The Man Who Watched Women (49 page)

A taxi was coming towards her; it looked as if it was free, and she quickly raised her arm to hail it. She was delighted when it braked and stopped right in front of her. She picked up her case and jumped in the back. Saw a tall man a short distance away staring at her; he walked out into the street after they had driven past him. He seemed to be looking for a taxi as well, she thought as she looked back and noticed him trying to flag down a cab heading in the opposite direction; it didn't stop. She smiled. She had been lucky to get this one.

It was definitely her lucky day.

She asked the driver to take her to Östermalm.

To love.

Sebastian Bergman had been ringing Trolle all day. His disquiet had grown with each unanswered call. It would soon be more than sixteen hours since they had parted company outside Anna Eriksson's apartment block. They had never been closer than at that moment, and the warmth Sebastian had felt made his anxiety all the more palpable. Particularly as Anna was now safe. He should have heard that from Trolle, if nothing else. That had been the whole point of his former colleague's presence outside her apartment.

To protect her.

To protect Vanja.

To protect the secret.

But Sebastian didn't know what else he could do, apart from continuing to try Trolle's number.

He focused on the approaching meeting with Hinde in order to clear his mind. Apart from that, he was no use whatsoever as a member of the team. Vanja was absolutely right. He set off to look for Torkel. He needed to get the meeting with Hinde arranged as soon as possible. Edward Hinde was the key. Sebastian's earlier distaste had vanished, and he was positively longing to confront Hinde alone, without needing to worry about Vanja. He would win the next encounter. Go for a knockout.

Torkel wasn't in his office. According to his secretary, he was in a board meeting upstairs. Sebastian stomped up one flight of stairs and walked over to the window of the big conference room they used. Torkel was sitting in there with a number of others. Obviously top brass. Some of them were even wearing those stupid white uniforms with gold epaulettes. Sebastian hated police officers with gold epaulettes. They were as far removed from real police work as it was possible to be. They never went anywhere near a crime scene; they only appeared on TV or in some conference room with a bottle of mineral water in front of them. Like now. Sebastian plonked himself down just outside the window. Torkel hadn't seen him. Or at least he wasn't letting on that he had. Sebastian's frustration grew, and when he had been sitting there for fifteen minutes, he could contain himself no longer. He got up and flung open the door of the conference room.

‘Afternoon. Are you sitting here trying to solve the murder of Olof Palme?'

The room fell silent, and everyone stared at him. The odd face was familiar from the old days, but Sebastian didn't recognise most of them. However, the one person he did know well got to his feet.

‘Sebastian, the door was closed for a reason,' Torkel said, suppressed rage in his voice. ‘We're in a meeting.'

‘I can see that. But I have to see Hinde. Today. We can't wait any longer.'

‘The visiting order hasn't arrived yet. I'm doing my best to hurry it up.'

‘Do more than your best. Get it sorted.'

‘We're not going to talk about this now, Sebastian.' Torkel looked around apologetically before turning back to Sebastian. ‘I'd like you to leave, please.'

‘If I can just have that visiting order I'll disappear immediately. Promise.'

Sebastian looked at the collection of people around the table. Most of them met his gaze with a mixture of surprise and contempt. He realised he was completely in the wrong, but he just couldn't play by their stupid rules anymore. Lives were at risk. Not just his own.

‘I'm sure your smartly dressed friends want to solve this case before he cuts the throat of a fifth victim. I'm the key.'

He saw Torkel's eyes flash. Obviously he had gone too far. A woman sitting on Torkel's right got to her feet, slowly and deliberately. Sebastian recognised her as the national chief of police.

‘I don't think we know each other,' she said in a voice that could cause frostbite. The civilised way of saying: ‘Who the hell are you?'

‘No, we don't,' Sebastian replied, firing off his most winning smile. ‘But if you can help me sort out that visiting order, you might get the chance.'

Torkel marched over to Sebastian and grabbed him by the arm. ‘Excuse me. Back in a moment.'

He dragged Sebastian out and shut the door behind him.

‘What the fuck are you doing? Have you lost your mind? Do you want me to throw you out?'

‘Why is it taking such a long time? Is Haraldsson being difficult?'

‘I have no idea! It doesn't bloody matter! We just have to wait. You're not a police officer, so it takes a little while. If you don't like it, you can piss off right now.'

‘Oh, sure. You can threaten me with that as often as you like. I'm the only one who can put a stop to the murders. You know that.'

‘Your expertise and your invaluable insights have certainly been a great help so far.'

‘Sarcasm isn't really your thing.'

There was a short silence. Torkel was breathing heavily.

‘Okay, let me put it this way. Go home. You cost too much.'

‘I'll work for free.'

‘I wasn't talking about money.'

Sebastian met Torkel's eye and swallowed the comment that was on the tip of his tongue.

‘I'll let you know when the visiting order arrives.' Torkel opened the door and went back into his meeting. Sebastian could hear him apologising before the door closed and Torkel's voice became an indistinct murmur.

For a second Sebastian wanted to go back in. Make himself look even more ridiculous.

But that would have been a step too far. Way too far.

He had done enough damage as it was.

For once he did as Torkel said and went home.

It took him a while. He had to check first to see if anyone might be following him. A silver Toyota, above all, but he regarded every car that drove past or was parked by the pavement with a certain degree of suspicion. He peered into every single one. The murderer had switched cars once, and he could do it again. He zigzagged home, went round in circles, and took plenty of time. Only when he was absolutely convinced that no one was following him did he walk through the front door of his apartment block on Grev Magnigatan. Climbed the stairs, went inside and sat down on the bed in his room.

His anxiety about being followed. The secrets. The double dealing. Trolle. The women. Vanja. Everything was taking its toll on him, making him act irrationally, and if he carried on like this there was a risk that he wouldn't be allowed to see Hinde at all. An organisation like the police service was only prepared to accept a certain level of conflict without results, he was well aware of that.

He lay down on the bed. Closed his eyes and tried to switch off. The apartment was silent and still. It was nice just to lie there. He tried to breathe quietly and meditate, as Lily had once taught him.

Deep breaths. Regular. Slow. Find the stillness.

He had loved Lily so much. The memory of her was always just behind the image of Sabine, its contours softer and fainter, but always there like a shadow. He knew why she was number two. Because he was ashamed. He had let go of their daughter. Lost her to the sea.

The feelings of loss suddenly overwhelmed him, the steady breaths immediately replaced by the ragged breathing of grief. He felt persecuted. By himself and his memories. He could never be free of them.

Sitting up, he caught sight of the plastic handles of Trolle's carrier bag sticking out from under the bed. It was here too, the proof of who he really was. Half hidden under the bed were the documents, ordered and paid for by him, that could besmirch Vanja's parents. What had they actually done to him? Nothing. Anna had simply tried to protect her daughter from a man who was capable of anything. Valdemar knew nothing, Anna had said. That was doubtless true. But in spite of the fact that both of them were innocent, he had wanted to hurt them, punish them. They weren't even his real opponents. That was down to him, and him alone.

His own worst enemy.

He slowly picked up the bag from the floor. He ought to burn it. Destroy it. He had no right to their lives. He barely had the right to his own life. If only he knew where to find some matches. In the kitchen, perhaps. He went in and started with the drawers. Cutlery in the top one. Various kitchen utensils in the second. No matches. Pot holders and table mats that he never used in the third. Suddenly the doorbell rang. He looked towards the hallway in surprise. He couldn't remember when that had last happened. Probably somebody wanting to sell him something. Or Jehovah's Witnesses. The bell rang again. He decided to ignore it; he was busy and he couldn't be bothered to get rid of them. But then he heard the voice outside.

‘Sebastian. Open the door. I know you're in there.'

It was her. Ellinor Bergkvist. This couldn't be happening. What was she doing here?

‘Come on, Sebastian, open this door!'

She rang the bell again. For longer this time. Persistent. Could she really know he was in there? With Ellinor that didn't seem impossible. Another ring.

‘Sebastian!'

With a curse Sebastian left the kitchen, threw the plastic bag under the bed as he was passing the spare room, marched into the hallway and yanked the door open. Tried to look as annoyed as possible. It wasn't difficult. Not with Ellinor Bergkvist standing on the landing. She had a black cabin case with her and she was smiling happily and expectantly at him.

‘Here I am,' was the first thing she said. As unequivocal as her smile.

His response was equally unequivocal. ‘What the hell are you doing here?'

‘I think you know that.' She raised her hand as if she wanted to touch him, stroke his cheek perhaps. Sebastian instinctively took a step back. Ellinor carried on smiling at him. ‘Can you take my case?'

Sebastian shook his head. ‘I asked you to leave the city for a while. Until the murderer has been caught.' He looked at her, his expression serious. ‘Don't you understand? You're in danger.'

Her reaction was to pick up the suitcase herself and push past him into the hallway. He let her. Or, to be more accurate, he didn't have time to stop her. Ellinor had a talent for taking him by surprise. She put down the case.

‘Am I really in danger?' She stepped forward and closed the door behind her. Turned to face him. Came very close. With those green eyes he found so hard to resist. ‘Or is it just that you want me here?'

Once again she reached out to touch him. This time he let her. He didn't really know why. There was something about Ellinor that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He could smell her breath. Sweet and fresh, as if she had just been sucking a lozenge. Always ready.

‘The way I want you?' she went on as she caressed his cheek, his neck, slipped her hand inside his shirt. He was annoyed and turned on at the same time. He had met a lot of women, but never anyone like her. She just didn't listen to him. Whatever he said, she transformed it into something else. Something positive. For her. She was the fixed point in a universe all of her own.

He tried again. ‘What I said was true. I didn't make it up.'

‘I believe you,' Ellinor said in a teasing tone which suggested the exact opposite. ‘But I might just as well stay with you instead of sitting all alone in some hotel room.' She took his hand and placed it on her breast. ‘This is much nicer, and much cosier.'

Sebastian tried to gather his thoughts. Ellinor was showing clear signs of stalker tendencies. The hand-holding on that first evening, the flowers and phone call on his name day, the way she had interpreted his warning. She might not be ill in the medical sense of the word, but her connection to Sebastian was definitely unhealthy. He ought to throw her out.

‘We've only made love at my place,' Ellinor whispered into his ear.

‘We haven't made love anywhere. We've screwed.'

‘Now don't you go spoiling this with ugly words.' She gently bit his earlobe. She smelled of soap. Her skin was soft and warm, and he allowed his hand to slide up over her breast, around the back of her neck, her throat. He ought to explain that he definitely hadn't just made the whole thing up as some crazy scheme to get her to move in. That she had to listen to him. Understand that he was serious.

But if that was what he wanted, why was he standing here carrying on like this in the hallway? Why was he pulling her close and leading her towards his bedroom? Those green eyes were to blame.

It was their fault.

Because there was something about her.

She always got past his resistance.

He lay in bed afterwards as she inspected the apartment. He actually felt more relaxed than he had for a long time. He hadn't been to bed with anyone in the apartment since Lily. He had always played away. Surprisingly enough, he felt no guilt. The usual post-coital angst was conspicuous by its absence. Reluctantly he realised he was lying there listening to Ellinor as she wandered around. She sounded happy. He smiled as he heard her cheerful exclamations about the number of rooms and the possibilities.