The Disciple (57 page)

‘Did you know about this?’ Jenny asked them.

‘It’s a bit earlier than I expected,’ said Veronica, glancing at her expensive wristwatch. ‘But yes, I knew about it.’

‘Me too,’ said Amelia. ‘And I’m so jealous!’

‘Where am I going?’ Jenny felt a stirring of anticipation.

‘We’re not saying a word.’ Veronica adopted a serious expression. ‘You just go off and relax, and we’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘I’ll just finish up and get my things,’ Jenny said to the driver.

She almost ran back to her desk. Picked up from work. And she hadn’t had a clue. Thomas really had made an effort this time. She quickly saved and closed down the document she had been working on. Relax, Veronica had said. Last spring a leaflet from Hasslö Spa had come through the door at home. Jenny had said how nice it looked, and that she would love to go there. Had Thomas remembered? Fingers crossed. Jenny grabbed her jacket and handbag. This could end up being her best wedding anniversary ever.

‘I’m ready.’

‘Off we go then!’ said the driver, indicating with a sweeping gesture that she should lead the way. He smiled again. He should do it more often, Jenny thought. It softened his otherwise hard features a little, and drew attention away from the ugly red scar running down over his left eye.

They left the office together.

Sebastian had got hold of Ralph Svensson’s address from one of the officers standing outside the press conference. Obviously he hadn’t officially been booted off the case yet, because the officer, who recognised Sebastian from Liljeholmen and the murder of Annette Willén, was happy to give him a quick update.

He had been involved in the operation at Svensson’s apartment but didn’t really have anything of substance to report. It had all happened very fast. The aim was to get the target out as quickly as possible. Everything had gone to plan, apart from the fact that Svensson had managed to throw his computer at the wall, destroying it. He had been taken into custody and, as far as the officer knew, had not yet been questioned.

For a moment Sebastian considered trying to arrange an interview with Ralph, but dismissed the idea. Nobody would be allowed access to the suspect without Torkel’s permission; that was common practice. The likelihood of Torkel approving a meeting between Sebastian and Ralph Svensson was almost non-existent.

Instead he took a taxi to Västertorp. With a bit of luck he could at least get into the apartment and possibly find something. There was a patrol car parked outside, but no guard on the main door of the apartment block. He went up the stairs, but was stopped by a burly officer at the entrance to Svensson’s floor.

It took a fair amount of begging and persuasion, but after a while Ursula appeared in the doorway in her spotless white protective clothing. She looked at him in surprise.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I thought I might come in and have a look around. If you’ve finished?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t even know what your position is as far as the investigation goes right now. Are you still with us?’

Sebastian shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ He was being honest; it was the only way to be with Ursula. ‘But I want nothing more than to solve this, you know that. It’s just that I have a different view on how to go about it.’

‘You have views on most things, that goes without saying, but you’re usually better than this. Much better.’

‘I’m sorry about that.’

‘It’s not your fault. We should have kicked you out as soon as you made the connection between yourself and the victims,’ she said drily.

‘Can I come in? I can usually spot things that might be useful. I promise not to touch anything.’

She looked at him. There was something about Sebastian that was very touching. He had lost his usual footing and fallen on his face right in front of them. She had never seen him so weak. She sought his tired eyes, wanting to look into them.

‘If you answer one question.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Come inside.’

She nodded to the officer, who moved aside, allowing Sebastian into the apartment. It was light and sparsely furnished. The kitchen was on the left, and gave the impression of being used only rarely. The living room opened out on the right beyond the hallway; the furniture consisted only of a sofa and a large table. A torch lying on the table. Large floor lamps everywhere. It was hot, mainly due to the absence of either curtains or blinds, allowing the sun to shine straight in. Sebastian followed Ursula into the bedroom.

‘He certainly liked things neat and tidy. Everything is in perfect order.’ She opened the top drawer and showed him a pile of folded pale blue nightdresses, alongside unopened packets of nylon stockings. ‘Creepy, isn’t it?’

Sebastian nodded.

Ursula went on: ‘If you look in there it’ll turn your stomach.’

She pointed to a door which appeared to lead to a walk-in wardrobe or small storeroom. Sebastian started to move towards it, but she stopped him.

‘Put these on.’ She was holding out a pair of plastic shoe protectors. He bent down and slipped them on over his black shoes. She handed him a pair of sterile gloves. ‘And these.’

‘So what was your question?’

‘Why did you sleep with my sister?’

He looked at her in astonishment. He could have spent a hundred years guessing what she wanted to ask him, and he would never have come up with this.

‘I’ve always wondered,’ she added.

Barbro. Such a long time ago. Why? What should he say? What could he say? Nothing. He shook his head.

‘I don’t think I can answer that.’

Ursula nodded to herself. ‘Okay. I’m just trying to find a way to forgive you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I have a feeling you need it.’

Their eyes met. Locked. She knew him well.

‘But I could be wrong,’ she said lightly. ‘Take a look around if you like.’

She turned and went back to the kitchen. He watched her go, but still didn’t know what to say. He would hurt her whatever he did, and that wasn’t what he wanted.

He opened the door Ursula had indicated. The space inside was small. A bench along one wall with a printer on it. Boxes of photographic paper. A sheet of hardboard fixed to another wall. Sebastian went over to it. Four bundles of pictures were hanging from bulldog clips, with the numbers 1, 2, 3 and 4 circled in thick felt tip above them. As Sebastian got closer he could see what the pictures showed. His women. All four of them. Terrified. Photographed from what could best be described as the perspective of a god, with the photographer looking down on them. Telling them exactly what to do. Sebastian put on the gloves and took down the bundle under number three. Katharina Granlund. Naked and weeping in the first picture. Dead, staring straight ahead in the last. He flicked through the other bundles. Quickly. Didn’t want to get caught up in the details. The final picture was the same each time. The knife that had sliced through their throats. Sebastian felt sick. He wanted to run away as fast as he could. As if his flight could undo what had been done. But he stayed where he was. Replaced the photographs. Looked away. Heard Ursula moving around in the kitchen. She was right. But she was also wrong. How could he ever be forgiven after these pictures?

He went back into the bedroom, mainly to get away from the horror. The small room looked much like the rest of the apartment. The only difference was the pale, neatly made single bed. Just as many floor lamps. Torch on the bedside table. Just as light. But after those pictures on the wall, the light was simply a lie. This was the darkest apartment he had ever been in. He looked inside the only wardrobe. Perfectly ironed shirts and trousers hanging in a row. Underneath, in wire baskets, batteries and torches were arranged with military precision. In more baskets below those lay socks and underpants.

Ralph Svensson had prioritised torches above his underwear. The fact that he had some kind of obsessive compulsive disorder was beyond doubt. The real question was how many diagnoses could be applied to him. If anyone even cared. Sebastian was no longer interested.

He picked up one of the larger torches. Pressed the black rubber button. The torch came on immediately. New battery. Ready for action. Ready to spread light all around. As he was about to put it back he caught sight of something that had been underneath the torch. Hidden. It looked like a driver’s licence. Carefully he picked it up and turned it over.

A picture of Trolle Hermansson stared at him. The icy chill inside him was instantaneous. So was the pain. He had to look at it again. Read the words. Several times. And every time they said Carl Trolle Hermansson.

That was why he hadn’t answered his phone.

That was why he wasn’t at home.

He had found the person who was following Sebastian. He might even have saved Anna. But he had paid with his life.

There was no other explanation. Why else would Trolle’s driver’s licence be in this darkest of all apartments?

Once again, Sebastian had lost.

Everything he touched was torn from his grasp. Brutally and violently. That was the truth. The only truth, which made itself clear to him over and over again. For a long time he had tried to fight it, keep it away from him. Blamed everyone but himself. God, his mother, his father, Anna, Vanja – everyone, in fact, except the one person who was actually responsible. Because there was only one person carrying the guilt now. He replaced the torch carefully and slipped the driver’s licence into his pocket.

It was over now.

He gave up.

Suddenly she was standing behind him. ‘He had a computer as well. Billy’s going to go through it. Since he threw it at the wall, there’s bound to be something on it.’

He didn’t reply. She turned to go back to her work.

‘Ursula?’

She didn’t reply, but she did stop.

‘I think I do need forgiveness. But I don’t know how that can ever be possible.’

‘Nor do I, Sebastian. But those who know about these things say that honesty usually works best.’

She left the room.

He didn’t say any more.

But he could feel Trolle’s driver’s licence in his pocket. The burden of guilt on his shoulders.

He would never be able to receive forgiveness.

Never.

He was sitting on a stone outside the apartment block when they pulled up next to the patrol car. He had been sitting there for a good half hour without moving. Holding the licence in his hand, as if that might lessen the pain. They got out and walked towards the building. Vanja first, followed by Torkel. They were in the middle of a discussion, talking excitedly. As if he wasn’t there. Which was true, of course. He wasn’t really there anymore.

Vanja seemed proud of her first TV appearance. ‘Anna saw it on the news. She called from Gran’s.’

‘How is your grandmother?’ Torkel asked sympathetically as he caught up with her. ‘I heard she wasn’t too well.’

Sebastian slowly got to his feet and put the driver’s licence back in his pocket. Took out his police ID card instead. Went to meet them.

‘She’s much better. Anna’s coming home,’ Vanja replied.

‘I’m glad to hear that.’

Only now did they appear to notice the man walking towards them. They stopped and waited for him in silence. No apparent emotion. As if they were encountering a memory they had already put behind them.

Sebastian was standing in front of them.

‘We need to talk,’ said Torkel.

Sebastian’s intention was to make it easy for them. He held out the ID card he had been given at the beginning of the week. ‘I’m going home now.’

‘Okay.’ Torkel took the card and nodded to his former colleague and friend.

‘I’m sorry about everything.’

‘At least we’ve got him,’ Torkel said. He had no desire to quarrel.

Nor did Sebastian. But he had to warn them, even if they almost certainly wouldn’t listen to him. ‘Hinde isn’t done yet – I hope you realise that.’

‘What else can he do?’ he heard Vanja say.

‘I don’t know. But he’s not finished.’ He pushed his hands into his pockets. Felt Trolle’s driver’s licence. ‘But I am. It’s your problem now.’

He moved to walk away, but couldn’t quite do it. This was probably his last moment with Vanja. He wouldn’t be following her anymore. The dream was over. Because that’s what it had been. A dream. This was the only goodbye he would ever have. The last few minutes with the daughter he had never really had.

The daughter he had wanted so much.

He almost whispered to her, ‘Be careful. Promise me you’ll be careful.’

She couldn’t understand his mournful expression at all. ‘Do you really think it wasn’t Ralph?’

‘No, no. But do you know what worries me?’

‘The fact that you didn’t solve the case?’ Her voice was as sharp as a knife. Still caught up in the conflict he had left behind.

‘No. The fact that you refuse to see that Edward is behind the whole thing. He will never give up. Never.’

He walked away.

It wasn’t much of a goodbye.

But it was all he would get.

Ralph Svensson.

One of the cleaners. So near, yet completely out of reach. The day was ruined for Haraldsson. Not even the prospect of dinner with Jenny could cheer him up. Riksmord must have got the name from Hinde. They picked up Ralph only an hour or so after Vanja Lithner left Lövhaga. Without speaking to him. Even though it had been one of the conditions for allowing her to see Hinde at all. She had broken an agreement. He should have known. You just couldn’t trust anyone who worked for Riksmord. They constantly disappointed him. What could Vanja have offered him that immediately produced a name? Haraldsson had built up a relationship, proved himself ready to work with Hinde, delivered. What did she have that he didn’t? The answer was obvious, but surely they hadn’t . . . She couldn’t have agreed to . . . Admittedly they had been alone in the interview room, but still. She didn’t seem the type. A ringtone interrupted his thoughts. Abba. He picked up his mobile and looked at the display. A number he didn’t recognise.