The Disappeared (48 page)

Hesitantly, he keyed in the number that his fingers were itching to call. She answered immediately.

‘There was something I wanted to ask you,’ Alex said.

He didn’t have much time; he had to be brief.

‘Yes?’

He could tell that she was pleased to hear from him, and it made him wonder. Was it possible that he had met another woman who could accept that he was always impossible to get hold of, always short of time, always in a different place from her?

That question can wait.

‘Would you like to meet up this evening?’

There.
It was done. For the first time the initiative had come from him rather than Diana.

‘Yes. That would be lovely.’

‘Great. I’ll be in touch.’

He ended the call, and the phone immediately rang again.

‘Where are you?’ Fredrika asked.

‘Outside HQ. I’ve just spoken to the patrol who’ve gone off to Storholmen.’

‘Tell them to hurry up.’

‘Any particular reason?’

‘Peder.’

‘He doesn’t know anything about this, Fredrika. He doesn’t even know Jimmy’s dead.’

‘But he might find out,’ Fredrika said calmly. ‘I’m afraid he’s gone after Morgan Axberger, because he’s the only person we haven’t questioned yet. Jimmy is closer to him than anyone else in his life. Believe me, Peder will search for him night and day if necessary.’

Alex ended the call with an all too familiar feeling. The feeling that everything, yet again, was about to go badly wrong.

He called the patrol as he hurried back inside.

‘Get a bloody move on,’ he bellowed. ‘We don’t have much time!’

As Peder raised his hand to ring the bell, he suddenly hesitated. What would he do when, or if, Morgan Axberger opened the door? Ask if he was keeping Jimmy prisoner? Ask if he could have him back?

He was armed. It was small consolation, but at least it made him feel a little more secure. His eyes itched, and however much he blinked, it was becoming more and more difficult to see clearly. He wondered whether he ought to go back down the steps and take a walk around the outside of the house instead. He hadn’t done enough of a recce to form a picture of the place and its extent. If he lost control of the situation, it was important that he could get away. Particularly if he had Jimmy with him.

Jimmy. Was he even alive?

Thea Aldrin had given him as honest an answer as she dared. It was a matter of urgency, she had said. Because Morgan Axberger showed no mercy. Peder thought about the grave. Saw Axberger walking through the forest with one body after another, burying them in a spot that no one else knew about.

Their relatives must have spent years wondering what had happened to them.

Peder thought about his own visit to the grave site. He thought about all the earth that had been dug up, all the days his colleagues had spent meticulously working their way down, centimetre by centimetre, afraid of driving a spade into a body by mistake.

Strange that some people didn’t respect the sanctity of the grave. A guy at work had told him what Alex had said at the meeting: apparently some idiot had sneaked up to the crater under cover of darkness and amused himself by starting to fill it in. Why would anyone do such a thing?

A bird flew out of a tree close to the steps and made Peder jump. It disappeared into the neighbour’s garden.

Why would anyone do such a thing?

The answer was simple. They wouldn’t. Someone might possibly go and have a look, but they wouldn’t start shovelling soil into the hole. The world was spinning faster and faster, and Peder almost felt as if he might have to sit down.

All of a sudden he knew for certain.

Jimmy was dead.

The angel of death had passed through the forest once again, this time to bury Peder’s brother.

But this time you have dug your last grave.

He knocked loudly on the door. Heard himself shout – or was he yelling, bellowing? – that it was the police, open this door right now. The silence that enveloped him was broken only by the wind, rustling the treetops. He hammered on the door again, desperate for someone to open up. But no one seemed to hear his repeated knocks, blows and kicks. No one responded to his shouting and roaring.

He sped around the back of the house and ran up the steps to the veranda that looked out over the lawn; there was no one there. A glass door led into the house. Closed, but was it locked? Peder grabbed at the handle and felt it give way; the door opened.

His heart was beating so hard he thought he could hear the sound of his own pulse outside his body. Slowly, he pushed open the door. Peered into the room. Stepped inside. There were no lights on. No open windows. No unwashed dishes left lying around. Nor could he hear a sound; just that same accursed silence everywhere. He moved forward a few steps. Heard his own voice bounce off the walls as he shouted again.

‘Hello! Is anyone home? Police – my name is Peder Rydh!’

In the hallway a staircase led to the floor above. For various reasons he didn’t feel tempted to go up.

I’m staying down here, where I still have a way out.

He went back to the first room. It was some kind of reception room. An object standing on a table in one corner caught his attention.

A projector.

A film was already loaded. The same film they had heard about during the case? Peder moved across to the projector, tried to fathom out how it worked. A sound from the garden interrupted his deliberations and made him look out of the window. The summerhouse door was wide open. Had it been like that before?

He quickly went and stood by the veranda door. The garden was silent once more, but now Peder could definitely feel the proximity of another person. The sun was lower now, creating long shadows. And that was what gave Morgan Axberger away. He was crouching beneath one of the trees, just outside Peder’s field of vision. But the shadow cast by the tree was distorted by Axberger’s presence, and Peder spotted the man before he managed to leave the garden.

They didn’t say anything. Was that because Axberger knew who Peder was?

Peder walked slowly across the veranda and onto the lawn.

‘Peder Rydh, police. I’d like to ask you a few questions regarding a missing person.’

Are you the one who killed my brother?

He took a step closer to the man who had now emerged from his hiding place. He stared at Morgan Axberger. He was taller than he looked in the pictures Peder had seen in various newspapers. Well built. His gaze was sharp, granite-grey. It could just as well have belonged to a man of thirty-five. His hair was dark and thick. There was in fact very little to suggest that Axberger was over seventy years old.

‘It’s about a young man who disappeared from Mångården assisted living complex yesterday evening. Do you know anything about that?’

Morgan Axberger slowly shook his head.

‘I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding. I know nothing about a missing person.’

Really?

The lie sent the adrenalin coursing through Peder’s body.

‘According to Thea Aldrin, you took him to your car. She saw you drive off with him. His name is Jimmy Rydh.’

Morgan Axberger smiled.

‘And Thea Aldrin told you this?’

‘Yes.’

‘Thea doesn’t speak.’

‘She spoke to me.’

The smile vanished.

‘Who are you?’

‘I’ve already told you. Police. Peder Rydh.’

Peder swallowed, aware of a lump in his throat. His voice was suddenly hoarse; it sounded like a whisper.

‘I’m Jimmy’s brother.’

Axberger’s movement as he slipped his hand into his jacket pocket was so fast that Peder immediately drew his gun.

‘Stand still!’

The man who had murdered over so many years froze in mid-movement. His hand remained in his pocket.

‘Take your hand out of your pocket! Slowly!’

Axberger did as he was told.

‘I know that you know where he is. Tell me where Jimmy is!’

The pistol shook in his hand. Peder squeezed it hard. Harder. He mustn’t lose control.

Not now, not ever.

When Axberger didn’t reply, but simply carried on staring at him with that steely gaze, Peder continued:

‘It’s all over as far as you’re concerned. We already know everything. We know you murdered Rebecca Trolle and that lawyer. It’s over.’

‘I understand.’

Two pathetic words.
I understand.

‘What do you fucking understand?’

A thin smile crossed the other man’s face. ‘That my luck has run out.’ He became serious once more.

Peder was breathing deeply. A confession in the silence of the island. He thought about Rebecca. No hands, no head.

‘Is this where you dismembered her body?’

Why had he asked that? Jimmy was the most important thing right now.

To his surprise, Axberger replied.

‘No, it wasn’t here. I took her to one of the company’s big storage depots in Hägersten.’

‘Why? Was she too heavy to carry?’

‘None of us is getting any younger,’ Axberger said. ‘Obviously, I removed her hands and head purely so that it wouldn’t be possible to identify the body. I don’t know if you recall that winter, but it was cold for a very long time. When I dug the girl’s grave, the ground was still hard because of the frost, and I only managed to get through the top layer of earth.’

So if Rebecca couldn’t be buried deep enough, steps must be taken to prevent identification. Axberger’s logical explanation made Peder feel sick. He wondered what had become of her hands and head, but was unable to put the question into words. Axberger answered it anyway.

‘I burned the body parts that I’d chopped off in a drum here on the island.’

For a brief moment Peder felt as if he might throw up.

Jimmy. I have to think about Jimmy.

Axberger broke the silence.

‘Peder, is that what you said your name was? Good. Peder, let me propose a simple deal. OK?’

Peder clutched the pistol. ‘There will be no deal.’

‘But you haven’t heard my suggestion yet. To be honest, I don’t think you give a damn about the other people you mentioned just now, the young girl and the lawyer. Am I right? But your brother, that’s different. So, this is my suggestion. I’ll tell you where your brother is, and you allow me the time I need to leave Storholmen and to remove myself from Sweden and the situation in which I now find myself on a permanent basis, so to speak.’

Peder blinked.

A deal?

Suddenly, Peder was transported back in time to an entirely different case two years ago, when another perpetrator had suggested a deal. On that occasion it had ended in disaster.

‘Is he alive? Is Jimmy still alive?’

Morgan Axberger looked furious.

‘What kind of man do you think I am? Of course he’s still alive. Unfortunately, he happened to overhear a conversation between Thea and myself, which meant that I had no option but to get him out of the way – temporarily. I’m sure you’ve found yourself in a similar situation?’

Peder hadn’t. He had never had secrets of the magnitude of Morgan Axberger’s crimes.

‘Where is he?’

‘Hang on a minute. First of all you need to put down that gun.’

‘No chance. If you tell me where he is, I’ll give you three hours. Three hours. That’s the best I can do.’

Morgan Axberger thought for a moment. ‘OK, it’s a deal.’

A gust of wind passed through the garden, and Peder couldn’t help shivering. He was frozen.

‘
Where is he?
’

‘He’s in my private summer cottage in Norrtälje.’

The answer was simple and delivered in matter-of-fact tone of voice. Jimmy was alive. He was in a summer cottage in Norrtälje. Relief washed over Peder.

‘Bloody hell,’ he whispered, feeling the tears pricking at his eyes. ‘I thought . . . I really thought . . .’

Morgan Axberger looked sympathetic.

‘As I said, I’m very sorry your brother got in the way, but I hope things turn out well for both of you.’

The sound of someone cycling past along the road drifted across the garden, and Peder realised he had more questions.

‘How do I know you’re not bluffing?’

‘How do
I
know
you’re
not bluffing?’

Axberger’s eyes narrowed until they were no more than slits.

‘Let’s be honest, you could call your colleagues the minute I walk out of here. You’re the one with the upper hand, not me.’

Peder swallowed. Axberger’s argument was logical, and yet it wasn’t.

I have to know.

‘By the way, on an entirely different matter,’ Axberger said.

Peder was listening.

‘Yes?’

‘You mentioned the girl you found in the grave. I wasn’t the only one who put her there.’

Peder stared at him.

‘Who else was involved?’ he said stupidly.

That smile was back.

‘I think we both know the answer to that.’

Peder didn’t understand.

‘Håkan Nilsson?’

‘Who?’ Axberger looked blank, then annoyed. ‘You can do better than that,’ he said. ‘How do you think I even found out that there was a girl at the university writing her dissertation on Thea Aldrin?’

Peder’s mouth went dry; his head was spinning.

I haven’t a bloody clue.

He changed tack.

‘What about the lawyer, then?’

‘That was me. Elias Hjort had some particularly sensitive information about me which couldn’t be allowed to get out under any circumstances.’

Peder processed this, trying to understand how everything fitted together.

‘About those books?’

‘The books were Manfred’s work. But it was my idea to make a film of selected extracts. In this fantastic summerhouse, in fact.’

He pointed.

‘Who was the girl who died?’

‘Some insignificant tart I found on the street. Nobody reported her missing, so the loss to the world must be regarded as negligible.’

‘But what was it that Elias Hjort knew? Was he involved in making the film?’