The Man Who Watched Women (23 page)

Torkel's mobile rang. They all jumped as the sound broke the dense silence. Torkel turned away and took the call.

‘But surely he must have known they weren't going to survive?' Vanja took up the thread once more. ‘Why did he put the food there?'

‘A safety measure. Just in case she did survive against all expectations, and he was punished. He didn't want to starve. But as we know, he never needed to make use of his supplies.'

Torkel ended the brief conversation and turned back to the team. The look on his face told them it wasn't good news.

‘We have a fourth victim.'

Vanja's car was first on the scene. The uniformed patrol who had found the body had already cordoned off the area outside the grey apartment block, following procedure to the letter. Vanja jumped out of the car and hurried over to the officer standing behind the blue and white tape. Sebastian remained by the car, looking up at the building. Once again he had irritated her by taking it for granted that his place was by her side in the front seat, but Vanja had decided it would be inappropriate to get into an argument with him when they were out on a job. He could be childish. She wasn't going to be. She was working. But when all this had calmed down a little, she was going to make it very clear to Torkel that Sebastian Bergman could travel with someone else from now on. Torkel himself would be a suitable alternative. After all, he was the one who had insisted on dragging Sebastian back in. The officer by the door nodded to her in recognition. She recognised him too; Erik something-or-other. She remembered him as a good officer, well organised and always calm. After he had briefed her in just a few sentences, she saw no reason to revise her opinion. Following instructions, he and his colleague had immediately alerted Riksmord as soon as they entered the apartment on the third floor and found the woman bound and murdered. They had tried to avoid touching anything, and had immediately left the scene in order to cordon off both the apartment itself and the main entrance, with the aim of avoiding any contamination of the scene of the crime. Vanja thanked Erik and went over to meet Ursula, Billy and Torkel, who had just arrived.

‘The scene has been secured. Third floor. Billy, can you take a detailed statement from Erik? He was the first to arrive.' She pointed to the uniformed officer by the cordon.

‘Can't you do that?'

Vanja stared at him in astonishment. ‘Why, what are you going to do?'

‘I can go up to the apartment.'

‘Have a word with Erik, then come up,' Torkel intervened.

Billy quickly swallowed a protest. It was one thing to remind Vanja that they were equals within the team, something she sometimes forgot, but another thing altogether to question the boss's orders.

‘Okay.' He headed towards Erik while the other three went inside.

Sebastian was still standing by the car. He could see Billy waving to him, but couldn't decide what to do: stand there worrying, or find out if his whirling thoughts might be right. It didn't seem possible. This was a large building. Absolutely, totally and completely impossible. There were lots of buildings that looked exactly the same. And yet he couldn't shake off the feeling, couldn't make his legs work. Billy waved to him again. Annoyed.

‘Come on!'

Sebastian couldn't put it off any longer. Although a part of him didn't want to do this, he needed to know for certain. He managed to get his legs moving and set off towards Billy. He would let him take the lead. Follow his energy.

They went into the apartment block and up the stone steps. Billy was moving quickly. Sebastian was moving more and more slowly. It was an ordinary grey stairwell. There were thousands, tens of thousands like this. Anonymous, identical, they all looked exactly the same. Why should this particular stairwell be anything special? Feverishly he searched for details that might suppress the feeling of rising panic.

He heard Billy reach the third floor. Heard him talking to someone up there. A uniformed officer, he saw as he rounded the corner of the stairs. They were standing in front of an open door. He could just see Torkel inside the apartment, in the hallway. Took a few more steps, then sank to his knees, breathing heavily.

He pulled himself together sufficiently to glance inside the apartment once more, in a final desperate hope that he was wrong.

He wasn't.

He could see it lying on the floor of the living room.

A brown teddy bear wearing a red rosette with writing on it. ‘To the best mum in the world.'

Torkel had put on shoe protectors, but had avoided entering the living room where the bed was located. There was no doubt whatsoever that they were dealing with the same murderer. The nightdress, the bound arms and legs, the gaping wound in the throat – everything pointed to one conclusion. He felt both impotence and rage. Yet another victim they had been unable to protect. Ursula was standing in the middle of the room, methodically photographing the scene. No doubt it would be several hours before she had finished her preliminary investigation. He and the others could start talking to the neighbours. He was intending to begin with the woman who had called the police a few hours earlier. Suddenly he heard Sebastian's voice behind him.

‘Torkel.' It sounded weaker than usual. He turned and saw an ashen-faced Sebastian standing just outside the door, leaning against the concrete wall of the stairwell. It looked as if the wall was the only thing holding him up.

‘What?'

‘I need to speak to you.' Sebastian was virtually whispering now.

Torkel went over to him, and Sebastian drew him a little way down the stairs. Torkel was annoyed; the last thing he needed right now was a game of Chinese whispers.

‘What do you want, Sebastian?'

The look in Sebastian's eyes was almost pleading. ‘I think I might know her. Annette Willén, is that her name?'

‘We think so. She's the person who lives here, anyway.'

It looked as if Sebastian lost his balance for a second; he leaned heavily against the wall once more.

‘How do you know her?' Torkel wondered, slightly less annoyed. Sebastian was obviously upset.

‘We were in the same counselling group. Once. I only went there once … We had sex.'

Of course. Did Sebastian ever meet a woman he didn't have sex with? Torkel doubted it. It didn't usually mean anything to Sebastian, but he was clearly upset now, which gave Torkel a bad feeling.

‘How long ago did this happen?'

‘I left here just before five.'

‘What? This morning?'

‘Yes.'

Every sound receded.

‘For fuck's sake, Sebastian!'

‘I'm sorry, I don't know …' Sebastian was searching for the right words. He failed to find them. ‘I mean … what the hell should I do?'

Torkel looked around. Saw the uniformed officer standing with Billy and Vanja as they discussed door-to-door enquiries. Saw Ursula fetching a black bag and a different lens for the close-ups. Then he looked back at Sebastian's colourless face. The man he had let into the investigation – which had just turned into a nightmare as far as the police were concerned.

‘You will go back to the station. And you will stay there until I get back.'

Sebastian nodded almost imperceptibly, but made no attempt to move.

Torkel shook his head in frustration and turned to the uniformed officer. ‘Someone needs to drive this man back to the station – can you get it sorted, please?'

Then he went back to join Ursula in the apartment. Back to the terrible crime which had previously seemed complex enough, but which now appeared to be the simpler of two problems.

Sebastian didn't recall much about the drive back to Riksmord. He remembered that he had chosen to sit in the back of the car. He remembered that the driver had been a female officer. He was fully occupied in trying to understand this day somehow. The paralysing feeling of panic began to subside around halfway to the station. His logical thought process returned. He welcomed it. He needed to be able to function. He needed his intellect. The situation was critical. Annette Willén was dead. Murdered. The big question which Sebastian hardly dared ask was whether he had been allocated a role in the course of events. He had slept with Annette Willén. She had been murdered shortly afterwards.

He wanted to believe in chance.

Coincidence.

A twist of fate.

His entire being wanted it to be a mistake. But how great was the probability that the murderer had just happened to choose Annette Willén? Almost non-existent.

So far they hadn't been able to find any kind of geographical pattern in the murderer's choice of victim. One in Tumba, one in Bromma, one in Nynäshamn. And now Liljeholmen. The other women had been murdered in their own houses – two detached, one terraced. Now he had struck in a large apartment block, which involved a greater risk of discovery, and suggested even more strongly that this was not a random attack. Unfortunately. However Sebastian turned things over in his mind, he always reached the same conclusion.

There was a connection of some kind.

Him and Annette.

Annette and the murderer.

Sebastian went up to Riksmord. He didn't really have a plan. He would wait for Torkel. He didn't even know if he would be allowed to stay around for much longer.

He found his way to the Room. At least he could close the door and be alone with his feverish thoughts. He went and stood in front of the board with the photographs and notes. Looked at Billy's timeline and the pictures of the previous victims. Soon Annette Willén would be joining them. None of them was exactly young. They were all over forty. Perhaps there was something in that. They all had history. More possible patterns in their past. He knew Billy had already gone through everything, but he had to wait for Torkel anyway, and it could be hours before he got back. He might as well do something. With a bit of luck, working would keep those other thoughts at bay.

On the table lay the three files about the victims, left behind by the team when they dashed off to Liljeholmen. Sebastian sat down and pulled the files towards him. They contained all the available information on each one, from official tax documents and details held on the electoral register to forensic evidence and interviews with everyone from the victims' nearest and dearest to work colleagues and neighbours. Could he find something that no one else had noticed? The chances were very small. This team was the best in Sweden. But he intended to try.

He needed to do this.

He needed to try to understand.

He began to read. The first victim. Maria Lie. Separated from her husband Karl relatively recently, but the divorce hadn't gone through yet. There was a lengthy interview with the ex-husband-to-be; it ran to ten A4 pages. Maria and Karl had been married for a long time, but the relationship had been childless, and they had drifted apart. Maria Lie worked as a finance officer with a recruitment company in the city. He worked for Tele 2, and the previous year he had met a younger woman and started an affair. Then came the discovery, the quarrels and the break-up in quick succession. Maria Lie had bought Karl out of the house; he needed the money, because his new partner was already pregnant. Maria Lie had recently applied to go back to her maiden name, Kaufmann, and they had …

Sebastian stopped. Read the name again. It couldn't be.

KAUFMANN.

Ursula had finished taking photographs and wanted to wait for the crime scene investigation team to arrive before the body was moved and examined. The body wagon had been held up due to a serious road accident, and Ursula walked over to the living room windows to rest her eyes on something other than the pale, dirty grey body and the congealed blood on the bed.

Outside it was still a perfect summer's day, with a clear blue sky. The blazing sun had moved west and was no longer shining straight into the apartment with full force, but the heat was still stifling in the stuffy room. Ursula carefully opened the balcony door and stepped outside. At least it was slightly cooler out there. The balcony was small, but had been lovingly tended; a beautiful yellow climbing rose in an ornate terracotta pot covered the concrete wall. Two folding chairs stood by the French-style bistro table in white-painted metal. The only thing on the table was a pale blue sugar bowl with slender white flowers on the enamel surface. Before long no doubt someone would pick it up and wonder what he or she should do with it, and all the rest of the stuff in the apartment. The things we leave behind. Ursula went over to the railing and looked out over the Essinge intersection and the green forest beyond. She watched the cars speeding by on the multi-lane highway. Inside the apartment a life had ended, while outside life continued to race by. That was how it worked. Life was a river; you couldn't stop it however much you wanted to. However hard it seemed on the person who had been affected, just a short distance away life went on.