The Man Who Watched Women (47 page)

Sebastian Bergman.

That would make sense of the fact that he was following Vanja, watching her from a distance, not daring to make himself known. His need to protect her during their recent interview.

The circumstantial evidence was strong, but he had to be certain. He must not get this wrong. He needed to know whether Anna Eriksson and Sebastian Bergman had met in the past. Whether they had had a relationship in 1979. Anna Eriksson hadn't been a student at the University of Stockholm, so it wasn't that straightforward. But Ralph had found a link between the two of them. On Facebook, of all places.

Hinde couldn't believe how much information certain people gave on there. Quite freely. With the lowest security settings, which meant that anyone could go in and just start looking through everything. Karin Letander was one of those people. She had been one of Sebastian's students in 1979, and loved posting photographs from the past, when she and her friends were young and beautiful. The happiest days of her life, as she put it. Her entire folder of photographs, which was substantial, was open to anyone who visited her page. Including Ralph. To make things even easier, Karin had sorted her pictures by the year, and had spent a considerable amount of time writing banal little comments under each one. For someone who was searching for the truth, it was an absolute goldmine.

The 1979 folder contained five pictures.

The most important photo had been taken at what appeared to be a party in Sweden. It showed Karin, Sebastian and a woman Hinde didn't recognise. Anna Eriksson. They were all smiling at the camera, and Sebastian's hand was resting on the woman's shoulder. The caption read: ‘Autumn party at uni. Anna Eriksson was there too. I wonder what happened to her?'

Yes, what did happen to her?

Well, now there was one person who knew. He had just found the final piece of the puzzle that transformed a nagging suspicion into the truth.

It all fitted. She must have got pregnant in the early autumn of 1979. Perhaps it was even something to do with that party.

He got up. He couldn't sit still, however hard he tried. The crack he had been searching for had turned into a fissure as deep as an abyss. Big enough for amazing possibilities. Great achievements. The perfect revenge. It made his head spin, and the entire plan had radically altered.

Including his own role.

Vanja Lithner was Sebastian's daughter.

This was now perfectly clear to him. It was one of the best days in his life, and a real before-and-after moment.

Before the knowledge about Vanja.

After the knowledge about Vanja.

And now Edward was needed. Edward, and no one else.

Ralph was in the way now. He had been useful during the journey. The information he had just supplied was crucial. But he was still no more than a little worm who didn't have the courage to look Hinde in the eye. A little boy in an elongated body who had recently started trying to take on a role he couldn't fulfil. Hinde had become aware of Ralph's growing self-confidence when he suddenly discovered that hyperlinks and quotations about the current spate of murders had been inserted all over the place on fygorh.se, among all the randomly selected material. There was something on every page.

Media attention had never been important to Hinde. It was banal, one-dimensional and provided no real satisfaction. But it had an effect on Ralph. He had become like a teenager who wanted to be seen. Proactive. Seeking acknowledgement. Admittedly it was a natural progression, and Edward had always known that a change would take place. But the speed of Ralph's journey had surprised him. He used to kneel before Edward, but now he was worshipping another god: the limelight.

He remembered their first encounter. Ralph had managed to mumble that he had read everything that had been written about Hinde. He felt that they were alike. That they had a great deal in common. Hinde had politely encouraged further conversation. The tall, skinny man in front of him showed such obvious signs of submissive weakness that Hinde had immediately seen how easy it would be to lead him. He didn't know where, not at that point. But he had started working on Ralph right away, and the result had surpassed all his expectations. Ralph told Hinde about his sick mother – that was obviously what they had in common. Hinde had briefly considered punishing Ralph at once because he had called Edward's mother sick, but had restrained himself. The opportunity to administer punishment was always there, while the opportunity to manipulate someone in exactly the way you wanted was considerably more difficult to come by. Ralph had talked about his ‘grandfather', about the lodge and the people wearing animal masks. Yet another thing they had in common. The abuse. Edward had let him carry on. Ralph would never understand that however much they had in common, it would always be overshadowed by the differences between them.

Throughout his entire life, Ralph had never got his own way.

Hinde always got his own way.

But at the same time, Ralph was out there. One of his representatives in the real world. His source of information for the great plan.

Invaluable in the short term.

In the long term – eminently replaceable.

At that moment it came to him. The idea. In its simple clarity Hinde saw the perfect use for the worm. The place where someone who was prepared to bend and bend yet again could be most useful in the new landscape Edward saw before him. It was perfect. It just had to be done in the right way. The way that would cause Sebastian the greatest amount of pain.

He began by giving Ralph another task.

There weren't many left.

He wanted to keep one for himself.

So it would have to be Ellinor Bergkvist.

Planning. Patience. Determination.

The three most important words for him right now. Nothing could be allowed to go wrong this time. The long kitchen knife, the nightdress and the nylon stockings were neatly packed in the black bag waiting in the hallway. Food and drink in a carrier bag next to it. The digital camera was in his pocket, along with the smaller, razor-sharp Leatherman mountain knife. He had changed into a blue polo shirt and beige chinos. The same clothes he had worn for the first four murders. Well-dressed, but anonymous. When he went to take Anna Eriksson, that was the first time he had worn a disguise. He had felt that he needed it. His planning time had been minimal, and he had to strike within a certain period. She didn't live alone, and might have been warned. He had had to make sure she would let him in. Hence the disguise. He had deviated from the ritual. Punishment had followed. The fat man had turned up.

Ralph had gone to the barber's around the corner as soon as he received Ellinor's name through fygorh.se. He didn't want a haircut. He had his hair cut exactly every ninety-one days. Rituals. He just wanted a different style. That was frightening enough. He changed his cap for one in the same style, but a different colour; he tucked it in his back pocket and hooked his sunglasses into the open neck of his polo shirt instead of wearing them. At least he had them with him. He was not breaking the ritual. He was modifying it.

He gazed at himself in the bathroom mirror and hated the way he looked. He ran his hands through the unfamiliar, well-groomed hair. It felt oddly sticky and coarse. The hairdresser had informed him that it was some kind of product that would enable him to slick his hair back. She had persuaded him to buy two jars to be on the safe side. He smiled at himself and his new look. Tried to like it. Told himself that now he looked more like one of those cool guys who hung out around Stureplan rather than the tall skinny man nobody noticed. That it was an improvement. It wasn't. But it was all in a good cause. Nothing could be allowed to go wrong this time. Nothing. The man he idolised had forgiven him and given him another chance. Because it was important to Ralph. The Master cared about his feelings. No one had ever done that before, and he had no intention of betraying that trust. If it meant making minor changes to what he was wearing and perhaps a new hairstyle, those were small sacrifices compared with the bigger picture. The important thing was to get it right from now on. Obviously he needed to be more careful.

He had no idea how much or how little those who were on his trail might know, but the more hours that passed since the man in the car died, the safer he felt. If they had known his identity, they would have been knocking on his door by now. There wouldn't be any kind of surveillance operation. They would come for him straight away.

The Master had taken four. He was on the way to his fifth. Soon he would be making history. The thought made him pull himself together. Take control of himself and his feelings. Realise how important it was to remain calm.

Outside it was a little cooler than it had been for the last week, and he walked quickly towards the subway station, which was about ten minutes away.

He didn't like having to use a different form of transport, but he didn't dare use his own green Polo. He had parked the silver Toyota in Ulvsunda as per instructions, but the Master hadn't said anything about a new car in his short message. Somehow he was the one who had access to stolen cars. Ralph merely received instructions on where to pick them up and where to leave them. Someone else took care of that side of things; Ralph had no interest in who that might be. The Master had several people working for him, he knew that. But this time there had been no mention of a new car, so he would have to take the subway to and from Vasastan. On the way he called in at a flower shop. Bought twenty red roses and asked the florist to create a romantic bouquet, complete with a little card. He wrote a simple message: ‘Forgive me. Love, Sebastian.' He liked that. It felt good to link Sebastian even more clearly with the woman who would soon be dead. Ralph decided he would leave the bouquet on the kitchen table, with the card clearly visible to the police. He wished he could see their expressions when they found a dead body in the bedroom and a romantic bouquet in the kitchen.

This was all according to the ritual, he convinced himself. He always left clues behind. This was just another clue. In a different way. The Master would appreciate the gesture, he knew it.

Ralph paid for the flowers and went back out into the sunshine. He must look like a man in love, he thought. A cool guy buying a bunch of red roses for the woman he had just met. He removed the sticky label from around one of the stems: Västertorp Floristry.

Clues, yes.

But only those he chose to leave.

That was planning.

Ellinor Bergkvist had spent the day doing all kinds of different things. She had called work and arranged to take the leave she was owed. Watered all the plants in her apartment and asked the widow Lindell on the third floor to keep an eye on them while Ellinor was away. Fru Lindell had persuaded her to stay for coffee and cakes, and they had sat chatting for almost an hour. It had been very pleasant, but after a while Ellinor began to feel that she still had a lot to sort out at home.

You couldn't just drop everything for a man, however wonderful he might be. You had to make sure you left your home in good order. Particularly if a neighbour was going to be wandering around the place while you were away.

So she gave the apartment a thorough clean. Vacuumed, dusted, wiped down surfaces. Cleaned the windows. Changed the sheets and plumped up the cushions on the sofa. Emptied the fridge and decided to move all the plants out onto the balcony so that there would be no reason for fru Lindell to go anywhere else.

When she had finished, she sat down on the sofa with a small glass of her favourite cognac. She had had the bottle for several years, and only treated herself to a drop on special occasions. It was from a small producer and was expensive but good. It made her feel special and exclusive in a world of simple rewards. A world that didn't know how to take pleasure like her.

To live like her.

To love like her.

The days had been intense since Sebastian Bergman had come storming into her life. She needed a little while with herself and her thoughts before she moved on. She sipped slowly, and just sat there.

A little bit of time to herself. In the moment.

Before her life continued.

Ralph got off the subway at Odenplan. He wasn't sure if that was actually the closest station for Västmannagatan, because he travelled on the green line too infrequently to be certain, but that was how it had looked on the map. There weren't many other travellers on the platform, and he quickly emerged from the depths. Crossed the main road and headed west. Västmannagatan ought to be a few blocks away. He had never been there on foot before. As he walked along he thought about how to proceed. He took out his mobile and called Ellinor's number. She answered on the third ring.

‘Ellinor Bergkvist.'

Ralph ended the call immediately. She was at home. He knew she lived alone in her apartment, and he had managed to get hold of the entry code for the outside door of the block the day after Sebastian's first visit, when he had helped an elderly lady inside, so at least the first hurdle was taken care of. But after that he would have to improvise. As in the case of Anna Eriksson the planning was inadequate, which bothered him. But the alternative was to keep her under surveillance for weeks, or at least days, and he knew the time was no longer available. They had moved into a new phase. Everything must happen faster. Decisions as well as actions. He ought to be able to cope. He would cope. He was experienced now. On the verge of making history. He was the inoffensive delivery man from the flower shop, bringing a gift. What woman wouldn't open the door to him?