The Disciple (30 page)

Ursula was in the staff dining room staring blankly at a portion of fish gratin as it rotated in one of the microwaves. Late lunch. Or early dinner. So that she could say she’d already eaten if Micke called. For some reason she just didn’t want to leave work and go home.

To Micke.

To yet another evening of playing happy families.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her mobile, which she had placed on the table. She walked through the dining room; someone had worked very hard to make it less impersonal and sterile. There were red checked cloths on the six oblong tables, matching the curtains and woven wall hangings. The white plastic chairs had been furnished with cushions, and a border stencilled with flowers ran all the way around the walls. The same floral pattern was repeated here and there on cupboard doors and on the white goods in the kitchen area. The harsh fluorescent lights had been replaced by individual lamps suspended above each table, along with a certain amount of spot lighting. Three troughs containing houseplants, plus an aquarium by the door, vouched for the fact that the room was ‘not only a place to eat, but a space which can provide a period of harmony and restoration’, as it had said in the staff bulletin following the renovations. How much had that cost? Ursula had never felt particularly harmonious or restored after eating in the dining room. Full, perhaps, but that applied to the old room too.

She picked up her phone and looked at the display. Vanja.

‘Hi.’

‘It’s me,’ she heard Vanja say; she sounded slightly out of breath, as if she was walking fast.

‘I know. How’s it going?’

‘It’s not.’ Vanja almost spat out the words. ‘The locals who checked out Rodriguez managed to tell us that he was an alcoholic, but they missed the tiny detail that he’s in a fucking wheelchair.’

Ursula couldn’t help smiling. Her confidence in the local police was virtually non-existent. This merely served to confirm her impression that in those cases where they didn’t actually hamper an investigation, they certainly didn’t do anything useful. She wondered if this was a good time to tell Vanja that they had already eliminated Rodriguez as a possible perpetrator. Neither his fingerprints nor his DNA matched those found at the crime scenes. She decided to leave it till later. It sounded as if her colleague had had enough setbacks for one day.

The microwave pinged; her fish was ready. Ursula went to get it.

‘Look on the bright side – you had a nice little trip to Södertälje.’

As Ursula opened the door of the microwave and took out her plate, she heard someone come into the dining room. She turned around and saw Sebastian leaning on the doorpost. Her expression remained unchanged as she went back to her dinner and the phone call.

‘I’m not coming back in today,’ Vanja said. ‘Can you let Torkel know?’

‘Of course. See you tomorrow.’

Ursula ended the call, slipped the phone into her pocket and went back to the table with her plate. She glanced at Sebastian in passing. ‘That was Vanja. She said hello.’

‘No, she didn’t,’ Sebastian said matter-of-factly.

‘No, she didn’t,’ Ursula confirmed, sitting down. Sebastian didn’t move. Ursula started eating in silence, wishing she had something to read, something to look at. Why was he just standing there? What did he want? Whatever it was, she was sure she wouldn’t be interested. She was convinced he should no longer be a part of the team. She didn’t even dare to think about what would happen if the press made the connection between the victims and a person who was participating in the investigation. There was no way Torkel could have cleared his decision with the top brass, she was sure of it. If this went wrong, he might not keep his job. He was risking a great deal for Sebastian. She wondered whether Sebastian felt any kind of gratitude, whether he was even aware of the gamble Torkel was taking. Probably not.

She had things she wanted to think through. Private things. Like why she didn’t want to go home. Whether Torkel was an option tonight as well. She was hesitant. After their last night together, while they were lying in his bed, Torkel had talked about Yvonne and some new man in her life; Ursula had forgotten his name, but she had got the feeling that Torkel was fishing, sounding her out to see if there could be something more between them.

Something more permanent.

No doubt she had only herself to blame; she had broken two of the rules she had established for their relationship, so perhaps it was hardly surprising if he thought she might be willing to revise her attitude to the third rule as well. But he was wrong.

‘How are things with Micke?’ Sebastian asked in a casual tone of voice, as if he had been reading her mind. Ursula gave a start and dropped her knife, which fell onto her plate and then the floor with a clatter.

‘Why do you ask?’ she snapped as she bent down to pick it up.

‘No reason.’ Sebastian shrugged. ‘Just making small talk.’

‘You never make small talk.’ Ursula put her fork down next to the knife she had picked up, and got to her feet. She had lost her appetite. Did he know something about her and Torkel? If so, that wasn’t good. Not good at all. The less Sebastian Bergman knew, the better. That applied to everything. He had the ability to turn the most innocent information against a person. And if he thought he could use it to his advantage, he wouldn’t hesitate to do so.

Sebastian came into the room, pulled out the nearest chair and sat down. ‘There’s something I’ve been thinking about . . .’

‘Mhm,’ Ursula replied with her back to him. She dried her hands on a tea towel and turned to leave.

‘Sit down for a minute.’ Sebastian gestured to the chair opposite.

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m asking you.’

‘I haven’t got time.’

As Ursula was walking past Sebastian, he grabbed her wrist. She stopped and gave him a look which made it clear that he needed to let go right now. He didn’t.

‘Sit down. Please.’

Ursula jerked her hand away and looked at Sebastian. His tone of voice was different somehow, with no hint of teasing or superciliousness, and there was something in his eyes that told her this was important. Not because he had something to gain, but for some other reason.

Something real.

Something significant.

And he had said ‘please’, a word she hadn’t thought was even in his vocabulary. She sat down, but perched on the very edge of the chair, ready to leave immediately.

‘I’ve been speaking to Torkel,’ Sebastian began, a little hesitantly.

‘Oh yes,’ Ursula said defensively, more and more convinced that she wasn’t going to like what Sebastian had on his mind.

‘About the fact that the four victims have had a relationship with me,’ he went on without looking her in the eye. ‘A sexual relationship.’

Ursula suddenly realised where the conversation was going. It wasn’t about her and Torkel at all, but was heading for a topic she had even less desire to discuss.

‘If there’s a possibility that this might continue,’ Sebastian went on, his voice quiet and serious, ‘if more women are in danger . . .’

‘I can take care of myself,’ Ursula interrupted him, leaping to her feet.

‘I know that, it’s just . . .’ Sebastian looked up and met her gaze with candour and sincerity. ‘I don’t want anything to happen to you because of me.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ Ursula said, keeping her tone neutral as she headed for the door. She turned back to face him before she left the room. ‘It would have been even better if you’d shown me just a modicum of the same consideration at the time.’

She turned away and disappeared.

There was a knock on the door of the cell. Hinde put down the book he had been reading, sat up on his bed and quickly looked around the room. He hadn’t left anything out, had he? Nothing that might give him away? A glance at the desk, the small bedside table and the single shelf, and his survey was done. The one advantage of having a small cell was that it was easy to check. Nothing on show that shouldn’t be there. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed as the door opened and Thomas Haraldsson stuck his head in.

‘Good evening, am I disturbing you?’

Hinde was rather taken aback by this everyday greeting, which sounded as if Haraldsson had just popped in to see a neighbour at home, or a colleague in the office next door at work. He presumed that this personal approach was meant to signify that the governor was not here on official business, but for some other reason. This could be interesting.

‘No, I was just reading.’ Hinde went for the same friendly tone. ‘Come on in,’ he added with a wave.

Haraldsson stepped into the cell and the door closed behind him. Edward looked at him in silence. Haraldsson was gazing around as if this was the first time he had been inside one of the cells in the secure unit. Edward wondered if his visitor would stick with the polite phrases from the outside world and tell him what a lovely place he had here. Amazing what you can do with a bijou space.

‘I’m off home soon, but I thought I’d just pop in and see you,’ Haraldsson said, completing his brief inspection of the cell. It was so small. How did they stand it?

‘Off home to Jenny,’ Hinde commented from the bed.

‘Yes.’

‘And the baby.’

‘Yes.’

‘How far gone is she now?’

‘Eleven weeks.’

‘Lovely.’

Edward smiled at Haraldsson, who pulled out the only chair and sat down. Enough of the small talk.

‘I was just wondering,’ Haraldsson began, ‘how did it go with Riksmord?’

‘How did they say it went?’ Hinde asked, leaning forward.

‘They didn’t say much at all.’ Haraldsson thought about it. What had he actually found out from Vanja and Sebastian after their meeting with Hinde? They thought he was involved in a number of murders, but they could have told Haraldsson that without even seeing Hinde. They hadn’t said a single thing about the meeting itself, it struck him now.

‘They didn’t really say anything . . .’

Hinde gave an understanding nod. Haraldsson briefly considered telling him about his negative experiences of Riksmord in Västerås, putting himself on the same side as Hinde, so to speak, but then it occurred to him that the man on the bed didn’t know that he used to be a police officer. Nor did he need to know. In fact, it was better if he didn’t know. Better if he thought Haraldsson was just an ordinary harmless desk jockey.

‘How do you feel the meeting went?’ he asked instead.

Hinde appeared to consider the question. He rested his elbows on his knees and supported his chin on his linked hands.

‘It was rather disappointing, to be honest,’ he said thoughtfully.

‘In what way?’

‘It wasn’t much of a conversation.’

‘Why not?’

‘I made them an offer which they didn’t accept.’

‘What kind of an offer?’

Hinde straightened up, apparently searching for the right words. ‘There were certain . . . things I wanted, and I said that if I was given those things, I would answer one or more of their questions. Truthfully.’

He glanced at Haraldsson to see if he was nibbling at the bait, but the man on the chair looked confused more than anything.

‘Mutual favours,’ Hinde explained. ‘Like a game, you could say. I’ve got something they want, they’ve got something I want, why just give it away? But Sebastian refused to play.’

Hinde met Haraldsson’s eyes. Had he been too clear? Was it too obvious where he was going with this? After all, his guest had once been a police officer, until quite recently in fact. Would a warning bell start to ring? Apparently not. Edward decided to go all the way.

‘I could make you the same offer.’

Haraldsson didn’t answer immediately. What was Hinde offering? Information in return for what? He would find out if he went along with the game. But why was he making the offer? To gain advantages for himself, of course. Privileges. Of course it could also be that he was simply bored, and took every chance that came along to make his everyday life less ordinary, more stimulating. Haraldsson quickly went through the pros and cons in his head.

The advantages were self-evident. Hinde would answer his questions. Any questions. This would give him a unique insight and knowledge. In the best-case scenario he would find out enough to solve four murders.

The disadvantages? He didn’t know what Hinde would want in return for his answers. But if he didn’t say yes, he would never find out. If it was something that was against the rules, or something he couldn’t go along with for any other reason, he could simply say no. Put a stop to it.

It couldn’t go wrong.

Haraldsson nodded. ‘Fine. What did you have in mind?’

Edward had to make a real effort to resist the impulse to let out a smug little laugh. Instead he gave Haraldsson a big, warm smile and leaned forward, almost confidentially.

‘I’ll tell you what I want, and when I’ve got it, you can ask any question you like, and I’ll answer it.’

‘Truthfully.’

‘I promise.’

Hinde held out his right hand to show that they had an agreement. A handshake. All that was necessary between men.

They shook hands, then Edward shuffled back on the bed, leaned against the wall and drew his feet up onto the mattress. Relaxed. Friendly. Play down the situation. He studied Haraldsson between his bent knees. What should he begin with? He needed to get an idea of how keen the man on the desk chair was.

‘Have you got a photograph of your wife?’

‘Ye-es . . . ?’ Hesitation in his response.

‘Can I have it?’

‘What?’ Haraldsson asked, looking slightly bewildered. ‘Just to look at, or do you want to keep it?’

‘Keep it.’

Haraldsson hesitated. This didn’t feel good. Not good at all. This wasn’t what he had thought Hinde would ask for. A longer spell in the exercise yard. Better food. Greater freedom on the computer. A beer, perhaps. Things that would improve and enhance his time in Lövhaga. Not this. What would Hinde want with a photo of his wife? According to the reports he was sexually inactive, so the idea of him masturbating over a photo of Jenny seemed unlikely.

‘What do you want it for?’