The Disappeared (13 page)

Håkan gave a start when Peder placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘Could you come with us, please? We’d like to talk to you again.’

The interview room was too small – at least that was how it felt. Peder called Ylva before he went in.

‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Has something happened?’

The anxiety in her voice was testament to how rarely Peder contacted her during working hours.

‘No, no, I just wanted to ring and say hello. Hear your voice.’

He could sense her smile on the other end of the line.

‘That’s sweet!’

Don’t underestimate the simple things, the gestures that cost nothing.

The therapist Peder had been seeing the previous year had told him that.

‘It’s the little things that go to build up the whole, and that’s what will save you when you have to work late or over the weekend.’

In the end, Peder had started listening to the therapist, realising where he had gone wrong.

‘I can’t become a completely different person,’ he had said.

‘Nobody wants you to do that. However, you can improve on the things that you’re screwing up at the moment. Like your close relationships, for example.’

Peder’s stomach hurt as he recalled the time when he had lived apart from Ylva, and had found it difficult to fill his days. But he had made a real effort, and they were back on track; they had started to rediscover a balance in their lives.

‘By the way, Jimmy rang,’ Ylva said. ‘He wants to come over at the weekend; I said that was fine.’

Jimmy was Peder’s brother; because of a childhood accident, he would never be an independent adult. Sometimes, Peder felt that he actually envied some aspects of his brother’s life. The ability to be totally carefree that epitomised Jimmy’s approach could make anyone consider what was important in life. Jimmy’s world was limited to the assisted living complex, and it suited him perfectly. Peder knew for certain that in Jimmy’s world there were no young women who had been chopped in half with a chainsaw. He ended the conversation with Ylva and went into the interview room with Alex.

Håkan Nilsson was waiting with a legal representative who had been brought in on his behalf. His expression was nervous; he looked tired. It was obvious that he had slept badly for several nights in succession. His hands twitched like the wings of a wounded bird, sometimes resting on the table, sometimes in his lap. Sometimes he sat there picking at his face.

Alex took the lead, outlining the specific issues which led the police to suspect him.

‘I don’t understand,’ said Håkan. ‘I mean, I’ve been in here several times. I’ve always co-operated fully. Why would I do that if I was the one who killed her?’

‘That’s exactly what we’re wondering,’ Alex replied. ‘And that’s what I’d like to clarify right now. Perhaps the whole thing is a misunderstanding, in which case it would be good to get it all sorted out.’

Alex’s expression didn’t change as he spoke; he was implacable and utterly focused.

You’re not leaving here until you’ve told us the truth, Håkan.

‘Tell us about the child,’ said Peder.

‘What child?’

‘The child you and Rebecca were expecting. Were you happy?’

‘I’ve already told you, I didn’t know she was pregnant! And if she was, it definitely wasn’t mine.’

Initially, he sounded very sure of himself, then suddenly the doubt crept in.

‘Was it mine?’

‘The child was yours, Håkan. When did she tell you she was pregnant?’

Håkan began to cry.

‘Would you like some water?’

Peder poured a glass of water from the jug on the table and pushed it across to Håkan. Waited. They had plenty of time, which was essential if they were to get a result. Most criminals could cope with a short interrogation, but the longer it went on, the more uncertain they became, and sooner or later they would make a mistake.

‘Why are you crying?’

Alex’s tone was matter-of-fact without being cold.

When Håkan didn’t reply, Peder spoke:

‘Do you miss her?’

Håkan nodded.

‘I always believed she’d come back.’

Not if you strangled her and hid her in the forest, Håkan.

He snivelled and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

‘How come?’

‘It just didn’t seem possible that she could be gone forever, that she would never come back. I didn’t think that could happen. Not really.’

The tears had turned Håkan into a child. A little boy, talking as if he had the same grasp of reality as a nine-year-old.

‘Oh, come on, Håkan,’ Alex said. ‘She’d been gone for two years. Where did you think she’d gone?’

‘She might have gone away.’

He dried his tears, took a sip of the water.

‘Where to?’

‘France.’

Had that been the issue all along? The trip to France that Håkan had never been able to forgive her for?

‘Did she say anything about taking off like that?’

‘No, but you never know.’

Alex straightened up and looked deep into Håkan’s eyes.

‘Yes, you do,’ he said. ‘There are certain things that you do know.’

Håkan swallowed. Drank some more water.

‘Now tell us about the child.’

‘I didn’t know anything about the child!’

His voice grew louder in the little room.

‘She didn’t tell me she was pregnant! She never mentioned it!’

A lie has many faces, both Alex and Peder knew that. But it was impossible to work out what secrets Håkan was hiding.

‘Tell us about the time you slept together.’

Håkan blushed.

‘Like I said before, it wasn’t planned. I think she’d been seeing someone else, and she was upset because he’d dumped her. She came round to mine one evening and I opened a bottle of wine. Then we started on some vodka that I’d bought in Finland. And . . . it just happened.’

‘How did you feel afterwards?’

Håkan’s eyes shone as if he had a temperature.

‘I felt as if we were much closer.’

‘Did Rebecca feel the same?’ Peder asked.

‘I think so.’

‘Did she actually say it?’

‘No, but I could tell just by looking at her. She tried to play it down afterwards, but I knew what was really going on. She thought it was too early to have found the right person before she had even turned twenty-five.’

All at once, Håkan looked much more confident.

‘That was what I liked about her, the fact that she was clever. And mature. Not like other girls who mess around.’

Peder looked blank.

‘Did you meet up and have sex on any further occasions?’

‘No, because she wanted to wait. Just like I said.’

‘Wait?’

‘Until it felt right to go all the way.’

He laughed and spread his hands wide. Alex and Peder stared at him for a long time.

‘You don’t think you might have misinterpreted the situation?’ said Alex.

The light in Håkan’s eyes died as if someone had switched off a light.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m just wondering if the reason that you didn’t have sex again was actually because Rebecca wasn’t interested in you.’

‘That’s not the way it was. She liked me, I was important to her. The fact that she needed more time . . . I thought that was a positive sign. I mean, I wasn’t ready to live with someone, or to get married.’

‘Or to have a child?’

Håkan’s eyes flashed and he raised his voice.

‘There was no child, for fuck’s sake!’

When Alex and Peder remained silent, he went on:

‘Don’t you think she would have told me something like that? She loved me! Do you hear me?
She loved me!
’

The roar died away, disappearing in a heavy exhalation as the legal representative laid a hand on his arm.

‘She loved me.’

A whisper, as if he believed that if he said it enough times, it would become the truth.

Alex adopted a more conciliatory tone.

‘She pushed you away, Håkan. That must have been very upsetting for you.’

Håkan was weeping again.

‘She didn’t. She just needed a bit more time. And then she disappeared and she never came back.’

He buried his face in his hands.

Alex leaned forward.

‘What about those pictures you said you’d seen on the internet, Håkan? The pictures on a website where girls were selling sex?’

Håkan looked up.

‘You mustn’t show them to anyone.’

‘We haven’t got them; we don’t know how to get hold of them.’

‘They weren’t real; she should never have been on there. Someone must have put her on the website. One minute she was there, then she was gone.’

Alex frowned.

‘When did you first see these pictures?’

‘A few weeks after she went missing.’

‘And you didn’t mention it to the police?’

Anxiety appeared to be making Håkan’s skin crawl; he looked like a little boy once more.

‘She disappeared from the website; I thought I might have made a mistake.’

‘Did you tell anyone about the website?’

‘Not at first. Then I asked one of her friends, which was the wrong thing to do. After that, the rumour just took off, and I couldn’t stop it.’

Alex could just imagine the rumour spreading like wildfire through Rebecca’s circle of acquaintances until one day, much later, it reached Diana. Shameful.

‘We need to know exactly which website it was, and the date when you visited it, if you have that information.’

Håkan nodded.

‘I made a note of everything.’

‘So who do you think could have put her on there, if she didn’t do it herself?’

‘Someone who was seriously pissed off with her.’

‘Can you think of anyone who might have felt like that?’

Apart from you.

‘Maybe that fat cow Daniella.’

‘The ex-girlfriend?’

Håkan pulled a face and nodded.

Peder rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward.

‘Did you kill Rebecca?’

Håkan blinked and wiped a solitary tear from his cheek.

‘I want to go home now.’

16

The swing was really meant for older children, but Spencer Lagergren tried sliding his daughter into the seat anyway. She gurgled with glee as he began to push. There were several parents in the park, all younger than Spencer. Much younger, in fact. He was old enough to be their father, every single one of them.

Spencer’s own father had always maintained that everyone should be allowed to do things at their own speed and in their own way. Spencer had appreciated this aspect of his upbringing, and had adopted the same attitude. He had never thought he would have a child of his own as he approached the age of sixty. He gazed at Saga, unable to grasp that she was his. At the same time, there was absolutely no doubt about it. In spite of the fact that the child was so like her mother that it sometimes brought tears to his eyes when he looked at her, it was also possible to see that she had inherited some of her father’s features: the shape of the forehead, the lines around the mouth, the well-defined point of the chin.

A woman was coming towards Spencer holding an older child by the hand.

‘Look, Tova, there’s an empty swing next to this little girl.’

Tova.

Spencer forced himself to smile at the mother and gave Saga’s swing another push. He wondered whether he ought to get in touch with Tova, the student who had decided to make life so difficult for him. Perhaps he could get her to see reason, sort out the conflict that must have arisen between them, even though he hadn’t realised it.

He had tried to think back to the autumn. How had it begun? He had been working part time, and had been asked if he could supervise one of the students on the C-course. It always looked good if one of the professors was able to get involved in a dissertation, and the others didn’t have time. Spencer didn’t really have time either, which was why Malin had been asked to assist. By the end of term, she had virtually taken over full responsibility for the supervision, and Spencer hadn’t seen Tova after the final seminar.

Tova hadn’t exactly been one of the more highly motivated students. She was tired of studying, the topic she had chosen was far too advanced, and she always tried to take short cuts.

How had the supervision worked out? Badly. Spencer had had to postpone their meetings on two occasions, but he didn’t recall Tova being particularly upset about it. She had always seemed perfectly obliging when they spoke on the phone, agreeing to rearrange the date and time without raising any objections.

Perhaps she had been
too
obliging?

She had always been nicely dressed when they met. On one occasion, she had brought along a home-made cake. He remembered being embarrassed by the cake; he had forced himself to go and fetch some coffee. And when he turned around to go back to his office . . . she was standing right behind him.

Fuck.

The thought had occurred to him – just once – following that particular incident. He had wondered if she might have a crush on him. He could picture the scene; he swung around with the coffee cups and gave a start when he saw her standing just a few centimetres away from him. Smiling, with her hair loose.

‘Is there anything I can do for you?’

Bloody hell.

What had he said? Probably nothing; he had just smiled foolishly and handed her one of the cups.

‘It’s fine, thanks.’

Was that when he had signed his own death warrant?

Is there anything I can do for you?

He remembered the hug to which Erland Malm had referred. A wordless, meaningless embrace intended to provide solace. She had been finding things difficult; she had burst into tears and told him how ill her father was.

Spencer’s mouth went dry. Erland Malm insisted that Tova’s father was dead, and had been for many years. Could his memory be playing tricks on him? After all, he had been taking quite strong painkillers during the autumn and winter. But Spencer knew that wasn’t the problem. He knew exactly what had led him to give Tova a hug. Quite openly, in the corridor and in front of other people. There was no bloody way she could have misinterpreted the gesture.