‘There’s nothing to talk about. Go home to your family and let me take care of this.’
‘But you are my family. Hey… please, come here.’
‘I’m a freak, that’s what I am. A fucking freak.’
‘No, Theo, you’re not—’ He was cut off by the sound he knew so well from his years in Stockholm. There, it was so ubiquitous he had eventually stopped registering it, except for when it had been so loud he’d had to cover his ears. Out here, the barely perceptible yet so very ominous whispering of the rails was enough to unnerve him completely.
‘Please, come here!’ He didn’t know how far away the train was. It could be anything from minutes to seconds. ‘Theo, I’m begging you!’ he shouted. ‘Come over here now, before it’s too late!’
Theodor neither replied nor turned around. Instead, he just sat there, peering down into the mist, retreating further and further into himself.
Whether it was panic or a stubborn refusal to admit Greta was right in her prediction, it didn’t matter. He had no choice. He couldn’t just stand there and watch his son let go.
Climbing the fence wasn’t too hard, though the outward angle was harder to negotiate than he’d thought.
‘Theodor, please!’ he called out as the rails stopped whispering and started screeching. ‘This isn’t what you want.’ With one hand on the old wooden railing running outside the taller steel fence and one foot on the edge of the bridge, he cautiously placed his other foot as far out on the protruding metal wing as he could. ‘You’re not a quitter. You’re a fighter. You hear me? A fucking fighter! You always have been.’ He put as much of his weight on the outer foot as he dared. ‘You’re going to make it. I know you’re going to make it!’
The creaking underneath him was drowned out by the howling rails. But he didn’t need to hear it to know the metal wing was about to break under his weight.
‘For fuck’s sake, Theodor!’ he bellowed, and his son finally turned around and held out his hand.
The next moment, the train came and everything happened so fast that in hindsight, Fabian could only recall a few disjointed flashes. Like that the train thundering past below never seemed to end. Or that the metal wing creaked again and suddenly tilted so severely Theodor had to hold on not to slide down it. That he screamed.
What, he would never remember. Just that he screamed out his terror and then felt Theodor’s hand in his. He would never be able to explain how it got there, or how he managed to hold on to it even when the metal they were standing on disappeared. Nor would he be able to recount the sequence of events after that. All he knew was that eventually they were lying on the bridge with their arms around each other.
Too tired to speak.
To cry.
Think.
Maybe they fell asleep.
Maybe not.
80
Fabian was sitting in the car with Theodor sleeping next to him when his phone shattered the silence, not for the first time but the third. Sonja again, of course. No wonder she was beside herself with worry. The problem was, he didn’t know what to say to her. How he was ever going to be able to put what he and Theodor had just been through into words.
Maybe that was exactly what it was like for her with the events of a month ago. Maybe what her lover had put her through was beyond words, too. Regardless, he would never ask her about it again. Never ever.
But when his phone rang a fourth time, he had to pick up. ‘Hi, Sonja,’ he said softly, not to wake Theodor. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t called. But—’
‘Sonja?’ a woman on the other end cut in. ‘Hmm… Beautiful name. Unfortunately, not mine.’
‘I’m sorry, who am I talking to?’
‘Sure, I could give you a name. I could give you several. Sadly, they won’t be of any use since we weren’t properly introduced when we met. But how about a clue? Hearts.’
‘Spades,’ replied Fabian, who now recognized the voice of the woman from the swingers’ club.
‘Nice one. Impressive, actually. Maybe you’re not so dumb after all.’
‘I’m sorry, what do you want? It’s half eleven at night and—’
‘Oh dearie me. I didn’t realize you were in your jammies and off to dreamland. And there I was, thinking you lived a slightly more exciting life than that. Being an officer of the law and all.’
‘What’s this about?’
‘Why don’t we start by acknowledging that I’ve been a good citizen and asked around a bit on your behalf.’
‘Asked around about what?’
‘Maybe you’re too tired and need your beauty sleep, I don’t know. If not, you’d better mosey on over to Denmark, because rumour has it Columbus himself is planning to grace a private event in Snekkersten with his presence tonight.’
81
The moment the door opened and Ingvar entered the bedroom, she closed her eyes. Until that point, she’d been lying on the outermost edge of the mattress, trying to sleep.
She’d grabbed one of the towels she kept in a box under the bed for when Ingvar wanted to have relations, folded it double and placed it over the clock radio to keep its blue digits from illuminating the room. She didn’t need to see the time to know she’d lain awake for hours.
It had been over twenty-four hours since she’d spoken to Ingvar, and it had been the worst twenty-four hours of her life. Not even losing her father in that tragic accident at the summer house had made her feel this bad.
Suddenly, one puzzle piece after another had fallen into place. All the late nights he’d been gone and blamed work, even though there was no ongoing investigation. His yo-yoing mood. His fits of fury. Not to mention Hugo Elvin and all the intrusive and insinuating questions he’d asked whenever he got the chance. Questions she now acknowledged hadn’t been the unfortunate by-products of too much alcohol.
She hadn’t got food poisoning from that classic Berlin café. Ingvar had drugged her. Then he’d sedated her in their hotel room. Her own husband. She couldn’t believe it, but it was the only logical explanation. It was the alibi he’d been after, not celebrating their anniversary. The same alibi his colleague Fabian had come around asking about in his investigation into the murder of Reidar’s wife, Inga. An investigation that had been reopened without her husband’s knowledge.
The whole thing had thrown open the door to a darkness so abysmally deep, she’d lingered in the kitchen, drawing out the cleaning process, for over an hour. That was where she usually felt safe. In the kitchen. It was her domain, unlike the bedroom, which for some reason had always belonged to him. Even though she was the one who spent the most time in it, reading and listening to the radio.
When Ingvar stepped over the bedroom threshold, she always hoped she’d be asleep enough for him to leave her alone. He mostly did, and over the years, she’d become better at pretending. But this time, it felt impossible to relax into that calm breathing, even though she was bone-weary after two sleepless nights.
She’d spent the day cleaning the house from top to bottom, even though it had only been three days since she last went over it. She’d washed and ironed the curtains in the living room, dusted her collection of crystal owls and reorganized the kitchen. It had been one pointless activity after another in a desperate bid to come up with a plan of action. Should she contact the police and have him arrested, or should she simply leave him and try to get as far away as possible?
The thing was, she had no idea what the police would do when they found she had no concrete proof, or where she could run without him finding her. As that dawned on her, fear had taken over. Fear of what he would do to her when he realized she knew. So she’d stood there, feather duster in hand, her pulse rattling like automatic rifle fire. It hadn’t slowed down yet. Was that why he was moving over towards her side and was starting to pull on the duvet she’d wrapped around her precisely so he couldn’t get at her? Could he sense her galloping pulse?
‘Hello? Are you awake?’ He leaned in so close she could tell fro
m the foetid smell of his breath he’d flossed his teeth, in itself a clear sign of what he was after.
She wanted to burst into tears and scream. But she couldn’t. Not now. It would have to wait. Until this was over. The problem was, it would never be over. Whatever happened, no matter how things turned out, it was something she would have to live with for the rest of her life. Divorce, life-time imprisonment, name change. Nothing would turn back time.
‘Gertie… Daddy’s here.’
No matter how badly she wanted to, there was no way back to a time where she could walk around with a smile, pretending to be ignorant and claiming everything was coming up roses. Knowledge had opened up a chasm under her feet and since then, she’d kept on falling.
The thought of what he’d done to Inga Dahlberg filled her with absolute terror. Something that horrifying was unimaginable. And how long had this been going on? What kind of monster was it she’d shared her life with for almost forty years, who was now rubbing the tip of his nose against her right cheek?
‘Gertie,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘Hello… are you there?’
She’d known for a long time that Ingvar was out of the ordinary. Ever since he’d asked her to his house on New Year’s Eve and cooked lobster. He’d tried to impress her by placing the live lobsters upside-down, standing on their heads and claws, and pressing down with his finger on some point on their necks, claiming it hypnotized them. They had stood there in a row, motionless, until he plunged them, one after the other, into the boiling water.
She’d felt it was sheer cruelty, but he’d laughed and said it was a good thing she hadn’t been with him in China when he tried Yin Yang Fish. A fried fish that, with the help of ice and a cold wet towel around its head, was kept alive during the cooking and served that way. One of the most delicious things he’d ever eaten, he’d said.
‘Hello? Gertie?’ he purred, and he sent one hand exploring down along her hip. ‘You can’t fool me. I can see you’re awake.’
82
The surreal feeling was amplified by the banks of mist wafting in across the dark and deceptively placid waters of Öresund on Fabian’s left and rows of opulent luxury villas striving to outshine each other on his right. As though it wasn’t him behind the wheel, driving south along Strandvejen on the Danish Riviera.
But it was. Even though it had only been hours since he’d saved his son from jumping to his death, he was now on his way to some private party Columbus was rumoured to be attending.
Rumoured to be…
Apparently, that was all it took to make him feel like he had no choice and that everything hinged on him seizing the opportunity that had just revealed itself. It was as though nothing was up to him, just an accumulation of circumstances. As though there was, in fact, something to Matilda’s assertion that everything was predestined.
In an attempt to clear his head, he rolled down his window; he was breathing in the cool night air when Tuvesson called.
‘Hi, how are you getting on?’
‘Okay. I think I’m here now,’ he said as he passed an imposing white house with tall mullioned windows, arches and terraces and two guards at the bottom of the driveway. ‘And you? Have you reached Sleizner yet?’
‘That’s actually why I’m calling. Surprisingly, he picked up on the first try. And believe it or not, he was pleasant and helpful to boot.’
‘I suppose he doesn’t want to make the same mistake as last time you were trying to reach him.’ Fabian turned into a customer car park outside a closed supermarket and parked.
‘Maybe. Either way, he’s dispatching ten officers who should be there within half an hour.’
‘Ten?’
‘Yep, and if you need more, just call.’
‘We run the risk of spooking him off if it’s too many. That’s the last thing we want.’
‘Don’t worry. They’re going to keep their distance until you give the signal,’ Tuvesson said, then she wished him luck and ended the call.
Just over three hours had passed since the woman from Club Spades had called to inform him about the party Columbus was allegedly attending. Granted, it was only a rumour, which was why the plan was to get in and verify it before calling in Sleizner and his SWAT team.
Once Theodor had finally woken up, they’d driven back home to Matilda and Sonja, who to Fabian’s surprise hadn’t asked a single question, just hugged them and told them she had tea with honey waiting.
After two large mugs, Theodor had started talking, trying to put into words how things had been for him. How the idea of taking his own life had been there on and off over the past few years but more so recently, growing stronger until everything felt completely meaningless. Like an endless uphill slog until it was finally over.
He’d explained how he’d sat there, on the edge, waiting for the train to come, with nothing to lose. That it had all been about letting go at the right moment to make sure he didn’t miss. But when his father – yes, he had in fact called him father – had come to save him, risking his own life in the process, everything had changed. Suddenly, he’d had everything to lose.
Sonja hadn’t said a word the whole time, just nodded agreement from time to time and squeezed his and Theodor’s hands harder and harder.
They were finally beginning to find their way back, Fabian thought as he got out of the car and doubled back on foot through the trees behind the houses. He could physically feel that recent events marked the start of something new. Something that, if all went well, might actually be really good.
The back of the garden consisted of a big lawn patrolled by a third security guard, who was scanning the area as though he were guarding an embassy. The luxury cars parked in a row along one side of the lawn were his in. Crouching behind them, he could get almost the whole way to the back of the house, where a short flight of steps led up to a door.
What remained was about thirty feet during which he’d have no semblance of cover. He looked over at the security guard, who was now standing still in the middle of the lawn. A flame sparked to life in the dark and was followed by a red dot, indicating that the man had stopped to light a cigarette.
The moment the glow of the cigarette disappeared, Fabian left his hiding place behind a Jaguar and dashed across the grass, praying the guard would keep his back turned long enough for him to reach the steps and the door at the top of them.
He did. Unfortunately, the door was locked, and he didn’t even have time to get his lock pick out before the motion detector and the spotlight above the door bathed him in light.
‘Hey! You!’ the security guard shouted. Fabian could almost hear him putting out his cigarette and hurrying towards him across the lawn.
Options flickered through Fabian’s mind like a spinning wheel of fortune, which eventually stopped on an attempt to try to reach the half-circle terrace above him. Without any idea what awaited him, he threw himself at the drainpipe.
‘What the fuck. Hey!’
The metal had sharp edges and was practically impossible to hold on to, slippery as it was from the damp night air. But it didn’t take Fabian long to get high enough to heave himself over the wooden railing and on to the damp terrace floor.
He could hear the security guard calling his colleagues on his radio, but instead of pausing to try to decipher his Danish, he crawled past some reclining chairs and over to the terrace door, which was ajar.
He entered a bedroom where a suggestive groove he recognized but couldn’t place was streaming out of hidden speakers somewhere in the ceiling. Apart from that, the room was furnished with a sofa, a handful of armchairs and a dressing table, dominated by a large four-poster bed in the middle of the floor. It was impossible to say exactly how many people were in it. Fabian estimated about ten men and women, all naked and so entangled he couldn’t tell which arms, legs, heads and genitals belonged to whom.
To avoid drawing unwanted attention, Fabian quickly pulled off his wet clothes and dumped them on the floor behind the sofa.
Then he continued towards the bed where everyone was being sucked or penetrated, or climaxing. Like one great body that was too busy pleasuring itself to notice him.
Fabian, for his part, felt nothing. If anything, he was turned off by the moaning, sweaty bodies slapping against each other as though they were in the middle of a porno shoot where the cameras were off and the director had long since gone home.
He walked around the bed to study it from all angles, leaning in over the pile of naked skin, pierced genitals and spread legs. Once he was sure Eric Jacobsén wasn’t there, he left the room.
In the hallway outside, the walls were lined with framed photographs of what looked like a completely normal Danish nuclear family with three blond children of different ages. Peder and Lykke Madsen were the names of the two adults residing at the address. Were they throwing the party or was Peder on a business trip somewhere sufficiently far away for Lykke to invite some friends over? And the children, where were they? Some posh boarding school on Jutland?
One of the doors opened and two women, whose slim bodies were out of proportion with their enormous breasts, came out together with a dark-skinned man, all three dripping from the shower he could still hear running.
Fabian entered the bathroom, made sure no one else was in there and grabbed a dressing gown he found folded on a shelf before pressing on.
A wide staircase led him down to a grand hall with built-in bookshelves overflowing with books. The hypnotic groove from the bedroom was playing here, too; his best guess was that it was something by The Future Sound of London. The lights were dimmed but bright enough to reveal that the room was filled with copulating silhouettes. In sofas and on chaises longues, on tables and chairs and the floor. Everywhere, people were fucking like there was no tomorrow, though some were also taking a break by the bar, sipping wine, making cocktails or just snorting a line or two.
He strolled around, trying to catch a glimpse of everyone without calling too much attention to himself. Jacobsén was nowhere to be found.
Motive X Page 40
