The Disappeared (35 page)

Peder came into Alex’s office.

‘Shall we move on to Valter Lund, since we can’t find Lagergren?’

Alex’s mouth narrowed to a thin line.

‘Call and make an appointment to see Valter Lund to begin with,’ he said. ‘Say we’d like to see him today, if possible. In the evening, if necessary.’

Peder swallowed.

‘The press will go crazy.’

Alex suppressed a sigh.

‘We no longer have a choice. And besides, we’re only questioning him in order to obtain information, remember that.’

The sense of impotence was eating away at Fredrika Bergman from inside and out. Her colleagues were on their way to pick up her partner so that they could question him about several murders, while she was expected to sit in her office and carry on working. As if nothing had happened.

The fear had an almost anaesthetising effect. What would remain of her relationship with Spencer when all this was over? And what about the accusation that had been made against him in Uppsala? The very idea that he might have forced himself on a female student made her feel sick.

It couldn’t possibly be true.

It mustn’t be true.

She gazed at her desk, trying to put together all the little pieces of the jigsaw to form a picture that made sense. A coherent picture.

A young female student, four months pregnant, thrown into a grave alongside a solicitor aged about fifty, who had already been lying there for almost thirty years. One single common denominator: Thea Aldrin, a children’s writer who had been sentenced to life imprisonment, and who was now growing old in self-imposed silence in a care home.

If it hadn’t been for the fact that Thea didn’t communicate with the outside world, Fredrika would have already been on her way to the home to insist on questioning her.

Someone knocked on Fredrika’s door, interrupting her thoughts as if bursting a bubble. Torbjörn Ross was standing there.

‘Am I disturbing you?’

He was smiling warmly.

‘Not at all,’ Fredrika replied.

Alex had told her about their colleague’s involvement in the original Thea Aldrin case, and had mentioned that Ross was still visiting the old lady in the hope that she would one day confess to the murder of her son. Fredrika found this somewhat repugnant, but welcomed him with a smile anyway.

Her cheeks felt tight, as if her face was trying not to co-operate. She had no reason to smile. She had no
time
to smile.

Torbjörn Ross walked in and sat down opposite her.

‘I heard a rumour that you’d identified the man in the grave,’ he said.

‘We think we have,’ said Fredrika. ‘But we haven’t yet received confirmation.’

‘Who is he?’

‘His name is Elias Hjort.’

Torbjörn stared at her with such intensity that it was painful to meet his gaze.

‘Elias Hjort?’ he repeated.

She nodded. ‘Does the name mean anything to you?’

‘Too bloody right it does.’

His voice was hoarse with tension. Fredrika dropped the pen she was holding, heard it land on the desk.

‘Have you heard of two books entitled
Mercury
and
Asteroid
?’ he asked.

His eyes were burning, dark as a winter’s night.

‘The books Thea Aldrin was accused of having written under a pseudonym. But nothing was ever proved.’

Torbjörn let out a harsh laugh, devoid of pleasure.

‘We followed the money trail, which is the way the real person behind a pseudonym has always been exposed,’ he said.

He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his face.

‘We forced the publisher, Box, to tell us who received the royalties for the books.’

Fredrika frowned.

‘Why did you do that? The books were hardly illegal, after all.’

Torbjörn ignored her comment.

‘The money was paid to Elias Hjort. Not in the capacity of author, but as the legal representative of the author. But when we went looking for him to find out exactly who he was representing, he had already left the country. And we never managed to track him down.’

He laughed again.

‘Hardly surprising, if he was buried in Midsommarkransen all along.’

‘Why did you want to find out who’d written the books?’ Fredrika asked again.

‘Because of the film.’

The film?

Her mobile rang, a loud, shrill tone. She automatically grabbed it; she didn’t recognise the number.

‘Fredrika Bergman.’

Silence. Then Spencer’s voice.

‘You have to come to Uppsala.’

She heard the hesitation.

‘They’ve arrested me.’

At first, Alex didn’t understand what could possibly have gone wrong. Why had the Uppsala police decided to arrest Spencer Lagergren? And how could this have happened in Stockholm without Alex being informed?

‘They’d blocked his passport,’ Peder explained when he was reporting back to Alex later. ‘So that they’d know if he tried to leave the country.’

‘And why the hell would he do that? He’s only been accused of sexual harassment, for God’s sake!’

‘Because yesterday, the girl who reported him came back with fresh information. She’s raised the stakes significantly; now she’s accusing him of rape.’

Alex was lost for words.

‘Rape?’

Peder nodded.

‘The police in Uppsala suspected that Lagergren would be afraid of this new information coming out; they thought he might try to leave the country and stay away until it had all blown over.’

‘And when he applied for a new passport . . .’

‘. . . that gave them a reason to arrest him.’

Alex locked his hands behind his head.

‘I really didn’t think he was guilty.’

‘But in that case we don’t know why he applied for a new passport,’ Peder said.

‘Why else would he have done it?’

‘Because he needed one?’

Alex shook his head slowly.

‘Something else is going on here, Peder.’

Their deliberations were interrupted by a gentle tap on the door.

‘Sorry to disturb you,’ said Torbjörn Ross. ‘But I think I have some important information that you need to know.’

The sound of his voice made Alex stiffen, taking him back to the case involving the death of Rebecca Trolle.

‘Come in,’ he heard himself say.

And he immediately had the feeling that he was making a terrible mistake by letting his friend and colleague into the investigation.

46

Jimmy Rydh knew he was stupid. There was something wrong with his brain; he had hit his head on a rock, and it didn’t work properly. He also knew that was why he couldn’t live on his own, like Peder did. Although, of course, Peder didn’t really live on his own; his whole family lived in Peder’s apartment. Jimmy was a part of that family; Peder had said so, over and over again.

But now and again, Jimmy still found life difficult. When it came down to it, he didn’t live with his brother and his family, but with his friends in the assisted living complex. He got fed up of them sometimes; he couldn’t cope with all their silly chatter in the kitchen or the common room. He was very glad he had a room of his own, where he could be alone with his thoughts.

And with his observations.

Jimmy was standing motionless by the window, staring out across the lawn that filled the space between his own building and the one opposite. The man was looking into that old lady’s room again. Jimmy knew there was an old lady in that particular room, because he saw her almost every day. Sometimes she sat inside, but sometimes, even in the middle of winter, she would sit outside on her little patio. Where the man was now standing. Jimmy wondered if the lady could see the man who was looking in through her window. She ought to be able to see him, even though it was obvious that the man was creeping up on her. As if it were a game.

It was the second time Jimmy had seen the man, and although he didn’t know why, the man made him feel frightened. That was why he hoped the old lady hadn’t seen the man, because then she would be frightened too.

Suddenly the man moved. Towards the open patio door. And went inside. Jimmy inhaled sharply. What if the man was going to hurt the old lady?

Jimmy picked up his mobile; he would ring Peder. But Peder hadn’t wanted to listen last time, Jimmy recalled. Perhaps one of the staff could help him?

He couldn’t see the man any longer. Jimmy had a pain in his tummy. There was no time to think. He had to do something.

He opened his own patio door and went outside. He wasn’t wearing any shoes, but it was so warm that it probably didn’t matter. He had his socks on, after all.

It took him less than a minute to reach the old lady’s room and suddenly Jimmy didn’t know what to do. Should he knock on the door, call out and say hello? Intuitively, he knew that wasn’t a good idea. Instead he pressed himself against the wall, right by the window. He could hear the man talking.

‘If you’ve kept quiet for thirty years, you can keep quiet until you die,’ the man said. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’

The lady probably didn’t understand, Jimmy thought, because she didn’t speak.

‘I know why you’ve kept quiet,’ the man went on, lowering his voice. ‘And you know that I know, Thea. It’s to protect that boy of yours, and I have every sympathy with that.’

The man paused.

‘But if I go down, I will take him with me. I will crush him, if it’s the last thing I do. Do you hear me?’

At first, there was complete silence, then Jimmy heard the lady, who apparently was called Thea, say in a hoarse voice:

‘If you threaten my son once more, you’re a dead man.’

The words reached Jimmy outside the window. He couldn’t stop himself from calling out:

‘No, no, no!’

Then he stopped speaking and stood there rooted to the spot as the man inside slowly came closer.

47

The outside world had ceased to exist. Fredrika Bergman was making a huge effort to understand what the police officer opposite her was saying, but she was finding it impossible to process his words. Spencer had been arrested. He had put Saga in her buggy and walked to police HQ, where Fredrika worked, in order to apply for a new passport. In spite of the fact that his current passport was still valid for a few months.

‘We’re convinced he was intending to leave the country,’ the officer said.

‘That’s just ridiculous,’ Fredrika said.

‘I don’t think so. He knew we were onto him, so he decided to make a run for it.’

‘He’s innocent.’

‘Believe me, I know it’s difficult for you to sit and listen to this. But you have to face facts. Spencer Lagergren is not the man you thought he was. He’s a rapist. And men like that can have many different faces, as you well know.’

She was so angry that her fury threatened to consume her.

‘I’ve known him for over ten years.’

The police officer leaned back.

‘Interesting. And for how many of those years was he married to someone else?’

The rage was red, almost blinding her.

‘That’s totally irrelevant.’

‘To you, but not to me.’

She got up and left. Picked up her child and walked out of the room. Asked to speak to Spencer. She was informed that this was not possible under the circumstances.

‘We’re going to charge him,’ the officer behind her said.

‘You’ll regret it if you do,’ she replied.

The shock debilitated her. Hugging Saga tightly, and with tears pouring down her face, she left the police station. There wasn’t a single part of her that doubted Spencer’s innocence with regard to the student who had made an accusation against him. She obviously wanted to destroy his life, or at least his career. But Fredrika had no intention of allowing that to happen.

Over my dead body.

Her mobile rang in her pocket; her hand was shaking as she answered. The sound of Alex’s calm voice reached her.

‘Where are you?’

‘I’ve just left the police station.’

Saga dropped her dummy and began to whimper. Fredrika reacted automatically, replacing the dummy and settling the child in her buggy. She set off, walking quickly so that her daughter would be distracted by her surroundings as they whizzed by, and with a bit of luck would forget that she was no longer being carried.

‘Don’t do anything stupid, Fredrika,’ Alex said.

‘I won’t.’

‘I’m serious. You run the risk of making Spencer’s situation, and your own, even worse if you start acting on your own initiative.’

He must have realised that she wasn’t listening to a word he said, because he carried on with his exhortations until she excused herself and ended the call. She increased her speed and set off in a different direction. Along Luthagsesplanaden and off towards Rackarberget. She would go and see that bloody girl, pin her up against the wall. Make her understand what she was doing.

Her years as a student in Uppsala had been among the best of Fredrika’s life, and yet they felt so far away. Every street, every district held the memory of a particular event that meant something to her. Under normal circumstances she enjoyed walking around the city, but not today. A rage that was fierce enough to cloud her vision held her soul in an iron grip, and she knew it wasn’t about to let go. Her life had turned into a nightmare, and she had no idea how she was going to escape from it.

It was almost six o’clock, and Peder wanted to go home. The working day was over; they would carry on tomorrow.

‘Valter Lund,’ Alex said. ‘He’s coming in tomorrow, not today.’

‘Spencer Lagergren,’ Peder said.

Alex nodded pensively. The discovery of a third body had changed things.

‘Go over to Uppsala tomorrow, and ask if you can question him on our case. Get it out of the way. He doesn’t belong in this investigation, but he might be able to help fill in the background to everything that’s happened. Ask him about the film club, and Thea Aldrin. And our friend Elias Hjort.’

They were sitting alone in the Lions’ Den, finishing off a working day that had brought more twists and turns than they could count.

‘What’s your take on the information Torbjörn Ross gave us?’ Peder asked.