His own worst enemy.
He slowly picked up the bag from the floor. He ought to burn it. Destroy it. He had no right to their lives. He barely had the right to his own life. If only he knew where to find some matches. In the kitchen, perhaps. He went in and started with the drawers. Cutlery in the top one. Various kitchen utensils in the second. No matches. Pot holders and table mats that he never used in the third. Suddenly the doorbell rang. He looked towards the hallway in surprise. He couldn’t remember when that had last happened. Probably somebody wanting to sell him something. Or Jehovah’s Witnesses. The bell rang again. He decided to ignore it; he was busy and he couldn’t be bothered to get rid of them. But then he heard the voice outside.
‘Sebastian. Open the door. I know you’re in there.’
It was her. Ellinor Bergkvist. This couldn’t be happening. What was she doing here?
‘Come on, Sebastian, open this door!’
She rang the bell again. For longer this time. Persistent. Could she really know he was in there? With Ellinor that didn’t seem impossible. Another ring.
‘Sebastian!’
With a curse Sebastian left the kitchen, threw the plastic bag under the bed as he was passing the spare room, marched into the hallway and yanked the door open. Tried to look as annoyed as possible. It wasn’t difficult. Not with Ellinor Bergkvist standing on the landing. She had a black cabin case with her and she was smiling happily and expectantly at him.
‘Here I am,’ was the first thing she said. As unequivocal as her smile.
His response was equally unequivocal. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘I think you know that.’ She raised her hand as if she wanted to touch him, stroke his cheek perhaps. Sebastian instinctively took a step back. Ellinor carried on smiling at him. ‘Can you take my case?’
Sebastian shook his head. ‘I asked you to leave the city for a while. Until the murderer has been caught.’ He looked at her, his expression serious. ‘Don’t you understand? You’re in danger.’
Her reaction was to pick up the suitcase herself and push past him into the hallway. He let her. Or, to be more accurate, he didn’t have time to stop her. Ellinor had a talent for taking him by surprise. She put down the case.
‘Am I really in danger?’ She stepped forward and closed the door behind her. Turned to face him. Came very close. With those green eyes he found so hard to resist. ‘Or is it just that you want me here?’
Once again she reached out to touch him. This time he let her. He didn’t really know why. There was something about Ellinor that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He could smell her breath. Sweet and fresh, as if she had just been sucking a lozenge. Always ready.
‘The way I want you?’ she went on as she caressed his cheek, his neck, slipped her hand inside his shirt. He was annoyed and turned on at the same time. He had met a lot of women, but never anyone like her. She just didn’t listen to him. Whatever he said, she transformed it into something else. Something positive. For her. She was the fixed point in a universe all of her own.
He tried again. ‘What I said was true. I didn’t make it up.’
‘I believe you,’ Ellinor said in a teasing tone which suggested the exact opposite. ‘But I might just as well stay with you instead of sitting all alone in some hotel room.’ She took his hand and placed it on her breast. ‘This is much nicer, and much cosier.’
Sebastian tried to gather his thoughts. Ellinor was showing clear signs of stalker tendencies. The hand-holding on that first evening, the flowers and phone call on his name day, the way she had interpreted his warning. She might not be ill in the medical sense of the word, but her connection to Sebastian was definitely unhealthy. He ought to throw her out.
‘We’ve only made love at my place,’ Ellinor whispered into his ear.
‘We haven’t made love anywhere. We’ve screwed.’
‘Now don’t you go spoiling this with ugly words.’ She gently bit his earlobe. She smelled of soap. Her skin was soft and warm, and he allowed his hand to slide up over her breast, around the back of her neck, her throat. He ought to explain that he definitely hadn’t just made the whole thing up as some crazy scheme to get her to move in. That she had to listen to him. Understand that he was serious.
But if that was what he wanted, why was he standing here carrying on like this in the hallway? Why was he pulling her close and leading her towards his bedroom? Those green eyes were to blame.
It was their fault.
Because there was something about her.
She always got past his resistance.
He lay in bed afterwards as she inspected the apartment. He actually felt more relaxed than he had for a long time. He hadn’t been to bed with anyone in the apartment since Lily. He had always played away. Surprisingly enough, he felt no guilt. The usual post-coital angst was conspicuous by its absence. Reluctantly he realised he was lying there listening to Ellinor as she wandered around. She sounded happy. He smiled as he heard her cheerful exclamations about the number of rooms and the possibilities.
‘What a big room! This would make a wonderful dining room!’
At least they hadn’t done it in his and Lily’s bed, he told himself. And this place had never been their real home. They had spent a lot of time here, but when they got married they had moved to Cologne.
‘You’ve even got a library!’
There really was something special about the woman who was exploring the rooms he never used these days. She was fascinating in a way he couldn’t really define. However firmly he pushed her away, she kept on coming back. Like a bouncy ball that absorbed the energy from his push. This wasn’t what he had had in mind when he went to the talk on Jussi Björling and met her. Then again, a lot of things that had happened since then had been unexpected, to say the least. Things he had actually managed not to think about for a while. Whatever you might say about Ellinor, one fact was undeniable. She took his mind off everything.
After a few minutes she came back. She had put on his shirt without doing up the buttons. Her red hair was glowing, and she looked like a woman in a French film. Feminine and irresistible. It almost felt as if she had seen the same film. She got into bed, tucked her legs underneath her and looked at him.
‘This place is huge.’
‘I know.’
‘Why don’t you use it all?’
‘It’s for you.’
Her eyes shone, like a child on Christmas Eve. ‘Really?’
‘No, but whatever I say, that’s what you’d hear anyway.’
She nudged him playfully, ignoring his nasty remarks as usual. They didn’t seem to have any effect on her whatsoever. ‘We’ll get this place sorted, I promise.’
‘We won’t get anything sorted. You can stay here for a couple of days. But then you have to move.’
‘Of course. We’ll take it slowly. If you don’t want me here, I’ll leave right away.’ She straddled him and kissed him on the mouth.
She must have seen the same film.
‘Okay, good. I don’t want you living here.’
She smiled at his attempt. She wasn’t listening. ‘But why not? You’re worried about me, you said so. If I’m here, you can keep an eye on me. And you need me.’
‘I don’t need anybody.’
‘Don’t lie, darling. You do need someone. It’s blindingly obvious.’
He didn’t know what to say. She was right. He did need someone, but not her. Definitely not her. She didn’t wait for his reply; she went into the kitchen to make them both coffee. He lay in bed listening to her. She was whistling as she hunted for the coffee.
Nobody had done that before.
But that wasn’t the worst thing.
The worst thing was that deep down he liked it.
‘Edward Hinde wants to speak to you.’
Annika poked her head around Haraldsson’s door. He looked up from the folder he was reading in one of the room’s two armchairs. ‘Lövhaga 2014, Visions and Aims
’ it said on the front. Haraldsson was only on page two of the thirty-page document, and on the table in front of him was a notepad on which he was jotting down the phrases he didn’t understand and the areas in which he needed to acquire more background knowledge and information. He had covered almost half a page so far. Twenty-five per cent of the text was virtually incomprehensible. For that reason he was delighted to have the opportunity to put the whole thing to one side and turn his attention to more important matters.
‘Does he?’
‘Yes, one of the guards rang. As soon as possible.’
‘I’ll go straight over.’
Haraldsson almost leapt out of the chair and left the room. At last. He had wanted to go over to the secure unit several times. Just pop in. But it was a balancing act. He mustn’t seem too eager, but he didn’t want to lose touch either. Lose the closeness that had grown between them. But now Hinde had taken the first step. Taken the initiative. It was a good sign. Haraldsson had been hoping they would soon meet again. He couldn’t delay the visiting order for Riksmord any longer. They had to be allowed an interview. But Haraldsson wanted the opportunity to get in there first. To break the case. Imagine if Hinde gave him something crucial. Imagine if he ended up not only celebrating his wedding anniversary tomorrow, but also reading in the morning paper that the serial killer who had been terrorising Stockholm had been caught. Perhaps it might say that unconfirmed sources indicated that the key pieces of the puzzle had been supplied by staff at Lövhaga. In the best-case scenario his name would be mentioned. Yesterday Expressen had made the connection between Edward Hinde and the recent murders. It didn’t suggest that Hinde was involved in any way, but someone had obviously leaked the fact that there were similarities in the MO. They were pushing the copycat angle today, Haraldsson had noticed on the internet. The victims from the nineties were front-page news all over again. There had also been a fact box about Hinde, a quick recapitulation of what had happened back then.
The murderer had been caught, and the person responsible for solving the case worked at Lövhaga, where Hinde was incarcerated.
It would be massive.
He was still smiling as he walked into Edward Hinde’s cell.
‘You look happy.’ As usual Edward was sitting on the bed with his back to the wall, his knees drawn up. ‘Has something nice happened?’
The desk chair had been pulled out and was facing the bed. Haraldsson sat down. He couldn’t really start talking about his hopes for their meeting, and at the same time he wanted to keep Hinde in a good mood; he seemed to have appreciated the small talk they had indulged in so far. And Haraldsson had several reasons to feel happy.
‘It’s our wedding anniversary tomorrow. Jenny and me.’
Which reminded him . . . Haraldsson quickly glanced around to see if he could spot the photograph of his wife anywhere. It didn’t seem to be on show. Just as well. What if the staff saw a photo of the governor’s wife stuck on the wall of Hinde’s cell?
‘That’s nice,’ said Hinde. ‘How many years?’
‘Five.’
‘Wood.’
‘Fancy you knowing that! Not many people do.’ Haraldsson was genuinely impressed. He had looked it up on Google several months ago.
‘You’d be surprised at how much I know,’ said Edward, realising he sounded rather more smug than he had intended.
‘You should be on one of those TV quiz shows.’
‘Yes . . . but I don’t think that’s going to happen.’
‘No.’
Hinde looked on with amusement as Haraldsson fell silent. A plan for the future had begun to take shape. In order for it to be absolutely foolproof, he needed a number of items. Thomas Haraldsson could supply most of them. His two hundred and forty minutes on the computer tonight would provide the rest. Edward had already known that it was Haraldsson’s wedding anniversary tomorrow. Just as he had known for a long time that the new governor used to be a police officer. He had carried out a thorough search when he heard that Lövhaga was to have a change ofleadership. If Haraldsson hadn’t brought up the wedding anniversary himself, Hinde would have tried to lead the conversation in that direction. Now he didn’t need to.
‘So how will you be celebrating?’ he asked with sincere interest in his voice. ‘Your wedding anniversary,’ he quickly clarified.
‘Breakfast in bed to start the day, then I’ve spoken to her boss at work and arranged for her to have a few hours off. She’ll be picked up by car before lunch and spend the afternoon at a luxury spa.’
‘Where does she work?’
‘It’s a firm called BDO; they’re accountants. Then we’re having a special dinner in the evening.’
‘So it’s a day full of special treats.’
‘And she’s getting an apple tree too. An Ingrid Marie. For our garden.’
‘You’re very thoughtful.’
‘She’s worth it.’
‘I’m sure she is.’
The two men fell silent again, but the silence was in no way embarrassing or awkward. Haraldsson suddenly realised he was almost happy sitting here. It surprised him how pleasant it was, chatting to Hinde. He listened. Really listened. Apart from Jenny, Haraldsson couldn’t think of anyone he knew who was so genuinely interested and so . . . encouraging. But even though he had managed to establish a real rapport with Hinde, he must remember the purpose of his visit.
‘As I’m sure you understand, I have some questions I would like you to answer.’ He hoped he hadn’t been too direct. Too pushy. He didn’t want to give Hinde the impression that they were meeting just so that Haraldsson could make use of him.
Clearly this was not a problem; Hinde lowered his legs from the bed and leaned forward. ‘Excellent, because there are some things I would like.’ Edward smiled disarmingly and spread his hands wide. ‘It’s a win-win situation.’
‘Yes,’ said Haraldsson as he returned the smile, convinced that he was the one who had the most to gain. Which Hinde would agree with. Because he also had the most to lose.
Two things.
It transpired that Hinde wanted two things, neither of which Haraldsson had with him. Nor could he get hold of them inside Lövhaga, at least not without attracting a whole lot of unwelcome questions. So he had left the cell, gone back to his office and told Annika that he was going out for a while. He had taken the car and driven down to the little shopping centre.
Two things. Two quick visits to two shops. On the way back he glanced over at his purchases lying on the passenger seat and tried to work out why Hinde wanted them. He also wondered whether it might be wrong and unethical to give them to him. He decided it wouldn’t be. Both were completely innocuous products. It wasn’t as if he were giving Hinde access to weapons or anything like that. One was a common drug available over the counter without a prescription. And the other was a vegetable. A root vegetable, possibly. Haraldsson wasn’t sure.
He pulled into his personal parking space, picked up the bags and went straight over to the secure unit. He had to stop himself from breaking into a run. He felt as if he was just minutes away from the resolution. He had carefully worked out what he was going to ask Hinde. Evidently he was going to be allowed two questions today. That should be enough.
The guards opened the door of the secure unit and one of them accompanied him to Hinde’s cell. Haraldsson had slipped the two small bags under his thin jacket; there was no point in arousing curiosity about what he was delivering to a convicted serial killer. Hinde was still sitting on the bed where Haraldsson had left him. He waited until the door was firmly closed before he broke the silence.
‘Did you get them?’
Haraldsson took out the bags from under his jacket and put his hand inside one of them. He moved over to the bed and slowly, almost dramatically, placed the jar from the supermarket on the bedside table. Hinde glanced at the item and nodded.
‘What did you want to ask?’
‘Do you know who killed those four women?’
‘Who?’
Hinde closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Tried to hide his disappointment. How was this possible? Haraldsson had had plenty of time to prepare for this meeting. He had had the opportunity to make the most of the questions he asked. So why hadn’t he asked ‘Who killed the four women?’ as his first question? Hinde knew the answer. The new governor had merely confirmed Hinde’s views on those working within the prison service. It wasn’t an area that attracted the brightest brains in society. At least not when it came to those who were allowed to leave at the end of the working day. Hinde gave a little sigh. This was too easy. The challenge was non-existent. It was boring.
‘“Who” is another question,’ he said, with almost exaggerated clarity.
Haraldsson swore silently. This wasn’t going according to plan. The first question was supposed to provide him with a name and the second with a location where the police – once Haraldsson had tipped them off – would find the murderer. He had been too eager. Now he would only get a name. But that would be enough. It was more than Riksmord had. It would still be crucial information. He would still be the one who solved the case.
Haraldsson took out the bag from the chemist’s. He didn’t know much about the contents of the bottle. He had never used it himself. It seemed rather disgusting. He hesitated for a moment with the bag in his hand. Somehow this felt the same as when he had handed over the photograph of Jenny: a niggling unease that he was doing the wrong thing. That he was making a mistake. He made a snap decision and tossed the bottle across to Hinde.
‘Who killed them?’
Silence. Hinde carefully studied the little bottle before looking up at Haraldsson. He seemed to want to delay his answer like the jury in some courtroom drama. Build up the tension.
‘A man I know,’ he said eventually.
‘That’s not an answer.’ There was an almost childish disappointment in Haraldsson’s voice. As if he was five years old and had opened a packet of Saturday sweets only to discover that it was full of vegetables.
The Disciple Page 36