Dark Secrets (49 page)

It was beginning to look more and more unlikely that he would be the one to catch Roger Eriksson’s killer. At the moment he had more chance of winning a million on a scratch card. Without an actual card. He wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the investigation in future, Hanser had made sure of that. But Axel Johansson—there was still a chance there. As far as Haraldsson was aware, Riksmord had another suspect in custody. The principal of the boy’s school. Axel Johansson hadn’t been written off, as far as Haraldsson knew, but he had been given a lower priority.

Haraldsson was annoyed with himself because he hadn’t brought home all the available information on Johansson. He also cursed the fact that he had been drinking, because otherwise he could have driven to the station to fetch it. Taking a cab there and back would be expensive and a lot of trouble, among other things. Under no circumstances did he want to bump into his colleagues in this state. He would have to gather all the information tomorrow. When he had perfected his plan.

Haraldsson knew that Torkel’s team had spoken to Johansson’s ex-girlfriend. He needed to know what she had said. Calling her or going to see her and questioning her was not an option. If he did that and Hanser got to hear about it, he would be in even more trouble. Hanser had been very clear—excessively clear—about the fact that if Haraldsson spent as much as one minute on the Roger Eriksson case, she would arrest him for impeding the investigation. A joke, of course. Or rather, a warning. A way of demonstrating her power and putting Haraldsson in his place when he had made a little mistake for once. She was on his back straightaway. Fucking Hanser… Haraldsson took a deep breath.

Focus.

There was no point wasting time and energy cursing Hanser. He had to come up with a plan. A plan that would put her in her place. A plan that would prove which of them was the better police officer. Contacting Axel Johansson’s ex-girlfriend was out of the question but someone from Riksmord had spoken to her, and even if Haraldsson no longer had access to anything connected with the investigation, there were others who did.

He picked up his cell, searched for a number in the contacts list, and pressed
Call
. It was almost midnight, but the phone was answered almost immediately.

Radjan Micic.

This was one of the advantages of having worked in the same place for a long time. You made friends. Friends for whom you sometimes did a little favor, and who were therefore prepared to help out when you needed it.

No funny stuff.

Nothing illegal, nothing like that.

Just a helping hand to make life easier. Writing a report for someone when they had to rush off to pick the kids up from daycare. Dropping by the state-run liquor store in the car on a Friday afternoon. Covering up, helping out. Little favors that made life easier for all concerned. Favors that meant you could ask a favor in return.

When Hanser took over the responsibility for trying to locate Axel Johansson, she gave the task to Radjan. This meant he had access to all the material relating to the missing janitor. The conversation lasted less than two minutes. Radjan had been with the Västerås police almost as long as Haraldsson. He understood perfectly and would of course print out the interview with Johansson’s ex. It would be on Haraldsson’s desk when he came in the following morning. Radjan really was an excellent colleague.

As Haraldsson put the phone down on the sofa beside him, a satisfied smile on his face, he discovered that Jenny was standing in the doorway, gazing at him sleepily.

“Who were you talking to?”

“Radjan.”

“At this time of night?”

“Yes.”

Jenny came and sat down beside him on the sofa, tucking her feet underneath her.

“What are you doing?”

“Watching TV.”

“What are you watching?”

“Nothing.”

Jenny rested her arm on the sofa and put her hand on his head. She started to stroke his hair as she nestled into his shoulder.

“Something’s happened. Tell me.”

Haraldsson closed his eyes. Everything was spinning slightly. He felt as if he wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her about work. About Hanser. Properly. Not just moaning and ridiculing. He wanted to tell her how scared he was. Scared that life was slipping through his fingers. Scared that he couldn’t see himself in ten years’ time. What he would be doing. Who he was. He wanted to tell her that the future scared him. That he was scared they would never have a child. Would their relationship survive that? Would Jenny leave him? He wanted to tell her that he loved her. He didn’t say it often enough. There was so
much he wanted to tell her, but he didn’t really know how. So he just shook his head and leaned back with his eyes closed as her hand continued its caresses.

“Come to bed.” Jenny kissed his cheek. Haraldsson realized how tired he was. Tired and drunk.

They went to bed.

Close to each other. Jenny’s arms around him. Holding him tight. He could feel her gentle breathing on his neck. Closeness. It had been a long time. Sex was part of everyday life, but closeness… He realized how much he had missed it as sleep stole over him.

Those who are guilty run away.

One last lucid thought.

It is the guilty who run away.

There was a conclusion there. A pattern. It was there, but his alcohol-befuddled brain was unable to grasp it. Thomas Haraldsson fell asleep, into a deep and dreamless slumber.

Just after midnight Torkel finally managed to escape from the press conference. He had avoided answering specific questions on a possible link between the murders. He had ignored the person who wanted to know whether they had brought in any employee from Palmlövska High in connection with the murders, but he hoped he had still given the impression that the investigation was making steady progress and that it was only a matter of time before the case was solved.

He walked quickly back to the hotel, hoping the kitchen wouldn’t be closed. He was ravenous and intended to have a late supper in the small restaurant. When he got there he realized he wasn’t the only one who’d had a bad day. Mikael was sitting in the bar. With a drink in front of him. Which wasn’t good. Torkel was about to try to sneak out again when Mikael spotted him.

“Torkel!”

Torkel stopped and gave a feeble wave.

“Hi, Mikael.”

“Come and have a drink with me!”

“No, thanks. I’ve still got some work to do.”

Torkel tried to deflect him with a smile, making it as clear as possible that he wasn’t interested, without being directly unpleasant. It didn’t work. Mikael slid off the bar stool and headed toward Torkel in as straight a line as he could manage. Torkel just had time to think,
Fuck, he’s drunk
, before Mikael reached him. He came and stood far too close. Torkel could smell his breath. Whiskey and some sweeter kind of alcohol. Not only was he standing too close, his voice was too loud as well.

“Fucking hell, Torkel, I’ve messed things up. Big time.”

“I can see that.”

“You could have a word with her.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. This is between the two of you—”

“But she likes you. She listens to you.”

“Mikael, I really think you ought to go to bed.”

“Surely we can have a drink. Just one drink?”

Torkel shook his head firmly, frantically trying to figure out how to escape this. He had no desire to get any closer to Mikael. He already felt bad enough, and the very thought of getting to know the man better was terrifying. He suddenly understood the importance of Ursula’s rules.

Always at work.

Never on home turf.

This was worse than home turf. But she was the one who had broken the rules. She was the one who had summoned her husband, the man who was now leaning against him, needing someone. Someone to share his feelings with.

“I’ve made such a fucking mess of things. I love her, you have to understand that. But she’s complicated. Understand? I mean, you work with her. You know what she’s like, don’t you?”

Torkel decided to act. He would take Mikael up to Ursula’s room
and leave him there. That was the right thing to do. He put his hand under Mikael’s arm and led him kindly but firmly out of the bar.

“Come on, I’ll help you up to your room.”

Mikael cooperated. The elevator was already waiting, so at least it didn’t take long to get away from reception and the look on the face of the girl who was working there. Torkel pressed the button for the fourth floor. Is he going to wonder how I know Ursula’s room number? He quickly dismissed the thought. They were colleagues, after all. Of course they knew each other’s room numbers. Mikael looked at him.

“You’re a good man. Ursula says lots of good things about you.”

“That’s nice to know.”

“It was so peculiar, calling me like that. I mean, when Ursula’s at work, she’s at work. She’s got rules. If you’re working, you’re working. I never hear from her. That’s the way it’s always been. I’m fine with that.”

Mikael took a deep breath. Torkel didn’t say anything.

“But then she called yesterday and wanted me to come over. As quickly as I could. You understand?”

This was turning into one of the longest rides in an elevator that Torkel had ever experienced. Only the second floor. Perhaps it would have been better to leave Mikael in the bar and just walk away after all.

“Things have been really difficult between us, you know. So I got the idea she wanted to tell me it’s over, or something. Tell me she’d made up her mind. Why else would she ask me to come here, for God’s sake? It’s never happened before.”

“I don’t know, Mikael. It’s best if you talk to Ursula about this.”

“That’s the way she is.
Bang
, and she’s made a decision. Which has to be carried out right away. So what was I supposed to think?”

“I can’t imagine she wants a divorce.”

They had reached the fourth floor at long last. Torkel quickly opened the glass door and walked out. Mikael stayed where he was.

“Maybe not, but that’s what I thought. I mean, she didn’t say anything. We had dinner and then she left me in the room. I asked her why
she wanted me to come here and she just said she wanted to see me. But that’s not true.”

“Come on.” Torkel waved at Mikael, who got himself out of the elevator with some difficulty. Together they walked down the corridor.

“So I took a bottle from the minibar. I was nervous. I was sure she was going to leave me.”

Torkel didn’t answer. What could he say? The needle was stuck on Mikael’s record. When they reached the door Torkel knocked.

“I don’t think she’s there. She went out. She doesn’t like to see me like this. But I’ve got the key.”

Mikael fumbled through his pockets and after what seemed like an eternity he produced the white key card and handed it over. Torkel saw that he had tears in his eyes when he met Mikael’s gaze for a fraction of a second.

“Why else would she ask me to come here?”

“I don’t know. I really haven’t a clue,” Torkel lied. He opened the door. The room smelled of alcohol and Ursula, a combination Torkel had never experienced before. They went inside and Mikael flopped down on one of the two chairs in the corner. He looked upset.

“I’ve made such a fucking mess of things.”

Torkel contemplated the wreck in the armchair and felt sorry for him. Mikael was innocent. He and Ursula were guilty. Torkel wanted to leave, but at the same time he couldn’t make himself walk away. For a moment he toyed with the idea of telling Mikael.

Telling him everything.

Explaining exactly why Mikael was sitting in the corner of a hotel room in Västerås, drunk.

That it was his, Torkel’s, fault.

He was the one who was supposed to be punished.

Not Mikael.

Suddenly Ursula was standing in the doorway. She didn’t say a word. Presumably she felt the same as Torkel: that there were many things
she would like to say and do, and that none of them was appropriate at the moment. Silence was the only tune she could play.

Torkel gave her a brief nod and left.

Unaware that Torkel had left the building less than an hour ago, Billy was sitting with his feet on the desk in the small room he had more or less lived in while he was watching the videos from the CCTV cameras. He was eating a chocolate cookie to raise his blood-sugar levels. Worn out after a long day. He closed his eyes for a moment and just sat there taking in the sounds of the dark, deserted office. Apart from the gentle hum of the fans, he could hear the latest software from Stellar Phoenix Windows Data Recovery battling with Ragnar Groth’s hard drive. The program was searching for deleted files, and the angry buzzing told him it was still working.