The Disciple (19 page)

‘I’m going to let you in. Through this door. Not into the investigation.’

‘And what am I supposed to do when I get through the door?’

‘I need to speak to the team first.’

‘About me?’

‘Yes.’

‘What are you going to do? Take a vote?’

‘Yes.’

Sebastian met Torkel’s serious gaze and realised the other man wasn’t joking. He nodded. One step at a time. If he’d got this far it was going to take a hell of a lot to get rid of him.

Torkel walked back into the Room. The others were sitting where he had left them. The coffee cups had been topped up. Including his.

‘I got you coffee as well; I wasn’t sure if you wanted a top-up,’ Ursula said as he pulled out his chair and sat down; it was as if she had read his mind.

‘Thanks.’ He smiled at her. She smiled back. A smile which Torkel chose to interpret as more than just an exchange between colleagues. Which made him wonder once again whether his reluctance to bring in Sebastian was actually based on pure selfishness.

‘I was just saying that we’ve had a preliminary result on Wahlström’s DNA sample,’ Ursula went on. ‘It’s not him.’

Torkel nodded to himself. He had never had great hopes of Carl Wahlström. It might seem strange, but it had always seemed just a little too easy. When their killer was caught, it wouldn’t be because he had sent a letter that gave him away. Torkel allowed his thoughts to stray from the case again. If there was something happening now between him and Ursula, he had no intention of ruining it by making the same mistake as last time. There were rules when it came to their relationship, and Ursula had established seventy-five per cent of those rules.

Only at work.

Never on home ground.

No plans for the future.

And Torkel had added one more rule of his own: he must show her unswerving loyalty.

The first two were really the same thing, but now she herself had taken the initiative and broken them. She had come to his apartment. Her idea. Not his. Perhaps she might even consider altering the third rule too . . .

‘Who was on the phone?’ Vanja wanted to know.

Torkel turned to face her. If he wanted a future with Ursula he was quite sure he must never break the fourth rule, the one he had added after Västerås. Always remain loyal. Therefore he cleared his throat and leaned forward as he spoke: ‘It was Sebastian. I’m wondering whether to bring him into the investigation.’

The reaction was more or less as expected. Vanja and Ursula immediately exchanged a look which made it very clear what they thought about the suggestion, about Sebastian. Billy leaned back in his chair, a faint smile on his lips.

‘I’m well aware of Ursula and Vanja’s views on the matter,’ Torkel went on, ‘but I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think Sebastian could help us.’

Vanja took a deep breath and seemed to be about to speak, but Torkel stopped her with a wave of his hand.

‘I also know that anything we might gain by having him here we will lose in terms of increased irritation, an occasional loss of focus and the possibility of a reduction in efficiency. So I want us all to agree to bring him in this time.’

‘And if we don’t agree?’ Vanja asked.

‘Then we don’t bring him in.’

The room fell silent. Vanja and Ursula exchanged glances once again, as if to determine which of them would be the one to stop Sebastian before he got through the door. Should one of them have that pleasure, or should they share it between them?

‘I don’t have any problem with the idea,’ Billy said suddenly. ‘I think he could be useful.’

Vanja looked at him crossly. What was he playing at?

Billy met Vanja’s gaze. ‘After all, he is an expert on serial killers, and we are looking for a serial killer.’

Vanja didn’t speak; she pushed back her chair abruptly and went over to the whiteboard. She studied the pictures, even though she was already familiar with every detail. Torkel could see that she was chewing her lower lip, and assumed he wasn’t the only one torn between personal opinion and a professional decision. Vanja turned to face him.

‘Do you really believe we have a better chance of catching the person who’s doing this if Sebastian is with us?’

She made a sweeping gesture towards the pictures of the murdered women behind her. It was a fair question. If Torkel put aside his own feelings and considered the matter objectively, there could be only one answer.

‘Yes, I do.’

Vanja nodded to herself and went back to her seat. ‘Then we’ll have to agree to differ. Sorry.’

Torkel looked over at Ursula, who was leaning back in her chair, her arms folded across her chest, her gaze fixed on the surface of the table.

‘With Wahlström out of the picture, we’ve got nothing. If we had something, however small, I would say no, not in a million years.’ Ursula looked up and met Torkel’s eyes. ‘But we’ve got nothing.’

‘So as far as you’re concerned he’s welcome?’

‘No, but if you’re asking whether I think he can make a valid contribution to the investigation, then the answer is yes.’

The room fell silent.

Vanja got to her feet again. ‘He’s a walking disaster.’

‘If it doesn’t work, we kick him out,’ Billy said, looking at both Vanja and Ursula. ‘He didn’t get it completely wrong in Västerås, did he? And you’ve said yourself that you think his books are good.’

Vanja looked searchingly at Billy. Something had definitely happened to him. After a few seconds she gave in.

‘If all three of you think that he really can improve our chances, then there’s nothing to discuss, is there? Bring him in.’

‘Is that what you want?’

She shook her head grimly. ‘No, but I’m prepared to go along with it. I’m not going to be the one to tear this team apart. Sebastian is perfectly capable of doing that without my help.’

‘If it doesn’t work, we’ll do as Billy says and kick him out,’ Torkel promised, directing the comment at Vanja.

Ursula let out a brief, dry laugh which made it very clear that she didn’t believe him for a moment.

Torkel chose not to react, and headed for the door. ‘I’ll go and get him.’

It had been easier than he thought. Much easier.

Which unfortunately was an indication of the panic they were all feeling.

Sebastian came into the Room and went straight over to the whiteboard without bothering to say hello. He seemed almost excited, Torkel thought. Like a child on Christmas Eve.

Sebastian stopped in front of the pictures and quickly glanced over them. He couldn’t make any sense of it. Were they taking the piss?

‘Are these new?’

‘Yes.’

He turned back to the board and studied the photographs again, more intently this time. The murders had been copied down to the last detail as far as he could see, but now he could see the differences too.

Different rooms.

Different women.

A copycat.

He looked at Torkel, this time more angry than bewildered. ‘Why the hell didn’t you call me in when you found the first one?’

‘It’s not Hinde,’ Vanja said.

‘I know it’s not Hinde, but this is someone who is trying to imitate his crimes as faithfully as possibly. They look virtually identical! You should have brought me in right away.’

‘Why?’ Vanja snapped defiantly.

She had been annoyed the second Sebastian walked through the door. Not a word about how pleased or grateful he was to be back. No polite remarks, no questions about how they all were. Nothing that a normal person might have done in his situation. He had just come marching in as if he had every right to be a member of the team. It infuriated her. And so did that crooked little smile he was wearing now, as if she was slightly stupid. The same smile Carl Wahlström had given her.

‘Why do you think?’ Sebastian said. ‘I know more about Hinde than anyone else.’

‘And what’s that got to do with anything?’ Vanja decided to stick to her guns. How long had Sebastian been here? Two minutes? And already he was taking over the meeting, the room, the entire investigation. Time to reclaim it. ‘This is someone else with a completely different motive. Whatever you know about Hinde is of no help here.’

‘Whatever I know is always of some help. Otherwise you wouldn’t have brought me in. I’m not here because you think I’m charming. So can one of you tell me what you’ve got?’

Billy stood up. ‘I can bring you up to date.’ Without waiting for any kind of response, Billy went over to the board. Torkel looked at Vanja, who shrugged.

Sebastian pulled out a chair and sat down next to Ursula.

‘Good to see you,’ he whispered. Ursula gave him a look which suggested that the pleasure was far from mutual. ‘Have you missed me?’ She shook her head and turned her attention to Billy. He was pointing at a picture of one of the women, around forty years old, brown eyes under a full fringe, smiling straight into the camera.

‘Twenty-fourth of June. Maria Lie in Bromma. Single. A friend became worried when she didn’t get in touch and didn’t come in to work after the midsummer weekend.’ Billy moved his finger from the portrait to a photograph from the scene of the crime. ‘Tied up with nylon stockings, lying on the bed on her stomach. Raped and killed with a powerful slash with a knife which severed both the trachea and carotid artery.’

Sebastian nodded to himself. Every detail was familiar. It was as if he had been transported back in time. In his mind he started to go through what he actually knew about copycat murderers. There were some, but very few who copied serial killers. It was more common in the case of school or college campus massacres, or when someone imitated individual, violent murders from films or games. The copycat had an unhealthy fascination with the original, of course, but what else? A psychological disorder, obviously, but of a different kind. Where the serial killer frequently managed to maintain a facade of normality, of being ‘ordinary’, the copycat was often a more unusual character. More withdrawn. Poor self-image. Low self-esteem. A product of his or her upbringing.

As always.

A person who, like the killer he was copying, was capable of crossing the line and using extreme violence, but who wasn’t strong enough to take the initiative, or imaginative enough to come up with a method and select his victims on his own. He needed a role model. It was clear in everything he did. The man they were looking for kept a very low profile.

‘No sign of forced entry,’ Billy went on. ‘It seems as if she, like the others, let the killer in. However, there are signs of a struggle inside the apartment. Sperm, pubic hair and fingerprints left at the scene.’

He placed his finger on a new picture. A blonde woman, forty-five to fifty years old. Blue eyes. A small scar on her upper lip, probably from an operation to correct a harelip when she was a child. No obvious similarities to the first victim. A germ of an idea flashed through Sebastian’s mind as he looked at her, but it was too small and too fast for him to catch.

‘Fifteenth of July. Jeanette Jansson Nyberg, Nynäshamn. Her husband and sons came home after a football trip and found her. She had written in her blog that she was going to be alone all weekend, “just chilling out”. Perhaps the murderer knew when to strike.’

‘Did the others write a blog? Maria Lie?’ Sebastian asked.

Billy shook his head. ‘No, but she was on Facebook of course, with her status posted as single.’

Sebastian nodded. He was amazed at the amount of information people were prepared to share with strangers. These days burglars didn’t need to bother finding out when a property was empty; the owner cheerfully provided the information via their blog, writing about how wonderful the coming holiday or trip was going to be. The same thing applied when it came to personal information. Single equalled alone equalled vulnerable.

‘We found a footprint in the flowerbed at the bottom of the steps,’ Vanja chipped in. ‘It didn’t match the husband’s or sons’. Sperm from the same person as with Maria Lie.’

‘So he’s deliberately leaving evidence?’

‘It seems that way,’ Torkel replied. ‘Or else he’s unusually inept. But if he’s that useless he should have had dealings with us before, and he hasn’t.’