‘I don’t understand – the only time?’
‘Torbjörn went to see her again with the aim of sorting out the legal side of things; he wanted the right to call himself the child’s father. At that point his ex changed her story completely, denied everything. Torbjörn threatened her with a court case and God knows what, but this was almost forty years ago; it wasn’t so easy to investigate such matters back then, and in the end he had to give up. She threatened him with an injunction if he didn’t stay away, and that was that. But he never forgot Maria.’
Fredrika tried to take it all in. So Torbjörn had found out that there was a child who was his, a child who lived in the same city, yet he had no right to see her.
‘Was that why you divorced?’ she asked Mimmi.
‘Yes. He changed completely; there was no reasoning with him. I’m shocked to hear that he’s talked about his daughter. As far as I’m aware, he never mentioned her.’
Fredrika lowered her gaze, then looked up again.
‘It only happened once. He told our boss that his daughter had died.’
Mimmi nodded. ‘So I heard. I meet up with Torbjörn occasionally; the last time was back in the autumn, just after Maria died. He was terribly upset.’
Fredrika stared at a book on the coffee table – an old Sidney Sheldon novel.
‘How did she die?’
‘You should know that if you’re a police officer. She was murdered.’
Fredrika straightened up.
‘Murdered? By whom?’
Mimmi took a deep breath.
‘It’s such a terrible story. Her own husband killed her – and their children too.’
The wheels were beginning to turn in Fredrika’s brain.
‘He murdered the whole family?’
‘Yes, then he took his own life. Apparently he had psychological problems; he’d tried to get help, but it didn’t work out. Torbjörn swore that he’d find whoever was responsible for letting Maria’s husband down, and hold him to account.’
Fredrika didn’t say a word; she was busy processing what she’d just heard.
‘I don’t know if he managed it,’ Mimmi added.
Dan Johansson. Noah’s brother, who had misdiagnosed a patient, and who had been missing since May.
The circle was closed.
‘I think he did,’ she said. She got to her feet and thanked Mimmi for her time.
‘What shall I say if I see Torbjörn?’ Mimmi asked as Fredrika opened the front door. ‘Can I tell him you’ve been here?’
‘No.’
Fredrika ran to her car. Her phone rang just as she was about to start the engine.
‘We need to get over to the Solomon Community,’ Alex said.
Things were happening fast – so fast that lunchtime simply disappeared, so fast that none of them had time to think. Alex continued his conversation with Fredrika on the phone as he sped towards the Solomon Community, and she told him what she’d learned from Mimmi. As he pulled up he received another call, informing him that the police had finally gained access to The Sanctuary. The woman had given her name as Malin Johansson; she had a number of fractures to both hands, but otherwise she and her two children were unharmed. Physically, at least. Their mental health was another matter. Their stay in the house hadn’t been voluntary; none of them had set foot outside for almost two months.
Unbelievable. Sick, Alex thought.
He didn’t like having to come back here. The Solomon Community had mourned two dead children and a preschool teacher; was more grief about to come their way?
Fredrika met him at the main door, and listened in horror to the latest news.
‘I don’t understand how Ross chooses his victims,’ she said. ‘I mean seriously, it doesn’t make sense. It would have been understandable if he’d gone for those he held responsible for his daughter’s death – at least as far as the selection process goes. But Malcolm Benke, Lovisa Wahlberg, Henry Lindgren?’
‘I guess the job is the common factor. Ross has worked on various cases where he’s felt that certain people have got away scot-free, and now he’s putting everything right. To use a rather overworked phrase.’
‘Very overworked. Which leads us to Morgan Sander and his book – what’s he got to do with all this? Why that particular book?’
‘Torbjörn Ross doesn’t strike me as someone who has a particularly strong interest in literature,’ Alex said. ‘Could it be his wife who provided him with the inspiration, purely by chance?’
‘Maybe. I expect we’ll find out sooner or later.’
They’d asked Ivan to check out the information provided by Mimmi Ross. It didn’t take him many minutes to confirm the basics. The woman who’d been murdered by her husband, Dan Johansson’s former client, had indeed been called Maria. Her parents lived out in Danderyd, and Ivan was on his way over there with a colleague to interview them.
‘What if the mother insists that Ross wasn’t Maria’s birth father?’ Fredrika said. ‘She might even claim that she doesn’t know anyone by the name of Torbjörn Ross.’
‘Then we carry out a DNA test if necessary.’
A security guard emerged and checked their ID carefully before letting them in. It was just like before: the security system was testimony to the fact that the Community was part of a persecuted people.
They were shown into the head of security’s office, and Ed asked them to sit down.
‘Tell us about the house.’ Alex got straight to the point.
Ed moved the desk mat in front of him a fraction.
‘Can I rely on your discretion? The Sanctuary is important to us. It would be unfortunate if its existence and location became widely known.’
Alex couldn’t have cared less.
‘Build a new house. Preferably one that actually has an address and appears on a map.’
Ed folded his arms.
‘Start talking,’ Alex snapped. ‘Torbjörn Ross – how did you come into contact with him?’
‘He got in touch with us, asked about the house, wondered if it would be possible to rent it.’
‘How did he know about the house in the first place?’ Fredrika said. ‘You can’t exactly see it from the street.’
‘He was fishing on the lake; I think he came ashore for a pee, then decided to go for a walk.’
‘And stumbled across The Sanctuary.’
‘Yes, and not only that – our former head of security happened to be there, and they knew each other. Apparently they used to work together.’
Alex’s eyebrows shot up. ‘When was this?’
‘Last summer.’
‘And what was the name of your head of security?’
Ed’s eyes narrowed. ‘You already know that.’
‘Peder Rydh,’ Fredrika said.
‘Exactly.’
‘As I understand it, The Sanctuary has always been a well-kept secret. What did Peder tell Torbjörn Ross?’
‘Not much, but Ross worked it out for himself.’
‘Then what?’
Ed sighed impatiently.
‘Ross contacted Peder again. Six months had passed since they’d bumped into each other at the house, and Peder was no longer working for us. However, he and I had kept in touch, and he knew The Sanctuary was empty. Ross was wondering if he could rent it; he had a daughter who was abroad at the time, but when she came back to Sweden she would need protection, a place to hide. Peder passed his request on to the Community, and we decided to say yes.’
Alex and Fredrika exchanged glances as they tried to sort out the timeline without saying too much. Fredrika took the lead.
‘When exactly did Ross ask to rent the house?’
‘In February. He came to see it in April, but didn’t move his daughter in until the end of May.’
‘Did he pass on his daughter’s personal documentation?’
Ed was clearly irritated.
‘Yes, but it was of no interest to me. Ross told me a very personal and tragic tale,
which Peder confirmed. The girl’s mother hadn’t allowed Ross to be registered as her father, so someone else’s name was on the birth certificate. She was living under threat, so her details were protected anyway. The name didn’t get us very far; I mean, Malin Johansson is pretty common in Sweden.’
‘Isn’t it just,’ Alex said.
He could have added that Ross’s daughter wasn’t called Malin Johansson, that his daughter was dead, and that Malin had completely different parents.
This doesn’t make sense.
How could Peder have confirmed that Ross was related to the woman he alleged he was trying to protect? They didn’t even know each other. Alex took out his mobile, hoping there would be a missed call from Peder. Nothing.
‘It seems as if the Community puts a great deal of trust in Peder Rydh,’ Fredrika remarked.
‘We do indeed, and I can’t see any problem with that. He was an outstanding head of security, and we miss him.’
I can’t see any problem with that.
Strange. And Peder’s continued absence and lack of contact were even stranger.
He’s got himself into some kind of trouble again. Same old same old. And now he’s ashamed of himself, trying to hide away.
‘The man I pulled out of the lake,’ Ed continued. ‘I assume he was living in The Sanctuary too?’
‘Yes, his name was Dan Johansson. He was married to Malin.’
‘Ross’s daughter.’
‘Ross doesn’t have a daughter,’ Fredrika said.
Ed frowned and his face lost some of its colour.
‘You never met the family?’ Alex asked.
‘No.’
‘We’ll need to speak to you again.’
‘Hang on a minute – so who were the people Ross lent the house to if they weren’t his daughter’s family?’
‘He didn’t lend the house to anyone. The family were not there of their own volition. They were being held captive by Ross for reasons I can’t go into right now.’
Ed’s face froze, his expression betraying a mixture of shock and anger.
‘Just tell me if Rydh’s mixed up in this too,’ he said.
‘We have no reason to suspect his involvement at this stage,’ Fredrika reassured him.
However, Alex could see what she was thinking. Peder was the kind of person who made mistakes, then refused to take responsibility. The fact that he wasn’t a suspect needn’t necessarily mean that he wasn’t partly to blame for what had happened.
Alex’s mobile rang: Berlin. She didn’t bother with any small talk.
‘I’ve had to have Ross arrested. He’s admitted kidnapping the Johansson family.’
Time stood still. Alex took several deep breaths. Once upon a time he had hung out with Ross, gone fishing with him. Now he was in custody, having confessed to a terrible crime.
‘Jesus.’
Fredrika caught his eye. Alex got up and left Ed’s office, mouthing ‘back in a minute’. Out in the corridor he continued the conversation with Berlin.
‘What about the rest? Has he owned up to the whole lot?’
Berlin didn’t answer right away.
‘You should have seen him, Alex.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He was completely floored when I listed all the crimes he was suspected of. He denies everything except the kidnapping.’
Alex tried to understand. He failed and shook his head.
‘Surely he’s not denying the murder of Dan Johansson?’
‘He claims it was Dan’s wife who killed him. He also swears that Noah’s death was nothing to do with him.’
Alex took a deep breath. ‘We need to talk to Peder Rydh. He—’
‘Peder’s here now,’ Berlin informed him.
Yet another surprise.
Quite a big surprise.
‘He’s giving a statement; he’s very upset at the way Torbjörn abused his trust.’
Alex felt a pang of sorrow. Peder had gone to Berlin rather than to him.
‘He’s embarrassed,’ Berlin added quietly. ‘Peder, I mean.’
‘And so he should be.’
Then, with some hesitation, Alex asked the question he didn’t really want to know the answer to:
‘Are we going to be able to nail Ross for the lot?’
‘Doubtful. Very doubtful, unless we can come up with more forensic evidence.’
‘I’ll come and see you as soon as I get back to HQ,’ Alex said. ‘I’m still at the Solomon Community, and—’
‘One more thing. We’ve got a match between the prints on the letter and one of the wills from Noah’s office.’
‘Okay.’
‘Not okay. It’s the last will and testament of Fredrika’s husband, Spencer Lagergren.’
The courier arrived just as Spencer was on his way out. He accepted the beautifully wrapped bouquet of flowers with surprise, and thanked the girl who’d delivered them.
‘I think they need to go in water right away,’ she said.
‘Okay.’
He went into the kitchen and found a vase. Tore off the paper and saw a card.
Thanks for all your help! I’d never have completed my dissertation without you. Have a wonderful summer!
Eva-Lotta
Spencer smiled. Eva-Lotta was going to do very well. She’d done a magnificent job of researching the history of self-publishing in Sweden.
I’d never have completed my dissertation without you.
Spencer thought that was an exaggeration. Eva-Lotta would have worked well with any supervisor. She had the drive, the fire in her belly. Her attitude reminded him of Fredrika when she was a student. A student who’d fallen head over heels in love with Spencer. He always blushed when he remembered how he’d pushed her away at first.
I never imagined that she’d be mine. Marry me, give birth to my children.
His eyes filled with tears as he arranged the flowers. There would be no more students to follow in Eva-Lotta’s footsteps. No more lectures, no more dissertations. Everything he did was for the last time. His days were measured out, coming to an end. And in the middle of it all, his funeral director had been murdered. Talk about irony and black humour – it was like something out of a Monty Python sketch. The funeral director who died and left the dying in a pickle.
Spencer had been off to see a new funeral director when the courier turned up with the flowers. He’d chosen someone who was part of a larger chain, a company that didn’t stand or fall because of one individual. After all, who knew what else might happen? Death behaved like a drunk in a crowded bar, cannoning straight into whoever got in the way without even apologising. Spencer had had enough surprises. Other people talked about getting their lives organised; he just wanted to organise his death.
He left the apartment and headed towards Sankt Eriks-plan. At least he was in control of the most important thing: settling his debt. Not that the debt had been paid in full, but he had reduced it significantly. That would have to do, both for him and for the young woman concerned.
He felt a kind of peace when he reached his destination and took out his phone. One quick call, then he’d be ready to meet another of death’s entrepreneurs.
Noah Johansson’s assistant answered almost immediately; she’d just returned from her holiday.
‘Spencer Lagergren. I left you a message about my will.’
‘Oh yes – you’re not the only one, I can assure you!’
‘Of course. I realise how busy you must be; I’d just like to know when it would be convenient for me to call in and pick up my envelope – or rather envelopes.’
There was a rustling sound on the other end of the line; the woman was doing something else at the same time. Or was she playing for time? Spencer had no idea where that thought came from, but he didn’t like it.
‘Hello?’ he said.
‘The thing is, I don’t quite know how to tell you this, but the police have been here and taken away a load of stuff.’
‘T
hat’s understandable, but I’m sure they haven’t taken the wills.’
‘I’m afraid that’s exactly what they’ve done.’
Spencer couldn’t speak for a moment. ‘But they’re confidential,’ he managed eventually. His objection sounded pathetic.
‘I know, and I’m very sorry, but they promised to return them very soon.’
Spencer ended the call.
The police had taken all the wills. To read them, to examine them? He had no idea. What was clear, however, was that whoever opened his two envelopes would find out way too much.
Exhaustion overwhelmed him.
Fredrika, he thought. How the hell am I going to get out of this?
This situation required resolve, strength, willpower. Those attributes had largely ebbed away. He was too tired, too ill. Maybe even too old.
He stood there on the pavement for a long time before making a decision.
The children. He would go and pick up the children.
‘He took my daughter away from me. I lost her for the second time. He destroyed her life, it’s his fault that her husband shot her. I don’t know what else you need to hear.’
Torbjörn Ross had become a very small person – so small that Fredrika was afraid he would simply vanish if she blinked.
One second he was there, and then he wasn’t. Very strange.
She and Berlin were questioning Ross. Alex had removed himself from the equation as soon as they got back to HQ, answering evasively when she asked where he was going, what was so urgent.
‘Alex can’t be part of this interview,’ Berlin had said firmly. ‘Obviously – because of the messages he’s received.’
Fredrika agreed, but that didn’t explain what was happening now. She couldn’t shake off the feeling that Berlin was pleased to have her there – not because she valued what Fredrika could bring to the table, but because she wanted her exactly where she was, away from the rest of the department.
‘Did she know she was your daughter?’ Berlin asked Ross.
The Flood Page 28
