The Disciple (16 page)

It was hot. Really hot. The heat enveloped him as soon as he stepped out into the street, even though it wasn’t yet five o’clock in the morning. He had heard somewhere that Stockholm was in the middle of a tropical heat wave. He didn’t know what was required in order for the heat to qualify as tropical; he just thought it was too bloody hot. All the time. Night and day. The sweat was pouring down his back before he had gone a hundred metres from Annette’s door. He didn’t really know where he was or how to get to the centre of Liljeholmen, and ambled along at random until the streets began to look familiar.

There was a coffee shop and newsagent’s next door to the subway station. He pushed open the door, went straight over to the coffee machine and filled a large cup with cappuccino.

‘For another six kronor you can have a Danish pastry as well,’ the young man behind the counter said when Sebastian put the cup down in front of him.

‘I don’t want a Danish pastry.’

The lad gave Sebastian a searching look then ventured an understanding smile. ‘Hard night?’

‘Mind your own fucking business.’

Sebastian took his coffee and walked out. Turned right. A fair distance to go. Across the Liljeholm Bridge, Hornsgatan, Slussen, Skeppsbron, Strömbron, Stallgatan, then Strandvägen and home. He would be drenched in sweat by the time he got there. But he didn’t want to use the subway. If the heat got too much he could always hail a taxi.

On Hornsgatan his shoelace came undone. Sebastian put down his coffee on an electricity box, bent down and retied it. As he straightened up he caught sight of his reflection in the tinted window of a shop selling shirts. He could see that the question as to whether it had been a hard night had been justified. He looked older than his fifty years this morning. More worn out. His slightly too long hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. Unshaven, exhausted, hollow-eyed. Alone with a paper cup of lukewarm coffee at five o’clock in the morning. On his way from yet another night with a woman. On his way to . . . ? Where was he actually on his way to? Home. But to what? The spare room in the flat on Grev Magnigatan; it was the only room he used in the elegant apartment, except for the kitchen and bathroom. Four rooms were unused, untouched and silent in permanent semi-darkness behind closed blinds. Where was he actually going? Where had he been going since Boxing Day 2004? The simple answer was: nowhere. He had convinced himself that this was perfectly okay. That this was how he wanted things, that he had made a conscious choice to let life pass him by.

He knew why. He was afraid he would have to give up Sabine in order to come back. And Lily. That the price of being able to live again was to forget his daughter and his wife. He didn’t want that. He knew that plenty of people, the majority, found their way back to their lives after losing someone close. Life went on, with only a fragment missing. Not completely shattered, like his. He knew that. But he just hadn’t been able to repair it. He hadn’t even tried.

But Vanja had let a strip of light, of meaning, into his existence once more, and he had found the courage to take the first steps towards change. If Trolle just did what he was supposed to do, Sebastian would be able to drive a wedge between Valdemar and his daughter. The only question was how to proceed after that? If he managed to turn Vanja’s world upside down, shouldn’t he be there to catch her when she fell? It would be even better if he was a part of her everyday life before disaster struck. An unpopular part, perhaps, but still a person who was close enough to be able to approach her in a perfectly natural way when she needed it.

He might actually derive a double benefit from that particular strategy.

Become a part of her everyday life. Her everyday life was Riksmord. Riksmord was Sebastian’s former workplace. The place where he had once experienced a feeling of belonging, where he had been able to make use of his expertise. Where he had made a contribution. Worked. Had a life.

Get a life before you can be part of a life.

He made a decision.

He would be close to Vanja and make a life for himself once more.

One last glance in the dark shop window, then he turned and went back the way he had come.

Torkel pulled into his space in the car park beneath police headquarters, switched off the engine and got out of the car. The Audi’s air-conditioning system had kept the temperature at a pleasant seventeen degrees, and he felt rested and refreshed as he locked the car and walked towards the lift, in spite of the fact that he had had only a few hours’ sleep. He was trying not to think too much about last night. Not to create false hopes. Lying in his bed afterwards, he realised how much he had missed her. For a while he thought about shuffling nearer and simply holding her, but he didn’t dare. He knew that wasn’t what she wanted. But she had been closer to him last night than ever before. They had been in his apartment. She had come back. Chosen him. Not completely, but still.

Ursula was probably incapable of choosing someone completely.

And he was mature enough to be able to live with that.

She had already gone when he woke up in the morning. He hadn’t heard her leave. She hadn’t woken him to say goodbye. But what had he expected? After all, this was Ursula.

Torkel walked into reception, nodded to the uniformed officer who handed him the morning papers, and fished out his key card for the internal door. However, before he had time to use it he heard: ‘Good morning.’

Torkel’s first impression when he turned around was that he had been hailed by a homeless person, but a fraction of a second later he recognised his visitor. Sebastian got up from one of the two sofas at the other end of the reception area and walked across the stone floor towards Torkel.

‘Sebastian. What are you doing here?’ Torkel suppressed an impulse to hug the man and held out his hand instead. Sebastian shook it briefly.

‘I’ve come to see you. I haven’t made an appointment, but maybe you could spare five minutes anyway?’

That was absolutely typical of Sebastian, Torkel thought. Just turning up. When it was convenient for him, it had to be convenient for everybody else. After they had solved the case in Västerås together back in April, Sebastian had simply disappeared again. He had shown no desire whatsoever to resume the friendship that had lain fallow for so many years. God knows Torkel had given him the opportunity, but Sebastian was adept at evading every attempt at a deeper contact.

For a few seconds Torkel actually considered sending him away. Experience told him that Sebastian’s sudden appearance couldn’t possibly be good news. And yet Torkel found himself nodding, swiping his key card and letting Sebastian into Riksmord.

‘You look tired,’ Torkel said as they stood in the lift.

‘That’s because I am tired.’

‘Were you waiting long?’

‘An hour or so.’

Torkel glanced at his watch. Ten to seven. ‘You’re up early.’

‘I haven’t really been to bed.’

‘Do I want to know where you’ve been?’

‘Even I don’t really want to know where I’ve been.’

They fell silent. An anonymous female voice informed them that they had reached the fourth floor, and the doors slid open. Sebastian stepped out first, and they walked down the corridor.

‘So what are you up to these days?’ Torkel asked in a neutral tone of voice as they headed towards his office. Sebastian was impressed; a polite reception in spite of everything.

‘Oh, you know – the usual.’

‘Nothing, in other words.’

Sebastian didn’t reply. Torkel waved Sebastian into his office. He left the door open, shrugged off his jacket and hung it up. Sebastian sank down onto a two-seater sofa.

‘Coffee?’ Torkel asked as he sat down behind his desk and gave the mouse a little push to wake the computer from energy-saving mode.

‘No, I want a job. In fact, I need a job. That’s why I’m here.’

Torkel didn’t really know what he’d been expecting. He’d realised that Sebastian’s appearance at this early hour could mean only one thing: he wanted something. For himself. But this? Had he really heard Sebastian correctly?

‘You want a job. Here. Just like that.’

‘Yes.’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘I can’t just take people on.’

‘You can if you say you need them.’

‘Exactly . . .’

For the first time Torkel found it difficult to look Sebastian in the eye. Perhaps they really did need Sebastian right now? So why hadn’t Torkel picked up the phone? Was it his personal reluctance to bring Sebastian in again that had decided the matter? He felt let down by his former friend; had that clouded his professional judgement? He had convinced himself that even with a third victim, Sebastian’s presence would do more harm than good.

Sebastian interpreted Torkel’s silence as an indication that he was actually considering the suggestion. He leaned forward.

‘Come on, Torkel, you know what I can do, you know how I can contribute. Didn’t we have this discussion in Västerås?’

‘No, we didn’t. As I recall it, you joined us in Västerås, treated me and the rest of my team like shit, then disappeared.’

Sebastian nodded; that was probably more or less what had happened. ‘But it worked.’

‘For you, perhaps.’

There was a knock on the door frame and Vanja walked in. She glanced at the guest on the sofa, and there was no mistaking her opinion of the visitor.

‘What the fuck is he doing here?’

Sebastian quickly got to his feet. He had no idea why. It just felt like the right thing to do. As if he were a suitor in some novel by Jane Austen. The fact that he had seen her less than twenty-four hours ago was irrelevant; it felt like far too long.

‘Hello, Vanja.’

She didn’t even look at him. Instead she kept her gaze fixed on Torkel, her expression challenging.

‘He’s just dropped in. He happened to be passing . . .’

‘How are you?’ Sebastian tried again.

Vanja carried on as if he wasn’t even in the room. ‘Everyone’s here. We’re waiting for you.’

‘Fine,’ said Torkel. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. We’ve got a press conference this morning as well.’

‘A press conference?’

‘Yes. We’ll discuss it in the briefing. Two minutes.’

Vanja nodded and left the room. Still without so much as a glance in Sebastian’s direction. Torkel noticed Sebastian’s eyes following her as she walked away. She had been unusually harsh. Positively rude, in fact. Perhaps he should have said something to her, but at the same time it confirmed his feeling that he had made the right decision in refusing to let Sebastian rejoin the team. Torkel got to his feet and Sebastian turned his attention back to his former colleague.

‘A press conference . . . What are you working on?’

Torkel knew better than to give Sebastian even a hint. He went over to him and placed a hand on his upper arm.

‘I think a job would be very, very good for you.’

‘That’s exactly what I’m saying.’

‘And I really wish I could help you.’

‘You can.’

‘No, I can’t.’

Silence. Torkel thought he saw a light go out in Sebastian’s eyes.

‘Come on, don’t make me beg . . .’

‘I have to go. Give me a call if you want to meet up sometime. Outside work.’ Torkel squeezed Sebastian’s arm briefly, then he turned and left the office.

Sebastian stood there. The result of his visit was more or less what he’d expected, but he still felt disappointed. Empty. He stayed where he was for a little while, gathering his thoughts, before he left Torkel’s office and set off for home.

Get a life before you can be part of a life.

How the hell was he supposed to do that when nobody was willing to give him a chance?

He really needs to clean these, Sebastian thought as he stared out of the filthy windows looking out onto Karlavägen. A white rented van from Statoil was double-parked just outside. Two men in their thirties were trying to lift out a piano that was far too big for them. Sebastian watched with interest; he had decided in seconds that it was an impossible task. The piano was too heavy. The men were too skinny, and there weren’t enough of them. Simple maths.