The Man Who Watched Women

by Michael Hjorth

  ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘Off we go then!’ said the driver, indicating with a sweeping gesture that she should lead the way. He smiled again. He should do it more often, Jenny thought. It softened his otherwise hard features a little, and drew attention away from the ugly red scar running down over his left eye.

  They left the office together.

  Sebastian had got hold of Ralph Svensson’s address from one of the officers standing outside the press conference. Obviously he hadn’t officially been booted off the case yet, because the officer, who recognised Sebastian from Liljeholmen and the murder of Annette Willén, was happy to give him a quick update.

  He had been involved in the operation at Svensson’s apartment but didn’t really have anything of substance to report. It had all happened very fast. The aim was to get the target out as quickly as possible. Everything had gone to plan, apart from the fact that Svensson had managed to throw his computer at the wall, destroying it. He had been taken into custody and, as far as the officer knew, had not yet been questioned.

  For a moment Sebastian considered trying to arrange an interview with Ralph, but dismissed the idea. Nobody would be allowed access to the suspect without Torkel’s permission; that was common practice. The likelihood of Torkel approving a meeting between Sebastian and Ralph Svensson was almost non-existent.

  Instead he took a taxi to Västertorp. With a bit of luck he could at least get into the apartment and possibly find something. There was a patrol car parked outside, but no guard on the main door of the apartment block. He went up the stairs, but was stopped by a burly officer at the entrance to Svensson’s floor.

  It took a fair amount of begging and persuasion, but after a while Ursula appeared in the doorway in her spotless white protective clothing. She looked at him in surprise.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I thought I might come in and have a look around. If you’ve finished?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t even know what your position is as far as the investigation goes right now. Are you still with us?’

  Sebastian shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ He was being honest; it was the only way to be with Ursula. ‘But I want nothing more than to solve this, you know that. It’s just that I have a different view on how to go about it.’

  ‘You have views on most things, that goes without saying, but you’re usually better than this. Much better.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that.’

  ‘It’s not your fault. We should have kicked you out as soon as you made the connection between yourself and the victims,’ she said drily.

  ‘Can I come in? I can usually spot things that might be useful. I promise not to touch anything.’

  She looked at him. There was something about Sebastian that was very touching. He had lost his usual footing and fallen on his face right in front of them. She had never seen him so weak. She sought his tired eyes, wanting to look into them.

  ‘If you answer one question.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Come inside.’

  She nodded to the officer, who moved aside, allowing Sebastian into the apartment. It was light and sparsely furnished. The kitchen was on the left, and gave the impression of being used only rarely. The living room opened out on the right beyond the hallway; the furniture consisted only of a sofa and a large table. A torch lying on the table. Large floor lamps everywhere. It was hot, mainly due to the absence of either curtains or blinds, allowing the sun to shine straight in. Sebastian followed Ursula into the bedroom.

  ‘He certainly liked things neat and tidy. Everything is in perfect order.’ She opened the top drawer and showed him a pile of folded pale blue nightdresses, alongside unopened packets of nylon stockings. ‘Creepy, isn’t it?’

  Sebastian nodded.

  Ursula went on: ‘If you look in there it’ll turn your stomach.’

  She pointed to a door which appeared to lead to a walk-in wardrobe or small storeroom. Sebastian started to move towards it, but she stopped him.

  ‘Put these on.’ She was holding out a pair of plastic shoe protectors. He bent down and slipped them on over his black shoes. She handed him a pair of sterile gloves. ‘And these.’

  ‘So what was your question?’

  ‘Why did you sleep with my sister?’

  He looked at her in astonishment. He could have spent a hundred years guessing what she wanted to ask him, and he would never have come up with this.

  ‘I’ve always wondered,’ she added.

  Barbro. Such a long time ago. Why? What should he say? What could he say? Nothing. He shook his head.

  ‘I don’t think I can answer that.’

  Ursula nodded to herself. ‘Okay. I’m just trying to find a way to forgive you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I have a feeling you need it.’

  Their eyes met. Locked. She knew him well.

  ‘But I could be wrong,’ she said lightly. ‘Take a look around if you like.’

  She turned and went back to the kitchen. He watched her go, but still didn’t know what to say. He would hurt her whatever he did, and that wasn’t what he wanted.

  He opened the door Ursula had indicated. The space inside was small. A bench along one wall with a printer on it. Boxes of photographic paper. A sheet of hardboard fixed to another wall. Sebastian went over to it. Four bundles of pictures were hanging from bulldog clips, with the numbers 1, 2, 3 and 4 circled in thick felt tip above them. As Sebastian got closer he could see what the pictures showed. His women. All four of them. Terrified. Photographed from what could best be described as the perspective of a god, with the photographer looking down on them. Telling them exactly what to do. Sebastian put on the gloves and took down the bundle under number three. Katharina Granlund. Naked and weeping in the first picture. Dead, staring straight ahead in the last. He flicked through the other bundles. Quickly. Didn’t want to get caught up in the details. The final picture was the same each time. The knife that had sliced through their throats. Sebastian felt sick. He wanted to run away as fast as he could. As if his flight could undo what had been done. But he stayed where he was. Replaced the photographs. Looked away. Heard Ursula moving around in the kitchen. She was right. But she was also wrong. How could he ever be forgiven after these pictures?

  He went back into the bedroom, mainly to get away from the horror. The small room looked much like the rest of the apartment. The only difference was the pale, neatly made single bed. Just as many floor lamps. Torch on the bedside table. Just as light. But after those pictures on the wall, the light was simply a lie. This was the darkest apartment he had ever been in. He looked inside the only wardrobe. Perfectly ironed shirts and trousers hanging in a row. Underneath, in wire baskets, batteries and torches were arranged with military precision. In more baskets below those lay socks and underpants.

  Ralph Svensson had prioritised torches above his underwear. The fact that he had some kind of obsessive compulsive disorder was beyond doubt. The real question was how many diagnoses could be applied to him. If anyone even cared. Sebastian was no longer interested.

  He picked up one of the larger torches. Pressed the black rubber button. The torch came on immediately. New battery. Ready for action. Ready to spread light all around. As he was about to put it back he caught sight of something that had been underneath the torch. Hidden. It looked like a driver’s licence. Carefully he picked it up and turned it over.

  A picture of Trolle Hermansson stared at him. The icy chill inside him was instantaneous. So was the pain. He had to look at it again. Read the words. Several times. And every time they said Carl Trolle Hermansson.

  That was why he hadn’t answered his phone.

  That was why he wasn’t at home.

  He had found the person who was following Sebastian. He might even have saved Anna. But he had paid with his life.

  There was no other explanation. Why else would Trolle’s driver’s licence be in this darkest of all a
partments?

  Once again, Sebastian had lost.

  Everything he touched was torn from his grasp. Brutally and violently. That was the truth. The only truth, which made itself clear to him over and over again. For a long time he had tried to fight it, keep it away from him. Blamed everyone but himself. God, his mother, his father, Anna, Vanja – everyone, in fact, except the one person who was actually responsible. Because there was only one person carrying the guilt now. He replaced the torch carefully and slipped the driver’s licence into his pocket.

  It was over now.

  He gave up.

  Suddenly she was standing behind him. ‘He had a computer as well. Billy’s going to go through it. Since he threw it at the wall, there’s bound to be something on it.’

  He didn’t reply. She turned to go back to her work.

  ‘Ursula?’

  She didn’t reply, but she did stop.

  ‘I think I do need forgiveness. But I don’t know how that can ever be possible.’

  ‘Nor do I, Sebastian. But those who know about these things say that honesty usually works best.’

  She left the room.

  He didn’t say any more.

  But he could feel Trolle’s driver’s licence in his pocket. The burden of guilt on his shoulders.

  He would never be able to receive forgiveness.

  Never.

  He was sitting on a stone outside the apartment block when they pulled up next to the patrol car. He had been sitting there for a good half hour without moving. Holding the licence in his hand, as if that might lessen the pain. They got out and walked towards the building. Vanja first, followed by Torkel. They were in the middle of a discussion, talking excitedly. As if he wasn’t there. Which was true, of course. He wasn’t really there anymore.

  Vanja seemed proud of her first TV appearance. ‘Anna saw it on the news. She called from Gran’s.’

  ‘How is your grandmother?’ Torkel asked sympathetically as he caught up with her. ‘I heard she wasn’t too well.’

  Sebastian slowly got to his feet and put the driver’s licence back in his pocket. Took out his police ID card instead. Went to meet them.

  ‘She’s much better. Anna’s coming home,’ Vanja replied.

  ‘I’m glad to hear that.’

  Only now did they appear to notice the man walking towards them. They stopped and waited for him in silence. No apparent emotion. As if they were encountering a memory they had already put behind them.

  Sebastian was standing in front of them.

  ‘We need to talk,’ said Torkel.

  Sebastian’s intention was to make it easy for them. He held out the ID card he had been given at the beginning of the week. ‘I’m going home now.’

  ‘Okay.’ Torkel took the card and nodded to his former colleague and friend.

  ‘I’m sorry about everything.’

  ‘At least we’ve got him,’ Torkel said. He had no desire to quarrel.

  Nor did Sebastian. But he had to warn them, even if they almost certainly wouldn’t listen to him. ‘Hinde isn’t done yet – I hope you realise that.’

  ‘What else can he do?’ he heard Vanja say.

  ‘I don’t know. But he’s not finished.’ He pushed his hands into his pockets. Felt Trolle’s driver’s licence. ‘But I am. It’s your problem now.’

  He moved to walk away, but couldn’t quite do it. This was probably his last moment with Vanja. He wouldn’t be following her anymore. The dream was over. Because that’s what it had been. A dream. This was the only goodbye he would ever have. The last few minutes with the daughter he had never really had.

  The daughter he had wanted so much.

  He almost whispered to her, ‘Be careful. Promise me you’ll be careful.’

  She couldn’t understand his mournful expression at all. ‘Do you really think it wasn’t Ralph?’

  ‘No, no. But do you know what worries me?’

  ‘The fact that you didn’t solve the case?’ Her voice was as sharp as a knife. Still caught up in the conflict he had left behind.

  ‘No. The fact that you refuse to see that Edward is behind the whole thing. He will never give up. Never.’

  He walked away.

  It wasn’t much of a goodbye.

  But it was all he would get.

  Ralph Svensson.

  One of the cleaners. So near, yet completely out of reach. The day was ruined for Haraldsson. Not even the prospect of dinner with Jenny could cheer him up. Riksmord must have got the name from Hinde. They picked up Ralph only an hour or so after Vanja Lithner left Lövhaga. Without speaking to him. Even though it had been one of the conditions for allowing her to see Hinde at all. She had broken an agreement. He should have known. You just couldn’t trust anyone who worked for Riksmord. They constantly disappointed him. What could Vanja have offered him that immediately produced a name? Haraldsson had built up a relationship, proved himself ready to work with Hinde, delivered. What did she have that he didn’t? The answer was obvious, but surely they hadn’t … She couldn’t have agreed to … Admittedly they had been alone in the interview room, but still. She didn’t seem the type. A ringtone interrupted his thoughts. Abba. He picked up his mobile and looked at the display. A number he didn’t recognise.

  ‘Thomas Haraldsson.’

  ‘Afternoon, Västerås Cabs here,’ he heard a male voice say. ‘You ordered a taxi for today.’

  Haraldsson frowned. Were they ringing to confirm the booking? It seemed a bit late. He glanced at his watch. They were supposed to be picking Jenny up right now.

  ‘That’s right,’ he said warily.

  ‘We’re at the pickup address, but there’s nobody here.’

  ‘Nobody there?’ Haraldsson assumed the man meant that Jenny wasn’t there. Anything else seemed highly unlikely. The company wasn’t very big, but surely somebody should be there.

  So naturally his next question was: ‘Are you in the right place?’

  ‘Engelbrektsgatan 6. Her colleagues said another driver came and picked her up earlier today.’

  ‘So you sent two drivers?’

  ‘No, that’s why I’m calling. Did you book a different cab?’

  ‘No.’

  Haraldsson didn’t understand any of this. Something had clearly gone wrong somewhere. He found it very difficult to believe that it could be down to him. The whole day had been meticulously planned. The driver passed him over to Veronica, who said exactly the same thing. A man had collected Jenny about an hour ago. He was wearing a taxi driver’s uniform. A big guy with a ponytail and a scar over one eye. He’d joked about it being a surprise, so he must have been the cab Thomas had ordered.

  Haraldsson ended the call none the wiser. The taxi firm must have messed it up, but in that case where was Jenny? He scrolled down to her name in the list of contacts and called her mobile. No reply. When the voicemail kicked in, he left a message asking her to call him. Ended the call. Rang home. The answering machine clicked on. He left the same message there, perhaps with a little more anxiety in his voice. Ended the call. Thought for a moment and went back to his desk. Opened his web browser and Googled the name of the spa. Found the number and called them. At least he got an answer this time. Jenny Haraldsson hadn’t turned up yet. But there was still fifteen minutes to go before her booking; should they get her to call him when she arrived? Yes, Haraldsson said. They should.

  He leaned back in his chair. He wasn’t really worried, but it was unlike her not to answer her mobile. He let his mind wander, trying to find a thread that might eventually lead to an explanation for what had happened. Where she was.

  The man who picked up Jenny had known it was a surprise, Veronica had said. Not many people knew that. Not even Västerås Cabs, it struck him. He had merely booked a cab to collect her from work. He hadn’t mentioned that the person being picked up didn’t know anything about it. The only person with whom he had discussed the surprise was Veronica, so that Jenny could have the afternoon off. She was the o
nly one who knew.

  She and Edward Hinde.

  He went cold all over.

  Could Hinde have anything to do with this? It seemed impossible. Unbelievable. He and Hinde had worked together. Hinde had got everything he asked for. If there was anyone who should be dissatisfied with the outcome of their conversations, it was Haraldsson. Why should Hinde go anywhere near Jenny? He had shown a certain amount of interest in her, that was true. Asked to keep her photograph. But Hinde was safely behind bars. Even if Hinde had been working with Ralph Svensson on the outside, as Riksmord seemed to believe, he too was in custody. Riksmord had arrested him almost an hour before Jenny was collected by the mysterious driver.

  For a brief moment he toyed with the idea of confronting Hinde, but he decided against it. Firstly, it was unthinkable that Hinde could have had anything to do with Jenny’s disappearance. Possible, he corrected himself. Possible disappearance. There was probably a completely natural explanation for what had happened.

  Secondly, his direct confrontations with Hinde had turned out to be less than successful.

  Haraldsson pushed away the frightening thoughts. He was being paranoid. He had spent too much time with Edward Hinde. That horrible man had managed to crawl under his skin. He tried Jenny’s mobile again. Heard it ringing, no reply, voicemail. Haraldsson couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong. He picked up the ‘Visions and Aims’ folder again, but soon put it down. Opened his email inbox. There were a number of messages that needed answers, but he couldn’t concentrate.

  Someone had picked her up.

  She had gone with this person and disappeared.

  He couldn’t just sit here and carry on as if nothing had happened. Even if he was pretty sure nothing had happened.

  Haraldsson left his office and Lövhaga and went home.

  Edward Hinde was sitting cross-legged on his bed. Eyes closed. Calm, steady breathing.