The Man Who Watched Women (67 page)

‘How are you feeling now? You've had a lot to take in.'

‘Strangely enough, I feel strong.' Ralph paused, considered, then nodded to himself. Dignified.

‘And you are. You're a worthy opponent. All you have to do is decide whose opponent you are. That's how you become a winner.'

‘You mean I should take him on?'

‘You're better than he is.' Sebastian took a deep breath. They had reached the tipping point. He could do no more groundwork at this stage. He had to get somewhere. Every minute could be critical for Vanja. ‘I need your help.'

Ralph's expression was one of pure shock. ‘You want me to help you?'

‘It's the only way. Without me you can't go up against Hinde. You'll end up as no more than a footnote in the history books, while Edward lives on.'

‘What do you want me to do?'

Sebastian had to make a real effort not to burst out laughing. He mustn't even smile. Bloody hell, he was good! It was nice to be back.

‘Answer a question.'

‘Okay.'

‘If Edward can't go to a victim's home, where would he take them instead?'

‘Do you know who it is?'

‘Yes.'

‘Has he already taken them?'

‘Yes.'

‘But you don't know where they are?'

‘No.'

Ralph smiled and shook his head. He had regained control. Perhaps a little too much. Sebastian sensed that soon Ralph wouldn't choose one opponent, but would challenge them both. He had to speed things up while remaining suitably obsequious.

‘You ought to read your book.'

‘Which one?'

‘The first one. Page one hundred and twelve.' Ralph was smiling again. Laughing quietly to himself.

‘Am I missing something?' Sebastian wanted to know, even though he was already on his way out of the room.

‘It's the emergency number: 112. The number you ring if you need rescuing. I like the symbolism, that's all.'

Sebastian didn't even bother to comment. He left the room, hoping he would never have a reason to come back.

‘What did he say?'

Torkel met Sebastian outside the door and walked down the corridor with him.

‘Have you got a copy of my books here?'

‘What books?'

‘The ones I wrote. Are they here?'

‘In my office.'

Sebastian increased his pace, yanked open the door at the end of the corridor and set off up the stairs, two at a time. The lift would have been quicker, but he just had to move. Energy was surging through his body like a physical force, and Torkel struggled to keep up.

‘Anything new on Vanja?' Sebastian called over his shoulder.

‘No. We've searched the running track in Lill-Jansskogen. Nothing,' Torkel panted. ‘We found the ambulance. Two dead, two injured. He definitely had help.'

‘Roland Johansson.'

‘Possibly. Probably.'

Sebastian continued up the stairs without slowing down.

‘Why do you need your books? What did he say?'

Torkel was breathing heavily between sentences. Sebastian didn't reply. He just kept on going. Even he was slightly out of breath by now.

‘Sebastian, answer me!'

Torkel's voice was almost at breaking point. Sebastian stopped. His former colleague was beside himself with worry. Of course. He deserved the few answers Sebastian was able to provide.

‘He said it was in there, where Hinde is.'

‘In your books?'

‘In one of them, yes.'

‘Well, you wrote it, don't you remember?'

Sebastian didn't bother answering this time. If he had remembered he wouldn't have been scurrying up the stairs. He would have told Torkel in the first place. The anxiety was preventing them from thinking clearly. He kept going, with Torkel close behind.

Once they reached Torkel's office, Sebastian went straight over to the bookshelf. He immediately recognised the brown spines with the yellow writing. He pulled out the first one. The title was
He Always Seemed So Nice
, with the subtitle
Edward Hinde – Serial Killer
. The quote was from a man who had worked with Edward for three years. Just like everyone else Sebastian had spoken to during the course of his research, his colleague hadn't suspected for a moment that there was anything dubious about Hinde. Hardly surprising. Edward Hinde was an extremely manipulative individual, adept at camouflaging his personality. Most people saw only what he wanted them to see.

‘Do you know where to look?' Torkel asked eagerly.

‘Yes. Just a minute.'

Sebastian quickly turned to the right page and began to read.

For a serial killer with Edward's need for structure, the choice of the location in which the murder takes place is extremely important. It is not chosen principally for its geographical situation. The distance from home, the ease of getting to and from the location and possible escape routes are all of less significance than the symbolic value …

He skipped further down the page.

The decision to strike in the victim's home environment is not first and foremost a matter of control; in every case the first occasion on which he was inside the house or apartment was when he committed the murder. The primary reason for the choice of crime scene is in fact the feeling of security. It may seem contradictory to state that he felt secure in a place he was visiting for the first time, but in a location where the woman does not expect to be attacked, the risk of resistance or escape is reduced …

Sebastian continued to skim the page.

‘Here.'

If it is impossible to carry out the murder in the victim's home, the most likely scenario is that he will abort his mission. As a last resort Hinde states that he could imagine trying to re-create, or even better to revisit, one of the places that has meant the most to him. For example, the place where his fantasies began, or where the series of murders began.

Sebastian closed the book.

‘Where the series of murders began,' Torkel repeated. ‘Where was the first murder?'

‘I can't remember the exact address, but it was south of the city. Västberga or Midsommarkransen, somewhere like that.'

‘Billy can look it up.'

Torkel left the room in search of Billy. Sebastian followed him.

‘The fantasies must have started at home,' he said. ‘After his mother's death. Where the abuse began.'

He met Torkel's gaze. The anticipation and tension were almost palpable.

‘He grew up in Märsta.'

Edward's mother, Sofie Hinde, had lived in her parents' house until her death. It was an isolated farmhouse not far from Rickeby, north of Märsta. That was where Edward had grown up. Sebastian had visited the house twice while writing his first book at the end of the nineties. It was already unoccupied and abandoned back then.

He and Torkel were sitting in one of the special operations unit's lead cars, speeding north along the E4 with flashing blue lights. The rest of the squad were following in two large police vans. Torkel and the team leader were discussing tactics, a map in front of them. The local police in Märsta had already cordoned off the tracks leading to and from the property, but Torkel had decided the special ops team should be the ones to go into the house itself. They had the training and the equipment; the Märsta police would act as a reserve unit. It was a complicated operation. The house itself was quite isolated, which was a good thing, but with open fields all around, it would be difficult to get close without being spotted. The fact that the hostage was a police officer increased the pressure on them all. Not that occasions like this were ever free of tension, but it was somehow worse if things went wrong when a colleague's life was in danger.

Sebastian sat in silence for most of the journey. He had tried to provide as much information from memory as he could, but there wasn't a great deal. The house was large, he recalled. Two storeys. Rundown. What he remembered most clearly was the space under the stairs where Edward had been shut in as a child. He would never forget it. Cold and raw, with a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. A rough wooden floor and the stench of stale urine. The more he thought about that dark place, the more terrified he became. The mere idea of Vanja in Edward's former home was unbearable.

When they reached Upplands Väsby, Billy called. He had found the address of the house in Midsommarkransen in the archives, and was on his way over there with another team. He promised to report back as soon as he knew more.

So there were two teams now. With the same goal. To save Vanja. Torkel looked up from the map. ‘Do you think she's in Märsta?'

Sebastian nodded. ‘His parental home would be more important than the scene of the first murder. It would give rise to more fantasies.'

Sebastian fell silent and looked out of the window. For a second Torkel considered asking more questions, but then realised he didn't have the strength. He didn't want to know too much about the way Hinde thought. Not the details, at any rate. Sebastian could keep those to himself. All he cared about was finding Vanja.

The special ops team leader leaned towards him. ‘We'll be there in twenty minutes. Max.'

Torkel nodded.

Soon it would begin.

Hinde was standing in the bedroom looking at her. He had undone the cable ties around her legs and removed her sweat pants. She had strong legs, and he had undone one tie at a time to be on the safe side, but she had remained motionless. He wasn't sure if she was conscious or not underneath the sack. He touched her warm, bare legs. Gazed at the black panties, just visible below the grey vest top. Enjoyed the moment.

Then he went over to the box, which he had placed in the middle of the room.

He opened it and reverently removed the nightdress lying at the top. It was made of soft cotton, and had never been worn before. It had almost the same pattern as the original. The one his mother used to wear was no longer made, and Ralph had searched shop after shop before he found this one, which Hinde himself had approved. The blue flowers were slightly smaller, but it gave him the same feeling as the ones he had used in the nineties.

He shook the nightdress a few times to air it, then draped it over the end of the bed. He went back to the box and took out the nylon stockings and the newly purchased carving knife. Spotted the food and drink underneath them. He would lay it all out in a little while. He wanted to get her ready first. He placed the nylon stockings next to the nightdress, then removed the knife from its packaging. Ran his thumb along the edge. It was very sharp, and felt well balanced in his hand. The blade was laminated with one hundred layers of alternating hard and soft steel, and could cut through most things.

She suddenly moved. Not much, but enough for him to conclude that she was conscious. It was time for the next step, which would involve a risk.

He wanted her to put on the nightdress herself. Perhaps not voluntarily, but he wanted to see her do it.

He began by securing her left foot with a new cable tie. There was some resistance, but he acted with firmness, and soon the job was done. He decided to use the nylon stockings later. That would be step two. He went and sat down beside her on the bed. The old springs protested, and it felt comfortable and soft with age. But that was of no significance. She wouldn't be sleeping in this bed.

Hinde reached for the knife and sliced through the rope holding in place the brown sack over her head and upper body. Grabbed hold of the bottom of the sack and pulled it off with one sharp movement. Now he could see Vanja's face and her blonde hair. She was conscious. He looked at her with interest. The silver tape fixed tightly across her mouth distorted the shape of her face a little, but she was beautiful. Her hair was tousled and her face was flushed from her struggles. But her eyes were blazing.

‘Hello, Vanja,' he said. ‘I told you we'd meet again.'

She made an angry sound in response, and he watched as she looked around in an attempt to work out where she was. He leaned forward and caressed her hair, trying gently to smooth it down. She tried to shake off his hand by throwing her head backwards and forwards. He grabbed hold of her hair to stop her from moving. Leaned even closer.

‘This is what we're going to do.' He brought the knife up so that the sharp point was touching her throat. He pressed it hard against the soft area below her chin, just above the trachea. He saw her tense with anxiety.

‘I am going to free your arms, but if you try anything I will use this. You know I am capable of doing so.'

She didn't respond.

‘Nod if you understand.'

She didn't move a millimetre. She just stared at him.

He gave her a loving smile.

This was going to be a good battle.

He liked her more and more.

Sebastian could see the police officers moving through the forest ahead of him in a crouching position. The special operations unit had split into three teams. One was approaching from the forest to the east, with Sebastian and Torkel creeping along behind them. One would come from the lake to the north, and their main task was to cut off the escape route and act as backup. The team approaching from the west would actually enter the house. They would have to crawl through the tall grass to their starting point so that no one would spot them from the house, but the setting sun would be behind them, which meant they would be quite difficult to see in any case. The critical point would be the last twenty metres, when they would be most visible from the house; they would have to run towards the target in full view, but given the critical nature of the situation, there was no better option. The leader of the unit was with the western group, and was in radio contact with the others. He had agreed that Torkel and Sebastian would follow the eastern team as far as the ramshackle barn at the edge of the meadow and wait there. It would give them a good overview of the main building. The eastern team would then continue to the ditch in front of the barn, and would move in only when the first group had entered, armed with stun grenades which they would toss into the various rooms in order to throw Hinde off balance. The grenades themselves were actually harmless, but exploded with a blinding flash and a loud bang, which would shock and temporarily deafen anyone in the room. The hope was that this would buy them enough time to prevent Hinde from harming Vanja.