The Man Who Watched Women (31 page)

‘You never make small talk.' Ursula put her fork down next to the knife she had picked up, and got to her feet. She had lost her appetite. Did he know something about her and Torkel? If so, that wasn't good. Not good at all. The less Sebastian Bergman knew, the better. That applied to everything. He had the ability to turn the most innocent information against a person. And if he thought he could use it to his advantage, he wouldn't hesitate to do so.

Sebastian came into the room, pulled out the nearest chair and sat down. ‘There's something I've been thinking about …'

‘Mhm,' Ursula replied with her back to him. She dried her hands on a tea towel and turned to leave.

‘Sit down for a minute.' Sebastian gestured to the chair opposite.

‘Why?'

‘Because I'm asking you.'

‘I haven't got time.'

As Ursula was walking past Sebastian, he grabbed her wrist. She stopped and gave him a look which made it clear that he needed to let go right now. He didn't.

‘Sit down. Please.'

Ursula jerked her hand away and looked at Sebastian. His tone of voice was different somehow, with no hint of teasing or superciliousness, and there was something in his eyes that told her this was important. Not because he had something to gain, but for some other reason.

Something real.

Something significant.

And he had said ‘please', a word she hadn't thought was even in his vocabulary. She sat down, but perched on the very edge of the chair, ready to leave immediately.

‘I've been speaking to Torkel,' Sebastian began, a little hesitantly.

‘Oh yes,' Ursula said defensively, more and more convinced that she wasn't going to like what Sebastian had on his mind.

‘About the fact that the four victims have had a relationship with me,' he went on without looking her in the eye. ‘A sexual relationship.'

Ursula suddenly realised where the conversation was going. It wasn't about her and Torkel at all, but was heading for a topic she had even less desire to discuss.

‘If there's a possibility that this might continue,' Sebastian went on, his voice quiet and serious, ‘if more women are in danger …'

‘I can take care of myself,' Ursula interrupted him, leaping to her feet.

‘I know that, it's just …' Sebastian looked up and met her gaze with candour and sincerity. ‘I don't want anything to happen to you because of me.'

‘That's very kind of you,' Ursula said, keeping her tone neutral as she headed for the door. She turned back to face him before she left the room. ‘It would have been even better if you'd shown me just a modicum of the same consideration at the time.'

She turned away and disappeared.

There was a knock on the door of the cell. Hinde put down the book he had been reading, sat up on his bed and quickly looked around the room. He hadn't left anything out, had he? Nothing that might give him away? A glance at the desk, the small bedside table and the single shelf, and his survey was done. The one advantage of having a small cell was that it was easy to check. Nothing on show that shouldn't be there. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed as the door opened and Thomas Haraldsson stuck his head in.

‘Good evening, am I disturbing you?'

Hinde was rather taken aback by this everyday greeting, which sounded as if Haraldsson had just popped in to see a neighbour at home, or a colleague in the office next door at work. He presumed that this personal approach was meant to signify that the governor was not here on official business, but for some other reason. This could be interesting.

‘No, I was just reading.' Hinde went for the same friendly tone. ‘Come on in,' he added with a wave.

Haraldsson stepped into the cell and the door closed behind him. Edward looked at him in silence. Haraldsson was gazing around as if this was the first time he had been inside one of the cells in the secure unit. Edward wondered if his visitor would stick with the polite phrases from the outside world and tell him what a lovely place he had here. Amazing what you can do with a bijou space.

‘I'm off home soon, but I thought I'd just pop in and see you,' Haraldsson said, completing his brief inspection of the cell. It was so small. How did they stand it?

‘Off home to Jenny,' Hinde commented from the bed.

‘Yes.'

‘And the baby.'

‘Yes.'

‘How far gone is she now?'

‘Eleven weeks.'

‘Lovely.'

Edward smiled at Haraldsson, who pulled out the only chair and sat down. Enough of the small talk.

‘I was just wondering,' Haraldsson began, ‘how did it go with Riksmord?'

‘How did they say it went?' Hinde asked, leaning forward.

‘They didn't say much at all.' Haraldsson thought about it. What had he actually found out from Vanja and Sebastian after their meeting with Hinde? They thought he was involved in a number of murders, but they could have told Haraldsson that without even seeing Hinde. They hadn't said a single thing about the meeting itself, it struck him now.

‘They didn't really say anything …'

Hinde gave an understanding nod. Haraldsson briefly considered telling him about his negative experiences of Riksmord in Västerås, putting himself on the same side as Hinde, so to speak, but then it occurred to him that the man on the bed didn't know that he used to be a police officer. Nor did he need to know. In fact, it was better if he didn't know. Better if he thought Haraldsson was just an ordinary harmless desk jockey.

‘How do you feel the meeting went?' he asked instead.

Hinde appeared to consider the question. He rested his elbows on his knees and supported his chin on his linked hands.

‘It was rather disappointing, to be honest,' he said thoughtfully.

‘In what way?'

‘It wasn't much of a conversation.'

‘Why not?'

‘I made them an offer which they didn't accept.'

‘What kind of an offer?'

Hinde straightened up, apparently searching for the right words. ‘There were certain … things I wanted, and I said that if I was given those things, I would answer one or more of their questions. Truthfully.'

He glanced at Haraldsson to see if he was nibbling at the bait, but the man on the chair looked confused more than anything.

‘Mutual favours,' Hinde explained. ‘Like a game, you could say. I've got something they want, they've got something I want, why just give it away? But Sebastian refused to play.'

Hinde met Haraldsson's eyes. Had he been too clear? Was it too obvious where he was going with this? After all, his guest had once been a police officer, until quite recently in fact. Would a warning bell start to ring? Apparently not. Edward decided to go all the way.

‘I could make you the same offer.'

Haraldsson didn't answer immediately. What was Hinde offering? Information in return for what? He would find out if he went along with the game. But why was he making the offer? To gain advantages for himself, of course. Privileges. Of course it could also be that he was simply bored, and took every chance that came along to make his everyday life less ordinary, more stimulating. Haraldsson quickly went through the pros and cons in his head.

The advantages were self-evident. Hinde would answer his questions. Any questions. This would give him a unique insight and knowledge. In the best-case scenario he would find out enough to solve four murders.

The disadvantages? He didn't know what Hinde would want in return for his answers. But if he didn't say yes, he would never find out. If it was something that was against the rules, or something he couldn't go along with for any other reason, he could simply say no. Put a stop to it.

It couldn't go wrong.

Haraldsson nodded. ‘Fine. What did you have in mind?'

Edward had to make a real effort to resist the impulse to let out a smug little laugh. Instead he gave Haraldsson a big, warm smile and leaned forward, almost confidentially.

‘I'll tell you what I want, and when I've got it, you can ask any question you like, and I'll answer it.'

‘Truthfully.'

‘I promise.'

Hinde held out his right hand to show that they had an agreement. A handshake. All that was necessary between men.

They shook hands, then Edward shuffled back on the bed, leaned against the wall and drew his feet up onto the mattress. Relaxed. Friendly. Play down the situation. He studied Haraldsson between his bent knees. What should he begin with? He needed to get an idea of how keen the man on the desk chair was.

‘Have you got a photograph of your wife?'

‘Ye-es …?' Hesitation in his response.

‘Can I have it?'

‘What?' Haraldsson asked, looking slightly bewildered. ‘Just to look at, or do you want to keep it?'

‘Keep it.'

Haraldsson hesitated. This didn't feel good. Not good at all. This wasn't what he had thought Hinde would ask for. A longer spell in the exercise yard. Better food. Greater freedom on the computer. A beer, perhaps. Things that would improve and enhance his time in Lövhaga. Not this. What would Hinde want with a photo of his wife? According to the reports he was sexually inactive, so the idea of him masturbating over a photo of Jenny seemed unlikely.

‘What do you want it for?'

‘Is that the question you want to ask?'

‘No …'

Haraldsson was beginning to feel stressed. Should he put a stop to this right now? Could he?

It was only a picture.

Riksmord were convinced that the man on the bed was involved in four murders. If Haraldsson played his cards right, he could virtually solve the case himself. Hinde was stuck in Lövhaga. There was nothing he could do. Haraldsson didn't even need to inform Riksmord. He could go higher up, straight to the top with his information. Keep all the glory for himself. Solve the case while others were at a loss.

It was only a picture.

He took his wallet out of his back pocket and opened it. Behind clear plastic on one side was a picture of Jenny, taken in a hotel room in Copenhagen about eighteen months ago. You couldn't see much of the room, the picture had been trimmed to fit in the wallet, but Jenny was radiant. So happy. Haraldsson loved that picture. It captured exactly who Jenny was. But it was still on his memory card; he could print off another copy.

It was only a picture.

And yet he couldn't quite shake off the feeling that he was making a big mistake as he placed the photograph in Hinde's outstretched hand.

‘Are you involved in the recent murders of four women?' Haraldsson asked as soon as the picture had a new owner.

‘Define involved,' Hinde replied, glancing at the photograph in his hand. Just over thirty. Slim. Smiling. Brunette. He could absorb all the details later. He put the photo down on the book on his bedside table.

‘Do you know about them?'

‘Yes.'

‘How?'

Hinde shook his head and leaned back against the wall once more. ‘That's question number two, Thomas. But just to show you how much I appreciate the fact that you've come to see me, I will answer the question without asking for anything in return.' He met Haraldsson's eyes. Saw anticipation, hope. He was keen, there was no doubt about that. ‘Riksmord told me about the murders,' he said eventually.

‘But before that?' Haraldsson went on eagerly. ‘Did you know anything about them before that?'

‘The answer to that question will cost you.'

‘Cost me what?'

‘Let me think about that. Come back tomorrow.' Hinde lay down and reached for his book. The photograph of Jenny slid down onto the table as if he had forgotten it was there. Haraldsson realised the conversation was over. He wasn't satisfied, but it was a start. It could definitely lead somewhere. He got up, went over to the door and left the cell.

On the way back to his office, Haraldsson made two decisions.

First, he wasn't going to tell Jenny that he had given a photograph of her to Edward Hinde. He couldn't quite work out how he would explain it. He would print off a new copy as soon as possible and replace the old one.

Second, he decided to regard today as a success. He had been faced with difficult choices, but had made the right decision. Taken a step in the right direction.

‘That went well,' he said to himself out loud in the empty corridor. He thought it sounded a little bit as if he were making too much of an effort to convince himself, so he cleared his throat and said it again.

Louder.

More firmly.

‘That went really well.'

In his cell, Edward Hinde was lying on his bed, studying the photograph of Jenny Haraldsson and thinking exactly the same thing.

Vanja was driving too fast. As usual. She felt full of impatient energy. She would go out for a run when she got home. It would be light for a few more hours yet, and it was already a little cooler.

She didn't really want to go running.