The Disciple

by Michael Hjorth

  The phone never stopped. Annika kept on putting them through, one after the other.

  Different callers.

  The same answers.

  Yes, it was true that an ambulance which had picked up a patient from Lövhaga was now missing.

  Yes, there were a number of points which suggested this might be an attempted escape, but it was too early to say anything definite.

  No, he had no intention of telling them who was in the ambulance.

  Every single one asked if it was Hinde.

  He hung up. Oddly enough the phone didn’t ring again. He got up and went over to Jenny, who was sitting in one of the armchairs. She had got herself a cup of coffee and a sandwich from the canteen, but had eaten barely half. What a wedding anniversary. Still, they could celebrate on another day.

  The important thing was that they were together. He had never known an emotional rollercoaster like it. But he had managed the situation very well. He would continue to do so. The worst was over.

  ‘How are you doing?’ He crouched down in front of her and gently pushed a strand of hair off her face.

  ‘I’ve been sitting here thinking.’

  ‘I can understand that . . .’ Haraldsson took her hand and squeezed it. ‘Perhaps you need to talk to someone about what’s happened. A professional.’

  Jenny nodded, her expression slightly distant.

  ‘Darling?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘How did you know where I was?’

  Haraldsson stiffened.

  Perhaps the worst wasn’t over after all.

  He had got home earlier than agreed. When he was in Östermalmstorg he had remembered that he had promised Ellinor he would do some shopping for dinner. It was probably the man ahead of him carrying two bags that reminded him. At first he was inclined to forget the whole thing; dinner with Ellinor and a neighbour he didn’t even know struck him as utterly ridiculous. Like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle that just didn’t fit anywhere. But the more he tried to push the thought aside, the more persistent it became.

  There was something liberating about the simplicity of it all. A shopping list and a basket to put things in. Shopping alongside other people, just as if he was a normal, functioning individual. As if he had something to look forward to.

  He went into the Saluhallen food hall and began to shop as he had never shopped before. Fillet steak, new potatoes, vegetables, fruit and a dozen or so dessert cheeses. He sampled Italian salami and prosciutto, and decided to buy both. Picked up basil and dill. Bought a French pâté which tasted divine. Top-of-the-range, freshly ground coffee. He didn’t want to stop shopping. All these tastes opened up possibilities of something he had never experienced. At the bottle store he bought champagne, white wine, red wine, whisky and cognac. He thought about buying a vintage port, but he had run out of hands and plastic bags. He had to stop and put the bags down several times on the way home so that he wouldn’t drop anything when his fingers went numb.

  Ellinor rushed over and hugged him before he had even managed to put the shopping down. Her joy at seeing him was irresistible. He pressed closer. She smelled delicious. Her red hair was soft, her lips against his even softer. He held her tight. He just wanted to lose himself in her, in those lovely giggles. They stood in the hallway for a long time. She let go first, but kept one hand resting on the back of his neck. Looked at the bags on the floor.

  ‘How much have you actually bought?’

  ‘Loads. I didn’t bother with the list.’

  She laughed. ‘You’re crazy.’ She kissed him on the mouth again. ‘I’ve missed you. All day.’

  ‘I’ve missed you too.’ At that moment he realised he wasn’t lying. Perhaps he hadn’t actually missed her. No, not her. But the direction in which she was taking him. That’s what he had missed. For a long time. She took some of the bags into the kitchen. He watched her go. It was as if he had suddenly found himself in a siding heading in a different direction, and he never wanted to rejoin the main track. Never.

  She came back, smiling at him. ‘You’ve bought such lovely things.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Do you want to go to bed, or shall we have a glass of champagne first?’

  ‘I don’t drink.’

  ‘Not even champagne?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Boring!’ She flashed him a flirtatious smile. ‘In that case there’s only one option.’

  She pushed back her long hair and looked at him with that expression he found so difficult to resist. For a moment he was lost in the promise of intimacy, of closeness. But then he surprised himself.

  ‘Shouldn’t we do something about dinner first? I mean, you’ve invited our neighbour round.’

  She looked at him with exaggerated disappointment. ‘Like I said – boring!’ She turned on her heel and went back into the kitchen. He followed her to help unpack the shopping.

  He was surprised at his decision, to say the least.

  Prioritising the neighbour over sex.

  That was something new for him.

  She decided on the menu. His culinary skills were limited, and he concentrated on washing and chopping the vegetables. She chatted away as she dealt with the meat: about her plans for the apartment, the summer weather, the fact that she was worried about her plants. She was wondering whether to bring them over here. Sebastian simply listened for the most part – not necessarily to what she was actually saying, but to the sound of her. He didn’t enter into any discussion. She was a bit like the glass of champagne beside her: sparkling and delicious, but best when you only took a sip.

  ‘Do you mind if I put the radio on?’ she asked.

  He didn’t even know he had a radio. Where was it?

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘I love listening to music when I’m working like this. And when I’m working with you.’ She switched on the little radio on top of the spice rack. He tried to remember how it had ended up in his apartment, but couldn’t come up with an answer. The sound of lush strings playing a love song filled the room. He almost began to smile. She wasn’t even ordinary champagne. She was pink champagne. Which he had always avoided in the past. Looked down on.

  ‘It’s Smooth Radio,’ she said. ‘It’s my favourite station.’

  ‘Mine too,’ he said, even though he’d only just discovered that there was a radio station with such a stupid name.

  Ellinor went off to the guest room for a few minutes while Sebastian piled salad leaves into a bowl. He wondered if he had any dressing. He certainly hadn’t bought any. Typical. He had intended to buy that expensive balsamic vinegar, but had forgotten after his visit to the cheese counter. Ellinor came back.

  ‘I was doing some cleaning and I found this. It looks as if it’s full of important papers. Where shall I put them?’ She was holding the carrier bag Trolle had given him. It looked as light as a feather in her hand. When he had brought it home it had been heavier.

  Much heavier.

  He suddenly saw Trolle in his mind’s eye. That reassuring smile before he disappeared around the corner for the last time. Saw himself, standing there with the bag in his hand. A few metres away from Storskärsgatan and a vanishing Trolle. It was only a couple of days ago; it was a lifetime ago. The siding had suddenly rejoined the main track.

  It had only taken a second.

  That’s how close they were, the two worlds. Moving along on parallel lines. All it took was a plastic bag full of guilt. He swallowed and stared down into the bowl of salad. He wanted to go back to the pink champagne.

  ‘It’s only rubbish; you can throw it away,’ he said as nonchalantly as he could manage.

  ‘Are you sure? I don’t want to throw away something that might be important.’

  ‘I’m absolutely certain.’ He smiled at her to emphasise how totally unimportant the contents of the bag were to him.

  She nodded and left the room again, singing along to the music as she went. He started slicing tomatoes. If it were up to him, the
music on the radio and the woman singing in the room next door would never disappear. They would simply continue to build the illusion of a life. But it wasn’t up to him.

  That wasn’t how it worked.

  The tune came to an end and someone wanted to lend him money until payday. Then it was time for the news.

  The illusion was shattered.

  He was thundering along the main track once more.

  At first he hadn’t really heard what the woman on the radio was saying. Something about a missing ambulance. But then came the word that made him drop the knife. Lövhaga. He turned to face the radio. Listened as he had never listened before. An ambulance had disappeared after leaving Lövhaga. It was transferring a patient. At the moment the police had no further information. The newsreader went on to the next item, but by that time Sebastian was already in the hallway with his mobile in his hand. With trembling hands he searched for the number for Lövhaga. It was in the list of most recent calls. After Trolle’s. He had called this morning when he was standing outside, trying to get in to speak to Vanja. Ellinor came into the hallway, wondering what was going on. She looked a little worried.

  ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘Shut the fuck up!’

  She looked hurt, but he couldn’t care less. He was no longer interested in her banal bubbling and babbling. Haraldsson’s PA answered; he recognised her voice. She sounded tired. He didn’t care about that either. He demanded to speak to Thomas Haraldsson. It was important. It was about the missing ambulance. There would be serious consequences if she didn’t put him through immediately. She obliged. He heard Haraldsson’s phone ringing. He barely looked at Ellinor, who turned around and went back into the kitchen. She wasn’t pretending to be disappointed this time. Her head was drooping, as if her exaggerated behaviour might make him change his mind.

  Haraldsson picked up after three rings. He sounded weary, completely lacking in energy, as if he had got stuck in the standard phrases he had repeated so many times.

  ‘Thomas Haraldsson. How can I help you?’

  ‘Sebastian Bergman. Riksmord. Who was in the missing ambulance?’

  ‘We have decided not to release that information,’ came the reply. ‘It’s a matter of protecting our . . .’

  Sebastian interrupted him. ‘I’ll ask you just once more. Then I will destroy your life. As you are aware, I know the man who is in charge at Riksmord. Would you like me to tell you who else I know?’

  Haraldsson didn’t say anything.

  Sebastian asked the question, even though he already knew the answer. ‘It was Hinde, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And when were you thinking of telling us this?’ He ended the call without waiting for Haraldsson’s response. He still didn’t know exactly when the ambulance had disappeared and Hinde had gone missing, but it must have been a while ago, otherwise it wouldn’t have been on the radio just now. Sebastian had a feeling it took quite a long time for news to reach Smooth Radio. Hinde had a head start.

  And there was one thing Sebastian knew for sure: he would make the most of it.

  He had to get hold of Vanja. Right now.

  She loved to run. Winter and summer. Like most of her friends, she had tried out a wide range of exercise programmes and regimes, everything from spinning to yoga. But she always came back to running. It gave her the most energy, the most space to think. It was as if the rhythm of her feet and her breathing both cleansed the brain and reinvigorated it. Nor was she the kind of person who enjoyed exercising in a group. She preferred to challenge herself. This evening she was intending to go for a long run. Take the circular route she followed when she had plenty of time. She might even go round twice.

  Tomorrow they would conduct the first interviews with Ralph Svensson. Torkel wanted her to sit in on all of them. They were just waiting for the preliminary DNA analysis. Torkel liked to have as many cards in his hand as possible before they started.

  She ran across Lidingövägen and down towards Storängsbotten. Her goal was the forest, Lill-Jansskogen, and the well-lit tracks leading through it. For Vanja, there was nothing better than running in the forest. The stillness, the scents and smells of nature, made the experience more powerful, and the ground was softer, which meant less wear and tear on her joints. She was just increasing her speed when she felt her mobile vibrate in her pocket. She didn’t always take it with her. Usually she wanted to be left in peace, but with everything that had happened she felt she ought to be available all the time. At first she considered ignoring it. She had just got her second wind, two short intakes of breath followed by one long exhalation, and would have preferred not to stop. But it might be Billy. Perhaps he had changed his mind about coming for a run with her. That would be the perfect end to the day. She stopped and dug out her mobile. Saw the name of the person who was calling. A mobile number she hadn’t got round to deleting.

  Sebastian Bergman.

  She put the phone back in her pocket.

  He could ring her as many times as he wanted.

  She would never answer.

  Sebastian called Vanja three times in a row. Twice she didn’t answer, and the third time she rejected the call. Ellinor came back into the hallway with her glass of champagne, looking at him lovingly. Trying to make peace.

  ‘Shall we carry on with dinner?’

  His reply was to open the door and leave the apartment without so much as a glance. He slammed the door behind him, the sound echoing through the silent stairwell. Alone in the real world again. Where Edward Hinde was. At liberty.

  He rang Torkel on the way downstairs. For once Torkel answered straight away, but his tone wasn’t exactly friendly.

  ‘Now what do you want?’

  Sebastian stopped. ‘Listen to me, Torkel. Hinde has escaped.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘You have to trust me. I think he’s after Vanja.’

  ‘Why would he be after Vanja? What makes you think he’s escaped?’

  Sebastian could feel his frustration growing with every passing second. Beneath it lay panic, just waiting to tear him to pieces, but he managed to hold it at bay. He needed to sound rational, not panic-stricken, or Torkel would never believe him. And Torkel had to believe him. Every minute could be important.

  ‘I don’t think he’s escaped. I know he’s escaped. I called Lövhaga. Have you got a television there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Check the text service. It should be there. There’s an ambulance missing; it was transferring a patient from Lövhaga. That patient was Hinde.’

  The seriousness in Sebastian’s voice got through to Torkel. He switched on his television with the remote and selected SVT1. Text. The news item was at the top.

  ‘It doesn’t say it was Hinde.’

  ‘Ring that fucking idiot Haraldsson if you don’t believe me.’ Sebastian set off down the stairs again. He needed to feel as if he was going somewhere. Doing something.

  ‘I believe you, I believe you – but why would he be after Vanja? I don’t understand. The other murders were aimed at you. Why would he be after her?’

  Sebastian took a deep breath. They had reached the line he never wanted to cross, but keeping this to himself was becoming more and more impossible.

  This thing he knew.

  This thing that Hinde in all probability also knew.

  The truth.

  ‘You just have to believe me,’ was all he could come up with. ‘Please, Torkel, trust me. Call her. She won’t take my calls.’

  ‘Have you slept with her?’

  ‘Oh, please! No, for God’s sake! But I saw it in him when he and Vanja met. She aroused something within him. I was there. He could see that we were colleagues. That’s enough for him.’

  Torkel thought for a moment. Perhaps it didn’t sound all that crazy after all. Sebastian was right; she had been alone with him.

  Perhaps the situation carried a greater risk than he had suspected
. A risk he definitely didn’t want to take.

  ‘I’ll call her right away. See you at the station.’

  The line went dead. Torkel had already gone. Sebastian stepped outside, desperately looking for a taxi.

  Vanja was running up the longest hill on the route. She shortened her steps, pushed hard, maintaining her speed and her breathing. Two short intakes of breath, one longer exhalation. The air deep down in her diaphragm. It was going well. She felt strong. She deliberately focused on her breathing as she reached the brow of the hill. Checked her pulse monitor; eighty-eight per cent of her estimated maximum heart rate. Her phone rang again. She didn’t even bother to get it out of her pocket this time. Carried on running. The phone carried on ringing. Take the hint, she thought as it finally stopped.

  She lengthened her stride, maintaining her breathing as her legs pumped. She pushed herself even more, up to ninety per cent of her estimated maximum heart rate. Too early for a sprint. Over four kilometres still to go. She slowed down slightly. Two in, one out.

  The route cut across a forest track. She glanced to the side and saw a car parked next to a pile of timber. A silver Toyota. The right-hand indicator was flashing. She had gone a few steps before she realised what she had seen. She slowed down and stopped. Bent over with her hands on her knees for a few seconds, then quickly straightened up. Too eager to wait. She put her hands on her hips and pushed out her chest instead. Got her breathing under control as she walked back. There it was. The engine wasn’t running, as far as she could tell. Nobody around.

  WTF 766.

  It was the car that had been stolen in Brunna. She remembered the number, because she had heard Billy discussing with a colleague whether there could really be a car driving around Sweden with WTF on the registration plate. A discussion he would have had with her, if things had been normal. The colleague knew there were cars with LOL, so he thought there ought to be WTF as well. The vehicle licensing authority had no chance of keeping up with the fast-moving world of internet abbreviations.