‘Did she seem to suspect anything? Has she realised the all-encompassing nature of her predicament, so to speak?’
‘Not yet. But she will tomorrow.’
‘And by then it’s too late for her,’ he concluded with a sigh.
‘Yes, by then it’ll all be over.’
He played with a pristine notepad on the oak desk. The gleam of a street light coloured the flowers on the windowsill yellow.
‘And our friend who came from Arlanda the other day?’
‘He’s in the flat where his contact left him. He should be ready for his task tomorrow.’
Cars were passing in the road outside. Their wheels crunched over the snow. The exhaust fumes were white in the cold. How strange. Out there, everything seemed to be carrying on exactly as before.
‘Perhaps we ought to have a break in operations when we’ve finished this?’ he said softly. ‘Until all the fuss dies down, I mean.’
He could hear the breathing at the other end of the line.
‘You’re not getting cold feet?’ said the voice.
He moved his head from side to side.
‘Of course not,’ he said in a quiet, emphatic voice. ‘But a bit of caution does no harm at the moment, with everyone’s eyes on us.’
The caller gave a low laugh.
‘You’re the only one they can see, my friend. The rest of us are invisible.’
‘Exactly,’ he said huskily. ‘And that’s what we want, isn’t it? It would be a shame if they found reason to take a closer look at me. Then it would only be a matter of time before they saw you, too, my friend.’
He put particular stress on the last words, and the laughter at the other end stopped.
‘We’re both on the same side in this,’ the voice said in a muted tone.
‘Just so,’ he persisted. ‘And it would be as well if I wasn’t the only person to remember that.’
He hung up. Lit a cigarette, even though he knew his wife hated him smoking indoors. And outside the snow fell as if the weather gods were desperately trying to bury all the evil in the world beneath frozen rain.
THURSDAY 28 FEBRUARY 2008
STOCKHOLM
She had lots of red hair, a shapeless mauve dress and very irritating body language. Her voice was shrill, her words harsh and angry. Peder Rydh was pretty sure she had BO and unshaven armpits, too.
Peder was sitting right at the back, at the end of the row of chairs, wondering what he was doing there. On a course about equality in the workplace. When there were so many more important things to do. If Margareta Berlin had been there, too, she would have been feeling shamefaced about her decision. Of all the equality courses in the world, this must be the worst. Pity. For Ms Berlin.
He fidgeted. Restlessness tingled in his legs, bubbled up and made his blood boil. It fucking well wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t.
He turned red at the recollection of Margareta Berlin’s scolding. She had looked so goddamn sure of herself, imposing the sentence from behind her desk. As if she was the right person to be teaching him how to behave in the force.
And she’d had the nerve to bring up that little misunderstanding at the Christmas party, too.
Peder swallowed hard. He felt shame and apprehension, but also fury, pure fury. It hadn’t been his fault. Anybody could see that. And what was more, Margareta Berlin had her facts wrong. The police force was no different from any other workplace; you could go to bed with anybody you liked.
More pictures came into his mind’s eye, this time from the Christmas party.
Hot bodies on a cramped, improvised dance floor in the staff room. Far more alcohol than had been intended, dancing to some music that was not part of the main programme. As his colleague Hasse put it the day after the party, things had got quite heavy. Peder had made the most of it. Lots of partying, lots of dancing. His feet had done the moves by themselves as he went whirling round with one female workmate after another.
Then he danced with Elin Bredberg. Shiny face, dark hair and bright eyes. Peder had seen eyes like that before, oh yes. Hungry, come-hither eyes. On the pull. Gagging for it.
And Peder was never backward in coming forward. If the door was open, he stepped inside. That was just the way he was. First he pulled Elin closer to him. Her eyes narrowed but were still smiling. Tempting, inviting. So Peder moved his hand from her back down to her bottom. Squeezed it and kissed her cheek.
Before he knew it, her hand came flying through the air and smacked him round the face. And the party was over.
Peder thought there were certain unwritten rules in life. Elin Bredberg must have known what messages he was receiving. He told her so, and demanded she take her share of the blame, if not all of it, which was what she really ought to do. In the end he had accepted that the fault was on his side. Not until the next day, when they were both a bit more sober and capable of normal conversation, but they had sorted it out between them, at least.
Though Peder still thought she was the one in the wrong.
And now look where it had got him. In a school hall in working hours, being lectured on equality by a woman who looked like a scarecrow and probably hadn’t had any decent sex since Jesus was walking about in sandals.
Peder gave an inward groan. It was always so unfair. There was always some bad experience to shatter the least hint of happiness whenever it came along. That bastard who had squealed about the croissants had better mind his bloody back, because he had made himself an enemy in the force. A suspicion had dawned on him during the night, and the more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed.
‘Gender is power,’ the lecturer boomed. ‘And women are, in a way, second-class citizens in this country. Even though Sweden is one of the leading democracies in the world.’
She took a breath, her hair swinging all over the place.
‘We’re going to do a little exercise,’ she said crisply, surveying the hall. ‘I need a volunteer, a nice young man from the audience.’
Nobody moved.
‘Oh come on now,’ she cooed. ‘It’s not difficult. Just an exercise that’s been around since time immemorial. And it’s fun, as well.’
Peder sighed. Sighed and let his thoughts drift to Ylva, from whom he had separated six months before. Months of lonely evenings in his flat in the suburbs, and the boys coming to stay every other weekend. The odd evening or week of meaningless dates that never led to anything except sex that was hot the first time and then rapidly cooled.
His chest tightened, his eyes smarted and he slumped a little in his seat. He wondered if it was the same for Ylva. He wondered if she felt empty, too.
Because that was how he felt.
Empty. So bloody empty.
The doctor’s voice made Fredrika feel she was being watched, even though she knew it was ridiculous. The doctor was on the telephone and not there in front of her. If she were to guess what he looked like, she would say he had glasses and thinning hair. And maybe narrow green eyes.
‘Karolina Ahlbin was brought to the hospital in an ambulance last Thursday,’ said the doctor, whose name was Göran Ahlgren. ‘She was diagnosed with what would popularly be called an overdose, in this case an overdose of heroin injected into the crook of her arm. We did what we could to save her, but her internal organs had already taken such a battering that it was impossible to bring her back. She died less than an hour after she was admitted.’
Fredrika jotted down what he had told her.
‘I can send over copies of the confirmation of death and cause of death forms,’ he added.
‘We’ve already had those,’ said Fredrika, ‘but I would be grateful for a complete copy of the patient’s notes, if you wouldn’t mind.’
She could hear the hesitation in Göran Ahlgren’s voice as he went on.
‘Are there any suspicious circumstances?’ he asked.