‘With no warning. Yes, it would. We don’t exactly have that kind of relationship.’ But in spite of her firm response, Anna had already begun to toy with a possible scenario.
Her mother could have phoned while Valdemar was out. Just now, this evening. Asked her to come over. Because she wasn’t feeling too good, or because of something to do with the house – because she needed help, anyway. Valdemar would believe that. Then she could go. She would invent some story for her mother to explain her sudden appearance. A lot going on at work. At the end of her tether. Just had to get away from everything. If Valdemar rang, could her mother please be an angel and say that she was the one who had asked for Anna’s help? She didn’t want to worry him. Not when he was just getting over his cancer. Her mother would go along with that. Would lie for her sake. Anna could stay there for a while. Come back when they’d caught the murderer. Tell her mother she was feeling much better, and if the topic ever came up at a family dinner or at Christmas or something, she would simply laugh it off and say that her mother had misunderstood. Nobody would dig any deeper. It could work. It would work.
It had to work.
‘You can’t stay here,’ Sebastian persisted. ‘If anything should happen to you, if they found you . . . Then Vanja would find out.
In the worst way imaginable.’
‘I know, but I can’t go tonight.’
‘Why not?’
Because it didn’t fit in with her plan. The situation mustn’t appear too urgent, or Valdemar would insist on going with her. She would go tomorrow. It would still be a bit of a rush, but it was achievable.
‘It’s just not possible,’ she said to Sebastian. She had neither the desire nor the energy to explain what she was planning. ‘But I’ll be fine. Valdemar will be home soon.’
‘I could wait until he gets here.’
‘No! I want you to go. Now. Right this minute.’ Anna could feel herself regaining control after the initial shock. She would sort this out, just as she had sorted out every other problem that had arisen over the years. But Sebastian had to go. She grabbed hold of him and pushed him towards the hallway.
Sebastian realised there was nothing more he could do. He walked into the hallway. ‘Don’t open the door to anyone but Valdemar.’
‘He’s got a key.’
As Sebastian turned and saw Anna standing in the middle of the living room deep in thought, he suddenly realised how much trouble he had caused. It was only a couple of months since her husband had been told his cancer was in remission. How long had she lived with the knowledge that her life partner might die? Months? Years? And now he had turned up with yet another threat, bringing death into this cosy apartment once more.
‘I’m sorry.’
Words he rarely used, but they were sincerely meant. He paused with his hand on the door handle. He really did want to know, and he could hardly be any less popular than he already was, or cause even more grief than he already had.
‘Has he never asked?’
‘Who?’ Anna’s thoughts were somewhere else altogether.
‘Valdemar. Has he never asked who her father is?’
The expression on Anna’s face made it clear that this was not a topic she wished to discuss. Not with him. Not with anyone.
‘Once,’ she said curtly. ‘But I didn’t tell him.’
‘And he left it at that?’
Anna shrugged. ‘He’s a good man.’
‘I’ve realised that.’
Silence. What else was there to say? Sebastian opened the door. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again as he stepped out onto the dark landing.
‘Yes, so you said.’
She closed the door behind him. Sebastian stood there for a moment, aware of how tired he was. Physically and mentally. This had been the longest day of his life, and it wasn’t over yet. One more stop. One more. He set off down the stairs with a heavy tread.
The tall man was on the point of giving up when he saw Sebastian step out of the doorway further down the street, his mobile clamped to his ear. He slid down behind the wheel as far as he could without losing sight of his quarry. He was pretty sure the distance, the slightly reflective windscreen and the gathering dusk would make him impossible to spot even if Sebastian should look in his direction. But he didn’t. He put the phone in his pocket and set off in the opposite direction. The tall man stayed where he was, watching him. Sebastian stopped at the crossroads; he looked as if he was waiting for something.
After five minutes a taxi pulled up. Sebastian got in and it drove off. The tall man turned the key in the ignition and began to follow. A little while longer. He could spare half an hour before duty called.
He was enjoying this. Not the pursuit in itself, but what it might lead to.
Number five.
Perhaps number six.
He had been given only the names and addresses of the first three women via the website. He had checked up on them, found out as much as he felt he needed to know about their lives, and chosen his time. Number four was different. Suddenly it had to be someone who had been with Sebastian Bergman recently. In order to make the pattern clear. It had worked. Riksmord had made the connection, he knew that. They had worked out the common denominator. The fact that Sebastian was involved in the investigation proved that. According to the Master, this should lead to Sebastian examining his conscience and attempting to warn some of his former partners. Not all of them, that would be impossible of course, but he ought to get in touch with those who were comparatively recent or who meant the most to him so that they could be protected. Was Vanja Lithner’s mother one of them? Was that why Sebastian had gone there this evening? Could be. Worth reporting back, at any rate.
The taxi was driving along Valhallavägen. The wrong direction if Sebastian was going home. Was he going to warn someone else? The tall man couldn’t suppress a smile. Perhaps he would be allowed to make the choice himself this time. To determine life and death. Him. No one else. He had been given that power. For that he would be eternally grateful.
Imagine if he had had it back then.
After the wedding and the move to the elegant apartment in the inner city, Lennart had become a frequent guest in their home, sometimes with his wife but usually alone. When Sofia and his father were going out, which happened quite often, Lennart would come and babysit.
He liked his ‘grandfather’. They did his homework together, played cards, and he even tried to teach the older man how to play Nintendo. He hadn’t yet made any friends at his new school, but Lennart often took him out on weekends. Skansen, Kaknäs Tower, Djurgården, the Royal Palace, places most of his contemporaries had already visited or at least heard of, but which were more or less unknown to him. Lennart also let him try out different things to see what he enjoyed. They went fishing, ice skating, berry picking, ten-pin bowling and to the adventure pool.
He really enjoyed those outings with his grandfather. His father and Sofia never wanted to come along. On the contrary, they seemed to appreciate the fact that he disappeared for a few hours now and again. Nothing was actually said, of course, but the years with his mother had given him an almost unique ability to read the moods of adults by interpreting glances and body language. It had come to him naturally as a way of avoiding problems. Adapting himself completely to her. Her wishes were always more important than his.
One day he had been picked up by Lennart as usual. Full of anticipation. They were going on a trip.
‘Where are we going?’ he had asked.
‘You’ll see,’ was the answer.
They had driven along in silence. His grandfather seemed more tense than usual. Taciturn, almost brusque. He had tried to interpret in order to adapt, but he couldn’t understand the signals. Lennart was giving off a new aura, a kind of reserve he hadn’t come across before. So he sat quietly. It seemed to work well.
Out of the city. Smaller roads. Lots of twists and turns; sometimes he got the feeling they were driving back the way they had come, but
he never asked. He had no idea where they were when Lennart turned down a narrow forest track which ended at a small brown wooden house in a clearing. A pitched green metal roof, with green window ledges and shutters. Lennart had switched off the engine and they had both sat looking at the little house.
‘What’s this place?’ he had asked.
‘It’s a lodge.’
‘Is it yours?’
‘No.’
‘Whose is it?’
‘That doesn’t matter.’
‘What are we going to do here?’
‘You’ll see.’
They had got out of the car and walked over to the lodge. It was summer. The forest smelled exactly as he expected a forest to smell on a hot, still day. A faint breeze soughed in the tree tops, but where they were walking there was no movement, thanks to the dense vegetation. Insects were buzzing. He thought he could just glimpse the shimmer of a lake through the trees. Perhaps they were going swimming?
A small flight of stone steps led up to a green wooden door, which Lennart opened. They walked into a narrow hallway. Wooden panels on the walls. A hat stand, a shoe rack on the floor. Even though there were no clothes hanging up and no shoes in the hallway, he got the feeling they were not alone. He couldn’t see anyone, or hear anyone. It was just a feeling. He sensed a bigger room on the right and a small kitchen on the left, but Lennart had opened a door immediately to the left of the entrance and shown him a staircase leading downwards. To the cellar.
‘What’s down there?’ he had asked.
‘Go and see,’ came the answer.
He had walked down the narrow stairs with horizontal wooden panels along the sides. At the bottom a naked bulb illuminated not only the staircase, but also the small room beyond. Half the size of the lodge, approximately. Wooden beams. Stone walls. No windows. Cold and damp. There was the smell of mould and something else, a faint metallic smell that he didn’t recognise. Rugs on the floor. Otherwise empty. Nowhere to sit. Nothing to do. He was just about to ask again what they were doing there when he heard something that could only be footsteps from upstairs. More than one person. More than two. They seemed to be in a hurry. Creeping along in a rush. He was more puzzled than afraid as he turned to Lennart, who had stopped at the bottom of the stairs. His hand was resting on a black, old-fashioned light switch on the wall. Without a word he twisted it. An audible click was followed by darkness as the naked bulb went out. It was so dark that he couldn’t tell whether his eyes were open or not. For a brief moment he thought he could see a strip of light right at the top of the stairs, and shadows slowly drifting in through the light only to be swallowed up immediately by the darkness. But he didn’t know for sure. The image of the brightly burning bulb was imprinted on his retina, distorting and confusing. He blinked several times. Nothing but darkness. But he could hear footsteps coming down the stairs, he was sure of it. Footsteps and heavy, expectant breathing.
‘Granddad . . .’ he said.
But no one answered.
In the car on the way home Lennart had been exactly the same as always. Apologised if he had frightened him. It was just a game. A big boy like him could cope with a little game, couldn’t he? Nothing had happened, had it? He had shaken his head. He had been scared. Of the noises. Of the darkness. But more than that . . . He didn’t know how long he had stood there in the darkness, but when Lennart switched the light on again the room was empty. No sign of anyone else. In the car he wanted to say that he hadn’t liked the game, hadn’t liked it at all, but he kept quiet. Nothing had actually happened. And sitting in the car in daylight, he wasn’t even sure that others had been there. Perhaps he had just got scared. Imagined things. He didn’t dare ask Lennart. They stopped at McDonald’s for ice cream, then they went and bought a new video game. By the time he got home things were more or less back to normal. He had been afraid, but the memory was fading. It was beginning to feel like a dream. Like something that had never really happened. From the years with his mother he was used to adapting quickly to new situations, changing moods, broken promises, parameters that suddenly changed. He had become a master at forgetting and moving on. He could do that now as well.
He and Lennart went on several more trips. At first he had been hesitant, hadn’t wanted to go, but it had been just like before. They had done things that were fun. Good things. The memory grew more and more faint. Disappeared, until he genuinely couldn’t remember it anymore.
Until they ended up at the lodge again.
Months later. Reluctantly he walked with Lennart towards the brown wooden house in the clearing. Granddad was holding his hand. Pulling him along, more or less. Heavy legs. Hard to breathe. Into the hallway again. Into that special silence which is created only when several people are trying not to make a sound. He thought he could feel their presence in the rooms he couldn’t see. Waiting. Down the stairs. The naked bulb. Lennart by the light switch. The darkness. The rapid, creeping footsteps from above. This time he didn’t look at the bulb before it went out, which meant he was able to see more clearly by the faint light that seeped in when the cellar door was opened. People. Of course. Naked. Wearing animal masks. He definitely saw a fox and a tiger. Or did he? He wasn’t sure. It was very quick. He was afraid. The door was open for only a few seconds. Then the darkness.
The creeping footsteps.
The breathing.
‘Who are they?’ he had asked quietly in the car on the way home.
‘Who?’ Lennart flipped the question back.
‘The people in the masks.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Lennart replied.
After the second time he didn’t want to go out with Lennart anymore. Not anywhere. Never again. He talked to his father about it. Couldn’t he just stay at home? His father wouldn’t hear of it. It was important to keep in with their new relations. Lennart had only one grandchild; of course he wanted to spend time with him. He should be pleased that he had a granddad who was so interested in him. Invested so much time and money in him.
Pleased and grateful.
He tried to explain that he really didn’t want to go. He was informed that this was of no consequence. He was going. End of discussion. He wasn’t really surprised. Not even upset. He should have known. It was exactly the same as it had been with his mother. His feelings didn’t count.
What other people wanted was always more important.
And so the excursions continued. Most times everything was just the same as usual. Normal activities among normal people. But at regular intervals, which it seemed to him were getting shorter and shorter, they would visit the lodge. He started trying to work out what he had done differently on the occasions when they ended up there. Was it his behaviour? Perhaps it was actually his fault? He became more and more conscious of everything he did, from the moment he found out his grandfather was picking him up until they were sitting in the car. If it was an enjoyable trip he did exactly the same things the next time. If he ended up at the lodge, it was probably because of something he had missed. Everything became significant. The way his bed was made. The way his clothes were folded. Nothing must go wrong. The way the food was arranged on his plate. The amount of time he spent brushing his teeth. The smallest mistake, the least thing done differently, could mean that he would find himself in the darkness in the cellar. The number of steps he took from his bedroom to the kitchen on the way to breakfast. The order in which he packed his gym bag. His life became more and more ritualised. He heard Sofia talking to his father about something called ‘compulsive behaviour’ one night when they thought he was asleep.
She sounded worried. His father promised to have a word with him.
He had done so a few days later. Asked what the hell was going on. So his son told him. About the lodge. About the people who looked like animals. Who at first had just crept around in the darkness, frightening him. But who now did other things. Who were everywhere. Around him. On him. Inside him.
His father didn
’t believe him. People who looked like animals! He tried to explain the business with the masks, but he got all mixed up. Stammered. Became embarrassed. So where was this lodge? He didn’t know. They seemed to take a different route each time. He would lose concentration when he realised where they were going. Everything became kind of blurred. It was in the forest. In a clearing. His father grabbed hold of him. His expression was serious. He must never speak of this again. Did he understand that? Never. Why couldn’t he just leave things alone? Why was he trying to ruin everything now that life was finally good in every way? He was frightening Sofia with his peculiar behaviour. What if she grew tired of them? What would they do then?
His father reminded him of what had happened to his mother. She had been ill too, imagined things, got confused about reality. Perhaps it ran in the family. If he carried on like this, they might have to send him away. Lock him up. He didn’t want that, did he?
He never said anything else to anyone about what happened in the lodge.
But it happened again.
And again.
It stopped a few weeks after he turned sixteen, when Lennart died. He had a big smile on his face all the way through the funeral, imagining that he had killed him.
The taxi stopped and Sebastian got out. Vasastan. Ellinor Bergkvist. The tall man already knew about her, but he would include her in his report again now that Sebastian had renewed contact with her. He looked at his watch. Even if Sebastian had time to visit one or two more before it became too late, he had to stop his surveillance at this point. He put the car in first gear and sped past the taxi, which was still stationary. He hoped he would be allowed to choose. If so, he would go for Anna Eriksson. The fact that Sebastian worked with her daughter would be a bonus.
Sebastian walked up the stairs to Ellinor’s apartment. He hesitated before ringing the bell. This would have to be quick. She had held his hand, got him to eat breakfast and sent flowers on his name day. She was definitely not someone Sebastian intended to get to know better.
The Disciple Page 25