Dark Secrets Page 24

  “Was he meeting this PW on Wednesdays?” Beatrice asked after a while; she had obviously been giving the abbreviation some thought.

  “Exactly.”

  “It could be Peter Westin.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “He’s a psychologist who does some counseling with the students. I know Roger went to see him a few times just after he started at the school. It was actually me who mentioned Peter to Roger. But I didn’t realize he was still seeing him.”

  Vanja thanked Beatrice for her help and took down Peter Westin’s contact info. She called him, but got his answering machine, which informed her that his office would be open at nine in the morning. A quick look at the map showed her that the office was only ten minutes from the school. Roger could easily have gotten there and back in his free period without anyone knowing where he’d been, and if there was one thing you talked to a psychologist about, it was secrets. The kind of thing you didn’t want to discuss with anyone else.

  Her cell beeped. A text message.

  Found Axel J’s ex-girlfriend. Want 2 come & talk 2 her? Billy

  Quick reply.

  YES.

  This time she did add a smiley face.

  Axel Johansson’s ex-girlfriend, Linda Beckman, had been at work when Billy got hold of her. She had pointed out several times that she and Axel were no longer together and that she had no idea where he was or what he was up to; it had taken a great deal of persuasion on Billy’s part to get her to agree to a meeting. When she finally gave in she insisted there was no way she could come to the police station. If they wanted to talk to her tonight they would have to come to the restaurant where she worked, and she would take a short break. So now Vanja and Billy were sitting at a table in a pizzeria on Stortorget. Neither of them ordered anything to eat but settled for a cup of coffee.

  Linda came and sat down opposite them. She was a blond, fairly ordinary-looking woman of about thirty. Her hair was shoulder length, and her full bangs ended just above her blue-green eyes. She was wearing a black-and-white-striped sweater and a short black skirt. The sweater didn’t particularly flatter her figure. She had a gold heart on a thin chain around her neck.

  “I’ve got fifteen minutes.”

  “In that case we’ll try to get through this in fifteen minutes,” said Billy, reaching for the sugar. He always took sugar in his coffee. And not a small amount either.

  “As I said on the phone, we’d like to know a bit about Axel Johansson.”

  “You didn’t say why.”

  Vanja took over. It would be stupid to reveal that they knew about Axel’s little sideline, at least until they had an idea of Linda’s attitude toward her ex. Instead Vanja started a little more circumspectly.

  “Do you know why he got the ax?”

  Linda smiled at the two police officers. She knew what this was all about.

  “Yes. The booze.”

  “The booze?”

  “He was selling it to the kids. Idiot!” Vanja looked at Linda and nodded. She didn’t seem to be a member of Axel’s fan club.

  “Exactly.”

  Linda shook her head wearily, as if to reinforce her negative view of Axel’s activities.

  “I told him it was a stupid thing to do. But did he listen? No. And then he got the ax, just like I said. Idiot.”

  “Did he ever mention a Roger Eriksson?” Vanja ventured optimistically.

  “Roger Eriksson?” Linda seemed to be thinking about it, but her face showed no spark of recognition.

  “A sixteen-year-old boy,” Billy went on, handing over a picture of Roger.

  Linda took the picture and studied it. She recognized him.

  “The boy who died?”

  Vanja nodded. Linda looked at her.

  “Yes, I think he came by once.”

  “Do you know why? Was he buying alcohol from Axel?”

  “No, I don’t think so. They had a chat. He didn’t have anything with him when he left, as far as I remember.”

  “When was this?”

  “Maybe two months ago. I moved out shortly afterward.”

  “Did you see Roger again? Please think carefully—this is important.”

  Linda sat in silence for a while, then shook her head. Vanja changed tack.

  “What was Axel’s reaction when you moved out?”

  Linda shook her head again; it seemed to be her default response whenever she thought of Axel.

  “I don’t think he cared one way or the other. He didn’t seem angry or upset or anything. He didn’t make any attempt to get me to stay. He just… carried on. As if it didn’t matter whether I was there or not. He was completely fucking unbelievable.”

  When Vanja and Billy thanked Linda Beckman twenty minutes later and set off back to the station, their picture of Axel Johansson had not only acquired contours, but every little detail was clearly visible. In the beginning, Axel had been the perfect gentleman. Attentive, generous, amusing. After only a few weeks she had moved in. At first everything had continued to go well. Then things had started to crop up. Not too serious to start with. Hardly noticeable, really. There was slightly less money in her purse than she’d thought, that kind of thing. Then a piece of gold jewelry she had inherited from her grandmother disappeared, and Linda began to realize that to Axel their relationship was mainly a way of reducing his costs. She had confronted him, and he had been full of regrets. He had gambling debts and had been afraid she would leave him if he told her, so he’d done what he had to do to get straight. Just so that he could start fresh with Linda. No baggage. She had believed him. But before long money was going missing again. The last straw was when she found a hidden rent agreement and realized that she was, in fact, paying the whole of the rent, not half as she had supposed. Linda colored in the rest of the picture. Their sex life was hopeless. He was hardly ever interested, and on the few occasions when it did happen he was dominant almost to the point of violence and always wanted to take her from behind with her face buried in the pillow. Too much information, Vanja thought, but she nodded encouragingly to Linda. Axel was always out at odd times, sometimes all night; he would come home first thing, or late in the morning. The rest of his time, when he wasn’t working at the school, was spent coming up with different ways to make money. Axel’s entire world revolved around screwing the system.

  Only idiots do as they’re told was his motto. The only reason he applied for the job at Palmlövska High was because the students had richer parents and a stricter upbringing, which in Axel’s world led to fewer problems. The families tended to solve any problems on their own. Just as the principal had in the end.

  Sell to those who can pay the most, and who have the most to lose if they get caught, he had said. But Linda never saw any money. That was the thing she found most difficult to understand. In spite of all the “business” he did, Axel was always broke. Where the money went was just one big mystery to Linda. He didn’t seem to have many friends, and he was always cursing those he did have because they wouldn’t lend him any money. Or if they did lend him some, he cursed them because they wanted it back.

  He was always dissatisfied.

  With everything and everybody.

  The most important question for Vanja and Billy was what Roger had to do with Axel. Roger had been to his apartment, they knew that now. Was there a link to the fact that Roger had gotten Axel fired a few weeks later? That was one possible scenario, at any rate. By the time Vanja and Billy said good night, they were quite happy with the last hour’s work. Axel Johansson had become even more interesting. And they were going to see a psychologist with the initials PW the following morning.

  Torkel nodded to the woman at reception and walked over to the elevator. Once inside he hesitated as he slid his key card into the reader, then pressed 4. His room was 302. Ursula was on the fourth floor. The sound of the Rolling Stones was coming through the hidden speakers. Torkel thought back to when he was young and the Stones had produced the hardest rock he’d ever
heard. Now they were elevator music. The doors slid open and Torkel didn’t move. Should he forget it? He didn’t even know if she was still angry with him. He just assumed she was. He would still have been angry with her if she’d done that to him. But it was probably best to know. Torkel walked down the corridor to room 410 and knocked on the door. A few seconds passed before Ursula opened it. The neutral expression on her face gave Torkel a pretty good clue what she thought of the visit.

  “Sorry if I’m disturbing you.” Torkel did his best to prevent the nervousness from showing in his voice. Standing here in front of her, he realized he really didn’t want them to fall out.

  “I just wanted to check how things stand between us.”

  “How do you think they stand?”

  As he had feared. Still angry. Understandably. But Torkel had never found it difficult to apologize when he had done something wrong.

  “I’m sorry, I should have told you I was intending to bring in Sebastian.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have brought him it at all.” For a brief moment Torkel felt a stab of irritation. Now she was being unreasonable. He was apologizing. He admitted that he had handled the situation badly, but he was the boss. He had to make the decisions and bring in the people he thought were best for the investigation, whether everybody else was happy with that or not. It was a case of maintaining a professional approach. Torkel quickly decided not to say any of this, partly because he didn’t want to upset Ursula even more, but also because he still wasn’t completely convinced that Sebastian’s presence really was the best thing for the investigation. He had the feeling he didn’t just need to explain his actions to Ursula, he also needed to sort it out for himself. Why hadn’t he simply said “thanks but no thanks” to Sebastian in the hotel dining room that morning? His expression was almost pleading as he spoke to Ursula.

  “Listen, I really need to talk to you. Can I come in?”

  “No.” Ursula made no attempt to open the door. Quite the opposite. She pushed it slightly farther shut, as if she was expecting him to kick it down. From inside the room came the sound of three short, three long, three short beeps. SOS. Ursula’s ringtone.

  “That’s Mikael. He said he’d call.”

  “Okay.” Torkel realized the conversation was over. “Say hello from me.”

  “You can do it yourself, he’ll be here tomorrow.” Ursula closed the door. Torkel remained where he was for a second, letting it sink in. Mikael hadn’t come to visit Ursula during an investigation since… well, never, as far as Torkel could recall. He couldn’t even begin to start contemplating what that meant. With a heavy tread he headed back toward the staircase that would take him to his own room. His life was considerably more complicated now than it had been twenty-four hours earlier.

  But what did he expect?

  He had let in Sebastian again.

  Sebastian woke up lying on his back on the sofa. He must have nodded off. The television was on. Low volume. The news. His right hand was so tightly clenched that the pain was shooting right up his forearm. He closed his eyes and began to straighten his fingers slowly from their cramped position. The wind had got up; it was blowing hard, roaring down the chimney of the open fire, but in his half-awake state the sound blended with the dream that had just left him.

  The roar.

  The power.

  The superhuman power in that wall of water.

  He held on to her. Held on tight. Through all the screams, all those people screaming. The water. The swirling sand. The power. That was the only thing he knew in the midst of all the madness. That he was holding on to her. He could even see their hands. Of course it was impossible but, no, he really could see their hands. He could still see them. Her little hand. With the ring on it. Clutched in his right hand. He was holding on to her tighter than he had ever held on to anything before. There was no time to think about anything, but yet he knew that he was thinking. Just one thought. More important than any other. He must never, ever let go.

  That was what he thought.

  The only thing he thought.

  He must never, ever let go.

  But he did.

  Her hand slipped out of his.

  Suddenly she wasn’t there. Something in the huge volume of water must have hit her. Hit him? Or had her small body got stuck on something? Had his? He didn’t know. He only knew that when he came to several hundred yards from what had been the beach—bruised, battered, and in shock—she wasn’t there.

  She wasn’t nearby.

  She wasn’t anywhere.

  His right hand was empty.

  Sabine was gone.

  He never found her.

  Lily had left them that morning to go for a run along the beach. She did the same thing every morning. She used to bore him with her preaching about all the beneficial effects of exercise. Digging her fingers into the softness that had once been his waistline. He had promised to go for a run. At some point during their holiday. But he hadn’t said when. Not today, Boxing Day. He was going to spend today with his daughter. Lily was late going out. She usually ran before it got too hot, but this morning they had had breakfast together in the big double bed, then just stayed there giggling and having fun. The whole family. Eventually Lily got up, kissed him, gave Sabine one last kiss, and left the hotel room with a cheerful wave. She wasn’t going to run very far today.

  Too hot already.

  Back in half an hour.

  He never found her either.

  Sebastian got up off the sofa. Shuddered. It was chilly in the silent room. What time was it? Just after ten. He picked up his plate from the coffee table and went into the kitchen. When he’d arrived home last night he had microwaved something from the freezer that purported to be restaurant-quality food and sat down in front of the TV with his plate and a bottle of low-alcohol beer. It had struck him that the restaurant that served the kind of food he had just shoveled down had probably closed its doors for good fairly quickly. “Depressing” didn’t even begin to describe it. But the meal matched the programming on TV: watery and lacking in imagination and texture. Whichever channel he turned to, there seemed to be some young presenter staring straight into the camera, trying to persuade him to call in and cast his vote. Sebastian had eaten half his meal, leaned back, and evidently fallen asleep.

  Fallen asleep and dreamed.

  Now he was back in the kitchen, with no idea what to do. He put the plate and the bottle on the draining board. Stood there. He had been unprepared. He didn’t usually allow himself to fall asleep. He never took a nap after dinner, or slept through a flight or a train ride. It usually destroyed whatever was left of the day. For some reason he had relaxed. It had been a different kind of day.

  He had worked.

  Been a part of a wider context, which hadn’t happened since 2004. He wouldn’t go so far as to say it had been a good day, but it had been different. He had obviously thought that would continue, that the dream wouldn’t creep up on him. How wrong could he have been. So now he was standing here. In his parents’ kitchen.

  Restless.

  Irritable.

  He was unconsciously opening and closing his right hand. If he wasn’t going to have a sleepless night, there was only one possible course of action.

  First he would have a quick shower.

  Then he would go and fuck someone.

  The house really did look appalling. Everywhere. Piles of clothes. Dirty laundry. Dust. Dirty dishes. The beds needed changing, the wardrobes needed airing, and during the day the spring sunshine made it painfully clear that the windows needed cleaning. Beatrice didn’t even know where to start, so instead she did nothing, just as she had done every evening, every weekend lately. She didn’t even dare to think how much time was encompassed by the word “lately.” A year? Two? She didn’t know. She just knew she didn’t have the strength. To do anything. All her energy went into keeping up the appearance of the popular, conscientious teacher and colleague at school. Keeping the facade inta
ct so that no one would notice how tired she was.

  How lonely.

  How unhappy.

  She pushed aside a pile of clean underwear that had failed to get any further and sat down on the sofa with her second glass of wine. If anyone looked in through the window—and ignored the mess in the room—they could easily get the impression that she was a professional woman, wife, and mother relaxing on the sofa after a hard day. Feet tucked underneath her, a glass of wine on the coffee table, a good book waiting, relaxing music in the background from the hidden speakers. The only thing missing was a crackling fire. A middle-aged woman enjoying some time alone. Time to herself.

  Nothing could be further from the truth. Beatrice was alone. That was the problem. She was alone even when Ulf and Johan were at home. Johan, at sixteen, was right in the middle of the process of breaking free, and Daddy’s boy. Always had been. It had intensified ever since Johan had started at Palmlövska High. To a certain extent Beatrice could understand him: it couldn’t be much fun to have your mother as your class teacher; but she felt more shut out than she thought she deserved to be. She had spoken—or tried to speak—to Ulf about it. Without getting anywhere, of course.

  Ulf.

  Her husband, who left the house in the morning, came back in the evening. Her husband, with whom she ate, watched TV, and went to bed. The man with whom she was alone. He was in the house, but he was never at home with her. Not since he came back. Not before that either.

  The doorbell rang. Beatrice glanced at the clock. Who could that be? At this time of night? She went into the hallway, pushed a pair of sneakers to one side in a reflex action, and opened the door. It took a few seconds before she was able to place the face with which she had only a fleeting acquaintance. The police officer who had been to the school. Sebastian something-or-other.

  “Hi, sorry to disturb you so late but I just happened to be passing.” Beatrice nodded and glanced over her visitor’s shoulder. No car parked on the drive or out on the street. Sebastian realized immediately what she was looking for.