Dark Secrets Page 19

  “Probably, but that’s not the point.”

  “No!” Groth interrupted her sharply. “The point is that the loss of the parents’ confidence would have cost me a great deal more. It’s a question of priorities.” He stood up, buttoned his jacket, and headed for the door. “If that’s all, I have other things to do. But the receptionist will provide you with Axel Johansson’s address if you wish to speak to him.”

  Sebastian was in the corridor waiting for Vanja. The walls were covered in portrait photographs of former principals and other members of staff who had earned the right to be remembered by future generations. In the middle of the display hung the only oil painting. Of Sebastian’s father. A full-length portrait. He was standing by a desk that was full of items and symbols relating to a classical education. The painting was done slightly from a worm’s eye view, so that Ture Bergman was constantly looking down on the person gazing at him.

  Which probably suited him perfectly, Sebastian thought.

  Looking down on everyone and everything.

  Judging.

  From the very center of things.

  Sebastian allowed his thoughts to wander. What kind of father had he been during the four years he had been permitted with Sabine? The answer was probably “so-so.”

  Or, rather: he had been as good a father as he could, but that was still only “so-so.” In his darker moments, when Sebastian doubted his ability as a parent, he had thought it was just like when Sabine was watching TV: the quality of the program was irrelevant. As long as it was fairly colorful and moved around on the screen, she was happy. Was it the same with him? Was Sabine happy with him just because he happened to be there? She made no demands as far as the quality went. He had spent a lot of time with his daughter, there was no doubt about that. More than Lily. It wasn’t a conscious decision based on a desire to share things equally, but more a result of their everyday lives. Sebastian had often worked from home, followed by short, intensive periods of working away, then a fair amount of time off before starting to work from home again. So yes, he had been there. And yet Sabine had still turned to Lily whenever something happened. Always Lily first. That had to mean something, surely? Sebastian refused to believe it was merely genetic. Some women he knew maintained that it was impossible to replace a mother, but that was nonsense. So he had constantly picked over his own abilities.

  What had he actually given his daughter, apart from the security of always having someone there? Sebastian hadn’t found the first couple of years with Sabine all that special or—to be honest—all that much fun. No, that wasn’t true—they had been special. Dizzying. He had heard of many people who convinced themselves that nothing would change when they had children. They would carry on living their lives just as they had always done, with the minor difference that they were now parents. Sebastian hadn’t been quite that naive. He knew he would have to change his whole life. Everything he was. And he had been willing to do that. So those first years had been special, but he hadn’t gotten a great deal out of them. To put it crudely: Sabine gave him too little in those first years.

  That’s what he had thought at the time.

  Now he would give anything to get them back.

  Things had improved, he had to admit. The older she got, the better things were, and he felt as if their relationship was growing and becoming closer as she developed an ability to give something back to him. But what did that show, apart from the fact that he was an egotist? He had hardly dared to think about what things would be like when she grew up.

  When she started making demands.

  When she became more of a person than a child. When he no longer knew best. When she could see through him. He loved her more than anything in the world. But had she known that? Had he been able to show her that? He wasn’t sure.

  He had loved Lily too. He had told her.

  Sometimes.

  Not nearly often enough.

  He didn’t feel comfortable saying those words. Not when he was supposed to mean them, anyway. He assumed she knew that he loved her. That he showed it in other ways. He had never been unfaithful during the time he was with her. Could you show love through the things you didn’t do? Was he capable of showing it at all?

  And now he was standing here, perhaps with a grown-up son or daughter somewhere. Anna Eriksson’s letter had knocked him sideways, and since then he had been operating on autopilot. He had immediately decided that he had to find her. He had to find his child. But did he, if he really thought about it? Was he really going to track down a person who was almost thirty years old, and who had lived his or her whole life without him? What would he say if he did? Anna might have lied, told the child someone else was the father. She might have said he was dead. He might just end up causing problems.

  For everyone.

  But mainly for himself.

  Sebastian didn’t really give a damn whether it was right or wrong to go trampling into the life of an adult and turn it upside down, but what would he get out of it? Did he think there was a new Sabine waiting for him somewhere? There wasn’t, of course. No one was going to slip a hand wearing a butterfly ring into his; no one was going to fall asleep on his shoulder, drowsy and warm with sunshine. Nobody was going to cuddle up to him in bed in the mornings, snuffling almost inaudibly down his ear. The overwhelming risk was that he would be sent packing. Or, at best, clumsily embraced by a complete stranger who could never be anything more than an acquaintance. Possibly a friend, in the very-best-case scenario. He certainly didn’t have too many of those. What if he wasn’t allowed into his child’s life at all? Would he be able to cope with that? If he was going to embark on yet another selfish course of action, then at least he ought to be sure that he would be the one who was going to benefit the most. And he was no longer sure of that at all. Perhaps he should just forget the whole thing. Sell the house, leave the investigation and Västerås, go back to Stockholm.

  His thoughts were interrupted by Vanja closing the door of the office down the corridor a little too loudly; she marched toward him with rapid, angry steps.

  “I’ve got an address,” she said as she passed Sebastian without slowing down.

  He followed her.

  “What does it take before they actually report something to the police in this place?” Vanja asked as she pushed open the doors and strode outside. Sebastian assumed this was a rhetorical question and didn’t answer. There was no need for him to do so; Vanja carried straight on.

  “Seriously, how far are they prepared to go to protect the school’s reputation? Ten days before he dies Roger gets an employee fired, and Groth doesn’t even mention it. If some girl is gang raped in the bathroom, would he try to keep that quiet as well?”

  Once again Sebastian assumed that Vanja wasn’t really expecting a reply, but at least he could show he was listening. Besides which, he found the question quite interesting.

  “If he thought he had more to gain than to lose, then yes, absolutely. He’s not difficult to understand. His priorities are always the school and the reputation of the school. On some level it’s understandable: it’s their main selling point.”

  “So when we’re told there’s no bullying here, that’s bullshit as well, is it?”

  “Of course it is. Establishing hierarchies is part of human nature. As soon as we become part of a group, we have to know where we stand, and we do whatever is necessary to maintain our place or to climb higher. Sometimes it’s obvious, sometimes not. Sometimes it’s deliberate, sometimes not.”

  They had reached the car. Vanja stopped by the driver’s door and turned to face Sebastian, her expression skeptical.

  “I’ve worked as part of this team for several years. We don’t do anything like that.”

  “That’s because your hierarchy is static, and because Billy, who is down at the bottom, has no ambition to climb higher.”

  Vanja looked amused and quizzical.

  “Billy’s down at the bottom?”

  Sebastian
nodded. It had taken him less than three seconds to work out that Billy was at the bottom of the pile.

  “And where am I, according to your analysis?”

  “Immediately below Torkel. Ursula allows you to occupy that position because you don’t work on the same things. She knows she’s the best in her field, so you’re not really competing with each other. If that had been the case, she would have bumped you down the ranking order.”

  “Or I might have done it to her.”

  Sebastian smiled at her as if she were a little girl who had unwittingly said something highly amusing.

  “I think everybody should believe what they want to believe.”

  He opened the passenger door and got in. Vanja stood there for a moment, trying to shake off a growing feeling of irritation. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of annoying her. She cursed herself. Don’t start a conversation. As long as he kept his mouth shut, he couldn’t infuriate her. Two deep breaths, then she opened the door and got in. She glanced briefly at Sebastian. Against her better judgment, she spoke to him again. She wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of having the last word, anyway.

  “You don’t know us. You’re just talking shit.”

  “Am I? Torkel brought me in. Billy wasn’t bothered. You and Ursula don’t really know where you are with me; you just know I’m really good, and you’ve both very clearly distanced yourselves from me.”

  “And that’s because we feel threatened, is it?”

  “Why else would it be?”

  “Because you’re a bastard.”

  Vanja started the car. Ha! Victory! She had the last word. And now they were going to drive to Axel Johansson’s house in complete silence, if it was up to her. It wasn’t.

  “It’s important to you, isn’t it?”

  Why the fuck couldn’t he just keep quiet? Vanja sighed.

  “What is?”

  “Having the last word.”

  Vanja gritted her teeth and kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead. At least she wouldn’t have to see that smug smile on his lips as he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

  Vanja kept her finger on the doorbell. The monotonous ringing penetrated out through the door and into the echoing stairwell where she and Sebastian were standing. But that was the only sound from inside the apartment. Vanja had pushed open the mail slot and listened before she rang the bell the first time.

  Not a movement.

  Not a sound.

  So now Vanja had parked her finger on the button. Sebastian wondered whether he ought to point out that if Axel Johansson was in the apartment, he would probably have opened the door at some point during her first eight onslaughts on the bell. Even if he’d been fast asleep he would have come to the door by now. Fuck, even if he’d been lying in state in there he would have been on his feet by now.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Vanja took her finger off the bell and turned around. A little gray old lady was peering out from behind a half-open door. That really was Sebastian’s first impression: she was gray. It wasn’t just the thin, straight hair. The woman was wearing a gray knitted cardigan, gray velour pants, and thick socks. Thick gray socks. In the middle of the wrinkled face perched a pair of glasses with colorless frames, which added to the impression of grayness and transparency. She was peering at the intruders with a challenging look in her eyes. Which were gray, of course, thought Sebastian.

  Vanja introduced herself and Sebastian and explained that they were looking for Axel Johansson; did she have any idea where he might be? Instead of a “yes” or a “no,” the response was an unexpected question.

  “What’s he done?”

  The little gray neighbor received the standard reply.

  “We’d like a chat with him.”

  “Just routine,” Sebastian chipped in. Mostly for fun. Nobody said “just routine” in real life, but somehow it fitted the situation. It was as if the little gray lady was expecting it. Vanja gave him a look that made it clear she was not amused. Not that he thought she would be. Vanja turned back to the neighbor, glancing quickly at the name above the mailbox.

  “Fru Holmin, do you have any idea where he is?” No, Fru Holmin did not have any idea where he was. She knew he wasn’t at home. He hadn’t been there for more than two days now. She knew that. Not that she kept an eye on what was happening in the apartment complex, on all the comings and goings, but you couldn’t help noticing some things, after all. Like the fact that Axel Johansson had gotten fired a while ago. Or that his girlfriend, who was far too young, had moved out a few days before that. It had been high time; Fru Holmin couldn’t understand what she had ever seen in Axel. Not that he was unpleasant or anything, but he was very odd. Kept himself to himself. Antisocial. Hardly even bothered to say “hello” if you met him on the stairs. The girl, on the other hand, was very chatty. Very pleasant. Everybody in the building thought so. Not that she had been spying on people, but it was easy to hear things in this building, and she was a light sleeper, that was why she knew so much. No other reason.

  “Was there a lot of coming and going at Axel’s apartment?”

  “A fair amount, yes. Lots of young people—the phone and the doorbell were always going. What’s he done?”

  Vanja shook her head and repeated her earlier answer.

  “We’d just like a chat with him.”

  Vanja smiled, passed over her card, and asked the neighbor to call if she heard Johansson come back. The little gray lady peered at the card bearing the Riksmord logo, and it seemed to help her put two and two together.

  “Has this got something to do with that boy who was killed?” There was a spark in the gray eyes as she looked from Vanja to Sebastian for confirmation. “He used to work at the school the boy went to, but perhaps you knew that already?” Vanja was digging for something in her inside pocket.

  “Do you know if he’s been here?” Vanja took out a picture of Roger; it was from the last batch of school photos and was the one all the police officers involved were using. She handed it over to the gray lady, who glanced quickly at the picture, then shook her head.

  “I don’t know—they all look the same to me, with their baseball caps and hoods and their great big jackets. So I don’t know.”

  They thanked her for her help and reminded her to get in touch if Axel turned up.

  On the way downstairs Vanja took out her cell and phoned Torkel. She briefly explained the situation and suggested they put out a call for Axel Johansson. Torkel promised to arrange it immediately. As they reached the door leading to the street they almost crashed into a man on his way in. A familiar face. Haraldsson. Vanja’s expression darkened noticeably.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Haraldsson explained that they were carrying out door-to-door inquiries in the area. Roger Eriksson had been picked up by a CCTV camera on Gustavsborgsgatan, but not on any of the others, which he should have been if he had carried on up the main road. Therefore, he must have turned off somewhere, and this block was in the possible search area. They were trying to find someone who had seen him on that Friday evening.

  Knocking on doors. Vanja had the feeling that Haraldsson had finally ended up in the right place. Axel Johansson’s apartment was in the search area. The straw at which they were clutching had become a fraction thicker.

  The group sitting around the pale birch-wood table in the conference room looked exhausted. As they reviewed their progress, it was painfully clear that they hadn’t gotten very far. The fact that the e-mail had been sent from Palmlövska High didn’t exactly reduce the number of suspects. Being able to prove that Lisa was lying had simply confirmed suspicions Vanja had harbored, but it got them nowhere. The most important thing that had emerged from the interview with Lisa was that Roger probably hid things from those around him. They were all convinced there was more to discover about his life outside school. And the suggestion that he might have been having a relationship with someone nobody knew
about was particularly interesting. Someone he used to see when everybody thought he was with Lisa. They decided some of the team would focus on getting to know Roger better. Who was he really?

  “Have we looked at his computer?” Billy wondered.

  “He didn’t have one.”

  Billy looked at Vanja as if he had misheard.

  “He didn’t have a computer?”

  “Not according to the list the local cops made when they went to his house.”

  “But he was sixteen. Could it have been stolen? Like his watch?”

  “He didn’t have a laptop with him on the CCTV footage,” Torkel interjected. Billy shook his head as he tried to imagine the suffering the poor boy must have endured. Imagine not being online. Isolated. Alone.

  “He could still have been active on the Internet, of course,” Torkel went on. “On Lisa’s computer, or at a youth center or Internet café. See if you can find him anywhere.” Billy nodded.

  “And then there’s Axel Johansson.” Torkel looked around the table, and Billy picked up the ball.

  “We got nothing from today’s door-to-door inquiries. Nobody could remember seeing Roger in the area on Friday evening.”

  “That doesn’t mean he wasn’t there,” Vanja said quickly.

  “It doesn’t mean he was there, either,” Billy countered.

  “What have we got on Johansson, apart from the fact that he lives in an area where Roger may or may not have been on the Friday when he disappeared?” said Sebastian.

  “Roger got him fired from his job at the school,” said Vanja, “and that’s the closest thing we’ve got to a motive so far.”

  “He’s been gone for two days,” said Billy. Sebastian felt a stab of impatience. He had been with Vanja all day. Heard exactly the same things as her. He was well aware that there was something that could be interpreted as a motive and that Axel Johansson hadn’t been home for a couple of days.

  “Apart from that, I meant.”

  There was a brief silence around the table. Billy leafed through his papers, found what he was looking for.