The Disappeared (30 page)

‘Eva called me today.’

He tried to sound nonchalant, but failed.

‘Is this about Eva?’

‘She sends best wishes.’

She could feel his rage filling the room, but had no idea where it was coming from.

‘How nice. Is she OK?’

He snorted and turned away. He moved over to the window, leaning on his stick, and stood there with his back to her.

‘What did she want?’

He didn’t reply.

Fredrika tried to remain calm, tried to remember if they had ever had an argument like this before. But there was nothing to remember. Their relationship wouldn’t have survived so many years if they hadn’t been able to talk to each other. They had always sensed which words the other person needed to hear, which phrases fitted a particular situation.

But this was something new and alien. It was obvious that Spencer was facing some kind of crisis, and that something had happened during the day to exacerbate things. And yet he chose to remain silent, to shut her out. As if he were beyond redemption.

She felt a mixture of fear and despair.

‘You have to tell me, Spencer. What’s going on?’

He half turned and she could see every facial muscle tense, his jaws working.

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Not a bloody thing.’

Peder stayed on at work for a while. It appeared that Fredrika had inadvertently saved her partner by arousing interest in Valter Lund.

First of all, he read through the log; then, Alex’s notes.

Unlikely though it seemed, there were certain indications to suggest that Rebecca and Lund might have had a deeper relationship than the team had originally realised. Than anyone had realised. Alex had said he was going to speak to Rebecca’s mother that evening. Peder had thought that sounded odd, but hadn’t said anything. Why would Alex be ringing Diana Trolle during the evening? Did they know each other outside work?

He glanced at his watch, aware that he ought to go home.

Jimmy called, and was thrilled that Peder had actually answered the phone twice in one day.

His voice brought Peder peace of mind, temporarily at least. Nobody was better than Jimmy at making a difficult situation seem simple. When Peder heard him speak, he could see his brother the way he had been as a child: strong and stubborn, with Peder always one step behind, frightened and unsure of himself. The memories of his brother’s accident would never completely leave him. At any point during the day, he could summon up the image of Jimmy swinging higher and higher until it looked as if the swing might loop right around the frame, and Jimmy suddenly slipped and was flying through the air. Like a bird, Peder had thought. Until Jimmy’s body crashed to the ground, his head making contact with the hard surface of a rock.

Perhaps it was this experience that had sent him off balance when Ylva became depressed. It was as if he were programmed to believe that there was only one possible outcome to a serious illness, and so he had let her down, abused her trust.

But she had taken him back. He would never leave her again.

Jimmy lowered his voice.

‘There’s somebody standing outside,’ he said.

Peder wasn’t really listening.

‘Well, you’d better let him in. Or her.’

‘It’s a man. He’s looking in through the window.’

Peder put down the document he was reading.

‘He’s looking in through your window?’

‘No, somebody else’s.’

Should he take this seriously? Sometimes Jimmy’s perception of what was happening around him was less reliable than that of a child. He saw what he wanted to see, and drew conclusions that amused him.

‘What does he look like, this man who’s looking in through the window?’

‘I don’t know; he’s got his back to me.’

Peder knew the layout where Jimmy lived: there were several low buildings in an enclosed area, with a beautiful park at the back. Mångården assisted-living complex shared the facilities with the care home, and Jimmy’s window looked out onto one of the blocks that belonged to the care home. Peder tried to work out what his brother might be seeing. Some lovesick old man trying to catch a glimpse of a lady he’d fallen for during a game of bingo?

‘Does he look old?’

‘Not really.’

Peder had had reservations about the assisted living complex when Jimmy moved there after leaving school. He hadn’t wanted his brother living next door to some old people’s home. But their parents had insisted: it was good for Jimmy to live in a calm environment, without lots of hustle and bustle.

‘It doesn’t matter how much you want it to happen,’ his mother had said. ‘Jimmy is never going to be like you. He doesn’t fit in in the city, and that’s the end of the matter.’

As time went by, Peder realised that Jimmy was in exactly the right place. The world over there was small enough to allow Jimmy to feel big, and that was worth a great deal.

‘He’s turned around,’ Jimmy whispered.

Fear in his voice.

‘He’s looking at me.’

The fear spread to Peder.

‘For God’s sake Jimmy, get away from the window. Now!’

He heard Jimmy’s running footsteps, then the voice of a woman in the background, one of the care assistants at the complex.

‘What are you up to now, Jimmy?’

Peder sighed. Another storm in a teacup. He ended the call and put down the phone.

He turned his attention back to the investigation. Fredrika had highlighted a link between Morgan Axberger and Thea Aldrin, through a film club that had been active since the 1970s. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Valter Lund worked for Axbergers, Morgan Axberger would have been of no interest whatsoever.

And perhaps that was still the case.

Peder didn’t really think the film club was of any significance, but it was still worth checking out. Fredrika had said it was big news at the time, so it must be possible to find it on the Internet. He typed in the name of the club, The Guardian Angels, and got far too many hits. He tried The Guardian Angels and Thea Aldrin; fewer hits this time. He found both articles and pictures; he wouldn’t have time to go through them all. After a quick overview of the available material, he looked at some of the photographs. Like Fredrika, he recognised neither names nor faces, apart from Thea Aldrin and Morgan Axberger.

One last click, one last picture.

And there was something completely unexpected.

A photograph of Spencer Lagergren, with his name in the caption underneath. Linked to both Thea Aldrin and Morgan Axberger.

Peder sat in front of his computer for a long time, trying to digest what he had seen. One thought kept coming back:

There wasn’t a cat in hell’s chance that Fredrika hadn’t found the same information.

INTERVIEW WITH ALEX RECHT, 03-05-2009, 10.00 (tape recording)

Present: Urban S, Roger M (interrogators one and two). Alex Recht (witness).

Urban: So you sent Peder Rydh to see Spencer Lagergren’s ex-wife in Uppsala?

Alex: Yes.

Urban: Was that a wise move?

Alex: At the time, I decided that the most important thing was to establish whether or not Spencer Lagergren had any place in the investigation. That was why we contacted his ex-wife.

Roger: Is it normal for a murderer to confide in his nearest and dearest that he’s planning to kill someone?

Alex: I refuse to answer questions of that nature.

Roger: You are required to answer all our questions.

(Silence.)

Urban: Why wasn’t Fredrika Bergman informed immediately?

Alex: We felt it was completely unnecessary to drag her into things before we knew what we were dealing with.

Roger: And Diana Trolle?

Alex: What’s she got to do with Spencer Lagergren?

Roger: I’m not talking about a connection between Spencer and Diana, I’m talking about your relationship with her.

Alex: I have no intention of making any bloody comment whatsoever about Diana. That’s not why I’m here.

Urban: You’re absolutely right, Recht. You’re here because you were in charge of an investigation that ended in disaster. And our job is to try to understand how that happened. OK?

(Silence.)

Roger: We realise that it must have been very difficult for you, Alex. Rebecca Trolle was your first serious case after Lena’s death.

Alex: Don’t you dare bring Lena into this.

Urban: We are merely stating facts. Trying to help you. You had more suspects than you could shake a stick at, and suddenly the partner of one of your colleagues pops up in the investigation. Just when you’d found the solicitor’s watch. Of course you were under pressure.

Alex: We didn’t know it was the solicitor’s watch at that stage.

Roger: What did you actually know?

Alex: We knew that Rebecca was pregnant when she died. That she didn’t disappear voluntarily. That she was murdered and her body was dismembered by someone who had murdered thirty years ago.

Roger: So what happened next?

Alex: I had another call from the grave site. I thought they were ringing to tell me they were going to stop digging, but they had other news.

TUESDAY

38

Monday slipped into Tuesday, and Alex was still at Diana’s. The situation was the same as the last time: he was sober, sitting on the sofa, and she was reclining in the armchair after a couple of glasses of wine. When Peder called and told him that Spencer had cropped up in the investigation yet again, Alex’s first thought was that he must go home. Or back to work. He couldn’t think clearly while he was with Diana. And if Fredrika was keeping important information from her colleagues, he really did need to think clearly.

Diana had objected, saying he couldn’t leave her when he’d been there for less than an hour. After all, they hadn’t even had dinner. Veal casserole with rice and tomatoes.

Alex found himself unable to say no. He didn’t
want
to say no, he wanted to stay. They had dinner, including pudding. He drank one glass of wine, then stuck to mineral water. Diana drank two glasses of wine, then showed him a new painting she was working on.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Alex said.

They went for a walk and hardly said a word. At one point she slipped her warm hand into his. Stole a glance at his face, trying to work out whether he objected. He didn’t, and the hand stayed where it was.

When they got back they had coffee with Italian biscotti in front of the TV in the living room. And now it was gone midnight, and they were still sitting here.

‘Valter Lund,’ Alex said.

Diana sat up straight. Her expression was suddenly different. Darker, sharper.

‘Yes?’

‘What do you remember about his relationship with Rebecca?’

Sometimes memory was a misleading source. After the event, people had a tendency to recall things that had never happened, to add or erase details in a way that rendered their testimony worthless.

‘I know Rebecca was pleased when she got him as her mentor; she admired his work in the developing countries.’

Diana pursed her lips as she reached for her glass.

‘Although I could never really see the point of the mentoring programme. Rebecca had nothing in common with a businessman; she should have been allocated a mentor with some kind of cultural background.’

‘How often did they meet up?’

Diana took a sip of her wine.

‘Just a few times. At least that’s what she told me.’

Alex considered her words. Was Diana hinting that Rebecca might have said something different to someone else?

‘Do you think she might have been lying? That she actually saw him more frequently?’

‘I don’t know; it was just a feeling I had. Rebecca’s brother had the same feeling.’

There was a tension in the air that Alex couldn’t explain. The mention of Valter Lund’s name had set in motion something he didn’t understand.

Diana went on: ‘Valter Lund came to the church once when Rebecca was singing. Did you know that?’

Alex nodded.

‘We didn’t think anything of it. Valter Lund has been involved with the church for years, and Rebecca was in the choir. If they were going to meet up anywhere outside the university, it was likely to be there.’

Diana slammed down her glass.

‘And why did they have to meet up outside the university? That’s what I don’t understand.’

‘To get to know each other better?’ Alex suggested. ‘Mentoring is based on trust and respect. Doesn’t it seem reasonable for them to see each other under less formal circumstances?’

But that didn’t include a weekend in Copenhagen. Alex hesitated; should he tell Diana about the trip?

He cleared his throat.

‘Do you know if they ever saw each other outside Stockholm?’

‘I don’t think so. Why do you ask?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m just trying to get a picture of their relationship. Perhaps he took her on business trips?’

‘Not that I know of.’

The fact that Diana obviously hadn’t known about the weekend in Copenhagen gave Alex pause for thought. How much did his own children keep from him? His son had been living in South America for several years, and his daughter was tight-lipped when it came to information about her family life. Or was it just that he didn’t listen? Didn’t show any interest?

Diana slid down in the armchair; she was starting to look tired.

I need to go home, Alex thought. I can’t risk ending up sitting here all night.

‘I just find it so incredibly difficult to accept that she didn’t tell me she was pregnant.’

Tears glittered in Diana’s eyes, making her more fragile than she already was.

‘Perhaps she had good reason to keep it to herself?’

The tears began to fall.

‘Like what?’

Good question – what reason would there be to keep quiet about such a thing? Alex had been asking himself the same question ever since they found out about the pregnancy. It occupied an indefinable place in the investigation – sometimes it seemed crucial, at other times insignificant.

‘Do you think Valter Lund was the father?’ Diana asked.

‘No,’ said Alex. ‘We don’t.’

But he didn’t tell her that they knew it was Håkan Nilsson. Or that Håkan had disappeared. He made a move; time to go home. Diana stopped crying, dried her eyes and walked with him to the door. He caught himself wishing she would ask him if he wanted to stay, but she didn’t. Alex was too insecure to suggest it himself.