‘The difference between you and me is that you think you can measure up to him. I know I can’t.’ Ralph nodded to himself as if he had just gained an important insight. ‘That is what he wants to show us. Our place in the hell we call our lives.’
Sebastian ignored the rhetoric and went to the heart of the matter. What do you want to do if you’re right at the bottom of the pecking order? You want to climb.
‘But you left your place.’ Sebastian placed his hands on the table and leaned closer to Ralph. ‘You evolved. You more than measure up to him.’
Approval and acknowledgement.
It seemed to work. Ralph tilted his head to one side. He wasn’t just listening. He was listening and thinking. With a bit of luck he was also re-evaluating.
‘Don’t you think it’s interesting that Edward gave us your name just when you were about to overtake him?’ Sebastian went on.
‘I don’t see it like that …’
Perhaps he hadn’t seen it like that until now, but the idea was definitely taking root. Sebastian carried on along the same path, feeling that it would lead somewhere.
Approval and acknowledgement.
‘That’s the way Edward sees it,’ he said firmly. ‘He gave you away for one reason and one reason only. He was afraid that you would become greater than him.’
Sebastian watched as Ralph sat up even straighter. Growing with every word. Every realisation.
‘I don’t think so.’
Oh, but you do, Sebastian thought. You might be a full-blooded psychopath, but you haven’t got much control over your body language.
The wedge was in place, and now he must hammer it in. Not allow him time to think. Open up the chink in his armour.
‘Ask me. Who was I afraid of, Edward or you? Who was on my mind all the time? Think about it.’
The words came pouring out of him. He didn’t need to work out what to say, didn’t need to consider the best way to put things. It was the truth, and it felt good to say it at long last. How afraid he had been. How bad he had felt. The only thing he had to remember was to keep the rage in check. Feed Ralph’s ego.
He leaned even closer, almost whispering now. ‘You were the one who hurt me. Gave me sleepless nights. Made me doubt myself. You were the star. You were the one who was living the life. Who were they writing about? Who was everyone in the entire city afraid of? Who was getting all the attention?’
‘I still am.’
‘Only for a little while longer. You’re stuck in here, while Edward is out there, with the baton in his hand.’
Ralph looked up at him with an expression of total surprise. Sebastian had wondered if Ralph was aware of Edward’s plans. Now he had the answer without even asking the question.
‘What do you mean, out there? Has he escaped?’
‘Yes.’
Sebastian watched as Ralph attempted to process the information. Make sense of it. He failed.
‘Didn’t you know about this? Didn’t he tell you?’
Ralph didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. Disappointment was written all over his face.
‘He obviously didn’t want you to know,’ Sebastian went on, ramming the point home to make sure Ralph didn’t miss a single nuance of Hinde’s betrayal, and to prevent him from coming up with an explanation for what had happened. ‘He wanted to take away your power. I mean, who’s afraid of you now?’
Ralph looked up at him in confusion. Sebastian felt he was ready to be won over.
‘But you can hold on to your power,’ he said, as calmly and reassuringly as he could manage. ‘Take control over the person who has been controlling you. The disciple becomes the Master. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? To be like Edward Hinde?’
‘I am already better than Edward.’
‘Edward’, Sebastian noted with satisfaction. Not ‘the Master’ this time.
Ralph’s mouth was set in a determined line. ‘I took five.’ Defiance in his voice.
Sebastian went cold. Five? Another woman? One they hadn’t found? How could they have missed her? Who was it?
‘There was that fat man,’ Ralph explained when he saw that Sebastian didn’t understand.
Trolle. Trolle was dead. He knew that already, deep down, but still the confirmation came as a blow. He closed his eyes. He had to maintain his focus. He was on his way in. He had already torn down several defences. Started to work his way through the armour. Mustn’t get emotional now. Trolle was dead. That wasn’t exactly news. Live with it. Win Ralph over.
‘He doesn’t count.’
‘Why not?’
‘That one wasn’t planned.’ Sebastian realised he was on thin ice here, but he hoped he knew enough about Ralph by this stage for the strategy to work. ‘It’s not difficult to kill somebody in the street,’ he said. ‘Any idiot can do that.’
‘In the car,’ Ralph said pensively.
‘What?’
‘I stabbed him in the car. But I understand what you mean. He wasn’t part of the ritual.’
‘And you’re better than that.’
Ralph stared at Sebastian with warmth in his eyes. Edward had said they were alike, Ralph and Sebastian. He had been right. Both of them saw him. For what he was. For the person he was. He meant something. But Edward had deceived him. Gone behind his back.
Sebastian met Ralph’s almost admiring gaze with a smile. A glow was spreading through his body. He was in. He had reached the insecure core that was crying out for approval. Now all he had to do was ladle it on.
‘How are you feeling now? You’ve had a lot to take in.’
‘Strangely enough, I feel strong.’ Ralph paused, considered, then nodded to himself. Dignified.
‘And you are. You’re a worthy opponent. All you have to do is decide whose opponent you are. That’s how you become a winner.’
‘You mean I should take him on?’
‘You’re better than he is.’ Sebastian took a deep breath. They had reached the tipping point. He could do no more groundwork at this stage. He had to get somewhere. Every minute could be critical for Vanja. ‘I need your help.’
Ralph’s expression was one of pure shock. ‘You want me to help you?’
‘It’s the only way. Without me you can’t go up against Hinde. You’ll end up as no more than a footnote in the history books, while Edward lives on.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
Sebastian had to make a real effort not to burst out laughing. He mustn’t even smile. Bloody hell, he was good! It was nice to be back.
‘Answer a question.’
‘Okay.’
‘If Edward can’t go to a victim’s home, where would he take them instead?’
‘Do you know who it is?’
‘Yes.’
‘Has he already taken them?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you don’t know where they are?’
‘No.’
Ralph smiled and shook his head. He had regained control. Perhaps a little too much. Sebastian sensed that soon Ralph wouldn’t choose one opponent, but would challenge them both. He had to speed things up while remaining suitably obsequious.
‘You ought to read your book.’
‘Which one?’
‘The first one. Page one hundred and twelve.’ Ralph was smiling again. Laughing quietly to himself.
‘Am I missing something?’ Sebastian wanted to know, even though he was already on his way out of the room.
‘It’s the emergency number: 112. The number you ring if you need rescuing. I like the symbolism, that’s all.’
Sebastian didn’t even bother to comment. He left the room, hoping he would never have a reason to come back.
‘What did he say?’
Torkel met Sebastian outside the door and walked down the corridor with him.
‘Have you got a copy of my books here?’
‘What books?’
‘The ones I wrote. Are they here?’
‘In my office.’
‘Anything new on Vanja?’ Sebastian called over his shoulder.
‘No. We’ve searched the running track in Lill-Jansskogen. Nothing,’ Torkel panted. ‘We found the ambulance. Two dead, two injured. He definitely had help.’
‘Roland Johansson.’
‘Possibly. Probably.’
Sebastian continued up the stairs without slowing down.
‘Why do you need your books? What did he say?’
Torkel was breathing heavily between sentences. Sebastian didn’t reply. He just kept on going. Even he was slightly out of breath by now.
‘Sebastian, answer me!’
Torkel’s voice was almost at breaking point. Sebastian stopped. His former colleague was beside himself with worry. Of course. He deserved the few answers Sebastian was able to provide.
‘He said it was in there, where Hinde is.’
‘In your books?’
‘In one of them, yes.’
‘Well, you wrote it, don’t you remember?’
Sebastian didn’t bother answering this time. If he had remembered he wouldn’t have been scurrying up the stairs. He would have told Torkel in the first place. The anxiety was preventing them from thinking clearly. He kept going, with Torkel close behind.
Once they reached Torkel’s office, Sebastian went straight over to the bookshelf. He immediately recognised the brown spines with the yellow writing. He pulled out the first one. The title was He Always Seemed So Nice, with the subtitle Edward Hinde – Serial Killer. The quote was from a man who had worked with Edward for three years. Just like everyone else Sebastian had spoken to during the course of his research, his colleague hadn’t suspected for a moment that there was anything dubious about Hinde. Hardly surprising. Edward Hinde was an extremely manipulative individual, adept at camouflaging his personality. Most people saw only what he wanted them to see.
‘Do you know where to look?’ Torkel asked eagerly.
‘Yes. Just a minute.’
Sebastian quickly turned to the right page and began to read.
For a serial killer with Edward’s need for structure, the choice of the location in which the murder takes place is extremely important. It is not chosen principally for its geographical situation. The distance from home, the ease of getting to and from the location and possible escape routes are all of less significance than the symbolic value …
He skipped further down the page.
The decision to strike in the victim’s home environment is not first and foremost a matter of control; in every case the first occasion on which he was inside the house or apartment was when he committed the murder. The primary reason for the choice of crime scene is in fact the feeling of security. It may seem contradictory to state that he felt secure in a place he was visiting for the first time, but in a location where the woman does not expect to be attacked, the risk of resistance or escape is reduced …
Sebastian continued to skim the page.
‘Here.’
If it is impossible to carry out the murder in the victim’s home, the most likely scenario is that he will abort his mission. As a last resort Hinde states that he could imagine trying to re-create, or even better to revisit, one of the places that has meant the most to him. For example, the place where his fantasies began, or where the series of murders began.
Sebastian closed the book.
‘Where the series of murders began,’ Torkel repeated. ‘Where was the first murder?’
‘I can’t remember the exact address, but it was south of the city. Västberga or Midsommarkransen, somewhere like that.’
‘Billy can look it up.’
Torkel left the room in search of Billy. Sebastian followed him.
‘The fantasies must have started at home,’ he said. ‘After his mother’s death. Where the abuse began.’
He met Torkel’s gaze. The anticipation and tension were almost palpable.
‘He grew up in Märsta.’
Edward’s mother, Sofie Hinde, had lived in her parents’ house until her death. It was an isolated farmhouse not far from Rickeby, north of Märsta. That was where Edward had grown up. Sebastian had visited the house twice while writing his first book at the end of the nineties. It was already unoccupied and abandoned back then.
He and Torkel were sitting in one of the special operations unit’s lead cars, speeding north along the E4 with flashing blue lights. The rest of the squad were following in two large police vans. Torkel and the team leader were discussing tactics, a map in front of them. The local police in Märsta had already cordoned off the tracks leading to and from the property, but Torkel had decided the special ops team should be the ones to go into the house itself. They had the training and the equipment; the Märsta police would act as a reserve unit. It was a complicated operation. The house itself was quite isolated, which was a good thing, but with open fields all around, it would be difficult to get close without being spotted. The fact that the hostage was a police officer increased the pressure on them all. Not that occasions like this were ever free of tension, but it was somehow worse if things went wrong when a colleague’s life was in danger.
Sebastian sat in silence for most of the journey. He had tried to provide as much information from memory as he could, but there wasn’t a great deal. The house was large, he recalled. Two storeys. Rundown. What he remembered most clearly was the space under the stairs where Edward had been shut in as a child. He would never forget it. Cold and raw, with a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. A rough wooden floor and the stench of stale urine. The more he thought about that dark place, the more terrified he became. The mere idea of Vanja in Edward’s former home was unbearable.
When they reached Upplands Väsby, Billy called. He had found the address of the house in Midsommarkransen in the archives, and was on his way over there with another team. He promised to report back as soon as he knew more.
So there were two teams now. With the same goal. To save Vanja. Torkel looked up from the map. ‘Do you think she’s in Märsta?’
Sebastian nodded. ‘His parental home would be more important than the scene of the first murder. It would give rise to more fantasies.’
Sebastian fell silent and looked out of the window. For a second Torkel considered asking more questions, but then realised he didn’t have the strength. He didn’t want to know too much about the way Hinde thought. Not the details, at any rate. Sebastian could keep those to himself. All he cared about was finding Vanja.
The special ops team leader leaned towards him. ‘We’ll be there in twenty minutes. Max.’
Torkel nodded.
Soon it would begin.
Hinde was standing in the bedroom looking at her. He had undone the cable ties around her legs and removed her sweat pants. She had strong legs, and he had undone one tie at a time to be on the safe side, but she had remained motionless. He wasn’t sure if she was conscious or not underneath the sack. He touched her warm, bare legs. Gazed at the black panties, just visible below the grey vest top. Enjoyed the moment.
Then he went over to the box, which he had placed in the middle of the room.
He opened it and reverently removed the nightdress lying at the top. It was made of soft cotton, and had never been worn before. It had almost the same pattern as the original. The one his mother used to wear was no longer made, and Ralph had searched shop after shop before he found this one, which Hinde himself had approved. The blue flowers were slightly smaller, but it gave him the same feeling as the ones he had used in the nineties.
He shook the nightdress a few times to air it, then draped it over the end of the bed. He went back to the box and took out the nylon stockings and the newly purchased carving knife. Spotted the food and drink underneat
h them. He would lay it all out in a little while. He wanted to get her ready first. He placed the nylon stockings next to the nightdress, then removed the knife from its packaging. Ran his thumb along the edge. It was very sharp, and felt well balanced in his hand. The blade was laminated with one hundred layers of alternating hard and soft steel, and could cut through most things.
She suddenly moved. Not much, but enough for him to conclude that she was conscious. It was time for the next step, which would involve a risk.
He wanted her to put on the nightdress herself. Perhaps not voluntarily, but he wanted to see her do it.
He began by securing her left foot with a new cable tie. There was some resistance, but he acted with firmness, and soon the job was done. He decided to use the nylon stockings later. That would be step two. He went and sat down beside her on the bed. The old springs protested, and it felt comfortable and soft with age. But that was of no significance. She wouldn’t be sleeping in this bed.
Hinde reached for the knife and sliced through the rope holding in place the brown sack over her head and upper body. Grabbed hold of the bottom of the sack and pulled it off with one sharp movement. Now he could see Vanja’s face and her blonde hair. She was conscious. He looked at her with interest. The silver tape fixed tightly across her mouth distorted the shape of her face a little, but she was beautiful. Her hair was tousled and her face was flushed from her struggles. But her eyes were blazing.
‘Hello, Vanja,’ he said. ‘I told you we’d meet again.’
She made an angry sound in response, and he watched as she looked around in an attempt to work out where she was. He leaned forward and caressed her hair, trying gently to smooth it down. She tried to shake off his hand by throwing her head backwards and forwards. He grabbed hold of her hair to stop her from moving. Leaned even closer.
‘This is what we’re going to do.’ He brought the knife up so that the sharp point was touching her throat. He pressed it hard against the soft area below her chin, just above the trachea. He saw her tense with anxiety.
‘I am going to free your arms, but if you try anything I will use this. You know I am capable of doing so.’
The Man Who Watched Women Page 48