The Disciple

by Michael Hjorth

  He went outside. Up to Fridhemsplan and the supervised entrance to the underground car park. He knew they would probably use it when they got back. Sat down on the grass a short distance away and waited. The guard stared at him suspiciously from his booth, but didn’t challenge him. Sebastian was in a public area, and had done nothing illegal. A middle-aged man in a crumpled jacket, who lay down in the overgrown grass after a while. To the Securitas guard he must have looked like an alcoholic who had been heading for Kronoberg Park but who had run out of steam and flopped down on the first patch of grass he found. Only the bottle was missing.

  He felt utterly worthless. A first-class degree, years of further study at institutions which included the FBI’s Quantico Academy in the USA, a bestselling author, one of the Swedish police service’s top profilers for a number of years, and yet the only hope he had left now was that the others would happen to drive past and that in some magical way he could become part of the investigation again. That was his only plan, the only solution he had managed to dig out of his enormous toolkit of knowledge. To stick with it.

  His mobile rang. He grabbed it eagerly. It might be one of them. It wasn’t. It was a number he recognised, but not a number that had ever called him.

  His home number.

  He answered.

  It was Ellinor. Of course.

  He thought about taking out his frustration on her, yelling at her, letting her feel his pain. But she sounded so happy he couldn’t do it.

  ‘Sorry, darling, I know how difficult it can be when someone rings you at work. But I’m a bit worried that you might be cross with me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I left the apartment.’

  ‘Why did you do that?’ His anger turned into anxiety. Perhaps with no justification. If the operation had been a success, if Ralph was the one they were looking for, then the threat had been removed. She could go home. Move out. He could kick her out.

  ‘Well . . . I didn’t actually leave the building.’

  ‘What? So where did you go?’

  ‘I went to see the neighbours. I thought I’d introduce myself.’

  Sebastian was lost for words. All the negativity he had felt from the start was suddenly replaced by a strange feeling that he was always a part of some parallel universe when it came to Ellinor. They were fundamentally, totally incompatible. They had nothing in common. There was no way they could ever have a relationship.

  ‘I don’t have anything to do with my neighbours,’ he said tersely.

  ‘No, that’s what they said. They were ever so curious about you. Anyway, you need to do some more shopping. We need to add to the list.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ He sat up in the grass.

  ‘You mustn’t be annoyed, but I’ve invited our next-door neighbour to dinner. Jan-Åke. His family are away. He’s a doctor, like you.’

  ‘I’m not a doctor. I’m a psychologist.’

  ‘So you need to be home by five,’ Ellinor went on as if she hadn’t heard the correction, ‘and call me when you’re in the shop. It’ll be lovely. Or are you cross?’

  Sebastian groped for his anger, for the words that would hurt her so much she would simply disappear. But he couldn’t find them. They were hard to get hold of. Her world was so much softer. So much nicer. In her world he was worth something.

  ‘I’m doing this because I love you, you know that, don’t you? You can’t live like a hermit when you’ve got such a beautiful apartment. I’m not having it. Will you be back by five?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Kiss kiss.’

  ‘Kiss kiss,’ he heard himself reply. Then she was gone.

  He got to his feet, feeling confused. Dinner with a neighbour he hadn’t even spoken to in twenty years. But that wasn’t the worst thing. The worst thing was that he was actually looking forward to it. A little bit. There was a place where he was still the centre of attention. A place where he was still wanted.

  A place he hadn’t had for a very long time.

  A home.

  Occupied by a very strange woman, admittedly, but even so.

  A home.

  Prosecutor Hallén was so carried away that he forgot how to do up his tie for a moment. He wanted to go for the French knot he rarely used, and after a couple of attempts he managed it. He had called his wife and asked her to record the news on both SVT and TV 4. With a bit of luck there might even be a special broadcast, but he had no control over that; he could only hope for the best. As far as he was concerned, the big question – whether they had arrested the right person or not – had been answered. The initial evidence was overwhelming. Perhaps they should have waited for the results of the forensic investigation, but that wasn’t realistic. News of the arrest would leak out, and the press conference would put a stop to the spread of rumours. And it would also show results.

  Torkel Höglund and Vanja Lithner had arrived, bringing photographs taken inside the suspect’s apartment. They were terrible and disturbing. The man had a photo wall with thirty-six pictures of each victim, apart from the first woman; there were only thirty-four pictures of her. Hallén felt slightly unwell when he looked at the photographs. The women alive, tied up, wearing a nightdress. Only seconds from death.

  ‘It’s him,’ he said, then he looked away, out over the small conference room. ‘I don’t need to see any more.’

  They went down to the press room on the first floor. Before they even got there they could see that the press conference would be well attended. On the street there were outside-broadcast cars from every major TV channel, and at reception there was a queue of journalists waiting to get in.

  Hallén turned to Torkel. ‘I’ll give a brief introduction, you run through the course of events, then we’ll take questions together if that’s okay.’

  ‘Fine.’

  Hallén pushed back his shoulders and made his way through the sea of curious journalists. Vanja smiled as she watched the prosecutor moving ahead of them. He nodded in recognition at the crowd of faces, completely unfamiliar to her. She knew Torkel hated this kind of thing. It was obvious from his body language. Shoulders hunched. Chin practically on his chest. He probably knew most of these people too, but he didn’t acknowledge anyone. His entire body signalled that he wanted this over and done with as quickly as possible so that he could get back to work. Vanja herself felt a growing sense of excitement. She could enjoy this, she realised. With a bit of luck this might not be the only occasion on which she was involved. If Billy was going to start trying to reposition himself within the team, perhaps she could move too?

  She noticed Sebastian standing a short distance away. His expression was weary and resigned. He had been waiting for them by the entrance to the car park when they got back from Västertorp. Had stared at them as they drove in. At first Vanja had hoped that Torkel would ignore him, but her boss wasn’t as childish as she was. They had stopped, Torkel had opened the car door and briefly informed Sebastian that they had arrested Ralph Svensson and would shortly be holding a press conference. Sebastian was welcome to come along if he was interested in the details. Then he had closed the door and they had driven off.

  He might not be as childish. But he was effective. Vanja realised that she didn’t want to have Torkel against her. Ever.

  Ralph looked around the tiny cell. So this was what it looked like inside the Kronoberg remand centre. He had walked past and wondered many times. Now he knew. A bed, a table and chair, a toilet. The furniture was made of pale pine, the walls in two colours, with yellow at the bottom and pale grey on the top. Perhaps it didn’t look like much to the outside world, but inside he was fizzing with excitement. From the street there was something threatening about the anonymous, bunker-like building right in the middle of Kungsholmen. The exterior revealed no secrets, it was merely a wall concealing the stories within. But once you were inside you could feel them. The memories impregnating the walls.

  This was where they had brought the Master, once upon
a time. Ralph didn’t know which cell he had occupied. But that didn’t matter. He was following in the footsteps of the Master.

  He had been asked to undress, and the guards had issued him with grey standard-issue clothes made of faded cotton. They checked his mouth and anal orifice for any illegal substances. Made him take a shower. He had loved it. He knew that their harsh, meticulous approach could mean only one thing.

  They feared him.

  He was important.

  He was someone.

  He could see it in their eyes, hear it in the way they spoke to him. They had already started checking on him every five minutes through the little aperture in the steel door. Either they were afraid he might commit suicide, or they were simply curious. It was of no significance to him. He relished their curiosity, and suicide wasn’t something he had even considered. That would be a defeat. This was where it began. The real contest. Soon they would come and open the door and take him for his first interrogation. No doubt it would take a day or so. That was what had happened to the Master when he was in here. They would want to be fully prepared, to confront the suspect with irrefutable evidence. Knock him off balance right away. But he was ready. There was just one thing he was desperately hoping for. That it would be Sebastian Bergman sitting opposite him in the interview room. Imagine that. Meeting the man the Master himself had met.

  They would dance together, he and Sebastian. For a long time, he hoped. Like the duel Sebastian and Hinde had once fought.

  Ralph smiled to himself. He had come so far. Learned how to deal with the blood, the knife, the screams. Now he would learn how to face his opponent for real. He suddenly felt exalted in a way he had never felt in his entire life.

  Sexually.

  His body was actually throbbing, and he found it difficult to sit still. He touched his penis. It was hard. He didn’t care if they were watching him through the door. He was thinking of just one thing. If Sebastian wasn’t sitting opposite him in the interview room, he would be very disappointed.

  In a number of ways.

  The press conference had begun. The noisy buzz of conversation stopped as soon as the prosecutor began his introduction. Sebastian had positioned himself as close to the door as possible. He went through his options. It was obvious that he had been removed from the case. At the same time he was more convinced than ever that the people up there on the podium were not seeing the whole picture. The idea that Hinde would content himself with this was unthinkable. It wasn’t in his nature.

  The prosecutor ended his somewhat vague speech, which seemed mainly concerned with highlighting the decisive action taken by himself and the prosecutor’s office. Torkel took over. As always, he was direct and to the point. As if he wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

  ‘At twelve forty-five today we apprehended the man we suspect is responsible for the series of brutal murders of women in Stockholm and the surrounding area. He was taken into custody at his home, where we have also secured what we believe to be vital evidence of the suspect’s guilt.’

  Sebastian saw Vanja straighten up to look out over the assembled representatives of the press. She met his eyes. Didn’t look away. This was obviously a moment she would remember. His daughter. She really was like him, the way he had been in his glory days. A powerful gaze that only grew prouder the more people he had in front of him. He understood how she was feeling. More than she would ever know. She was the one who should be speaking. Not Torkel. She was born to it. One day she would get the chance. The question was whether he would be there to hear her. Even though he knew they were wrong, or at least were refusing to see the whole picture, he couldn’t help feeling a certain pride in her. They were so alike, when it came down to it.

  ‘We have found the murder weapon, traces of blood and a number of items which can be linked directly to the crimes. We also have DNA from the crime scenes which will now be compared with that of the suspect,’ Torkel went on.

  One of the keenest journalists got to his feet. He looked as if he couldn’t wait any longer. Sebastian recognised him as one of Expressen’s most experienced hacks. What was he called – Weber?

  ‘What do you have to say about the rumour that Edward Hinde may be involved in the murders?’ he burst out.

  Torkel leaned towards the microphone and spoke as clearly as possible. ‘I don’t want to pre-empt the investigation, but at the moment we are acting on the assumption that the perpetrator acted independently. We can, however, confirm that he was inspired by Edward Hinde’s past crimes.’

  This seemed to be the trigger for a barrage of fresh questions. The other journalists stayed on the same track.

  Hinde. Hinde. Hinde.

  No doubt that would make the best headlines. A copycat. Inspired by the great Edward Hinde. That was the way they all wanted it to be.

  Clear and simple.

  But it was never that simple. Both Sebastian and Edward Hinde knew that.

  Sebastian had heard enough. He wasn’t interested in simplifications. He walked out. Vanja hardly even glanced in his direction. He realised that he had to find out the truth for himself. Find out Edward Hinde’s real reason for giving the name of the murderer at this particular moment.

  Riksmord and the media would be satisfied with Ralph Svensson.

  He wasn’t.

  The morning had been everything she had hoped it would be.

  Thomas’s alarm clock had gone off at six twenty. He got up right away. She pretended to be asleep until he had quietly closed the bedroom door. Jenny stretched out in bed. Five years. Married. They had been together for over eight years. They had never been unhappy, but she didn’t think they had ever been happier than they were now. She knew this was largely down to the pregnancy. That and Thomas’s new job. He hadn’t been happy in his old job. Or rather, he had been happy until they acquired a new boss. Kerstin Hanser. She had stepped into the post Thomas had been so sure he would get. Work meant a great deal to her husband.

  He wanted to be the best.

  He wanted others to realise he was the best.

  Sometimes Jenny got the feeling that the reason so few people seemed to reach this conclusion was because Thomas simply wasn’t the best. Perhaps he wasn’t even that good on every occasion. There was nothing wrong with his ambition, but sometimes he made life unnecessarily complicated. Tried to hide his faults and failings, which paradoxically became increasingly apparent the more he struggled to conceal them. But he had become much better at lowering his guard. Sharing his feelings. At home, anyway. She didn’t know what he was like in his new job, but the fact that he had got the job was a gift from above. In the past he had felt inadequate, both at work and at home. Their disappointment at not getting pregnant had eaten away at both of them. At their relationship. Not that she had ever doubted they would make it.

  Then he had been shot. In the chest, if you asked him. In the shoulder if you asked anyone else. But wherever the bullet had landed, the whole episode had been a wake-up call. For both of them. It made them realise what was important. It might sound banal, but it was still true.

  The job was important, but it wasn’t everything.

  Children were important, but adoption was always a possibility.

  The two of them, together – that was irreplaceable.

  And now they were back on track. More than that. She was happy, and she was sure Thomas was happy too. She could hear him working away in the kitchen. To be honest, she knew exactly what the breakfast menu would look like. Every birthday and every wedding anniversary it had consisted of exactly the same things. Nothing wrong with that – she liked scrambled eggs, bacon, toast with raspberry jam, melon and strawberries dipped in chocolate, but it wasn’t exactly a surprise. Thomas very rarely surprised her. He might have managed it today if she hadn’t gone looking for a memory stick she thought might be in the car. It hadn’t been, but she found a little red box that could only contain a piece of jewellery. A ring, to be precise. A beautiful ring. She would pr
etend to be surprised, but her happiness would be genuine.

  She heard Thomas go out – to fetch the ring, presumably – and come back inside. Then she heard him coming up the stairs. She decided not to pretend to be asleep. The door opened and she smiled at him.

  She loved him so much.

  She got to work late.

  It wasn’t the end of the world. She had been working in the office all week. There was a lot to do, but she felt she was more efficient there than when she was out visiting clients, where the social aspect sometimes seemed to take up more time than the job itself. She was slightly behind with her studies too. The higher level accountancy exam was getting closer. The plan was to become a chartered accountant. At the moment she had a certificate, but that didn’t mean a great deal. If she could pass this exam there would be more opportunities and a better salary. There wouldn’t be any time to study this evening, though. She was pretty sure that Thomas had booked a table at Karlsson på Taket. He usually did.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her office door, which was ajar. She looked up to see a man wearing a taxi driver’s uniform.

  ‘Jenny Haraldsson?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’ve come to pick you up.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I’ve come to pick you up,’ the man in the doorway repeated.

  Jenny glanced at her diary, lying open on the desk. Nothing all day, apart from a note right at the top to show that it was her wedding anniversary.

  ‘There must be some mistake . . .’ She looked up at the man again. ‘Where are you supposed to be taking me?’

  ‘I think it’s meant to be a surprise.’ The man was smiling broadly.

  The penny dropped as she heard the sound of delighted laughter behind him. Veronica and Amelia, her boss and her colleague, appeared in the doorway.