I turned the computer on as I sipped the whisky.
Sara Texas.
I was just going to check a few things before going to bed. If Bobby wanted a private detective, he’d have to ask someone else.
I found myself thinking about Tor Gustavsson. The lawyer who hadn’t done his job. Who ‘knew things’.
I’ll start with that, I thought. I’ll call old Gustavsson in the morning, then I’ll call Bobby and tell him I don’t want to get involved.
The fan in the computer whirred quietly.
My fingers flew over the keyboard.
Sara Texas Tell.
What secrets had she taken with her to the grave?
Twenty-six. That was how old Sara Tell had been when she confessed to the murders of five people. Three women and two men. In the field of criminology she was regarded as unique. After she was arrested and remanded in custody, there had been a big debate as to whether or not she was a serial killer. I couldn’t really understand that. Of course she was a serial killer. If she hadn’t been an attractive young woman, that discussion would never have taken place.
People are very reluctant to believe things that fall outside the realm of what they expect. Sara Tell wasn’t beautiful, but she was attractive. Her features were so finely chiselled that her face looked like a doll’s. She was taller than most women, almost one metre eighty. If she hadn’t been, the case would have felt even more peculiar. Because then it would have been pretty much impossible to understand how she could have committed her crimes.
She never gave any explanation for the murders. Not that I could see in the papers, anyway.
It was past midnight and the air in the library was starting to feel stuffy. The whisky looked cloudy and my back was stiff.
I remembered the radio interview that Bobby heard me do. The interviewer was a sensation-seeking reporter who wanted to know what I thought about Sara’s chances of being found not guilty. I sometimes get asked that sort of thing about high-profile cases, partly because I spent a very short period of my life in the police force. And in the States, no less. As far as Sara was concerned, I said that the chances of her being found not guilty were non-existent, but that I thought everyone – no matter what they had done – had the right to a defence lawyer during court proceedings. To the question of whether I could imagine defending Sara, I replied just as Bobby had said: that Sara’s was a dream case. That I would have been happy to help her.
With what? I wondered, as I sat at the computer reading article after article about the horrific crimes she had committed. Sara Texas didn’t strike me as a woman in extremis. On the contrary. She seemed to have been perfectly capable of taking care of herself. In the pictures from the trial she looked very focused. Straight-backed, attractive. For some reason I was struck by the fact that she wore glasses. A serial killer with a pretty face, glasses and a nice jacket. It didn’t make sense. And not because I have any prejudices about the sort of people who commit crimes in our world. Sara Texas was a paradox. And that was what made her interesting. And that was why I would have liked to have met her.
Almost unconsciously I reached for a pen and sheet of paper. I quickly sketched out some of the basic facts. She had committed her first murder when she was twenty-one years old. She stabbed a young woman in Galveston, Texas. The following year she murdered a man in Houston. After that she moved back to Sweden. She had just become a mother when she committed her third murder. Before her son was three she had notched up numbers four and five.
It took the police in Texas five years to figure out that she was responsible for the murders of the woman in Galveston and the man in Houston. A coincidence helped unlock the case and led them to request her extradition from Sweden to the USA. The Swedish authorities said no, obviously. We don’t hand people over to countries where they run the risk of receiving the death penalty. But we are able to try people for crimes even if they were committed abroad. And that was what the prosecutor decided to do.
Only then did they work out that Sara had murdered three other people too. The cases had been languishing unsolved by the police until then. And would probably have remained like that if Sara herself hadn’t mentioned them.
Why on earth would anyone do a thing like that?
Confessing to three murders that no one would have thought to ask about. It was beyond me.
Ignoring the fact that using newspaper articles as source material was rather frivolous, I thought I had identified several more things that were hard to understand.
No fingerprints.
No DNA in the form of blood, saliva or hair.
No items left at the crime scenes.
No witnesses to the crimes.
But, on the other hand, she had known or at least met all the victims while they were alive. That sort of detail had to be regarded as compromising, given the circumstances. Seeing as there were no fewer than five victims, murdered on two continents, it was hard to ignore that particular fact. But they were hardly close friends of Sara’s. One of the victims worked at a hotel she had stayed in. Another one was a taxi driver who gave her a ride. The sort of connections that could never be described as close.
All in all, there was really only one conclusion: in a Swedish court she would have been found not guilty on all charges if she hadn’t confessed and presented her own evidence.
I shook my head slowly.
Why would anyone do that? Guilty conscience? Because they felt a need to tell someone?
But Sara never expressed any regret. She never asked anyone’s forgiveness or explained her crimes. Christ knows what her motivations were.
I was feeling tired, my eyes were stinging. I turned the desk-lamp off and went to bed.
There was something odd lurking in the case of Sara Texas.
Something I didn’t know how to find.
That annoyed me.
Really fucking annoyed me.
5
It was raining again. Drops of water the size of blueberries were falling from the sky, spoiling both my hairstyle and my jacket.
Lucy smiled as I walked through the door.
‘Don’t you look lovely?’ she said.
She gave me a quick kiss.
‘Thanks for last night, by the way.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘As always, very enjoyable.’
Lucy and I set up the law practice almost ten years ago. We were both relative newcomers in the business, and equally ambitious. I know I thought of her as a kindred spirit. She was incredibly driven in everything she did, and still is to this day. We used to talk about how successful we were going to be, and how many employees we’d have. That bit never happened. We were comfortable, just the two of us, and never felt like letting anyone else in. Apart from our assistant, Helmer.
A friend once asked me how I could bear to work so closely with a woman I was in love with. I didn’t understand the question. I still don’t. Being close to Lucy wasn’t and isn’t a problem. Quite the contrary; I’d go to pieces if she packed up and left.
‘You look tired, did you stay up late?’
‘No, not really,’ I said, stifling a yawn.
‘Really? You look like a panda with those rings round your eyes. Admit it – you lay awake reading about Sara Texas.’
‘Not at all,’ I said drily. ‘But I did sit up reading. It’s pretty interesting, actually.’
‘I can imagine,’ Lucy said. ‘Good-looking girl, after all.’
I went into my room and barely had time to close the door before it opened again. Helmer, our assistant, came in.
‘A plumber called. He wanted to check where to send his invoice for sorting out a flooded basement. I told him we didn’t have a basement and to send his fake invoices to someone else.’
‘Then you’ll have to call him back and apologise,’ I said. ‘Of course we’ve got a basement, and it flooded yesterday.’
Helmer looked totally flummoxed. He does that rather too often for my liking, but Lucy’s fond of h
im.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You’re not supposed to. Please, call him back. The invoice will be paid through the business.’
Helmer disappeared, closing the door behind him.
It took me less than five minutes to find a home number for retired lawyer Tor Gustavsson. He was a legend in his day. Slightly undeserving, perhaps, but even so. He once defended a very successful businessman who was accused of murdering his wife. How Gustavsson managed to get the guy off was a mystery, but evidently both the District Court and Court of Appeal had found him not guilty in no time at all. After that everyone wanted to work with Gustavsson.
But now he was retired. Sara Texas had been his last big case. I hoped he wasn’t going to get grouchy because I called. Grouchy old men are a pet hate of mine.
The phone rang and rang. No answer. I was just about to hang up when someone answered in a high voice and said: ‘Hello?’
I cleared my throat, a habit I’d picked up when I was surprised.
‘Martin Benner,’ I said. ‘I’m calling from the law firm Benner & Miller. I’m trying to reach Tor Gustavsson.’
There was a moment’s silence.
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ the voice eventually said. ‘Tor isn’t up to taking any calls at the moment.’
I was speaking to a woman. If she’d been here in front of me, I dare say I could have got Gustavsson on the phone.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I said. ‘I’m calling about a fairly important matter.’
‘Are you a journalist?’
The question took me by surprise.
‘What? No, certainly not. I’m a lawyer, like I said. Sorry, can I ask who I’m speaking to?’
‘Gunilla Gustavsson, Tor’s daughter-in-law. What’s this about?’
I hesitated. Something told me that Sara Texas’s name was unlikely to open any doors.
‘An old case,’ I said. ‘One Tor worked on . . . some time ago.’
I heard a sigh at the other end of the line.
‘Is this about Sara Texas?’ Fuck.
‘Yes,’ I had to admit.
‘That case almost broke my father-in-law. I’d rather you didn’t discuss it with him.’
‘Perhaps I could call back when he’s feeling better?’ I said.
‘I don’t think so. You see, Tor suffered a severe stroke a while back. And last week he had a heart attack. As if that wasn’t enough, he came down with a lung infection two days later. He quite literally has to devote all his energy to getting better. Otherwise we don’t know if he’ll make it.’
Her voice was clear and composed, but I could detect a definite undertone of anxiety. Hardly surprising, given what she’d just told me.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Send him my best wishes. I hope everything works out.’
I’d only met Tor Gustavsson a handful of times, but there was a chance he’d remember me.
‘Thanks,’ the daughter-in-law said. ‘I’ll tell him you called. You could always try calling Eivor instead.’
‘Eivor?’
‘His assistant. She should be able to answer any questions about Sara Texas.’
I was instantly curious.
‘How do I get hold of Eivor?’
‘She retired at the same time as Tor. She lives in a small flat in Gamla stan.’
Tor’s daughter-in-law read out a phone number.
‘Tell her I gave you her number,’ she said. ‘Eivor’s practically one of the family. She is very fond of my father-in-law.’
I could imagine. It’s always the same. Behind every successful man is a woman with a gentle smile, pointing out that his trousers are too short. In Tor Gustavsson’s case, the woman’s name was Eivor. In mine she didn’t yet have a name. It certainly wasn’t Lucy, at any rate.
Before I dialled Eivor’s number I called Belle’s preschool. She had been upset when I dropped her off that morning. I wanted to make sure everything was okay.
‘She’s fine now,’ the woman who answered said. ‘Don’t forget that she needs a packed lunch tomorrow. We’re going on an outing.’
Outing and packed lunch. Always something to remember. As soon as I’d hung up I called the au pair.
‘Belle needs to take food to school tomorrow.’
‘You mean a packed lunch? And preschool, not school.’
‘Exactly. You can sort something simple out this afternoon, can’t you?’
‘Martin, it’s only a matter of making a few sandwiches and buying a drink.’
‘You mean I ought to do it myself?’
The au pair fell silent.
‘Buy some sort of drink and I’ll sort out the sandwiches,’ I said.
Then I ended the call and concentrated on more important things than a few manky sandwiches.
Eivor. Tor Gustavsson’s old assistant. Would she be able to help me?
She would. And – even more importantly – she was willing to. We met in her flat. A small but magical home. Like something out of a magazine. She must have put her soul into refining these meagre square metres in which she had chosen to live.
She showed me into the kitchen and nudged me onto a chair at a triangular table. We were evidently going to drink coffee.
‘I assume you’ve got a lot to do, so I won’t stay long,’ I said.
Meaning, of course, that I had a hell of a lot to do that was more important than drinking coffee with a complete stranger. But that sort of subtle message seemed to pass Eivor by.
‘You can stay as long as you like,’ she said. ‘I’ve got all the time in the world.’
God didn’t give me many talents to work with, but He did give me a unique ability to manipulate women of all ages and cultures. Eivor wasn’t a hard nut to crack. I made myself more comfortable at the table and listened attentively as Eivor explained how badly things had gone for Tor Gustavsson, and how sad it was.
‘You should have seen him at work,’ she said. ‘I swear – time used to stand still in court when he made his closing statements.’
I came very close to laughing but managed to make it sound like a cough.
‘I’ve heard a lot of good things about Tor,’ I said. ‘He was a true upholder of the law, he certainly was.’
‘He’s not dead yet,’ Eivor said.
‘Tor is a true upholder of the law.’
It was obvious that they’d had an affair. Maybe lasting decades. Eivor talked warmly about the many years she spent as Gustavsson’s assistant. With a bit of skilful manipulation I managed to hurry the story along until finally we reached Tor’s last big case: Sara Texas.
‘She confessed, of course,’ Eivor said. ‘Tor tried to reason with her, I know that. But she refused. Justice needed to be done.’
‘Did Tor ever doubt that she was telling the truth?’
‘No, why would he have done? The evidence was unambiguous. Everything the girl said could be proved. So what was he supposed to do? He gave her the support she needed, made sure she wasn’t treated badly during the time she was in custody. And . . . well, then it turned out the way it did.’
‘She committed suicide.’
Eivor nodded slowly.
‘Yes, she did. Tor was so upset when he heard. But it wasn’t his fault. I told him that plenty of times.’
An old grandfather clock was ticking in the corner of the room. Rain was beating at the window and I wondered what I thought I was doing. Sitting and drinking coffee with a garrulous old lady. What did I actually imagine I could get out of her? A revolutionary revelation that she and Gustavsson had kept quiet about for months?
I was chasing ghosts.
Because an idiot calling himself Bobby T. had marched into my office and messed things up.
‘Do you know if Tor was in contact with Sara Tell’s brother?’
Eivor started.
‘You mean Bobby? Oh, yes. He was so angry with Tor, you know. Screamed and shouted at him in the office.’
‘What for?’
‘Bec
ause he’d got it into his head that his sister was innocent.’
‘Did he have any proof of that?’
‘I remember him coming to the office once waving a ticket about. But Tor wouldn’t listen to his nonsense. Nor would Sara. She forbade Tor to speak to her brother, and after that Bobby stopped coming to the office.’
This was interesting. So Sara had pushed her brother away when he tried to help her.
‘Why do you think it was so important for Sara that she be convicted of the murders?’ I said.
‘So that she could be at peace,’ Eivor said with a distant look in her eyes.
She toyed with her coffee-cup.
‘That’s what we all want, I suppose,’ she said. ‘Peace.’
Peace. That was probably the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard.
The kitchen suddenly felt cold and bare. The coffee tasted of horse-piss and I wanted to get back to the office. Maybe I’d have reason to return to Eivor, but for the time being I clearly wasn’t getting anywhere.
‘Well, thanks for letting me take up your time,’ I said, putting the cup down in the tiny sink.
‘I should be thanking you,’ Eivor said. ‘It was good of you to come.’
As if I’d come for her sake.
She followed me out into the hall and watched as I put my shoes on. We really ought to stop that in Sweden. Forcing people to walk around in their socks. It’s so humiliating.
‘I’ve actually got a few things in the attic that you might want to look at,’ Eivor said.
I looked up, curious.
‘From the Sara Texas case, I mean,’ she clarified. ‘Only one box. Do you want to take a look?’
I hesitated. Was I seriously contemplating wasting even more time on this dead loss of a case?
What the hell, seeing as I’d already started poking about in it I might as well see it through to the end.
‘I’d be happy to take a look,’ I said.
As if in response to what I’d just said, I heard a rumble of thunder roll across the rooftops.
‘I’ll just nip up to the attic and get it,’ Eivor said, pulling on a cardigan. ‘You wait here.’
Buried Lies Page 3
