last move.
‘I understand,’ I said. ‘But thanks for telling me about Denmark. I got a bit nervous after I heard about Flemingsberg. I almost thought Didrik had let the side down.’
I smiled at my own humour and took another spoonful of the disgusting soup.
‘What, was Didrik supposed to have moved to Flemingsberg?’
Herman looked as amused by the idea as I was.
‘Someone I know said his kid went to the same preschool as Didrik’s. Out in Flemingsberg.’
Herman waved the waiter over and asked for the bill.
‘You’re right, Sebbe did go to preschool in Flemingsberg,’ he said. ‘But not for long. Apparently their old preschool shut down the spring before last. A good thing, if you ask me. At least the witch-hunt against Didrik calmed down a bit after that. Anyway, Rebecca was put in charge of a project for Huddinge District Council. So they thought getting him into preschool there made practical sense. I don’t know how long-term they were thinking. Because of course everything changed with . . . Denmark. Towards the end, Sebbe was spending a lot of time at home.’
Witch-hunt. Was that how he described the attempts of anxious preschool staff to find out why a child wasn’t well?
‘Why was he at home?’
My follow-up question came far too quickly, and once again I saw Herman clam up. His bill arrived and he paid.
‘Like I said, I can’t really talk about that. It was . . . terrible. But now things are much better. That’s all you need to know.’
With those words he left me. I wasn’t happy. There was something more to dig into regarding the Stihl family’s move to Denmark. Something that was ‘. . . terrible’. I wasn’t going to give up until I’d found out what.
Thoughts were swirling through my head as if they’d been stirred up by a storm. I was getting close to something that was starting to resemble the truth, I could feel it. But close wasn’t good enough. Not when the threat of a DNA test that I didn’t understand the background to was getting nearer.
Didrik’s words were still bothering me:
Not hair.
Not hair.
That left saliva, blood and sperm. But I had neither kissed, fucked or bled on Fredrik Ohlander. If my DNA had been found on Fredrik’s body, someone must have put it there. Possibly after it became clear that the Porsche was in the garage and I couldn’t be connected to the crime that way.
But who could have provided them with saliva, blood or sperm, if any of those bodily fluids had actually been found on the body? I looked instinctively at my hands, and then rubbed my face. I couldn’t find any cuts. In fact I couldn’t even remember the last time I had actually shed any blood at all. I suppose I do spit from time to time, but who the hell would go round collecting saliva from the pavement?
Not hair.
And not blood or saliva.
So it had to be sperm. But that wasn’t exactly a doddle to get hold of. Unless someone had crept into my flat and looked for stains on the sheets. Lucy’s the only person I have unprotected sex with. No matter how much women beg and swear that they’re on the pill, I always wear a rain-hat when I have sex, without exception.
And there it was.
The answer I had been waiting for.
Why had it been so important that I have sex with Rakel Minnhagen?
My stomach churned as I finally came up with a plausible answer: to get hold of my DNA.
32
Over the years there have been a fair number of times – more than I feel comfortable admitting – when I have been afraid that Lucy was going to leave me for good. Leave me in the sense that she wouldn’t want to go on working with me, or sleeping with me. One such occasion was when I told her I’d shot a teenager and then buried his body in the desert. And another one came when I walked into her office to tell her what conclusion I had reached.
‘I know what Rakel was after,’ I said. ‘It’s not about information. She wanted my fucking sperm. Can you believe that? So fucking gross.’
I
assumed she was fairly thick-skinned by then, that she wouldn’t react. That sounds almost imbecilic, but it’s what I thought.
The expression on Lucy’s face didn’t change at all. She just sat there at her desk and stared at me as if she’d suddenly realised that I was actually a Martian.
I shifted position on my chair. Lucy has such small visitors’ chairs in her office, meaning that you’re always worried about slipping off them.
‘How, Martin?’
‘What?’ I said.
‘What did she do to get hold of your sperm? Because I assume you don’t go round with samples in your jacket pocket.’
She leaned back and observed me with a look that could have sunk an aircraft carrier. I found that provocative.
‘I don’t see what the problem is,’ I said. ‘You know I slept with her. I . . .’
‘When?’
‘You know that too. The day I met Didrik at the Press Club. And again a few days later.’
‘That was a while ago,’ Lucy said. ‘Do you think she’s had your sperm in the fridge since then?’
‘Er, yes. How the hell should I know? The main point is that she had access to it.’
Had access to it. A deeply unfortunate choice of wording. And Lucy wasn’t slow to pick up on it.
‘So we’re back where we started,’ she said. ‘How the fuck – if you’ll forgive my bluntness – could she have your sperm, Martin?’
‘I don’t understand what you’re going on about,’ I said angrily. ‘When I fuck, I ejaculate. Is that such a sodding surprise?’
‘Not at all. But the fact that you’re so fucking stupid that you don’t wear a condom is!’
Lucy very rarely shouts at me, but this time she did. Without any justification, I felt.
‘Is that really what you think of me?’ I said. ‘Of course I use condoms.’
Lucy looked taken aback at first. Then it looked as if she was about to start laughing. I couldn’t decide which I found worst.
‘Are you fourteen years old or something?’ she said. ‘Please tell me you don’t just dump your condoms on the floor. Because if you do I shall lose all respect for you.’
I was gratified to hear that she still had some respect for me to lose, but apart from that the situation was grim. I paused to think before replying. Asking what I’d done with the condom was like asking me what I had for breakfast on the first Saturday in September in the year I turned ten. There are plenty of places to get rid of a condom. It was a detail I hadn’t given any thought to. I’m happy to admit that I occasionally behave like a pig, but I’m rarely unhygienic. Had I really left the condom somewhere she could pick it up? That didn’t really sound like me.
The Lies We Tell Page 20