The Disappeared (2 page)

Fredrika: We’re not married.

Roger: Sorry?

Fredrika: Spencer and I are not married.

Urban: That’s irrelevant; this case has been incredibly difficult and . . .

Fredrika: You’re out of your bloody minds. Mitigating circumstances . . . how many do you need? Jimmy, his own brother, is dead. Dead. Do you get that?

(Pause.)

Roger: We know that Peder’s brother is dead. We know that Peder was in a dangerous situation. But back-up was on the way, and there is nothing to indicate that he didn’t have the situation under control. So why did he fire his gun?

(The witness is crying.)

Roger: Can’t you just tell us the whole story, from start to finish?

Fredrika: But you already know everything.

Urban: Not everything, Fredrika. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be sitting here.

Fredrika: Where do you want me to start?

Urban: From the beginning.

Fredrika: From the discovery of Rebecca Trolle’s body?

Urban: Yes, I think that would be a good place to start.

(Silence.)

Fredrika: OK. I’ll start there.

2

Inspector Torbjörn Ross was standing motionless among the trees in the forest glade. Straight-backed, his feet kept warm by lined Wellington boots. A chilly spring breeze crept by as the sunlight filtered down through the trees. It would soon be time to put the boat back out on the water.

Torbjörn gazed at the macabre discovery that had come to light when the two sacks unearthed by the dog an hour ago were slit open. The lower part of a body, and the torso.

‘How long has she been lying there?’ he asked the forensic pathologist.

‘It’s impossible to be precise out here, but I’d guess at around two years.’

Torbjörn let out a whistle.

‘Two years!’

‘I’m guessing, Ross.’

A constable coughed to attract Torbjörn’s attention.

‘We can’t find the hands or the head.’

Torbjörn muttered to himself, then said, ‘This is an old crime scene. I want a detailed examination of the entire area to see if the missing body parts are nearby. Use the dogs, and dig carefully.’

He didn’t expect to find either the hands or the head, but he wanted to be sure. Cases like this always attracted a great deal of media attention. There was a limited margin for error. He turned back to the pathologist.

‘How old do you think she is?’

‘Unfortunately all I can say at this stage is that she’s young.’

‘And there’s no sign of any clothing.’

‘No, I can’t find any traces of rotted fabric.’

‘A sex crime.’

‘Or a murder where it was vital that the victim couldn’t be identified.’

Torbjörn nodded thoughtfully.

‘You could be right.’

The pathologist held out a small object.

‘Look at this.’

‘What is it?’

‘A navel piercing.’

‘Bloody hell.’

The piece of jewellery rested between his thumb and forefinger: a silver ring with a tiny disc. Torbjörn rubbed it on his sleeve.

‘There’s something engraved on it.’

He peered at it, turning away from the bright sunshine.

‘I think it says “Freedom”.’

It slipped out of his hand and disappeared in the soil as he spoke.

‘Damn.’

The pathologist looked distressed.

Torbjörn retrieved the item and went to fetch an evidence bag to put it in. Identification shouldn’t be a problem now. Strange that a murderer who had been so meticulous otherwise should have missed such a crucial detail.

The body parts were lifted onto a stretcher with great care; they were then covered and taken away. Torbjörn stayed behind and made a call.

‘Alex,’ he said. ‘Sorry to disturb you so early, but I wanted to warn you about a case which is bound to end up on your desk.’

It would soon be time for lunch. Spencer Lagergren wasn’t really hungry, but as he had a meeting at one o’clock and didn’t know how long it would take, he wanted to make sure he had something to eat beforehand.

He ordered chicken and rice at Kung Krål restaurant in the Old Square in Uppsala, and after his meal he walked quickly through the town, up towards Carolina Rediviva, past the majestic library and on towards the English Park where the Department of Literature was based. How many times had he taken this route? Sometimes he almost believed he could do it with his eyes shut.

His leg and hip began to ache when he was only about halfway there. The doctors had promised him a return to full mobility after the car accident, if only he would be patient. In spite of this it had been difficult to remain optimistic at first. It had been such a close thing. How ironic it would have been if he had died just when everything was starting to come right. After decades of unhappiness, Spencer was about to pull himself together and do the right thing. And that led to even more unhappiness.

He had been off sick for several months. When he became a father for the first time, he had just started learning to walk again. During the birth he didn’t know whether to sit or stand; the midwife offered to wheel in a bed so that he could lie down. He declined, politely but firmly.

With the baby came fresh energy and an ability to recover. The split from Eva was nowhere near as dramatic as he had imagined it would be. His departure was overshadowed by the car accident that almost cost him his life, and the woman who was now his ex-wife didn’t say a word as the removal men emptied their home of his belongings in just a few hours. Spencer was there to make sure everything went smoothly, keeping an eye on proceedings from his favourite armchair. When the van was loaded it felt almost symbolic as he rose from the chair and allowed it to be carried out as the very last item.

‘Look after yourself,’ he said as he stood in the doorway.

‘You too,’ Eva said.

‘I’ll be in touch.’

He raised his hand in a hesitant gesture of farewell.

‘Good.’

She smiled as she spoke, but her eyes shone with unshed tears. Just as he was about to close the door he heard her whisper:

‘Things were good between us for some of the time, weren’t they?’

He nodded to show his agreement, but the lump in his throat prevented him from speaking. He closed the door of the house that had been their shared home for almost thirty years, and one of the removal men helped him down the steps.

That was almost nine months ago, and so far he hadn’t been back.

However, life had been full of other, more trivial steps on the road to recovery. His return to work was one example. Rumours spread like wildfire through the faculty that the esteemed professor had left his wife and home to live with a young woman in Stockholm who had just had his baby. Spencer realised with a wry smile that people couldn’t decide whether it was appropriate to offer their congratulations when he became a father.

The only thing he found difficult about his new life, apart from his restricted mobility, was the move to Stockholm. All of a sudden he felt spiritually lost. When the train pulled into the station in Uppsala, he didn’t want to go back. This town was a big part of his identity, not only professionally but privately too. The rhythm of life in Stockholm didn’t really suit him, and he missed Uppsala more than he was prepared to admit.

He had reached the university. The head of the Department of Literature was Erland Malm, and he and Spencer had known each other ever since they were both newly employed graduates working towards their doctorates. They had never been close, but nor had they been enemies, or even rivals. Their relationship could be described as good, but nothing more.

‘Sit down, Spencer,’ said Erland.

‘Thanks.’

It was nice to rest his leg and hip after the walk. He leaned his stick against the arm of the chair.

‘I’m afraid I’ve received some rather distressing information,’ Erland went on.

Distressing?

‘Do you remember Tova Eriksson?’

Spencer thought for a moment.

‘I was her supervisor last autumn, along with Malin, the new tutor. I’d just started working part time.’

‘What are your recollections of your work with Tova?’

A sound from the corridor reminded them that Erland’s office door was open; he got up and closed it.

‘I don’t remember there being any problems.’ Spencer spread his hands wide, wishing he’d been offered a cup of coffee.

‘She wasn’t particularly conscientious, and both Malin and I wondered why she’d chosen such a tricky topic for her dissertation. It wasn’t easy to set her on the right track. As far as I recall, her dissertation wasn’t approved at the final seminar.’

‘Did you have many meetings with her?’

‘No, only a couple; Malin took care of the rest. I think that annoyed Tova; she didn’t really want to be supervised by a tutor rather than a professor.’

Spencer’s stick slid to one side, and he propped it against Erland’s desk.

‘What’s this actually about?’

Erland cleared his throat.

‘Tova Eriksson claims that you put obstacles in her way from start to finish. That you said you wouldn’t help her unless she . . .’

‘Unless she what?’

‘Carried out sexual favours for you.’

‘I’m sorry?’

Spencer laughed out loud before the anger kicked in.

‘
I’m sorry
, but surely you’re not taking this seriously? I hardly had anything to do with her! Have you spoken to Malin?’

‘We have, and she backs you up. But at the same time she acknowledges that she wasn’t present at your meetings with Tova.’

The last sentence was left dangling in the air.

‘Erland, for God’s sake! The girl must be out of her mind. I’ve never overstepped the mark with my students, you know that.’

Erland looked embarrassed.

‘You had a child with one of your former students. Several members of the department find that rather strange. Not me, of course, you know that, but some people.’

‘Like who?’

‘Now let’s not get upset . . .’

‘
Like who?
’

‘Er . . . Barbro and Manne, for example.’

‘Barbro and Manne! Bloody hell, Manne lives with his own stepdaughter, and . . .’

Erland slammed his hand down on the desk in sheer frustration.

‘It’s you we’re talking about, Spencer! Manne was a bad example – I take that back.’

He sighed heavily.

‘Another student saw you giving Tova a hug on one occasion.’

Spencer ransacked his overheated brain.

‘She said her father had had a heart attack, and that was why she was finding it difficult to concentrate. She said she was spending a lot of time at the hospital.’

‘Her father is dead, Spencer. He was a town councillor; he died of leukaemia several years ago.’

The stick slid to the floor and Spencer didn’t bother to pick it up.

‘Are you sure that’s why you gave her a hug?’

Spencer looked at him, and Erland tried again.

‘I mean, a hug isn’t necessarily a bad thing, just as long as you know what’s behind it.’

‘She said her father was ill, Erland. That’s what she told me.’

Erland shuffled uncomfortably.

‘I’m afraid this will need to be taken further, Spencer.’

The April sunlight found its way into the room, making the shadows of the flowers in the window dance on the floor. Soon it would be the festival of Valborg, 30 April, and the students were getting ready to party. Picnics in the parks, raft racing on the river Fyris.

‘Spencer, are you listening to me? This is serious. Tova’s best friend has just been elected chair of the student union’s equality committee; it doesn’t look good if we don’t pay attention to what she is saying.’

‘But what about me?’

His heart ached for Fredrika.

‘You’ve had a tough year; take some time off.’

‘If that’s your final word on the matter, there’s a risk that I won’t come back at all.’

Consternation on the other side of the desk.

‘Listen to me, Spencer. This will all be sorted out by the summer. Girls like Tova are always caught out if they’re not telling the truth.’

‘
If
they’re not telling the truth?’

Spencer snorted and got to his feet.

‘I would have expected more of you, Erland.’

Erland Malm walked silently around the desk and picked up Spencer’s stick.

‘Say hello to Fredrika from me.’

Spencer left the room without bothering to reply. He was furious and anxious at the same time. How the hell was he going to get out of this?

‘Rebecca Trolle,’ said Alex Recht.

‘How do you know?’ asked Torbjörn Ross.

‘Because I was in charge of the investigation when she disappeared almost two years ago.’

‘And you never found her?’

Alex stared at his colleague.

‘Obviously not.’

‘The hands and head are missing and the body is in a very poor condition. Identification will be difficult, but of course it will be possible using DNA if we have something to compare it with.’

‘Which we do. But you can regard the official identification as a formality; I know it’s Rebecca Trolle.’

Alex could feel his colleague’s gaze; he had encountered more looks like that than he could count over the past six months. Curious eyes that pretended to convey sympathy, but in fact held only doubt.

Is he going to make it? they seemed to be wondering. Can he cut it now he’s lost his wife?

Margareta Berlin, head of Human Resources, had been a refreshing exception to the rule.

‘I’m trusting you to give me the signals I need,’ she had said. ‘Don’t hesitate to ask for help. And don’t doubt that I’m behind you, because I am. One hundred per cent.’

It was only then that Alex had lowered his guard and asked for some leave.

‘Do you want me to sign you off on the grounds of ill health? I can sort that out.’

‘No, I just want some leave. I’m going to do some travelling.’

To Baghdad, he could have added, but it sounded far too exotic to say it out loud.

Alex held up the item of jewellery from the navel piercing.

‘Her mother gave her this when she passed her final exams at school. That’s why I know it’s her.’