The Man Who Watched Women

by Michael Hjorth

  The encounter with Stefan hadn’t had the desired effect. He had gone there as a victor. He had won. He was going to show Stefan once and for all who set the agenda for their contact with one another. He would make it clear that if Stefan was intending to take the initiative and force him into something like that bloody group therapy session, then Stefan would have to wear the consequences. Sebastian had been fully prepared for an invigorating fight. Instead Stefan had seemed almost resigned. Highly unsatisfactory.

  Sebastian went into the spare room and switched on the television, which was mounted on the wall at the foot of the bed. He was about to lie down on the unmade bed when the telephone rang. He gave a start at the unfamiliar sound. His landline. Must be Trolle. For a moment he considered letting it ring, but curiosity got the better of him. Perhaps Trolle had found something. Something juicy. He went into the kitchen. This could be fun.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Did you get the flowers?’

  Sebastian closed his eyes. Not Trolle. Most definitely not Trolle. A woman’s voice. Not fun at all.

  ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘Ellinor Bergkvist.’

  ‘Who?’ He managed to sound suitably puzzled. He had no intention of giving her any encouragement.

  ‘Ellinor Bergkvist. We met at the talk on Jussi Björling, and you came back to my place.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Sebastian said, as if he had just succeeded in putting a face to the name.

  ‘You knew who I was when I said my name, didn’t you?’

  ‘What do you want?’ Sebastian snapped, not even trying to hide his irritation.

  ‘I just wanted to congratulate you on your name day. Jacob.’

  Sebastian didn’t reply. Presumably his full name was on some Wikipedia page. He could just imagine her surfing around to find a link, a reason to call him. Get in touch. Flowers to his address and a phone call to his landline. Wasn’t his number ex-directory these days? It had been in the past, he knew that, but nowadays?

  ‘Your name is Jacob Sebastian Bergman, isn’t it.’ No hint of uncertainty in her voice. A statement. Sebastian cursed himself. The second she’d slipped her hand into his he should have pushed her away. He would have to do it now instead.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ve just screwed some woman and I need a shower.’

  He put the phone down. He stood there for a moment, almost expecting it to ring again, but it remained silent. He left the kitchen. It had been a half-truth, anyway. He hadn’t had sex, but he definitely needed a shower. He was heading for the bathroom when a voice from the television caught his attention.

  ‘… but according to the police there are indications that the same perpetrator is involved …’

  Sebastian went into the room. Some news programme. A young man in front of a house, with a glorious garden in the background.

  ‘… would make this the third woman who has been murdered in her own home. The police are asking the public to be careful, particularly …’

  Sebastian stared at the television.

  As Torkel pressed the button and opened the door leading to the foyer, he knew what was waiting for him. The call had come a minute ago when he was sitting in the Room with the team. Reception. He had a visitor. Sebastian Bergman.

  Torkel had explained that he was busy, and that his visitor would have to wait. The receptionist had replied that Sebastian had said Torkel would say that, and if Torkel didn’t come down immediately Sebastian was going to start telling anyone in the foyer who was interested everything he knew about Torkel. Everything. Every single detail. He would kick off with a wet evening at the Stadshotell in Umeå with twins, he said. Torkel said he was on his way.

  It wasn’t unexpected. As soon as the news was out and the press began to carry the story, Torkel knew he would hear from Sebastian.

  He had barely managed to get the door open before Sebastian was there.

  ‘Is it true? Have you got a serial killer?’

  ‘Sebastian …’

  ‘Have you? Has he killed three times? That’s extremely unusual. I have to be involved.’

  Torkel looked around. This was a conversation he really didn’t want to have in the reception area, but nor did he want to let Sebastian any further into the building. ‘Sebastian …’ he tried again, as if the repetition of his former colleague’s name would calm him down, and with a bit of luck make him forget the purpose of his visit.

  ‘I don’t have to be a part of the team if that will cause problems. Bring me in as a consultant. Like last time.’

  Torkel saw a small escape route opening up. A tiny hole he might just be able to crawl through.

  ‘I can’t do that,’ he said firmly. ‘Do you know how much that would cost? I won’t be given any additional resources to bring you in.’

  Sebastian was lost for words. He simply stared at Torkel for a few seconds, trying to work out if he had heard him correctly.

  ‘You’re not seriously trying to use your useless organisation and your pissing finances as a reason to keep me away? For fuck’s sake, Torkel, surely you can do better than that?’

  Yes, he could, Torkel realised. Or he should have been able to. But now he had taken this route and he intended to follow it a little further, even if he was pretty sure it was a dead end.

  ‘You can think what you like, but it’s true.’ His voice wasn’t quite so firm this time. ‘I can’t afford you.’

  The look Sebastian gave him was almost one of disappointment. ‘I can afford me. I’ll work for free. Like last time. Seriously, Torkel, if you don’t want me you’re going to have to come up with something better than the idea that I’d be buggering up your finances.’

  ‘Sebastian …’

  ‘At least let me have a look at the case. Surely that can’t do any harm. It’s what I do, for fuck’s sake!’

  Torkel stood there in silence. It didn’t matter what he said. Sebastian had no intention of listening.

  ‘Okay, so the team got a bit stressed by my presence last time, but it would be professional misconduct not to bring me in if you’re dealing with a serial killer.’

  Torkel turned around, took out his key card and swiped it. The door unlocked with a click. Torkel yanked it open. Sebastian obviously interpreted this as a sign that the conversation was over, and changed tactics.

  ‘I’m trying to get a grip on my life, Torkel. I really am trying, but I need a job.’

  Torkel thought for a second. He wasn’t impressed by Sebastian’s assertion that he was trying to get control of his life; he’d tried that line in Västerås as well. Joining the team on that occasion hadn’t made a scrap of difference to him, as far as Torkel could see. However, his previous remark … Perhaps it would be a serious error of professional judgement if he didn’t make use of Sebastian’s expertise. Particularly in view of the person the murderer was copying. Three women were dead. The whole team was convinced there would be more. They were no closer to an arrest today than they had been a month ago. Wasn’t he obliged to do everything he could to stop the murders? He turned to face Sebastian again.

  ‘I’m going to let you in. Through this door. Not into the investigation.’

  ‘And what am I supposed to do when I get through the door?’

  ‘I need to speak to the team first.’

  ‘About me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What are you going to do? Take a vote?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Sebastian met Torkel’s serious gaze and realised the other man wasn’t joking. He nodded. One step at a time. If he’d got this far it was going to take a hell of a lot to get rid of him.

  Torkel walked back into the Room. The others were sitting where he had left them. The coffee cups had been topped up. Including his.

  ‘I got you coffee as well; I wasn’t sure if you wanted a top-up,’ Ursula said as he pulled out his chair and sat down; it was as if she had read his mind.

  ‘Thanks.’ He smiled at her. She smiled back. A smile which Torke
l chose to interpret as more than just an exchange between colleagues. Which made him wonder once again whether his reluctance to bring in Sebastian was actually based on pure selfishness.

  ‘I was just saying that we’ve had a preliminary result on Wahlström’s DNA sample,’ Ursula went on. ‘It’s not him.’

  Torkel nodded to himself. He had never had great hopes of Carl Wahlström. It might seem strange, but it had always seemed just a little too easy. When their killer was caught, it wouldn’t be because he had sent a letter that gave him away. Torkel allowed his thoughts to stray from the case again. If there was something happening now between him and Ursula, he had no intention of ruining it by making the same mistake as last time. There were rules when it came to their relationship, and Ursula had established seventy-five per cent of those rules.

  Only at work.

  Never on home ground.

  No plans for the future.

  And Torkel had added one more rule of his own: he must show her unswerving loyalty.

  The first two were really the same thing, but now she herself had taken the initiative and broken them. She had come to his apartment. Her idea. Not his. Perhaps she might even consider altering the third rule too …

  ‘Who was on the phone?’ Vanja wanted to know.

  Torkel turned to face her. If he wanted a future with Ursula he was quite sure he must never break the fourth rule, the one he had added after Västerås. Always remain loyal. Therefore he cleared his throat and leaned forward as he spoke: ‘It was Sebastian. I’m wondering whether to bring him into the investigation.’

  The reaction was more or less as expected. Vanja and Ursula immediately exchanged a look which made it very clear what they thought about the suggestion, about Sebastian. Billy leaned back in his chair, a faint smile on his lips.

  ‘I’m well aware of Ursula and Vanja’s views on the matter,’ Torkel went on, ‘but I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think Sebastian could help us.’

  Vanja took a deep breath and seemed to be about to speak, but Torkel stopped her with a wave of his hand.

  ‘I also know that anything we might gain by having him here we will lose in terms of increased irritation, an occasional loss of focus and the possibility of a reduction in efficiency. So I want us all to agree to bring him in this time.’

  ‘And if we don’t agree?’ Vanja asked.

  ‘Then we don’t bring him in.’

  The room fell silent. Vanja and Ursula exchanged glances once again, as if to determine which of them would be the one to stop Sebastian before he got through the door. Should one of them have that pleasure, or should they share it between them?

  ‘I don’t have any problem with the idea,’ Billy said suddenly. ‘I think he could be useful.’

  Vanja looked at him crossly. What was he playing at?

  Billy met Vanja’s gaze. ‘After all, he is an expert on serial killers, and we are looking for a serial killer.’

  Vanja didn’t speak; she pushed back her chair abruptly and went over to the whiteboard. She studied the pictures, even though she was already familiar with every detail. Torkel could see that she was chewing her lower lip, and assumed he wasn’t the only one torn between personal opinion and a professional decision. Vanja turned to face him.

  ‘Do you really believe we have a better chance of catching the person who’s doing this if Sebastian is with us?’

  She made a sweeping gesture towards the pictures of the murdered women behind her. It was a fair question. If Torkel put aside his own feelings and considered the matter objectively, there could be only one answer.

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  Vanja nodded to herself and went back to her seat. ‘Then we’ll have to agree to differ. Sorry.’

  Torkel looked over at Ursula, who was leaning back in her chair, her arms folded across her chest, her gaze fixed on the surface of the table.

  ‘With Wahlström out of the picture, we’ve got nothing. If we had something, however small, I would say no, not in a million years.’ Ursula looked up and met Torkel’s eyes. ‘But we’ve got nothing.’

  ‘So as far as you’re concerned he’s welcome?’

  ‘No, but if you’re asking whether I think he can make a valid contribution to the investigation, then the answer is yes.’

  The room fell silent.

  Vanja got to her feet again. ‘He’s a walking disaster.’

  ‘If it doesn’t work, we kick him out,’ Billy said, looking at both Vanja and Ursula. ‘He didn’t get it completely wrong in Västerås, did he? And you’ve said yourself that you think his books are good.’

  Vanja looked searchingly at Billy. Something had definitely happened to him. After a few seconds she gave in.

  ‘If all three of you think that he really can improve our chances, then there’s nothing to discuss, is there? Bring him in.’

  ‘Is that what you want?’

  She shook her head grimly. ‘No, but I’m prepared to go along with it. I’m not going to be the one to tear this team apart. Sebastian is perfectly capable of doing that without my help.’

  ‘If it doesn’t work, we’ll do as Billy says and kick him out,’ Torkel promised, directing the comment at Vanja.

  Ursula let out a brief, dry laugh which made it very clear that she didn’t believe him for a moment.

  Torkel chose not to react, and headed for the door. ‘I’ll go and get him.’

  It had been easier than he thought. Much easier.

  Which unfortunately was an indication of the panic they were all feeling.

  Sebastian came into the Room and went straight over to the whiteboard without bothering to say hello. He seemed almost excited, Torkel thought. Like a child on Christmas Eve.

  Sebastian stopped in front of the pictures and quickly glanced over them. He couldn’t make any sense of it. Were they taking the piss?

  ‘Are these new?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He turned back to the board and studied the photographs again, more intently this time. The murders had been copied down to the last detail as far as he could see, but now he could see the differences too.

  Different rooms.

  Different women.

  A copycat.

  He looked at Torkel, this time more angry than bewildered. ‘Why the hell didn’t you call me in when you found the first one?’

  ‘It’s not Hinde,’ Vanja said.

  ‘I know it’s not Hinde, but this is someone who is trying to imitate his crimes as faithfully as possibly. They look virtually identical! You should have brought me in right away.’

  ‘Why?’ Vanja snapped defiantly.

  She had been annoyed the second Sebastian walked through the door. Not a word about how pleased or grateful he was to be back. No polite remarks, no questions about how they all were. Nothing that a normal person might have done in his situation. He had just come marching in as if he had every right to be a member of the team. It infuriated her. And so did that crooked little smile he was wearing now, as if she was slightly stupid. The same smile Carl Wahlström had given her.

  ‘Why do you think?’ Sebastian said. ‘I know more about Hinde than anyone else.’

  ‘And what’s that got to do with anything?’ Vanja decided to stick to her guns. How long had Sebastian been here? Two minutes? And already he was taking over the meeting, the room, the entire investigation. Time to reclaim it. ‘This is someone else with a completely different motive. Whatever you know about Hinde is of no help here.’

  ‘Whatever I know is always of some help. Otherwise you wouldn’t have brought me in. I’m not here because you think I’m charming. So can one of you tell me what you’ve got?’

  Billy stood up. ‘I can bring you up to date.’ Without waiting for any kind of response, Billy went over to the board. Torkel looked at Vanja, who shrugged.

  Sebastian pulled out a chair and sat down next to Ursula.

  ‘Good to see you,’ he whispered. Ursula gave him a look which suggested that the pleasu
re was far from mutual. ‘Have you missed me?’ She shook her head and turned her attention to Billy. He was pointing at a picture of one of the women, around forty years old, brown eyes under a full fringe, smiling straight into the camera.

  ‘Twenty-fourth of June. Maria Lie in Bromma. Single. A friend became worried when she didn’t get in touch and didn’t come in to work after the midsummer weekend.’ Billy moved his finger from the portrait to a photograph from the scene of the crime. ‘Tied up with nylon stockings, lying on the bed on her stomach. Raped and killed with a powerful slash with a knife which severed both the trachea and carotid artery.’

  Sebastian nodded to himself. Every detail was familiar. It was as if he had been transported back in time. In his mind he started to go through what he actually knew about copycat murderers. There were some, but very few who copied serial killers. It was more common in the case of school or college campus massacres, or when someone imitated individual, violent murders from films or games. The copycat had an unhealthy fascination with the original, of course, but what else? A psychological disorder, obviously, but of a different kind. Where the serial killer frequently managed to maintain a facade of normality, of being ‘ordinary’, the copycat was often a more unusual character. More withdrawn. Poor self-image. Low self-esteem. A product of his or her upbringing.

  As always.

  A person who, like the killer he was copying, was capable of crossing the line and using extreme violence, but who wasn’t strong enough to take the initiative, or imaginative enough to come up with a method and select his victims on his own. He needed a role model. It was clear in everything he did. The man they were looking for kept a very low profile.

  ‘No sign of forced entry,’ Billy went on. ‘It seems as if she, like the others, let the killer in. However, there are signs of a struggle inside the apartment. Sperm, pubic hair and fingerprints left at the scene.’

  He placed his finger on a new picture. A blonde woman, forty-five to fifty years old. Blue eyes. A small scar on her upper lip, probably from an operation to correct a harelip when she was a child. No obvious similarities to the first victim. A germ of an idea flashed through Sebastian’s mind as he looked at her, but it was too small and too fast for him to catch.