The Disappeared (5 page)

‘Was this Daniella ever a suspect?’ Fredrika asked.

‘We considered that as a working hypothesis for a while,’ Alex replied. ‘But she had an alibi, and we couldn’t really come up with a motive.’

‘And what about Håkan Nilsson?’ Peder wondered.

A smile flitted across Alex’s face, got lost among the lines and disappeared. That short-lived smile had become the characteristic sign of his grief.

‘We looked very carefully at Håkan. Not at first, but later on when we had no other leads to follow. His eagerness to help, his campaign to make sure she was found at any price – it all seemed to indicate rather more than friendship. It was almost manic. When her other friends just couldn’t go on any longer, Håkan was still there all on his own, still searching.’

‘The person who has the most to hide . . .’

‘. . . is the most keen to show he cares. I know. But in Håkan’s case, I don’t think that was true.’

When Alex paused, Peder spoke up.

‘He lives in Midsommarkransen, Alex. We need to take another look at him.’

Alex straightened up. That was something he hadn’t been aware of.

‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘We have to look at everyone again, but particularly Håkan. Put him under surveillance and see where he goes.’

Alex glanced at Fredrika.

‘And you and I will go and see Diana Trolle, Rebecca’s mother.’

They hardly spoke on the way to Diana Trolle’s house. Alex could feel Fredrika’s questions hanging in the air – how were things, was he lonely, how did it feel to be back at work? He had questions of his own – how was Saga? Did she sleep through the night, or did she keep her parents awake? Was she eating well, was she teething? But he couldn’t get a word out. It was as if he had been transformed into a mussel that was impossible to prise open. The kind of mussel that was easily disposed of.

It wasn’t far to Spånga, where Diana lived. He had often been there in the past, but it was a long time ago. He remembered that he had liked her, found her attractive. An artistic soul, lost in a boring job at County Hall.

To begin with, she had been optimistic as they searched for Rebecca. Alex had been honest with her: the first few days were critical. If her daughter was not found at that point, the prospect of finding her alive at a later stage was minimal. She had accepted his words calmly, not because her daughter was an insignificant part of her life, but because she had decided not to meet trouble halfway. She had stuck to that point of view for a long time.

‘As long as she’s not dead, she’s alive,’ she had said, giving Alex a phrase he could use in similar situations.

But now there was no avoiding the truth. Rebecca was dead, desecrated and buried. The piece of jewellery from her navel was in his jacket pocket. There was nothing merciful about the news Alex and Fredrika must now deliver. Perhaps there might be a chance of closure, but only if they could also explain what had led to Rebecca’s death. And they weren’t there yet.

Diana opened the door before they had time to ring the bell. It was Alex who told her when they sitting in the living room. Diana wept as she sat alone in a big armchair.

‘How did she die?’

‘We don’t know, Diana. But I promise you we’ll find out.’

Alex looked around. Rebecca lived on in this room, in photographs with her brother and in a picture her mother had painted when she was confirmed.

‘I knew as soon as I saw you getting out of the car. But I still hoped you might have come to tell me something else.’

Fredrika got to her feet.

‘I could make us all a drink, as long as you don’t mind me rummaging around in your kitchen?’

Diana nodded silently, and Alex caught himself wondering if he had ever heard Fredrika offer to do something like that. He didn’t think so.

They could hear the sound of the kettle and the clatter of cups being set out on a tray. Alex chose his words with care.

‘We’ll be giving this investigation top priority from now on; I hope you don’t think otherwise.’

Diana smiled through her tears, the droplets shining on her high cheekbones. Dark eyes, hair slightly too long. Had the sorrow over her missing daughter aged her? He didn’t think so.

‘You didn’t find the person who did it,’ she reminded him.

‘No, we didn’t,’ Alex said. ‘But the situation is different now.’

‘In what way?’

‘We have a crime scene, a geographical location to which we can link the perpetrator. We’re hoping to be able to secure evidence of the person who did this, but . . .’

‘But it’s been such a long time,’ Diana supplied.

‘We can still do it.’

His voice was tense with fury and conviction. It was always painful to abandon the hope that preceded despair; nobody knew that better than Alex.

We can still do it. Because anything else is unacceptable.

He had said those words to Lena more times than she wanted to hear them. In the end he had spent so much time trying to find a way of saving her that he could no longer see that she was getting worse.

‘Mum is dying,’ his daughter said. ‘And you’re missing the end, Dad.’

The memories were so painful. So agonisingly painful.

His vision was clouded by tears. Fredrika came back with a tray of coffee, rescuing him without realising it.

‘Here we are,’ she said. ‘Milk?’

They drank in silence, allowing the absence of words to bring peace.

So far, Alex had not commented on the circumstances surrounding the discovery of Rebecca’s body; he had not told Diana that it had been dismembered and buried in two plastic bags. He hesitated before he spoke; he hated this part of his job.

Diana listened, wide-eyed.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Nor do we, but we’re doing everything we can to find out what happened.’

‘Who would be sick enough to . . .?’

‘Don’t think about that.’

Alex swallowed.

‘There’s one more thing I need to tell you. Well, two in fact. I don’t want you to hear this through the press.’

He told her about the missing head and hands, calmly and in plain words. Then he gave her the piece of jewellery. Diana took it without speaking, then after a moment she said:

‘You said there were two things?’

Her voice was hoarse with tension, the tears pouring down her face.

‘She was pregnant.’

‘What?’

‘You didn’t know?’

She shook her head, her whole body trembling.

‘We’re very keen to identify the child’s father,’ Fredrika said. ‘I know you weren’t aware of a specific boyfriend, but had Rebecca ever said she wanted a child?’

‘Of course she did, but not until she was older. We spoke openly about that kind of thing. She was on the pill; she was very careful about contraception.’

‘How long had she been on the pill?’

‘Let me think; how old was she when the subject first came up? Seventeen, I think. I drove her to the clinic.’

A model parent, in Fredrika’s eyes.

Alex took over, not wanting the first meeting with Diana since the discovery of Rebecca’s body to go on for too long.

‘It’s quite a while since Rebecca disappeared,’ he said. ‘Has anything new occurred to you during that time?’

How long was two years? Two years was the difference between being single and having a family, between having a family and losing it.

Diana cleared her throat.

‘A friend of mine said something horrible a while ago, but I didn’t really attach any importance to it. It was just too stupid.’

Fredrika and Alex waited.

‘My friend has a daughter who was on the same course as Rebecca, and she hinted that the person who took her could have been someone she met on the internet.’

‘That doesn’t sound too unlikely,’ Fredrika said tentatively. ‘These days a lot of people meet their partners that way.’

‘Not like that,’ Diana said. ‘She meant . . . Her daughter had said that my Rebecca was selling certain things on the Internet.’

‘Things?’ Alex said.

‘Herself.’

Alex stiffened.

‘Where the hell did she get that from?’

‘She said there was a rumour going around after Rebecca disappeared. But in my wildest imagination I can’t believe . . .’

Her voice died away.

‘Was Rebecca insecure?’ Fredrika asked.

‘God, no.’

‘Lonely?’

‘She had loads of friends.’

‘Was she short of money?’

‘She would have come to me. She always did.’

Not always. That was something Alex had learned over the years. ‘Always’ was a word construed by parents when ‘usually’ was more accurate.

‘We’d really like to speak to your friend and her daughter,’ Fredrika said.

Diana nodded.

‘I must ring Rebecca’s brother,’ she said.

‘Of course,’ Alex replied. ‘And if you like we can arrange some counselling for you.’

‘That won’t be necessary.’

They headed for the door, passing several photographs of Rebecca on the walls. Don’t take them down, Alex thought. You would bitterly regret it.

‘What happened to her things?’ Fredrika asked.

‘It’s all in storage,’ Diana said. ‘Her brother and I emptied her room in the student hostel once the investigators had taken what they wanted, and we put it all in my sister’s garage. If you want to have a look I can give you directions.’

‘That would be kind,’ Fredrika said.

‘Just one more thing,’ Alex said.

They stopped.

‘Do you remember Håkan Nilsson?’

‘Of course. We’re still in touch; he was very fond of Rebecca.’

‘They’d been friends since school, hadn’t they?’

‘That’s right. And Rebecca helped him when his father died; that was in their last year at school.’

As the front door opened, the spring sunshine flooded the hallway.

‘Did Rebecca ever say anything to indicate that he might be a problem?’ Fredrika asked.

Diana looked past her, out into the street. A whole world was waiting on the other side of the door. She would have to think about when she might be ready to face it again.

‘I remember her telling me that he was upset when she decided to study in France. I suppose he had expected her to stay in Stockholm.’

‘Did he have any reason to expect that? Were they a couple.’

‘Definitely not. He wasn’t her type at all.’

Alex thought for a moment.

‘But they became friends again when she came home?’

‘I know they got back in touch, but it was only afterwards I realised they were close friends.’

‘What made you realise that?’

‘It was the only logical explanation. Why else would he have got so involved after her disappearance?’

6

The news that Rebecca Trolle had been found in Midsommarkransen eclipsed every other news story that afternoon. In his role as the officer in charge of the investigation, Alex Recht held a brief press conference. He chose to omit the macabre details – the fact that the body had been dismembered and that certain parts were missing.

There were plenty of questions from the journalists, but his answers were limited.

No, he couldn’t say what progress the investigation had made; it was much too early.

No, he did not wish to comment on whether they had any suspects.

No, he did not wish to explain how they had been able to identify the body so quickly, in spite of the fact that Rebecca had been lying in the ground for so long that there was no possibility of recognising her.

He brought the press conference to an end and went back to his office. His daughter Viktoria called him on his mobile.

‘Are you coming over for something to eat tonight, Dad? It would be really nice to see you.’

‘I don’t know; I’m in the middle of a new investigation and . . .’

‘I saw you on TV; your jumper looked great!’

The jumper he had been given for Christmas. The worst Christmas in living memory.

‘Are you coming?’

‘Mmm, if I can fit it in. You know how it is, these cases take time, and . . .’

‘Dad.’

‘Yes?’

‘Just come over. OK?’

She was so much like her mother. The same voice, the same drive, the same stubbornness. She would do well in life.

He ambled past Fredrika’s office; she was absorbed in the documents from the investigation into Rebecca’s disappearance. When she heard his footsteps, she looked up with a smile.

‘I thought you were supposed to be working part time,’ Alex said.

Half joking, half serious.

Don’t be like the rest of us – don’t forget your family as soon as you come back to work after your maternity leave.

‘I am,’ Fredrika replied. ‘I just wanted to read for a while before I go home. What an active person she must have been.’

‘Rebecca? Indeed she was, to say the least. The investigation was a mass of dead ends. Part time jobs, student life, the church choir, friends, the world and his wife.’

‘We need to speak to that friend of Diana’s, and her daughter, about the rumour that Rebecca was selling herself on the internet.’

‘We do.’ Alex smiled. ‘But not you, Fredrika. It’s time you went home.’

She returned his smile.

‘In a minute. One question before I go: What was she studying when she disappeared?’

‘The history of literature, as far as I remember.’

‘What level? How far had she got?’

‘I’m not really sure. I think she was writing her dissertation. We spoke to her supervisor; he was a bit odd, but hardly her new boyfriend, and definitely not a murderer.’

‘Alibi?’

‘Just like everyone else we spoke to.’

Fredrika leafed through the papers in front of her.

‘I wonder who he was, this new boyfriend. I mean, it could be someone she met on the internet.’

Alex nodded in agreement.

‘You’re right. But in that case, why didn’t one single person tell us she was meeting men online? Girls talk about that kind of thing, don’t they?’

‘They do.’

Fredrika looked pensive.

‘The child,’ she said. ‘Someone must have know she was expecting. She must have contacted a pregnancy advisory centre.’

‘Must she? By the fourth month?’

Fredrika rummaged through the piles of paper.