Alex remembered only too well. He’d had to take Peder aside and explain how you behaved towards female colleagues, and how you most definitely did not behave. He’d been forced to send Peder on a course to learn about equality in the workplace. Alex didn’t think it was something that could be learned in a lecture room, but that was beside the point. The order had come directly from the head of Human Resources, so . . .
He suddenly sat bolt upright.
‘Did you hear what’s happened? Berlin’s been promoted. She’s head of department.’
‘Which department?’
‘Mine, among others. The whole place is a shambles since the restructuring. Berlin’s in charge of an empire the size of a continent.’
Peder laughed so hard he started coughing.
‘Jesus Christ!’
‘It’s true. I was so pissed off I managed to persuade Fredrika to come out and get drunk with me.’
‘You’re kidding me!’
‘Absolutely not. You should have seen her. Being drunk kind of suited her. Well, you know what I mean.’
Peder knew exactly what he meant.
They carried on talking; Peder had a new job.
‘I was with the Solomon Community for a long time. My temporary post was extended, and I finished up staying for several years. It was good, but now I’m working for a private security firm that helps big companies with background checks on job applicants.’
‘Like being a secret agent?’ Alex said.
‘Kind of,’ Peder laughed. ‘Although it’s a lot more comfortable and very well paid.’
Alex laughed too. He could just imagine Peder digging up people’s secrets. He was capable of both efficiency and discretion, although he could also be restless. Alex couldn’t help wondering why he’d left the Solomon Community. He hadn’t been there that long, despite his assertions.
‘Did it get too monotonous?’ he wondered.
Peder didn’t answer for a moment.
‘No, it was more . . . I just needed to do something different. I wanted a change – it was time. Once I’d made the decision it all happened pretty quickly.’
It was time.
That was the way you thought when you were young. In Alex’s case the phrase ‘well, it’s too late now’ was more prevalent. Too late for a change of career, too late to make something else of his life. His gaze fell on a framed photograph on his desk, a picture of himself with the children. Diana wasn’t there. Nor was Lena.
He picked it up, thought back to the conversation with Noah. Tried to imagine a scenario where he and the kids disappeared in a way that meant no one would miss him.
Impossible.
He hesitated, then made up his mind.
‘Peder, can I run a story by you?’
‘A story?’
‘Yes, a story someone told me today. The problem is I don’t know what to do with it.’
The words came pouring out, how desperate Noah had sounded.
‘The trouble is I can’t just dismiss him as an idiot. He’s not making this up.’
‘Do you want me to check him out?’ Peder said dubiously.
‘No, no, that’s not why I brought it up. I want to know what you think, whether it’s something I ought to pursue.’
‘If your colleagues have already looked into it and decided there’s nothing in it, then what can you achieve?’
Peder’s words should have made Alex feel better, but they didn’t.
‘I’m not sure . . .’ he said.
‘About what?’
‘Whether Noah might be right after all.’
He could hear Peder tapping on a keyboard.
‘If I tell you something in confidence, it stays between us – okay?’ he said.
‘Absolutely,’ Alex promised after a brief pause.
‘Before I got this post I spent some time with a security firm targeting small businesses that needed help with alarm systems, that kind of thing.’
Alex sighed.
‘You’re telling me you’ve fitted in another job since you left Solomon?’
He knew he sounded like a nagging parent, but he couldn’t help himself.
‘Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?’
Peder’s voice was louder now, slightly stressed.
Alex backtracked; he didn’t want to risk Peder hanging up on him. At the same time, he didn’t like what he was hearing. Peder was a sensitive soul, and he had gone through a great deal in the past. As long as life was running smoothly he was fine, but over the years he’d had something of a tendency to go off the rails – often deliberately.
‘I do,’ Alex said, even though he was uncomfortable at not knowing where the conversation was heading. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be telling you what to do – you’re all grown up now. So . . . you worked for another security firm for a little while?’
‘Yes, what’s so strange about that? Sometimes things don’t turn out the way you expect.’
Alex suppressed another sigh. That was precisely Peder’s weakness. He always had an explanation, an excuse when something didn’t go according to plan. And Peder’s voice . . . It wasn’t just defensive. If they hadn’t known each other so well, Alex would have thought it sounded threatening.
But why?
Adopting a conciliatory tone, he said: ‘Okay, tell me what you know.’
‘Noah Johansson contacted us. It must have been early autumn, just after I started there. He was scared, thought someone was after him.’
‘What?’
‘Exactly. That’s more or less what I said – “What?” I told him I could help him with an alarm system and so on, but that he had to contact the police if he was being followed or harassed. He wasn’t prepared to do that, and I never did find out why. To be honest, I think he was making it up. He was kind of volatile, talked a load of crap.’
Volatile, talked a load of crap.
An assessment directly at odds with Alex’s own.
Not that it was unwelcome. If Peder was right, it would undeniably explain a great deal. After all, Alex didn’t have personal knowledge of Noah’s character; he couldn’t assess his reliability from the brief contact they’d had.
He glanced over at the window. If he wanted to he could go out and enjoy one of the season’s few warm, sunny summer evenings. However, he lacked both desire and company, and preferred to remain indoors.
‘You don’t think whoever was threatening Noah could be holding his brother hostage to get what they want?’ he said.
‘If that’s the case I’m pretty sure he would have told you. or kicked off big time when the police insisted there was nothing to investigate. But honestly, Alex – I think he was making it all up. He’s a fantasist.’
Alex felt a sense of relief. Peder was probably right.
‘Do you know anything about Noah’s situation today?’ he asked. ‘In terms of security systems, I mean.’
Peder didn’t say anything at first; when he did speak, he’d lowered his voice.
‘No.’
Alex heard a key in the front door; Diana was home. Warmth and happiness filled his body, as if she’d been away for years rather than just a few hours.
‘I have to go,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘Anything else you think I ought to know?’
Again Peder hesitated. out in the hallway Diana was taking off her shoes, putting something heavy on the floor – maybe a bag of books? They absolutely didn’t need more books, although of course Diana wouldn’t be pleased if he expressed that particular point of view. According to her, books were not about need. It was worse than that. They were a prerequisite for all rational life on earth.
Love means compromising, Alex thought. Every single day.
He registered Peder’s silence on the other end of the line, and sat down again. To hell with Diana’s books. Peder clearly had more to say.
‘I drove past Noah’s funeral business by pure chance the other day,’ Peder said quietly. ‘I don’t know if . . . Sh
it, maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this. It’s so easy to jump to conclusions. He might be a bit of a fantasist, but that doesn’t mean he’s always wrong or always exaggerates.’
Alex leaned forward, feeling the hard surface of the desk beneath his elbows.
‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Tell me what’s bothering you.’
He was acutely aware of Peder’s uncertainty, felt it grow and infect him. And with that uncertainty came a change of heart.
Don’t tell me, because I don’t want to hear what you have to say.
But it was too late.
‘I saw a man slam the door behind him as he left. Then he turned and stormed back inside. There are huge windows, so you can see what’s going on. I pulled up, and I saw the man go over to Noah and grab hold of his jacket.’
‘Okay . . .’
Noah was a funeral director. Death aroused strong feelings; there was nothing new about that.
‘He shoved Noah against the wall,’ Peder went on, ‘so hard that Noah banged his head. If the man hadn’t left straight afterwards I would have called the police. I stayed put until I was sure Noah was all right, then I drove off.’
Alex wasn’t particularly impressed; where was Peder going with this?
And then, with no warning, he said:
‘Alex, it was Spencer.’
‘What?’
‘The man who was so upset was Spencer, Fredrika’s husband.’
‘Are you sure you can’t stay tonight as well?’
Lovisa Wahlberg was sitting up in bed with a blanket around her shoulders as her boyfriend got dressed.
He shook his head.
‘Best if I sleep at home – I’ve got to be up at five in the morning.’
Lovisa thought about the letter she’d received, the book someone had left on her bike. The shadow hiding behind the bus shelter.
‘That doesn’t matter,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I like getting up early.’
Her boyfriend grinned and pulled on his trousers.
‘Liar!’
Lovisa drew the blanket more tightly around her shoulders.
I don’t want to be alone.
Socks, sweater. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow evening, won’t I?’
He sounded worried; he’d noticed how quiet she’d gone.
‘Of course.’
She got out of bed and went to the door with him, kissed him when he’d put his shoes on.
‘When will you be home from work?’ he asked. ‘I thought I’d come over about four.’
‘I won’t be back by then. Take the spare key and let yourself in.’
‘Okay.’ He slipped the key into his pocket, kissed her and left. Lovisa closed the door and locked it, then padded back to the bedroom. She grabbed her bag and took out the book.
I Am Putting Everything Right
She’d never heard of the author, or the book. There was no blurb on the back cover, no indication of what it was about. The pages were yellowing; apparently the book had been printed in the 1940s.
Lovisa shuddered; she didn’t want it anywhere near her. She pushed it into her bag and sat down on the bed.
Then she heard a key in the lock. Overwhelmed with relief, she rushed into the hallway.
He’s come back! He could tell that I didn’t want him to go!
The relief disappeared.
The sound wasn’t right.
It wasn’t a key – someone was messing with the lock.
Lovisa looked around frantically, desperately searching for an escape route.
Where can I go?
The door flew open and the man she’d thought of as a shadow was standing there. With slow, deliberate movements – he knew perfectly well that Lovisa was trapped – he closed the door behind him.
All Lovisa could think about was the article that had been sent to her.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘Now you and I are going to put everything right.’
INTERVIEW WITH ALEX RECHT
06-09-2016
Present: Interrogators one and two (I1 and I2), Detective Chief Inspector Alex Recht (Recht)
I1:
Did you tell Fredrika what you'd found out about Spencer?
Recht:
No, it was too vague. I decided we could talk about it later, if there was a reason to do so.
I2:
Okay, let's leave that for the moment. You continued with the investigation into the murder of Malcolm Benke. What happened?
(silence)
Recht:
Far too much.
I1:
Seriously . . .
(silence)
Recht:
There were more deaths. And more letters.
I1:
Did you have any suspects at this stage?
Recht:
No.
I1:
But it wasn't long before the situation changed, if I've understood correctly.
Recht:
No investigation is entirely without speculation.
I2:
Surely it wasn't hard to predict that there would be more letters?
(silence)
Recht:
As far as I was concerned, it was. And that also applies to my colleagues.
WEDNESDAY
Grass tennis courts. What a ridiculous idea. That was what Gustav’s father had said when he heard about his son’s latest little earner. Cutting the grass on the new tennis courts out in Saltsjobaden.
‘Absolutely lunacy,’ he’d said. ‘We’re getting like the British – so conservative that we’d rather allow tennis players to break their legs than provide them with a modern surface to play on.’
Gustav knew nothing about either tennis or British traditions (and neither did his father, to be honest), but he knew how to earn money. He’d been the same ever since he was twelve years old, never letting an opportunity pass him by. He looked after babies, dogs, cats, sold Christmas magazines, ran errands for old Agnes who lived across the street. Gustav loved earning money. The more he earned, the closer he got to his goal: to pass his motorcycle test when he was eighteen. His parents would never agree to finance such nonsense; they’d made that very clear the first time he’d mentioned it at the age of ten.
The ride-on mower was waiting for him in the garage. It started at the first attempt and moved smoothly out of its hiding place. It was a glorious summer day, and Gustav was very happy. Above all he was delighted that the weather was good enough for him to be able to cut the grass. He also had a new girlfriend, and plenty of work. Sven at the ICA supermarket a hundred metres from Gustav’s home had offered him a few hours on the checkout, which Gustav had gratefully accepted. It was wonderful to be on holiday from school. It was wonderful that everything was going so well.
He drove onto the court. The grass wasn’t like normal grass; it was much denser, and there were no weeds. It also had to be cut unbelievably short. Gustav did exactly as he’d been shown: straight lines, sharp turns. The sun was in his eyes half the time, and he wished he’d remembered to bring his sunglasses. He screwed up his eyes, tried to shade them with his hand, but that didn’t go too well; he had to hold on to the wheel at the same time.
Maybe that was why he missed the pale lumps protruding from the grass. He drove straight over them, felt the mower jolt, but kept on going. Fuck – were there stones on the court? If so, it must be sabotage. He stopped and turned around. There were four patches of red behind him.
Gustav frowned. What the . . . ?
He switched off the mower and went over to take a closer look, which didn’t help at all. The red stuff was sticky, grainy, smeared across the green surface, mixed with something else. Something beige and white.
Gustav froze.
Beige, white . . . and fleshy.
Ten centimetres from his foot lay a thumb.
‘I think I’ve changed my mind,’ Spencer said.
Fredrika was standing in the bathroom wishing he’d said something else. He’d changed his mind. Really?
‘Would you like me to help you?’ she said.
Spencer didn’t answer, and Fredrika gently began to knot his tie.
‘I want the children to come home this weekend,’ he said.
‘Okay – I’ll ring Mum and ask her and Dad to bring them back.’
‘Or we could go and fetch them.’
‘It’s fine, Mum and Dad enjoy a trip to town. And it’ll give them more time with the children.’
‘They’ll have plenty of time with their grandchildren when I’m gone,’ Spencer said.
Before Fredrika could come up with a suitable response, her mobile rang. Spencer reached over and passed it to her.
She tightened the knot of his tie before she took the call. Spencer stood up and left the room.
‘Fredrika, it’s Alex. You have to come out to Saltsjobaden.’
She straightened up, felt the room sway. Nothing to worry about, according to the psychologist she’d spoken too. Dizziness was a symptom of all the stress she’d suffered over the past few months.
Alex’s voice sounded high, strained.
‘What’s happened?’
‘I don’t want to tell you over the phone. Just get here – I’ll text you the address.’
‘What’s happened?’ Fredrika said again. ‘You must be able to tell me something.’ And then, before she could stop herself, she added: ‘Who’s dead?’
She could hear crackling on the other end of the line; Alex was in a windy spot.
‘Lovisa Wahlberg.’
The name meant nothing to Fredrika, but she wondered how this was going to work. They were already investigating one murder; they couldn’t possibly take on another. Unless there was a connection.
Her heart skipped a beat.
‘I hope she didn’t die sitting in front of an open fire,’ she said quietly.
Alex’s voice almost broke as he answered.
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