The Disciple

by Michael Hjorth

  ‘Forgive me. Love, Sebastian.’

  He smiled as he thought about his plan.

  He reached the front door and his final destination, but walked past without stopping. He went up to the little park and sat down on one of the dark green benches for a while. Looked around. Nobody in the vicinity as far as he could tell. Nobody paying any attention either to him or to the front door. A rubbish truck drove slowly past, but disappeared around the corner. Ralph got up, holding the bouquet so that it covered most of his face.

  Walked back slowly. Not too fast. He mustn’t appear stressed. Mustn’t be noticed.

  He must be nothing more than a bunch of roses.

  A gift of love on the way to a woman.

  The code was 1439. He double-checked on his mobile, where he had made a note of it to be on the safe side.

  1439. Correct.

  The door swung open by itself. It had an automatic mechanism to make life easier for the elderly and those with pushchairs. He didn’t like it. It made his entrance too grand, too theatrical, as if he were walking onto a stage. He moved quickly into the large foyer and stood there for a while, pretending to search for a name on the list of residents even though he knew exactly where she lived. Fourth floor. Three neighbours. The automatic door closed behind him, and the silence inside the building was a relief as the sound of the traffic died away. He felt as if he was invisible, standing there in the pretty white foyer with its ornate Greek-inspired statues in the neoclassical style. The roses fitted in.

  Red and white.

  The colours of love and innocence.

  It was poetic for death to arrive in this way.

  He decided to go up in the lift. Once he had reached the fourth floor he would leave the inner gate open so that the lift couldn’t move, and anyone who needed to move around the building would have to use the stairs. That would enable him to hear if anyone was on their way up or down, and give him time to act. It could all come down to seconds in the end.

  The lift wasn’t there, so he pressed the worn black button above the word call. The machinery jerked into life with a mechanical thud. He peered up the shaft through the black gate and saw that the lift was on the fourth or fifth floor. It began to descend with irritating slowness.

  The critical moment would be from the time she opened the door until he was inside the apartment with the door closed and the woman under control. It must be accomplished in just a few seconds, and as quietly as possible. The acoustics in the stairwell would amplify every sound. He took out the Leatherman knife. Flicked it open and concealed it in his right hand behind the roses.

  Ellinor walked around the apartment one last time. Decided to leave the balcony door open a fraction so that it wouldn’t smell stuffy when fru Lindell turned up. She would be there this evening, if Ellinor knew her as well as she thought she did. She flicked the catch so that the balcony door was still locked, but with a tiny gap. Then she was happy. The apartment was in perfect order.

  She opened the front door and stepped out with her keys in her hand. Locked up behind her. Saw the lift pass her floor on its way down. Typical. If she had come out a minute earlier she could have stopped it. Now she would have to wait. She wheeled her little black cabin case, which she had bought with a staff discount, over to the lift. She was pleased with the case. It was both practical and fashionable. The lift continued its slow descent. They had discussed having it renovated at the last residents’ meeting, but had shelved the issue. Its old-fashioned open style was charming, with its lattice gate and dark wood, but from a practical point of view it left a great deal to be desired. Ellinor and some of the others had suggested a faster, more modern model. One where you just pressed the button and waited. With this one you had to wait until it stopped before you pressed.

  Ralph stiffened as he heard a door open above him. He wasn’t sure which floor the sound had come from. He was able to rule out the first floor immediately, it was higher up than that, but because of the acoustics it was impossible to be any more accurate. He listened hard, but the hum of the lift was the only thing he could hear. He waited for the sound of footsteps on the stairs, but none came. So the person in question was presumably waiting for the lift. Just like him. Now he had to keep his cool. He raised the bouquet slightly so that he was just a body whose face was concealed by roses, and tightened his grip on the knife. At long last the lift arrived; it stopped with a small dull thud followed by a sharper metallic click from the locking mechanism. He opened the door as quietly as he could, but he didn’t really know what to do. There were two options: abort or go on up.

  He decided on the latter. He could always abort at a later stage. First of all he would force the person up there to act. He held the door open so that the lift couldn’t go anywhere. The building was silent. You could have heard a pin drop.

  A minute or so passed. Ralph had time to think through the alternatives many times. Too many. Perhaps the best thing would be to abort his mission after all. Come back in a while, start all over again. He was just about to let go of the lift door and leave when he heard the person upstairs start walking down. The footsteps were rapid, and sounded as if they were fast approaching. The decision was instantaneous. There was no going back. He stepped into the lift.

  Ellinor was annoyed. This was just typical. She didn’t actually have anything against using the stairs – exercise was good – but the problem was the suitcase. It was a bit too heavy to carry all the way. And then there was that article she’d read, which had stated very clearly that walking down the stairs wasn’t good for you. Bad for the knees, apparently. Walking up was beneficial, but you should avoid walking down. But now she had no choice. She couldn’t wait any longer. Annoyingly, the lift began to move when she was halfway to the third floor. For a moment she considered turning around and going back up. Then again, she might as well carry on; she could take the lift from the floor below, if it stopped there. She went down the last few steps and stood by the lift. With a bit of luck it would be Robert Andersson from the third floor. He usually came home around this time. At long last the lift arrived, and she stepped aside to let Robert out, if it was him. But it wasn’t Robert, it was a taller man. She saw beige trousers, a blue polo shirt and a big bunch of roses that covered his face. The lift didn’t stop, it just carried on going up. Ellinor smiled to herself. Someone upstairs was going to receive a beautiful bouquet. Love gave her fresh energy, and she decided to carry on down the stairs. She couldn’t stand around here all day, waiting for lifts.

  Not again. Not again. Not again.

  Instinctively he thought of pressing the emergency stop button. But by the time the thought was ready to be translated into action, he was already half a metre above the third floor, and would just be stuck there, trapped between floors. Through the lift doors he could see Ellinor trotting down the stairs. Away from him. He had made too many changes to the ritual. She was getting away. The powerful, sweet perfume of the roses suddenly turned his stomach. He yanked open the door when he reached the fourth floor and started to run. Threw caution to the winds. He couldn’t fail this time. If that meant taking major risks, then so be it. How he was going to be able to carry out the ritual was a question he would address later. First he had to get hold of her. He realised at once that he could no longer hear the sound of her footsteps because of the noise his own feet were making. He stopped for a second, and soon heard her again. She couldn’t be far away. A floor below him. He set off again.

  The second floor flew by. He tried to take two steps at a time on the next flight, but had problems with his balance. It was difficult with his sports bag, plastic bag, and the flowers. He almost slipped, used the banister for support and regained control. Threw away the roses when he reached the first floor, and carried on running. He finally reached the stylish foyer he had started from a few moments ago.

  It was empty. The door was open, so she must have just gone out. He hid the knife in the palm of his hand and rushed outside. She must be close
. Very close.

  There she was. Walking towards Norra Bantorget. Eight, ten metres away. Alone on the pavement, but there were cars passing all the time. A little way ahead he could see a couple of mothers with their pushchairs. It was impossible for him to do anything now. He would just have to follow her. Try to find a more suitable opportunity, make sure he didn’t lose her.

  His breathing caught up with him and he realised how much he was sweating. He slowed down and carefully snapped the knife shut. Put it back in his pocket. Gave her a bit of a head start.

  Patience. Determination.

  That was what he needed now.

  He could see her. And he wasn’t going to let her go.

  She belonged to him.

  Ellinor was trying to find a taxi. There were usually one or two outside the hotel on Norra Bantorget, so she headed in that direction. Not that she travelled by taxi very often. She enjoyed walking, particularly when the weather was good. If this had been an ordinary day, she would have walked all the way. But today was a special day; today she had a destination she wanted to reach as soon as possible.

  A taxi was coming towards her; it looked as if it was free, and she quickly raised her arm to hail it. She was delighted when it braked and stopped right in front of her. She picked up her case and jumped in the back. Saw a tall man a short distance away staring at her; he walked out into the street after they had driven past him. He seemed to be looking for a taxi as well, she thought as she looked back and noticed him trying to flag down a cab heading in the opposite direction; it didn’t stop. She smiled. She had been lucky to get this one.

  It was definitely her lucky day.

  She asked the driver to take her to Östermalm.

  To love.

  Sebastian Bergman had been ringing Trolle all day. His disquiet had grown with each unanswered call. It would soon be more than sixteen hours since they had parted company outside Anna Eriksson’s apartment block. They had never been closer than at that moment, and the warmth Sebastian had felt made his anxiety all the more palpable. Particularly as Anna was now safe. He should have heard that from Trolle, if nothing else. That had been the whole point of his former colleague’s presence outside her apartment.

  To protect her.

  To protect Vanja.

  To protect the secret.

  But Sebastian didn’t know what else he could do, apart from continuing to try Trolle’s number.

  He focused on the approaching meeting with Hinde in order to clear his mind. Apart from that, he was no use whatsoever as a member of the team. Vanja was absolutely right. He set off to look for Torkel. He needed to get the meeting with Hinde arranged as soon as possible. Edward Hinde was the key. Sebastian’s earlier distaste had vanished, and he was positively longing to confront Hinde alone, without needing to worry about Vanja. He would win the next encounter. Go for a knockout.

  Torkel wasn’t in his office. According to his secretary, he was in a board meeting upstairs. Sebastian stomped up one flight of stairs and walked over to the window of the big conference room they used. Torkel was sitting in there with a number of others. Obviously top brass. Some of them were even wearing those stupid white uniforms with gold epaulettes. Sebastian hated police officers with gold epaulettes. They were as far removed from real police work as it was possible to be. They never went anywhere near a crime scene; they only appeared on TV or in some conference room with a bottle of mineral water in front of them. Like now. Sebastian plonked himself down just outside the window. Torkel hadn’t seen him. Or at least he wasn’t letting on that he had. Sebastian’s frustration grew, and when he had been sitting there for fifteen minutes, he could contain himself no longer. He got up and flung open the door of the conference room.

  ‘Afternoon. Are you sitting here trying to solve the murder of Olof Palme?’

  The room fell silent, and everyone stared at him. The odd face was familiar from the old days, but Sebastian didn’t recognise most of them. However, the one person he did know well got to his feet.

  ‘Sebastian, the door was closed for a reason,’ Torkel said, suppressed rage in his voice. ‘We’re in a meeting.’

  ‘I can see that. But I have to see Hinde. Today. We can’t wait any longer.’

  ‘The visiting order hasn’t arrived yet. I’m doing my best to hurry it up.’

  ‘Do more than your best. Get it sorted.’

  ‘We’re not going to talk about this now, Sebastian.’ Torkel looked around apologetically before turning back to Sebastian.

  ‘I’d like you to leave, please.’

  ‘If I can just have that visiting order I’ll disappear immediately. Promise.’

  Sebastian looked at the collection of people around the table. Most of them met his gaze with a mixture of surprise and contempt. He realised he was completely in the wrong, but he just couldn’t play by their stupid rules anymore. Lives were at risk. Not just his own.

  ‘I’m sure your smartly dressed friends want to solve this case before he cuts the throat of a fifth victim. I’m the key.’

  He saw Torkel’s eyes flash. Obviously he had gone too far. A woman sitting on Torkel’s right got to her feet, slowly and deliberately. Sebastian recognised her as the national chief of police.

  ‘I don’t think we know each other,’ she said in a voice that could cause frostbite. The civilised way of saying: ‘Who the hell are you?’

  ‘No, we don’t,’ Sebastian replied, firing off his most winning smile. ‘But if you can help me sort out that visiting order, you might get the chance.’

  Torkel marched over to Sebastian and grabbed him by the arm. ‘Excuse me. Back in a moment.’

  He dragged Sebastian out and shut the door behind him.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing? Have you lost your mind? Do you want me to throw you out?’

  ‘Why is it taking such a long time? Is Haraldsson being difficult?’

  ‘I have no idea! It doesn’t bloody matter! We just have to wait.

  You’re not a police officer, so it takes a little while. If you don’t like it, you can piss off right now.’

  ‘Oh, sure. You can threaten me with that as often as you like. I’m the only one who can put a stop to the murders. You know that.’

  ‘Your expertise and your invaluable insights have certainly been a great help so far.’

  ‘Sarcasm isn’t really your thing.’

  There was a short silence. Torkel was breathing heavily.

  ‘Okay, let me put it this way. Go home. You cost too much.’

  ‘I’ll work for free.’

  ‘I wasn’t talking about money.’

  Sebastian met Torkel’s eye and swallowed the comment that was on the tip of his tongue.

  ‘I’ll let you know when the visiting order arrives.’ Torkel opened the door and went back into his meeting. Sebastian could hear him apologising before the door closed and Torkel’s voice became an indistinct murmur.

  For a second Sebastian wanted to go back in. Make himself look even more ridiculous.

  But that would have been a step too far. Way too far.

  He had done enough damage as it was.

  For once he did as Torkel said and went home.

  It took him a while. He had to check first to see if anyone might be following him. A silver Toyota, above all, but he regarded every car that drove past or was parked by the pavement with a certain degree of suspicion. He peered into every single one. The murderer had switched cars once, and he could do it again. He zigzagged home, went round in circles, and took plenty of time. Only when he was absolutely convinced that no one was following him did he walk through the front door of his apartment block on Grev Magnigatan. Climbed the stairs, went inside and sat down on the bed in his room.

  His anxiety about being followed. The secrets. The double dealing. Trolle. The women. Vanja. Everything was taking its toll on him, making him act irrationally, and if he carried on like this there was a risk that he wouldn’t be allowed to see Hinde at all. An organisat
ion like the police service was only prepared to accept a certain level of conflict without results, he was well aware of that.

  He lay down on the bed. Closed his eyes and tried to switch off. The apartment was silent and still. It was nice just to lie there. He tried to breathe quietly and meditate, as Lily had once taught him.

  Deep breaths. Regular. Slow. Find the stillness.

  He had loved Lily so much. The memory of her was always just behind the image of Sabine, its contours softer and fainter, but always there like a shadow. He knew why she was number two. Because he was ashamed. He had let go of their daughter. Lost her to the sea.

  The feelings of loss suddenly overwhelmed him, the steady breaths immediately replaced by the ragged breathing of grief. He felt persecuted. By himself and his memories. He could never be free of them.

  Sitting up, he caught sight of the plastic handles of Trolle’s carrier bag sticking out from under the bed. It was here too, the proof of who he really was. Half hidden under the bed were the documents, ordered and paid for by him, that could besmirch Vanja’s parents. What had they actually done to him? Nothing. Anna had simply tried to protect her daughter from a man who was capable of anything. Valdemar knew nothing, Anna had said. That was doubtless true. But in spite of the fact that both of them were innocent, he had wanted to hurt them, punish them. They weren’t even his real opponents. That was down to him, and him alone.