After the fourth shot Billy noticed that his mind had started to wander. Not that he lost concentration; quite the reverse. It was as if he was transported forward, closer to the target; he could see it more clearly, as if it was suddenly in HD, crystal clear as it changed before his eyes.
Charles Cederkvist, illuminated by the searchlights of the helicopter hovering above.
Covered in blood and disorientated following the car crash.
Billy fired.
The first shot hit Cederkvist in the chest. A round patch of blood on his shirt that quickly spread and lost its shape. The second bullet right in the middle of the red stain. More blood. But Charles Cederkvist was still standing. The bullet in his heart should have killed him, but he was still on his feet. Billy fired again. Six more bullets drilled into his chest, and now Cederkvist’s shirt was so drenched in blood that it began to drip onto the ground.
At last he collapsed.
Billy lowered his gun.
Out of breath. His senses on full alert.
He was back in the booth. The distance from the target was twelve metres once again. He inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled through his mouth as his pulse rate gradually returned to normal. He repeated the exercise, felt his shoulders drop, then changed the magazine with practised movements.
Adopt the position, raise the gun.
This time the target changed as he took aim. A human being. His imagination usually shifted between Cederkvist and Edward Hinde, the man he had actually killed, but this was someone else. He didn’t know who it was.
He didn’t care.
He fired.
He thought he could hear the bullet thud into the person in front of him. Could see it splintering bone and tearing through tissue on its way through the body before it exploded out through the spine, splashing blood all over the wall behind it. He fired again. Bullet after bullet, right in the middle of the white chest. Nine, ten, eleven … Billy inhaled, held his breath, raised the gun a fraction and placed the final bullet in the centre of the forehead. The head jerked back from the impact, the knees gave way. The person in front of him sank to the ground without making a sound.
‘That last one is definitely going to cost you a hundred.’
She must have been yelling, he heard her loud and clear in spite of the ear defenders. He turned and pulled them off; Jennifer was leaning against the wall with her arms folded, a victorious smile on her lips. Billy put down the gun and took a step towards her. Without saying a word he grabbed hold of her and pressed his lips to hers.
She made a surprised little noise and he felt her stiffen before she responded to his kiss. She wrapped her arms around him as she opened her mouth and let their tongues meet. Billy pushed closer, not caring if she could feel his erection against her stomach. Her tongue deep in his mouth. He placed one hand on the back of her neck and pulled her head even closer, while the other hand slid down her back and inside her sweater, finding bare skin. She groaned quietly; she was breathing more heavily now. She freed her hands and started to unbutton his shirt without their mouths losing contact for a second. He felt her warm hands on his chest, then they moved down his belly and started to undo the belt of his jeans.
She stopped kissing him and laid her cheek against his. Her warm, shallow breaths in his ear. Their bodies so close together. Billy opened his eyes. It was as if something happened when their lips were no longer touching. He removed his hand from her skin and stepped back.
‘Sorry,’ he said, moving as far away as he could in the confines of the little booth.
‘What’s the matter?’ Jennifer said, completely at a loss. ‘What did I do?’
‘Nothing … I just can’t.’ Billy started buttoning up his shirt, which meant he didn’t have to look her in the eye.
‘It was you who started kissing me …’
‘I know, but I can’t. I’m sorry.’
Jennifer bit her lower lip and slowly took a step closer to him.
‘You know what they say – What happens in Kiruna stays in Kiruna.’
‘That’s not the way it works …’
Billy held up his hands defensively, looking at her with a combination of embarrassment and genuine regret.
‘OK.’ Jennifer stepped back.
‘The thing is … I’m getting married,’ Billy said quietly to break the uncomfortable silence that followed.
‘I know.’
‘If I didn’t have Maya and we weren’t getting married, then …’
‘I know, you don’t need to … I understand.’
Another silence, so compact that for the first time Jennifer could hear the fans and the faint hum of the fluorescent lights. She cleared her throat and folded her arms once more.
‘It’s …’ She paused, allowing her voice to gather strength. ‘It was … fun is the wrong word, but it’s good to know that I’m not the only one who feels that way.’
‘No, you’re not. But I just can’t.’ The look in Billy’s eyes was more convincing than the words he spoke.
‘I know. It’s OK.’
Silence once more, but this time it wasn’t so uncomfortable; it was a little sad, as if a moment they had both wanted to experience was lost for ever.
‘You still owe me a hundred,’ Jennifer said, risking a smile.
Billy nodded. He could have suggested double or quits, tried to get their relationship back on a normal footing, back to the way it had been before they kissed, but he’d had enough of guns for one evening.
Sebastian had eventually managed to find the Children’s Channel, and was sitting on the sofa with Nicole watching TV. Vanja had never thought she would see Sebastian enjoying cartoons. Maria had pulled herself together and made a start on dinner; Vanja wasn’t particularly hungry, but was helping her with spaghetti bolognese. The whole situation felt weird – as if she was meeting Sebastian’s new girlfriend, she thought. A nice little girlie chat in the kitchen. Soon they would sit down to eat, have a glass of wine, discuss their plans for the summer or something equally banal. It was somehow typical of Sebastian Bergman. A witness and her mother in need of a safe house had turned into a cosy family dinner.
‘Have you known Sebastian long?’ Maria asked as she chopped tomatoes for the sauce. Vanja turned to face her.
‘Not really. Just over a year.’
‘But he’s not a police officer, is he?’
‘No, he’s a criminal psychologist.’
‘That’s what he said. I’ve never met anyone like him.’
Vanja merely nodded, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking.
‘I think he’s fantastic,’ Maria went on. ‘I don’t know what we’d have done without him. The way Nicole has taken to him … incredible.’
‘Yes, he’s good with people,’ Vanja said drily, hoping Maria would pick up on the irony in her tone. No such luck.
‘And so generous – letting us move in like this.’
‘It’s fortunate that he has a guest room.’
‘We’re not actually using the guest room,’ Maria said shyly, glancing at Vanja out of the corner of her eye.
‘Oh?’
‘We’re in his room. Nicole sleeps better between the two of us,’ Maria clarified.
Vanja stared at her. What was the woman saying? Were they sharing a bed? It was as if Maria suddenly realised how it sounded; she blushed.
‘There’s nothing going on, we just sleep together. For Nicole’s sake.’
‘It’s none of my business,’ Vanja said.
‘I’ve never met anyone like him,’ Maria said again, this time in a positively loving tone.
Vanja smiled stiffly.
‘No, I don’t suppose you have. Excuse me, I just need to go and speak to him. There’s something I have to tell him. About the case.’
Vanja walked out, leaving Maria gazing after her in surprise.
‘Sebastian? A word, please.’
★ ★ ★
She dragged him into the study and
closed the door. Sebastian could see that she was upset, that there was something wrong.
‘What is it? What’s happened?’
‘What the hell are you doing?’ she hissed.
‘Sorry?’
‘With those two out there. The people you’re responsible for. The three of you are sleeping together, for fuck’s sake!’
This wasn’t what he had expected to come out of the cosy little chat in the kitchen. He wasn’t ready for this discussion; best to shut it down as quickly as possible.
‘It’s nothing to do with you,’ he said, making it clear that the matter was non-negotiable.
‘It has, actually.’ Vanja had no intention of letting him get away so easily. ‘It’s highly unethical. You’re supposed to have a professional relationship with the witness and her mother.’
‘I rescued Nicole.’ Sebastian spread his arms wide and raised his voice. ‘She’s formed an attachment with me! I’m helping her!’
‘This isn’t about consideration. This is about you. Your needs.’ Vanja moved closer and lowered her voice. ‘I saw you pat the girl on the head when we left. I heard you call out to her mother when you walked in. You invited me to dinner “with us”. As if they were your little family.’
‘You couldn’t be more wrong,’ Sebastian objected.
‘Really? You’re sleeping with them!’
Sebastian was starting to lose patience. He was getting angry now.
‘You’re only having a go at me because you met your father and you can’t—’
‘This isn’t about me,’ she snapped. She wasn’t going to let him drag her personal life into the situation. She wasn’t like him; she could separate her private life from her work. ‘This is about your total lack of boundaries. You can’t see the difference between work and your personal life, between your needs and feelings and those of other people. That’s why you sleep with just about anybody. That’s why you’ve suddenly got yourself a new family. You’re meant to be a support, Sebastian. A fellow human being. You’re not supposed to exploit them when they’re at their most vulnerable. That’s just sick, Sebastian!’
He simply stared at her. They could stand here shouting at one another for the rest of the day, and he didn’t want that. He didn’t have the energy. The sudden burst of anger ebbed away, leaving weariness in its wake.
‘I’m not exploiting them,’ he said quietly but clearly. ‘I’m helping them, and if you can’t see that, it’s not my problem.’
Vanja took a deep breath; she was also feeling tired. They were like two boxers at the end of a round.
‘OK, let’s say you’re doing all this for their sake. You just want to help. Have you told Maria that you lost your own daughter? That Nicole is almost the same age as she would have been now?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s not relevant. This isn’t about that. It’s not about Sabine …’
He sank down on his desk chair. Sabine pulled him down, made him defenceless. Vanja realised how right she had been. She tried to soften her tone; she wanted to make him understand, not just berate him.
‘You lost your family in the most terrible way. The person you are, everything you do, must somehow be affected by that moment. If you can’t see that this is about Sabine, then you’re blind. And you’re not, Sebastian. I know that.’
He didn’t answer for a long time; he just gazed at her.
‘If you’re really fond of those two out there, then be professional. In every way. They need your help. You have to be there for them. They’re not supposed to be there for you. Do you understand? Nicole is not Sabine.’
After a brief silence he straightened up and let out a long breath.
‘I understand. I understand that you’re wrong.’
He got up and walked out. She watched him go; she was about to follow him when her mobile rang. It was Stefan Andrén; he could meet her right away, if she wasn’t doing anything more important.
She definitely wasn’t.
The door of the apartment block opened and the man in the car sat up straight. The bottom of his back was aching. He didn’t even want to think about how long he’d been sitting here watching the place.
You do what you have to do.
It was her. Vanja.
Alone, walking purposefully away. What did that mean? Was Sebastian Bergman the only person in the apartment with the girl and her mother?
He desperately needed to pee.
They had arrived together, Vanja and Sebastian, but not to relieve other officers as far as he could see. People had left the building since they turned up, but no one that he instinctively felt was a police officer.
Could it be that they had no security at all in place?
Perhaps it wasn’t so unlikely after all. They had moved the girl from Torsby to a safe address in Stockholm, which had turned out to be anything but safe. Expressen had found her, then after the front-page exposure she and her mother had moved in with Sebastian Bergman. Not to another safe address. Could that be because they didn’t entirely trust their own organisation? Were they worried about leaks?
God, he really needed a pee.
But he was reluctant to leave the car. He had no idea where there might be a public toilet in the area, and he couldn’t really go and piss in someone’s doorway. He suddenly noticed the empty Coke bottle next to the black bag in front of the passenger seat.
Vanja reached Strandvägen and turned right. The Radisson Blu Strand Hotel, where Stefan Andrén had already checked in and was waiting for her in the lobby, was on the other side of Nybroviken, no more than ten minutes’ walk from Sebastian’s apartment.
She passed Svenskt Tenn and glanced in through the window. She didn’t own a single thing from there; most of the items they sold were well above her price range. Anna and Valdemar had a tray with Josef Frank elephants on it that had always been used to serve her with breakfast in bed when she was a little girl, and two glass lamps, also with Josef Frank motifs on the shades. They might have more; she didn’t know, and to be honest it annoyed her that she was thinking about them now. Wasn’t it bad enough that she had bumped into Valdemar earlier on? Couldn’t she even walk past a shop without thinking about her lying ‘parents’? She was about to cross the road and the tramlines so that she could walk along the side of the street with no shops when her phone rang; it was Torkel.
‘Hi, how’s it going?’
‘Good, I think. I’m just on my way to Stefan Andrén’s hotel to have a chat with him.’
‘That’s great, because we’re more or less back to square one.’ There was no mistaking the disappointment in Torkel’s voice. ‘We got hold of Thomas Nordgren.’
‘Where was he?’
‘He was stopped by customs at Kastrup, and when they ran his details they saw that we were looking for him and called us.’
‘What was he doing at Kastrup?’
‘He’d just flown back from Turkey. With a little extra baggage in the form of cannabis.’
‘For personal use, or to sell?’
‘A bit of both, it seems. His finances aren’t in particularly good shape, as we know, so I think he was going to sell some, then smoke the rest in the hope of forgetting that he’s up shit creek without a paddle.’ Torkel paused briefly. ‘But that’s not why I called.’
Vanja didn’t reply; she had a good idea what he was going to say. If they were back to square one, that could mean only one thing.
‘Nordgren flew to Turkey on the Tuesday before the murders,’ Torkel said, confirming her suspicions.
‘So it’s not him.’
‘It’s not him.’
Vanja stopped and sighed deeply. ‘Does that mean we have to let Åkerblad go as well?’
‘Already done.’
Those two words made it very clear that this was one of the aspects of recent developments that pained him most. Vanja sighed. Back to square one was an understatement. They were in an even worse position. They w
ould have to work hard to make it as far as square one.
‘I’ll ring you when I’ve spoken to Andrén,’ she said. She ended the call and set off again. She hoped for his sake that Stefan Andrén had something useful to contribute.
The man turned and placed the bottle containing the dark yellow liquid on the back seat. He had been surprised at how undignified it felt to piss in a bottle in a car, and he didn’t want a reminder.
Instead he returned to his speculation about the apartment block he was watching.
If the police didn’t trust their own organisation, then presumably they wanted as few people as possible to know where the girl was.
Two officers on an eight-hour shift in the apartment. Six officers per day. Not the same people every day, for various reasons. That meant ten or twelve people, all of whom could tell God knows how many others that they were guarding the little girl who had witnessed those terrible murders in Torsby.
The more people who knew, the greater the danger of leaks.
Would they risk someone revealing her hiding place, deliberately or otherwise?
After all, he had already tried to kill her twice. He wasn’t sure if they knew about the Bear’s Cave or not, but they were certainly aware of the incident in the hospital.
The more he thought about it, the more convinced he felt.
There was no extra security inside the building. No armed police officers to protect them. Now Vanja had left, there were only three people in the apartment.
The psychologist, the mother, the girl.
Unarmed, presumably.
Time to do what had to be done.
He leaned forward, picked up the black bag and placed it on the seat beside him. A quick glance around told him that the street was deserted. He unzipped the bag and took out his Serbu Super-Shorty, slipped some extra ammunition in his pocket. The gun was already loaded with four cartridges, but you never knew. He didn’t want to risk being unable to complete his mission because he couldn’t fire enough shots.
One more glance at the empty street, then he clipped the weapon to the inside of his coat and got out of the car. He locked the door and crossed the street, trying to look as natural as possible. He adjusted his coat as he walked towards the door. An anonymous man paying an ordinary visit to an apartment in Östermalm. Nothing unusual, nothing to attract attention. He could do this, he told himself as he reached the door and pushed down the handle. Nothing happened. He pushed again, then thought that perhaps the door opened outwards, so he pulled instead. Still nothing.
The Silent Girl (Sebastian Bergman 4) Page 34
