The Disappeared (7 page)

Peder leaned across the table, his posture more relaxed.

‘She was a pretty girl,’ he said.

‘She was,’ Håkan agreed. ‘She was lovely.’

‘Did you sleep with her?’

Håkan looked dismayed, and Peder held up his hands in a defensive gesture.

‘I don’t mean any harm,’ he assured Håkan. ‘I’m just saying that you were friends, she was pretty, and you might just have fancied her. There’s nothing strange about that, I’m well aware of how these things can happen.’

Alex gave him a sideways glance, but said nothing. He would rather not hear any more about Peder’s lifestyle than Margareta Berlin had already told him.

Håkan picked at a cuticle without speaking.

‘What Peder is trying to say is that perhaps you just got together one night even though you weren’t a couple,’ Alex said. ‘As Peder said, these things happen, and it’s not the end of the world.’

‘It was only the once,’ Håkan said without looking at them.

‘Why didn’t you tell us this before?’ Alex asked.

Håkan looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

‘Because it was nothing to do with you. Why do you think, for fuck’s sake?’

Peder interrupted him.

‘When was this?’

‘A while before she went missing.’

‘How long?’

‘Three or four months.’

‘Did you use protection?’

Håkan squirmed. ‘I didn’t, but she did. She was on the pill.’

‘So she didn’t get pregnant?’ Alex asked.

‘No.’

Håkan refused to meet Alex’s gaze as he answered.

Was he lying?

‘Are you sure?’

A silent nod. Still no eye contact.

‘From a purely hypothetical point of view,’ Alex went on, ‘if she had got pregnant, what would you have done?’

At last, Håkan raised his head.

‘We’d have kept it, of course.’

‘Of course?’ Peder repeated. ‘You were both very young; no one would have blamed you if you’d decided on a termination.’

‘Out of the question,’ Håkan said. ‘It would never have happened. Abortion is murder if the child has been created within a loving relationship. I despise people who think differently.’

‘Did you and Rebecca agree on that?’

‘Of course we did.’

Håkan’s expression darkened and his voice grew hoarse.

‘We would have been excellent parents, if she’d lived.’

INTERVIEW WITH FREDRIKA BERGMAN, 02-05-2009, 15.30 (tape recording)

Present: Urban S, Roger M (interrogators one and two). Fredrika Bergman (witness).

Urban: So at that point you believed Håkan Nilsson to be the guilty party?

Fredrika: There were a number of indications to support that view. He had a motive and the personality traits that led us to believe he was capable of murder.

Roger: Had you discovered the link with the writer Thea Aldrin at that stage?

Fredrika: At that stage we barely knew who Thea Aldrin was; she still hadn’t come up in the investigation.

Urban: So you hadn’t identified the film club?

Fredrika: Absolutely not.

Roger: OK, back to Håkan Nilsson. What about his alibi?

Fredrika: It had been checked during the previous investigation and deemed valid. We reached the same conclusion. He had spent the whole evening at a social event for mentors and students, and witness statements confirmed that he had been there from five o’clock until midnight.

Urban: But you didn’t write him off completely?

Fredrika: No, definitely not. No alibi is one hundred per cent reliable.

Roger: How was Peder Rydh at this point?

Fredrika: I don’t understand the question.

Urban: Was he stable?

Fredrika: Yes. He was feeling better than he had for a long time.

Urban: So you’re saying that there were occasions when Peder Rydh had been feeling under par and had acted injudiciously?

(Silence.)

Roger: You must answer our questions, Fredrika.

Fredrika: Yes, there have been times when he was unstable.

Urban: And acted injudiciously?

Fredrika: And acted injudiciously. But as I said, he was in a good place throughout the investigation, and . . .

Roger: We’re not there yet. It’s too soon to talk about the investigation as a whole. We’ve only got as far as Håkan Nilsson.

(Silence.)

Urban: What happened next?

Fredrika: Next?

Urban: What happened after that first interview with Håkan Nilsson?

Fredrika: The team who were working on the scene of the crime called Alex. They’d found something else.

THURSDAY

7

As usual, morning coffee was served in a blue mug with her name on it. She couldn’t decide whether she found it childish or humiliating, or both. The nurse padded discreetly around her, setting out bread, butter and marmalade. A soft-boiled egg, a plain yoghurt. The nurse was new; she stuck out like a sore thumb. The new ones were always so stressed around Thea; sometimes, she would hear them whispering in the tiny kitchen area.

‘They say she hasn’t said a single word for nearly thirty years. She must be completely barking.’

As time went by it had become increasingly easy to ignore that kind of talk. It wasn’t the young people’s fault that they didn’t understand. They had no mechanism for understanding Thea’s story, nor were they under any obligation to do so. Thea wasn’t so old that she had forgotten her own youth. The years preceding those that she had decided to kill with silence had largely been good. She recalled her teens, so full of happiness that it hurt to think about it. She could remember falling in love for the first time, the first book she wrote, and the way her heart leapt when the press praised her children’s books to the skies, predicting the most astonishing success. Everything had been smashed to pieces and taken away from her. She had nothing left.

The new nurse bustled around behind her back, stopping to look at the vase of flowers. An auxiliary came in and started changing the sheets on Thea’s bed. Unpleasant, Thea thought. It could easily have waited until she’d finished breakfast.

‘What lovely flowers,’ said the nurse.

Not to Thea, but to the auxiliary.

‘She gets a fresh bouquet every week.’

‘Who from?’

‘We don’t know. They’re delivered by someone from the florist’s; we usually hand them over and she arranges them herself.’

Thea contemplated the nurse’s back view, knowing that she was reading the card that accompanied the flowers.

‘It says “Thanks”,’ Thea heard her say. ‘Thanks for what?’

‘No idea,’ the auxiliary replied. ‘There are so many odd things about all this that . . .’

She broke off when she realised that Thea was watching them. They never seemed to grasp the fact that her hearing was excellent. They assumed she was an idiot, just because she had chosen not to speak.

The auxiliary moved closer to the nurse and lowered her voice.

‘We don’t know how much she grasps of what’s going on around her,’ she said. ‘But sometimes I think she’s listening. I mean, she’s fully mobile. There’s nothing to indicate that she doesn’t understand what we say.’

Thea almost burst out laughing. The yoghurt tasted disgusting, and the bread was dry. She ate it anyway. There was no more conversation between the nurse and the auxiliary, and after a little while she was left alone. When the door closed behind them, Thea felt nothing but relief.

She got up from the table and switched on the television. She gripped the remote firmly and went back to her seat. The stroke she had suffered a few years earlier had caused enough long-term damage to prevent her from living alone, but on the whole she coped relatively well with everyday life. She would go mad if the staff interfered with her life any more than they already did.

The morning news had just started.

‘The police confirmed yesterday that the body found in Midsommarkransen was that of Rebecca Trolle, a young student who went missing one evening almost two years ago. They have not released any further details, and have stated that they do not have a particular suspect in mind at this stage.’

Thea stared blankly at the television. She had followed every single news broadcast since she heard that it was Rebecca Trolle’s body that had been found. Her heart was beating slightly faster. Now it would begin, she was certain of that. She had been waiting for the conclusion for almost thirty years, and now it was coming.

8

Alex Recht walked up to the crater and stared down into the damp earth. The men standing at the edge of the excavated area were surrounded by trees. Peder moved closer, leaning forward to get a better view.

‘How did you find him?’ Alex asked.

‘We dug around the area where Rebecca Trolle was buried, and we found a man’s shoe that looked as if it had been lying in the ground for a long time. We expanded the search area and dug deeper, and there he was.’

The man who had answered Alex’s question pointed out exactly where the second body had been found.

‘How long had he been there?’

‘The pathologist said he couldn’t be sure until the body was brought in, but probably several decades.’

Alex breathed in the fresh air; in spite of everything, it was good to see the rays of the sun caressing the trees and the ground, still wet with dew. Spring was his favourite time of year, and he was definitely a morning person. It was still only seven o’clock, and he was pleased that Peder had been able to join him at such an early hour.

‘How can you be sure it’s a man?’ Peder asked.

‘The height,’ replied a female officer who had been involved in investigating the scene. ‘The pathologist estimated that the deceased was over six feet; not many women are that tall.’

‘That should make the identification easier,’ Peder said. ‘If we can get an idea of how long the body has been in the ground, and an approximate height and age, we ought to be able to match the profile with people who disappeared around that time.’

Alex crouched down, studying both graves.

‘There’s not a cat in hell’s chance that this was a coincidence.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The fact that Rebecca was buried in this particular spot.’

Alex squinted into the sun.

‘The person or persons who buried Rebecca here had buried someone else here in the past.’

‘Although he or she must have felt safer last time,’ said the female officer.

‘In what way?’

‘The man we found last night still had his head and hands.’

Alex thought for a moment.

‘The perpetrator was younger the first time,’ he said. ‘Which means he might well have been both naive and careless.’

Peder zipped up his jacket as if he had suddenly realised he was cold.

‘How do we know it was the first time?’ he asked.

Fredrika Bergman had just got up when Alex called to tell her that he and Peder were on their way to the place where Rebecca Trolle had been found, and that a second body had been discovered the previous night.

‘See you at HQ,’ Alex said.

Fredrika hurried into the kitchen for breakfast.

Spencer was sitting at the table reading the paper. She kissed his forehead and stroked his cheek. She poured herself a cup of coffee and cut two slices of bread. She gazed at the love of her life in silence.

Talk to me, Spencer. I’ve known you for over ten years; I know what you look like when you’re unhappy.

He didn’t say a word, refusing to let her in.

‘What are you two going to do today?’ Fredrika asked.

‘I don’t know; I expect we’ll go for a walk.’

Spencer put down the newspaper.

‘I could do with going to Uppsala this afternoon, and I’d prefer to go without Saga.’

‘That’s fine,’ Fredrika said, even though she suspected it could be a long day at work. ‘I’ll come home when you need to go.’

She took a bite of her sandwich, chewed and swallowed. Her friends had taken the news that she had gone back to work much better than she had expected. Several of them had even hinted that it wasn’t a complete surprise.

‘Are you going to the department?’ she asked Spencer.

‘Yes, to a meeting.’

A meeting. No more, no less. When had they started talking in half-sentences? Fredrika thought about Alex, about the previous winter when his wife had found out she was ill and hadn’t told him. Suddenly she went cold.

‘Spencer, you’re not ill, are you?’

He looked at her in surprise. Grey eyes, like stones shot through with more shades than she could count.

‘Why would I be ill?’

‘I can tell there’s something wrong. Something more than an argument at work.’

Spencer shook his head.

‘It’s nothing, believe me. The only thing I might have left out is . . .’

He hesitated, and she waited.

‘Apparently, one of my students wasn’t happy with her supervision last autumn.’

‘For goodness’ sake, you were still off sick most of the time!’

‘That was the problem,’ Spencer said. ‘I had to share the supervision with a graduate tutor who had only just started in the department, and it wasn’t a popular move.’

Fredrika could feel the relief flooding through her body.

‘I thought you were dying or something!’

Spencer gave her the crooked smile that always made her melt.

‘I wouldn’t leave you now we’re living together at long last.’

Fredrika leaned forward to kiss him, but was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of Saga waking up in the room next door. She followed Spencer with her eyes as he limped out of the kitchen.

‘Now what?’ said Peder when they were back at HQ.

‘We wait for more precise details from the forensic pathologist, and we continue to pursue the investigation into the murder of Rebecca Trolle,’ Alex replied. ‘I spoke to the pathologist on the phone; he thinks the man has been lying there for at least twenty-five years, possibly more.’

‘A serial killer?’

‘Who kills at random? Such disparate victims, three decades apart?’ Alex shook his head grimly. ‘I don’t think so. Besides which, serial killers are few and far between. This is something different.’

He cursed his own shortcomings, even though he knew it was pointless. At the time of Rebecca’s disappearance there had been nothing whatsoever to indicate that she might have been one of several victims; the investigation had been based on the premise that this was an isolated incident. Were there more victims? Alex wondered. He hadn’t hesitated to order the complete excavation of the site where the bodies had been found, expanding the parameters of the search area. It would take several days to complete the task, but if there were more bodies in the ground, Alex wanted them found.