The Silent Girl (Sebastian Bergman 4)

by Michael Hjorth

  He could hardly stop staring at her.

  The new eye looked fantastic.

  She looked fantastic.

  Everything had changed. He couldn’t get enough of her.

  He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay there all day. He wanted them to open a bottle of wine, and when he said he would leave the car and take a taxi home, he wanted her to say she had a better idea. Why didn’t he stay over?

  But lunch was finished. He had a job to do. Next on the agenda was a meeting with the National Police Board at three o’clock; Torkel had to come up with proposals for making savings within Riksmord. It was the same for every department; last year the board had overspent its budget by over 170 million kronor.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’

  Torkel gave a start. Ursula was smiling at him, an enquiring expression on her face. He could hardly say ‘the departmental budget’, even if it was the truth.

  He gazed at her.

  She was so beautiful, and he really did love her. He remembered why he had come. The emptiness. The loneliness. Which might, just possibly, be easier to live with if he knew he hadn’t been rejected. Replaced. Dismissed as second best.

  He had to hear it from her.

  ‘There’s something I’ve been wondering for a long time—’ he began.

  ‘What I was doing at Sebastian’s place that evening,’ she interrupted him. He looked at her in surprise and nodded. ‘I was having dinner,’ she said simply, as if she had been waiting to tell him ever since he arrived, or perhaps even longer.

  ‘Just dinner?’

  ‘Dinner, and then I got shot before I could drink my coffee.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  She leaned forward and took his hand.

  ‘The fact that you and I aren’t together has nothing to do with Sebastian. It’s to do with me.’

  ‘But you were there because you prefer him to me.’ Torkel could hear how it sounded: as if he were a sulky little boy, jealous and bitter. Ursula gave him a warm smile and shook her head.

  ‘I was there because everything is more straightforward with Sebastian. I know it sounds unlikely, but in some ways it’s much, much simpler with him.’

  ‘He only wants one thing.’

  ‘That’s true, but for me it’s …’ She paused, bit her lip, chose her words with care. ‘I’m not going to marry you and live happily ever after, Torkel, but that’s because I don’t think I can live happily ever after with anyone. I can’t give other people what they need in a relationship.’

  ‘Can’t I make that decision?’

  ‘They can’t give me what I need either.’

  Torkel nodded. That was harder to argue against. He could say that he was willing to do anything. The relationship could be entirely on her terms, if only there was a chance, the tiniest possibility, that she might change her mind. But he knew that kind of grovelling wouldn’t go down well, so he kept quiet and got to his feet.

  ‘Do you have to go back to work?’

  ‘I’ve got a budget meeting with the board at three.’

  ‘I just feel we haven’t quite finished.’

  ‘I can easily postpone the meeting,’ Torkel said quickly, getting out his phone.

  It was important to get one’s priorities right.

  Sebastian was a little stressed when he arrived home; it had taken longer than expected to choose a piece of jewellery for Maria. He immediately realised that something was wrong; Maria’s bags were in the hallway, packed and ready to go.

  Vanja was sitting in the kitchen.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he said, feeling a surge of both irritation and anxiety at the sight of his colleague. ‘Where’s Maria?’ Vanja glanced towards the bedroom.

  ‘She’s calling Pia, asking if she can come a bit earlier,’ Vanja replied after a brief silence.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I think she and Nicole will be going to the service without you …’

  He didn’t really understand what she was saying, but the irritation was definitely outweighing the anxiety right now. Whatever it meant, it wasn’t good news. He raised his voice.

  ‘You have no right to come here and interfere in my life—’

  ‘Yes, I have. Maria and Nicole are the victims of a crime. They are Riksmord’s responsibility.’

  Sebastian didn’t know what to say. Was she serious? He struggled to find the right words, but he needn’t have bothered.

  ‘Don’t be angry with her.’ The voice came from behind him. He turned around to see Maria standing in the doorway, her eyes full of disappointment and sorrow. ‘When were you intending to tell me?’ she said tonelessly.

  ‘Tell you what?’

  ‘The truth.’

  Sebastian spread his arms wide.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  Maria took a step towards him.

  ‘When were you going to tell me that my daughter is some kind of surrogate for the child you lost?’

  For a second Sebastian had no idea what to say.

  ‘Is that what Vanja told you?’ was the best he could come up with.

  ‘Are we? Some kind of … replacement family?’ Maria sounded upset rather than angry.

  ‘No, no, absolutely not. Nicole means a great deal to me, you know that. And you …’

  Maria was staring at him, not a trace of softness in her expression.

  ‘I asked you.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Whether you had children.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Whether you’d been married.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You lied.’

  ‘I know.’

  Maria fell silent; Sebastian realised it was up to him to say something.

  ‘I was going to tell you, but it’s not the first thing you share with someone. Particularly in view of everything that was going on,’ he pleaded.

  ‘You didn’t need to tell me, you just needed to answer my questions. I asked you, and you lied.’

  What was he supposed to say to that?

  ‘I thought you were honest. I trusted you.’

  ‘You can trust me. You and Nicole mean so much to me,’ he said feebly, his voice almost breaking.

  Maria was still staring at him, her eyes full of sorrow and disappointment.

  ‘I don’t believe you any more. I’ve heard so much about you. Terrible things.’ She let out a sob. Sebastian glanced over at Vanja, who seemed virtually unmoved, bearing in mind what she had done. What the hell had she said about him? He took a couple of steps towards Maria, desperate to make her understand.

  ‘Whatever you’ve heard, it has nothing to do with us. I’ve been there for Nicole, one hundred per cent. You know that.’

  Maria nodded sadly, wiped away her tears.

  ‘Yes, you have. But why? For your sake, or hers?’

  Once again, what could he say? He could feel everything slipping through his fingers. He wanted to explain. Tell her how he felt. What they meant to him. Sabine and Lily were part of it, admittedly, but not a major part. Not a crucial factor. This was something else, something real. He ought to say all of that, but nothing came out.

  ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done for Nicole, but now we’d like to be left in peace.’

  She turned and walked away.

  Collected Nicole from the living room.

  Picked up her bags in the hallway.

  Before the front door closed behind them he sought Nicole’s gaze. Found it as easily as he always did. For a few seconds he looked into her eyes.

  He followed her.

  He had no choice.

  He couldn’t lose her.

  Pia was waiting in the street.

  She looked over at the brown door of Grev Magnigatan 18 with mixed emotions. The overriding feeling, the one she wanted to hold on to and never forget, was joy because the meeting with the party executive had gone exactly as she had hoped. Better, in fact. As she left the brown six-storey buil
ding on Sveavägen she had been welcomed on board, which could only mean that they were intending to give her the seat on the executive committee.

  Now she was going to go home and make sure that tomorrow’s memorial service and demonstration against violence was a success. She would work tirelessly for the good of Torsby, even if her trips to Stockholm would be more frequent in the future, and local issues might seem rather trivial now that she suddenly had a direct influence on the Social Democrats’ policies on a national level, and on the party’s priorities.

  She had had her doubts when she left home yesterday. The events involving Frank Hedén had been widely publicised: the mass murderer who killed himself in the stairwell outside the apartment where one of the investigators lived, and where the key witness was staying. It was an unmitigated disaster. The fact that there had been another shooting in the same building just a few months ago, when a female police officer had been seriously injured, didn’t exactly improve matters. The tabloids had had a field day. Having a close and important relationship with a mass murderer definitely wasn’t good for Pia and her career, which had really taken off now.

  But she had come through with flying colours.

  Obviously the press had called, wondering how close she and Frank had actually been, whether she had really not suspected anything, and if it was true that Frank had spoken to her just before he shot himself. She had refused to answer any of their questions, and instead had prepared a press release in which she distanced herself from Frank, while at the same time giving due credit to her old friend and mentor. Yes, he had murdered an entire family, which was terrible and indefensible, but people shouldn’t forget that he had devoted his life to local politics, and the memory of him as a pillar of the community was still valid. So in spite of recent events, which could be attributed to a temporary state of insanity, he was still well liked, and one didn’t simply sell out old friends and colleagues, whatever they had done. Particularly not in order to climb the career ladder in Stockholm; that wouldn’t go down well. It was a delicate balancing act, distancing herself from Frank and his actions without speaking badly of him. Condemn the crime not the perpetrator, that had been her strategy over the past few days, and it had worked perfectly during her visit to Sveavägen.

  Otherwise she didn’t even think about Frank and what they had been involved in together. She was just glad that she seemed to have got away with it, and that he hadn’t dragged her down with him.

  The door opened and a woman emerged with a little girl. Maria and Nicole Carlsten, presumably. Pia hadn’t met either of them, but they were important for tomorrow’s demonstration, and she was glad to have a few hours with them in the car so that she could make her introductory speech more personal, give the right sense of commitment to the victims’ nearest and dearest. She walked towards them with a welcoming smile and her hand outstretched. Before she reached them the door opened once more and a man she had never seen before came out. Sebastian Bergman, presumably. Erik had complained about him several times: unpleasant, arrogant and boorish, apparently. Pia decided to ignore him completely.

  ‘Pia Flodin. Lovely to meet you,’ she said, focusing on Maria. ‘My sincere condolences on your loss,’ she went on in a subdued tone, giving Maria’s hand a little extra squeeze.

  Maria nodded her thanks and introduced her daughter. Pia smiled at the girl, whose only response was to edge behind her mother and stare up at Pia with wary eyes. Pia had heard that the girl wasn’t talking because of what she had witnessed. She straightened up and looked over Maria’s shoulder at the man who was standing by the door.

  ‘I assume this is my third passenger,’ she said. She had no intention of revealing that she knew his name; she didn’t want to give him any importance.

  ‘Yes, that’s Sebastian, but he won’t be coming with us,’ Maria said. There was no mistaking the ice in her voice.

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. So we can go now.’

  ‘My car’s just over there,’ Pia said, pointing along the street.

  ‘Maria …’ Sebastian began, without attempting to approach them.

  ‘I’ll send someone to pick up the rest of our things,’ Maria said in a way that made it clear to Pia that this was about more than just the drive to Torsby.

  ‘Won’t you even let me try to explain? Are you just going to listen to Vanja and believe every word she says?’

  ‘Yes.’ Maria took Nicole by the hand and set off towards Pia’s car.

  ★ ★ ★

  All Sebastian could do was watch them go. Running after them and trying to get Maria to stop and listen to him wouldn’t work, and in any case he didn’t want to cause a scene in front of Nicole. The last thing she needed right now was to see the two people she trusted involved in an argument.

  ‘Think of Nicole!’ he shouted anyway in a last desperate attempt to make them stay, or at least to allow him to go with them.

  Maria didn’t respond; she just kept on walking.

  Leaving him.

  ‘My car’s over there – it was difficult to find a parking space,’ Pia said, pointing to a red Volvo on the other side of the road.

  Sebastian stayed where he was; every step they took was like a physical blow to his body. He saw Nicole stop as they were about to cross the road; she turned and looked at him. As usual it was hard to interpret her expression, but he thought he could see loss and despair. He was even more convinced when she slowly reached out towards him with the hand her mother wasn’t holding. If she had been an adult the gesture would have seemed exaggerated and theatrical, but as Nicole tried to bridge the sudden distance between them with that little outstretched hand, it was simply heart-rending. Sebastian tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

  Maria tugged at her daughter and they set off across the road. Nicole didn’t take her eyes off Sebastian, and the further away she got, the more pleading and despairing she looked. Sebastian had to turn his head for a moment

  When he turned back the three of them were sitting in the red car; Pia started the engine and pulled out into the road. He could see Maria’s profile above the blue-and-white sticker portraying the Torsby town logo; Nicole was sitting on the other side of her mother, and he couldn’t see her at all.

  She was gone. They were gone.

  He had lost them.

  And the reason was sitting in his kitchen.

  ★ ★ ★

  Sebastian walked into the hallway and kicked off his shoes. He saw a movement in his peripheral vision and glanced up. Vanja emerged from the kitchen and leaned against the wall with her arms folded, as if she thought she might need to shield herself from his fury.

  Sebastian merely glared at her.

  He hoped the coldness in his eyes would tell her everything she needed to know.

  He marched past her into the living room, then stopped just inside the door. For many years it had been nothing more than a room, which happened to be in the apartment where he lived. He had never used it, never had any kind of connection with it. The strongest memory, ironically, was when he had consoled Vanja and tried to bring her closer to him when Valdemar was accused of fraud and embezzlement.

  Now he knew what the big room should be used for. That and the rest of the apartment. He had been given a taste of how his life could be.

  The lump in his throat had moved down and settled somewhere around his diaphragm. Nicole hadn’t lived with him for very long, but long enough for this nagging, gnawing feeling to take root. He recognised the sensation very well; he had lived with it for so many years. It was where the sense of loss sat when it moved in.

  He took a deep breath and went over to the coffee table. Coloured pens and pencils, paper, a glass with the remains of a chocolate drink in the bottom, a plate with the crusts from a sandwich. Nicole must have had a snack in front of the TV while he was out. He started to gather everything up; many people were paralysed when they lost someone, but not Sebastian. He had always been good at finding the energy to clear
away the physical traces of the people he had lost. After the tsunami he had immediately sold the apartment in Cologne, given away or otherwise disposed of furniture, household equipment and clothes, keeping only a few items. Within weeks he had put an end to their life in Germany and moved back to Sweden.

  The fact that he had been completely unable to move on, once all the practicalities had been dealt with, was another matter.

  He felt more than saw Vanja appear in the doorway.

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve upset you, but you know I’m right,’ she said softly.

  Sebastian didn’t reply.

  ‘It was wrong, and you know that,’ she went on in the same consoling tone that reminded Sebastian of someone telling small children that their hamster has died and is in a better place now. ‘Come on, you’re a trained psychologist – you more than anyone must realise how crazy it was.’

  Sebastian carried on calmly and methodically picking up felt-tip pens and replacing them neatly in the box in order, from dark colours through to light.

  ‘The silent treatment. Very mature.’

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Vanja move forward and sit down in one of the armchairs. He wanted to yell at her, throw her out, using physical force if necessary, but at the same time he had to stay in control of himself. He couldn’t allow this to destroy their slowly blossoming friendship for ever. Any other woman who did what Vanja had done would never have set foot in his home again, but however angry and upset he was right now, he couldn’t get away from the fact that a tiny, tiny part of him appreciated the fact that she wouldn’t give up, loved the way she curled up in the chair and simply waited him out. She didn’t back off from a fight, his daughter.

  He straightened up and looked at her for the first time since she came into the living room.

  ‘You had no right to interfere in my life.’

  ‘I didn’t. I interfered in Maria and Nicole’s lives,’ Vanja replied, sounding unusually calm. ‘I saw it as an obligation rather than a right.’

  ‘I know you think I only …’ He didn’t finish the sentence, just shook his head. He didn’t want to go down that road again, talking about a replacement family, Lily, Sabine … not now. ‘But I was doing my job – I really did help Nicole.’