‘He’ll call when he arrives in Stockholm.’
‘There you go then – come and eat with us.’
‘OK. Sounds good,’ she said.
At that moment she spotted him. The man she had been avoiding for months. He was standing outside Hedengren’s bookshop, gazing in through the window. Perhaps she had subconsciously chosen to go via Stureplan instead of carrying on along the other side of the street, perhaps old habits had brought her here; they used to go to Hedengren’s all the time. Vanja and the man she used to call Dad.
Valdemar.
He caught sight of her seconds later, so she couldn’t obey her first instinct, which was to turn her head away and walk straight past him.
‘Vanja?’ His voice sounded weak, a faint echo of what it used to be. Dad, she almost replied, but she managed to change it just in time.
‘Valdemar.’ She stopped a few paces away from him.
Sebastian didn’t seem to know what to do. Should he stay or not? How private was the situation? He moved away as if to give her space, while making sure she knew he was still there. Valdemar took a couple of tentative steps towards her.
‘How are you?’ he asked, wanting to say so much more.
‘Fine. Working hard as usual,’ she replied, keeping her tone as neutral as possible. She didn’t want to be drawn into an emotional exchange. ‘You know Sebastian, don’t you?’ she went on, gesturing towards her colleague.
‘Of course. Hi,’ Valdemar said, looking friendlier than was absolutely necessary.
Sebastian nodded. ‘Valdemar.’
Vanja was glad Sebastian was there. Otherwise Valdemar would have made the encounter into an emotional circus, she could see that. He had aged. His skin was looser and paler, and there were wrinkles where there had been none just six months ago. But it was his eyes that had changed the most; they were lifeless. All his strength was gone, and the expression that used to make her so happy had been replaced by a resigned sorrow.
He was a pathetic, broken man.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he said. It came from the heart.
She had to admit that she took a certain amount of pleasure in his unhappiness. At least she wasn’t the only one who had felt the pain of his betrayal; she wasn’t the only one who had suffered.
She wasn’t sure what to say next.
‘I’ve had a lot to do,’ she managed eventually. It was both true and false. ‘And I wanted to be left in peace.’
That was definitely true, and it was as far as she was prepared to go, she decided. He was the one who had let her down. She had done nothing wrong.
‘I understand,’ he said sadly. They looked at one another in silence: one longing to say a great deal, the other desperate to get away as quickly as possible. There was no doubt who was going to win.
‘I have to go,’ she said, her whole body conveying the same message.
‘I thought …’ Valdemar began, then paused as if he needed to gather his strength before continuing. ‘I thought you and Mum went to the graveyard.’
‘We did.’
There was a faint spark of hope in Valdemar’s eyes. Now you know the truth, they seemed to say. We ought to be able to find a way to move on. Find our way back to one another.
‘I didn’t believe her for a second,’ Vanja said firmly, determined to crush that little spark.
Valdemar gave a faint nod. He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but couldn’t manage it. Something that would change everything and make her stay. But nothing came out. She stared at him, then leaned closer, almost confidentially, but her voice was cold.
‘An apology would have been a good start – just so you know.’
Valdemar nodded again. He understood.
‘I’m sorry. There’s so much I’d like to explain.’
The look in her eyes made it clear that this was too little, too late, then she walked away. Sebastian followed her, and they walked in silence towards Riddargatan.
‘Things seem pretty bad between you,’ he said eventually. Vanja nodded sadly. The further she got from Valdemar, the more difficult she was finding it to keep her cool.
‘It’s the lies that kill me,’ she said, knowing that her emotions were getting the better of her. ‘A whole lifetime of lies.’
‘No doubt he thought he had good reason,’ Sebastian said gently.
‘I’m sure he did. But he was my father. Fathers aren’t supposed to lie.’
Sebastian gazed at her thoughtfully. The encounter had taken its toll on him too.
‘No, but maybe sometimes they do it because they don’t know any better.’
‘That’s no excuse.’
He carried on gazing at her; he too looked as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the right words.
Billy was pacing around his hotel room. Whoever was responsible for the decor – and he was pretty sure it had been done at least fifty years ago – certainly liked pine panelling. Everything gave the impression of a rustic mountain chalet from the 1950s. According to the adverts this was Kiruna’s oldest hotel, and looking around that wasn’t hard to believe. Billy had checked online and had decided to introduce Gunilla to Tripadvisor so that she could avoid hotels with the lowest rating the next time she made a booking. He and Jennifer had finished what they came to do, but there was no flight home tonight, so they would have to stay over.
The last few hours had been intense.
After their visit to the bank, Billy had called Torkel who had promised to pull a few strings. Half an hour later, Ingrid Ericsson from the Economic Crimes Unit had called Billy to ask how she could help. He recognised the name and thought there was some kind of connection with Vanja, but he let it go and explained that they needed to know who owned an account with Scotiabank in Costa Rica, and whether the account was active. Ingrid explained that this could be tricky because of the laws in Costa Rica; Billy wondered if it would be easier if Scotiabank was asked to confirm a name they already had? Possibly – Ingrid couldn’t make any promises, but would do her best.
Three hours later, as he and Jennifer were enjoying an early dinner and ranking superhero films, Ingrid had called back. They were in luck. Because they just wanted confirmation of a name, the Costa Rican authorities had been unusually helpful. Yes, Mr Pejok was the account holder, the account was active, and was linked to a Visa card. The latest transaction had taken place two days ago. However, Ingrid didn’t know where, and the bank refused to give an address or telephone number for Mr Pejok. She had sent over the photograph of Matti from the passport the police had found at his home after his disappearance, and the bank manager had said that was definitely Mr Pejok.
Billy thanked her and ended the call. The pieces of the jigsaw fell into place one by one, revealing the picture that Billy had been expecting ever since they spoke to Anton Beringer.
Matti had given in.
Allowed himself to be bought.
Everyone and everything has a price.
Apparently Matti’s was just over fifteen million kronor.
Billy’s only question was how he had got to Costa Rica without a passport, if the Kiruna police had found it after his disappearance? There was a copy in the case notes on the table in his hotel room. Valid until November 2014.
Another phone call, this time to Renate who promised to look urgently into the matter. Before long, just as Jennifer was trying to persuade him to go bowling, Renate came back to him, sounding more than a little embarrassed. Matti Pejok had reported his passport stolen, and had applied for and received a new one less than a month before he went missing. When the police found a passport in his house, they assumed he hadn’t gone abroad; Renate openly admitted that they had made a mistake in failing to check whether that passport was in fact the one that had been reported stolen, and cancelled. She made it clear that she was furious, partly because this showed her in a bad light as far as Riksmord was concerned, but mainly because if they had checked right away, they would have had further proof
that Matti had disappeared of his own free will, which would have saved her a huge amount of unnecessary work.
Once Billy and Jennifer knew exactly what they were dealing with, they drove back up to see Per Pejok.
They had discussed the matter beforehand; Jennifer wondered if they should actually tell Per the truth. He obviously idolised his brother; did they have the right to destroy that image? However, Billy was of the opinion that it had to be better to know the truth than to spend the rest of his life thinking that Matti was dead and buried somewhere, with no closure.
Billy prevailed.
Per came out to meet them this time too, and showed no sign of inviting them into the house where the dogs were still barking. He wondered why they were back, and they both saw the colour drain from his face when Billy explained what they had found out since their previous visit. He shook his head over and over again, as if he didn’t for a second believe the scenario Billy had painted. He clung to the fact that they hadn’t actually spoken to Matti. They didn’t know for certain that he was in Costa Rica; it could be someone else. He had no suggestions as to who that might be; someone from FilboCorp?
Billy told him the bank in Costa Rica had identified Matti from a photograph.
Per still refused to accept it. Matti had been the very epitome of opposition to the mine.
Exactly, Billy had said. After all his efforts to fight the development, it would have been nigh on impossible for him to stay around after he had sold his land, so Matti had ‘disappeared’.
To Costa Rica.
Yes, they were certain.
There wasn’t much more to say. Billy and Jennifer were walking back to the car when Per stopped them.
‘How much did he get for betraying everyone?’
Billy told him. Just over fifteen million. Per had merely nodded and gone back indoors.
As they drove away, Billy thought that Jennifer had been right. Per would probably have been better off not knowing.
Intensive hours indeed.
Billy’s mobile rang. He considered ignoring it; he was sick of phones right now. But of course he took the the call, and brightened up when he saw that it was Jennifer.
‘There’s a firing range in the basement at the police station. Want to come?’
Surely the police would have the girl under some kind of protection; the only question was how extensive that protection might be. Did they just have people inside the apartment, or were they outside too? He peered at the cars parked nearby, but they all seemed to be empty. On the other hand he couldn’t see very far; it was hard to get an overview while sitting in his own car. Feeling frustrated, he decided to check out the area on foot. He would be significantly more exposed, but he couldn’t think of an alternative.
He had to know what the opposition looked like.
He opened the door and got out, taking care to make every action as calm and unremarkable as possible. He mustn’t stand out or draw attention to himself in any way. He glanced at the parked cars on both sides of the street, searching for a silhouette, a movement.
Nothing so far.
He closed the car door and stretched. It was good to stand up; his back was aching from sitting still for so long. A short distance away on the other side of the street he noticed a black van. It was unmarked apart from an ‘S’ on the back doors, and was the vehicle most likely to contain police officers keeping the apartment block under surveillance. He needed to take a closer look. He set off, enjoying his first few steps. Decided to keep on going, stay on this side all the way up to Storgatan, then cross over. He would pass the black van on his way back. Then the plan was to continue down to Riddargatan, cross over again, and return to his own car. His focus would be on the cars on the street, and the windows of the buildings opposite number 18. If he had been tasked with protecting the girl, he would have chosen the position that gave him the best view of the apartment.
He strolled towards Storgatan. He didn’t want to have to do this too many times, so it was better to take it slowly. An elderly lady came around the corner up ahead and walked towards him. He was pleased to see that every parked car appeared to be empty, and now and again he risked a glance up at the buildings on the left. It was hard to see beyond the reflective surface of the dark windows, and he realised he couldn’t be sure there was no one watching.
He passed the elderly lady and ventured a pleasant little nod in her direction. She responded with a smile, which cheered him up. Stupidly. He reached Storgatan, crossed over and made his way back, focusing on the black van. It had a large tinted windscreen which was difficult to see through. He decided on a change of plan; he would cross the street again just in front of it, which would enable him to glance inside in a perfectly natural way. The pavement was empty, but a taxi turned in from Riddargatan and came towards him. Perfect. He increased his speed as he approached the van. Stepped off the kerb right in front of it and turned his head as if to check where the taxi was before crossing. This gave him a good angle to see inside the van; it appeared to be empty. Feeling satisfied, he walked back to his car before continuing down to Riddargatan. That was when he saw them.
The man he had been looking for, and the young woman who was a police officer.
They had just turned into Grev Magnigatan. Fortunately they were on the opposite pavement, and he had seen them first. He ducked behind a car, watched them through the dirty rear window. They were obviously heading for the apartment block. Perhaps they were the solution, he thought as they opened the door and went inside. He decided to wait. He had begun to glimpse the germ of a new plan. He just needed to be sure first.
★ ★ ★
‘Maria! It’s me!’ Sebastian called out from the hallway. Vanja followed him, still a little shaken following the encounter with Valdemar. There was no reply, which worried Sebastian. He hurried into the kitchen where he found Maria sitting in silence next to Nicole, her face pale and drawn.
‘Has something happened?’ he said as soon as he saw them.
‘She’s been drawing again,’ Maria said, her voice low and anxious as she met his gaze.
‘Can I see?’ Sebastian picked up the sheet of paper lying face down on the table.
The subject was just as devastating as the last time. Nicole was still moving back in time. This time she was standing in a kitchen, with a skilfully drawn child lying on the floor in front of her. One arm had almost been torn off at the shoulder, and lay at an unnatural angle. There was blood everywhere. The red felt-tip pen had been used so much that the final strokes on the wall were faint, as if it had run out. Maria had tears in her eyes.
‘It’s Georg, isn’t it?’
Sebastian nodded slowly.
‘She did another drawing last night – I haven’t shown it to you yet.’
‘Why not?’
‘It was a picture of your sister.’
Maria looked devastated.
‘Was it just as horrific?’
Sebastian moved over and put a hand on her shoulder.
‘It might have been the wrong decision, but I wanted to protect you,’ he said softly.
‘I don’t want to see it.’
After a moment Maria turned to her silent, motionless daughter, sitting there so small and pale.
‘When is this going to end? How long will she have to be in this terrible world? It’s unbearable.’
‘To be perfectly honest, I don’t know,’ Sebastian replied, gently caressing her shoulder.
Vanja came in and picked up the drawing. Once again she was struck by Nicole’s visual memory; she hadn’t omitted any of the key details. Even her own bloody footprints were there.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said to Sebastian, waving the piece of paper. ‘We have to treat this as evidence.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Which means I have to take Nicole’s drawings with me.’
‘No problem.’
Sebastian let go of Maria’s shoulder and turned to the child.
; ‘Come on, let’s try and think about something else for a while.’
He picked her up and carried her into the living room.
‘Shall we see what’s on TV?’ he said, giving her a big hug. Vanja watched them go, Nicole’s arms around his neck, returning the hug.
Perhaps it was because she had just bumped into him, or perhaps it was the way Nicole was clinging to Sebastian. She thought of Valdemar, the man she had once clung to in exactly the same way.
The firing range was smaller than the one where they used to meet back home in Stockholm, but what else could you expect up here? Five booths in a row, five targets twelve metres away. The entire room was covered in pale wood and was reminiscent of an enormous sauna, with fluorescent lights built into the ceiling. The metal door closed behind them once the station officer had informed them of the procedures and safety regulations and laid out the equipment they needed.
‘Shall we make this a bit more exciting?’ Jennifer said as she went over to collect two pairs of ear defenders. ‘Three magazines, the one with the worst shot loses.’
‘What are the stakes?’ Billy asked with a smile.
‘A hundred.’ She came back and handed him a pair of yellow defenders.
‘Done.’
Billy went into the booth and picked up the gun, then loaded it with one of the magazines in a small box on his right. A stab of pleasure ran through his body when he heard the click that told him the magazine was in place, and he cocked the gun.
He was holding a loaded weapon.
A lethal weapon.
Jennifer had already started firing. He could hear the muted sound of one shot after another, at a steady pace. Every single bullet landed in the inner circle, but it only took a second of wavering concentration. One bullet in the wrong place, and you had lost.
Billy adopted the position, raised his .40 S & W and fired the first shot. Dead centre. He repeated the procedure and rapidly fired the remaining eleven bullets.
He lowered the weapon, removed the empty magazine and reloaded.
Adopt the position, raise the gun.
The Silent Girl (Sebastian Bergman 4) Page 33
