The Disappeared (44 page)

It’s not him.

Even though the quality of the image was poor, Fredrika could see from a distance of several metres that the man in the picture was not the Valter Lund she had interviewed earlier in the day.

Could Kripos have made a mistake? Virtually impossible.

She tried to shut out the chatter of her colleagues in the conference room. If Valter Lund had stolen another man’s identity, then he must have done so at a very early age. Was that kind of thing even possible?

She looked at the man on the passport photograph. His expression was grim; he had long hair and a tattoo on the lower part of his neck, just visible above his T-shirt. How had his path crossed that of the man who was now such a well-known figure in the business world? And how had the identity switch been achieved? Murder?

Regardless of who he really was. Valter Lund was too young to have murdered the woman who had been buried the longest. He could have killed Elias Hjort, but in that case he must have known the person or persons who had murdered the woman, because otherwise he wouldn’t have buried Hjort’s body in the same place.

Alex walked in. Everyone straightened up and stopped talking.

‘Unbelievable,’ he said, dropping his mobile on the table. ‘They took the guards off the grave site last night because they’d finished digging, and apparently some idiot has come along and started filling in the crater.’

He shook his head.

‘Sorry?’ said one of his colleagues. ‘Someone turned up in the middle of the night and started shovelling the soil back into the hole?’

‘Apparently,’ Alex replied. ‘But let’s move on: we have more important things to discuss.’

Fredrika put down the fax so that she could listen properly, but a strong sense of unease had come over her. Why would someone go to the grave site in the dark and start filling the hole?

Alex updated everyone on the latest developments. He began with Valter Lund’s interview, and went on to his own inquiries into the old film.

Someone let out a whistle when he had finished speaking.

‘A genuine snuff movie. Bloody hell.’

Alex held up a warning finger.

‘A number of points regarding the film are still unclear, including the link with the two notorious books,
Mercury
and
Asteroid
. The film was made in the ’60s; whereas, the books weren’t published until the ’70s. This raises the question of whether the film might have inspired the person who wrote the books, rather than vice versa. And we still don’t know why Rebecca Trolle made a connection between The Guardian Angels and snuff movies.’

‘Does there have to be a concrete link?’ Fredrika asked. ‘It sounds as if she got quite a lot of information from Janne Bergwall. The snuff movie led back to both Elias Hjort and Morgan Axberger, and the fact that they were members of The Guardian Angels, along with Thea Aldrin, was no secret.’

‘What about Spencer Lagergren, the fourth member?’ a colleague wondered.

Fredrika looked down at the table, embarrassed.

‘He’s completely in the clear,’ Alex replied. ‘We’ve spoken to him purely to check our information, and he has nothing whatsoever to do with the other events.’

How many people knew that Spencer and Fredrika were a couple? It was difficult to read anything from the faces around the table, but Alex’s expression clearly communicated support and reassurance. He gave Fredrika a wry smile.

‘Have we heard from Morgan Axberger?’ Alex asked.

‘No,’ said Fredrika. ‘Not since this morning when he called Ellen.’

‘We’ll give him another hour, then we’ll go to his office and pick him up.’

‘Unless he’s already left the country,’ Fredrika said. ‘If he thinks we’re onto him, I mean. If he’s the one we’re after.’

‘Is he?’ Alex said.

‘Maybe. Him or Valter Lund.’ She explained what she had found out from Kripos.

‘Valter Lund is too young,’ Cecilia Torsson chipped in.

‘That’s what I thought,’ Fredrika replied. ‘But he’s still living under a false identity, in spite of the risks that must involve at his level.’

She fell silent, wondering what might lie hidden in Lund’s past. Images crowded her mind, images of strong arms digging in Midsommarkransen.

It’s not him.

Her gut instinct left no room for doubt: it wasn’t Valter Lund they were looking for. And yet he seemed to be an important part of the game.

‘We need to speak to Lund again,’ Alex said. ‘I don’t care if he was here just a few hours ago; let’s get him back.’

‘And Axberger.’

Peder’s voice came out of nowhere. No one had heard him open the door of the conference room.

Fredrika swallowed when she saw him standing there in the doorway. His eyes were narrow, exhausted slits, his face was ashen. His shoulders slumped, and his hair was standing on end. There was no point in telling him to go home until they had found Jimmy.

‘Obviously, we need to speak to Morgan Axberger,’ Alex said gently. ‘Come in and sit down, Peder.’

Peder pulled up a chair and sat down next to Fredrika.

Ellen knocked and came in.

‘I know who’s sending flowers to Thea Aldrin. Or at least, I know where they’re coming from.’

‘Who?’

‘A woman called Solveig Jakobsson. When she realised why I was calling, she suddenly refused to co-operate. But then I rang the tax office and found out who her employer is. She works at Axbergers. According to the switchboard, she’s Valter Lund’s PA.’

58

Thea Aldrin knew that it was only a question of time until it was all over. The visit from the police indicated that the drama had entered its final act, and in just a few minutes all the actors would be called to the stage to receive the audience’s appreciation.

She didn’t believe she could have done anything differently. The most important thing had always been her concern for the boy, for her son. The child she had carried and given birth to all alone. The boy who had become a young man and lost his trust in everything around him the day he went up into the loft to fetch a suitcase, and found the original manuscripts for
Mercury
and
Asteroid.

His bellowing rage had echoed in her head ever since.

‘You fucking psychopath,’ he had yelled. ‘Everything they say is fucking true, you really are sick in the head.’

She had thought she was doing him a favour by not telling him the truth. She had thought his anger would blow over. But that hadn’t happened. The following morning his bed was empty, and he didn’t come back. She wasn’t surprised that he had managed to stay away. He was a genuinely talented individual, and he had drive and ambition. He was also very good-looking.

That was why she never really got anxious in the way that people obviously expected. She went to the police, of course, and reported her son missing. She travelled far and wide in her quest to find him. But as the days went by and she didn’t break down, she noticed a change in the attitude of the police. Why wasn’t the boy’s mother grieving as she should? Why was there always an element of certainty, of assurance in her eyes?

Thea moved over to the window and gazed across at the block where the missing young man lived. The fact that he had got in the way hurt her more than she could say. You only had to look at him to see how things were; he would never have been able to tell anyone what he had heard and seen in a way that made sense.

What he had heard, above all. Thea’s voice. In his world, the fact that an old woman was talking was hardly sensational, but to those who knew she hadn’t spoken since 1981, it was big news. According to the rumours, Thea had chosen eternal silence, but they were wrong. She practised using her voice every day. When she was sure she was completely alone. With the radio on loud. Or when she was in the shower.

Thea wept as she thought about the young man’s brother. No one had told her that the detective who had come to see her with his female colleague that same afternoon was the young man’s brother, but Thea could see it at once. They had many features in common: the same eyes, the same distinctive nose and chin.

And the worry. It burned fiercely in the police officer’s eyes.

She dried her tears. It was unlikely that he would ever find his brother. Nor would he realise in which grave he had been laid to rest.

59

‘I know who he is.’

Fredrika Bergman’s chin was jutting out as it always did when she was sure she was about to be contradicted.

‘So do I,’ Alex replied.

‘Valter Lund is Thea Aldrin’s son.’

Alex had reached the same conclusion.

‘Can we be sure that Thea knows who sends her flowers every week?’

‘I have no doubt about that at all,’ said Fredrika.

‘So, mother and son. What are they hiding?’

Fredrika’s mobile rang, and Alex watched as she rejected the call.

‘If that’s Spencer, it’s absolutely fine if you want to speak to him.’

She shook her head.

‘I can only think of one thing at a time right now.’

Her eyes shone like pebbles that had just been lying in water.

For God’s sake, what is wrong with all my colleagues? Alex thought. Every single one of us is damaged.

Peder knocked on Alex’s door; he came in and closed it behind him.

‘Am I disturbing you?’

‘Of course not.’

Peder’s haggard appearance worried Alex. He understood Peder’s agony over his missing brother only too well. The problem was that Peder failed to appreciate that his own impaired judgement could jeopardise the entire investigation. Alex couldn’t afford to let that happen.

‘Don’t you think you should go home and rest for a few hours?’

Peder shook his head.

‘It’s OK, I don’t feel tired.’

A lie.

Alex turned to Fredrika.

‘If Valter Lund is actually Johan Aldrin, then where is the real Valter Lund? Have you spoken to his uncle?’

‘Not yet. But according to the Norwegian police, who have spoken to the uncle several times, Valter signed on as a crew member on a car ferry in 1980, and was never heard of again.’

‘Johan Aldrin was only young when he disappeared; he hadn’t even left school. Could he have worked on the ferry as well?’

‘I’ll get in touch with the shipping company.’

She made a note on her pad.

Peder looked from one to the other.

‘Morgan Axberger,’ he said.

‘We’ve just sent a patrol car to his office to pick him up.’

‘Good.’

Peder shuffled uncomfortably.

‘Do you think Rebecca Trolle found out who Valter Lund is?’

Alex stiffened.

‘I mean, what if they’re both equally crazy, mother and son? What if Valter Lund murdered Rebecca?’

‘Their relationship,’ Fredrika said. ‘Rebecca knew she was pregnant, but she didn’t know who the father was. She might have confronted Valter Lund, demanding that he accept the responsibility.’

‘In that case, Valter Lund is a fine actor,’ Alex said. ‘Because I had the distinct impression that he didn’t know about the pregnancy until we mentioned it.’

‘We need to speak to him again,’ Fredrika said. ‘Scare him a bit, pretend we think he’s guilty to make him start talking.’

Peder looked at them with exhausted eyes.

‘What is it he’s so grateful for?’

‘Sorry?’ Alex said.

‘He always writes “Thanks” on the card that comes with the bouquet. What is he thanking his mother for?’

When Fredrika got back to her office, she was in such a hurry that she didn’t notice Spencer at first.

‘Busy?’

She almost let out a scream.

‘God, you frightened me!’

For a moment she was at a loss. A second later, she knew exactly what to do.

‘I’ve been so worried.’

The tears came from nowhere, and she walked straight into his arms.

She could feel his breath on her hair as he stroked her back. It sounded as if he was crying too.

‘I saw your mum when I went home.’

Fredrika dried her tears.

‘I asked her to look after Saga today. I couldn’t stay at home doing nothing.’

Spencer moved back a step. There was still unfinished business between them. Things they would have to talk about, but not here and not now.

‘I gather I’m no longer regarded as a suspect in your investigation,’ he said.

‘That’s right.’

Fredrika swallowed hard and pushed a few stray strands of hair off her face.

‘So you won’t be needing a new passport after all.’

Spencer looked as if he was about to laugh, but then his face closed down again. Fredrika could feel her agitation growing.

‘We need to talk, but it’ll have to wait until I get home.’

‘And when will that be?’

‘Later. Late, in fact.’

Spencer pulled on his jacket, which he had been holding, and moved towards the door.

‘I never meant to lie to you,’ he said.

Fredrika felt the tears threatening once more.

‘Don’t do it again, Spencer.’

He shook his head slowly.

‘But you lied too.’

‘I didn’t lie, I withheld information. And there’s a big difference.’

He smiled sadly.

‘Maybe.’

Then he was gone.

Fredrika stood there alone. She wrapped her arms around her body. She felt alone when she was on her own, alone when the two of them were together.

Alex walked in.

‘Who was that?’

She assumed he was referring to Spencer.

‘That was the father of my daughter.’

Alex looked so shocked that she burst out laughing, but the laughter was accompanied by fresh tears.

‘Sorry,’ she said quickly, dabbing at her eyes.

Alex placed a hand on her shoulder.

‘Listen, if you need to take a break and go home for a while, that’s fine.’

It was almost four o’clock; there was no time to ‘take a break’.

‘I’m staying until we’re done,’ Fredrika replied. ‘How did it go with Morgan Axberger?’

‘He wasn’t in his office. His secretary said he’d gone to an emergency meeting.’

‘Do we believe that?’

‘We do at the moment, but not for much longer. We’ve made it very clear that we want to speak to him on an important matter, and he still chooses to stay away. Valter Lund, on the other hand, was where we expected him to be, and now he’s here.’