Alex felt a sense of relief. There would be plenty to keep him busy for the whole of Saturday.
‘Have we got hold of Jakob Ahlbin’s doctor yet, by the way?’ Peder asked as Alex got up to put his coat back on.
The question jogged Alex’s memory: there had been a message the evening before and he had managed to forget about it.
‘Heck, yes,’ he said. ‘He rang in yesterday, quite late. He’d been away and had just got back. But he was apparently going to have the medical records faxed over to us to start with.’
Peder went to check the fax machine in Ellen’s office. He came back with a small pile of paper.
‘Sorry I have not been available. Please contact me immediately on the mobile number below. I am keen to speak to the police as soon as possible about this matter. Sincerely, Erik Sundelius.’
Peder was looking overheated in his outdoor things.
‘Let’s go down to the car,’ said Alex. ‘I’ll ring him on the way.’
Erik Sundelius picked up the phone at the second ring. For the sake of politeness, Alex apologised for ringing so early. It was scarcely ten and it was quite likely some people would not be up yet.
Erik Sundelius sounded very relieved at being able to speak to the police.
‘At last,’ he exclaimed. ‘I tried to get hold of you as soon as I got home and saw the headlines. I hope we can meet in person to discuss the things that need to be gone through. But there’s one thing I want to tell you right now.’
Alex waited.
‘I have been in charge of Jakob Ahlbin’s treatment for over twelve years,’ Erik Sundelius said, and took a deep breath. ‘And I can say in all honesty that there isn’t a chance in hell he would have done what the papers say he did. He would never shoot himself or his wife. You have my word as a professional on that.’
For the first time in months, Fredrika Bergman felt rested when she woke. The night had not brought a single bad dream. She woke early, around seven. Spencer was asleep at her side. And the violin lay in its case on the floor. It was in tune now. It was a morning that felt blessed in many ways.
He was very attractive, lying there. Even lying down he looked unusually tall. The grey hair, usually combed into perfect style, was tousled.
She snuggled down under the quilt, pressing herself to his warm body. Her stomach knotted as she thought of the approaching dinner with her parents. Spencer had agreed to come along.
‘It’s going be a testing occasion,’ he mumbled just before he fell asleep.
As if it were Job’s lot he had been asked to shoulder.
Fredrika’s train of thought was interrupted as her thoughts involuntarily turned to work. To the Ahlbin case and the very last email Jakob had received before he died.
Don’t forget how it all ended for Job; there’s always time to change your mind and do the right thing. Stop looking.
Glad that work-related matters had dispersed her misgivings about dinner with her parents, she slipped cautiously out of bed. Heavily pregnant or not, she had litheness in her blood.
The baby stretched, a silent protest at its mother’s unanticipated movements.
The Bible was in the middle of the bookshelf, easy to spot with its red spine and gold lettering. Surprised at how heavily it weighed in her hand, she sat down and began to leaf through it. Job, the man with his very own book of the Bible.
The text proved quite demanding. Long, and written in a style that called for constant interpretation of what the words actually meant. The story was simple enough. The Devil had challenged God, who considered Job to be the most upright person in the world. Hardly surprising that Job was upright, said the Devil, when God gave him such an easy time. God gave the Devil the right to rob Job of his riches, his health and all ten of his children, so he could show that Job would still be loyal.
Good grief. The Old Testament was full of unaccountably sadistic stories.
Job came through his tribulations pretty well, it turned out. He did allow himself to feel the merest hint of doubt about the reason for God’s ill deeds, but he apologised afterwards. And was paid back handsomely. God gave him twice as many cattle as he had had to start with, and a total of twenty new children to replace the ten he had let the Devil take from him.
All’s well that ends well, Fredrika thought caustically.
And once again repeated to herself the message Jakob had received.
… there’s always time to change your mind and do the right thing.
She racked her brains as to what that could mean in terms of what she had just learned of Job’s fate.
Jakob Ahlbin wasn’t like me, she thought. He didn’t need to look in the Bible to understand what the sender was trying to say. And the sender knew that, too.
She stood up and started pacing the room. The question was how familiar the sender was with the Bible. If you read the email carefully enough, you could interpret it as an offer to negotiate. A chance to change his mind. To do the right thing. Job doubted, but then he said sorry. And was repaid.
Fredrika stopped in mid-step.
They were leaving the option of a settlement open even in that very last message. And Jakob Ahlbin turned them down. He refused to heed their warning to stop looking.
But what had he been looking for? And how had they known that he did not want to bargain? Investigations had shown that Jakob Ahlbin had not answered any of those emails he received.
They must have contacted him by some other means as well.
Fredrika thought hard. And remembered that they had found Tony Svensson’s fingerprints on the front door.
Alex decided they would go and see Erik Sundelius first and then go on to Ragnar Vinterman’s.
Erik Sundelius, senior psychiatric consultant at Danderyd Hospital in Stockholm, saw them in his office. It was a small room but arranged so as to maximise space. Compact shelves along one wall were packed tight with books. On the wall behind the desk there was an enlarged photograph in brownish shades of dense traffic at a crossroads, cars queuing at a red light.
‘Mexico City,’ clarified the consultant, following Alex’s gaze. ‘Took it myself, a few years ago.’
‘Very nice,’ said Alex with an appreciative nod.
He wondered if this was the room where Sundelius saw his patients.
‘This is my office. My consulting room’s on the other side of the corridor,’ the doctor said, answering his unspoken question.
He sank into a chair.
‘But I have to admit my level of patient contact has been limited in recent years. Unfortunately.’
Alex took a look at him. His own experience of psychologists and psychiatrists was sporadic, and his perceptions of the way such a person should look were largely the result of his own bias, but in many respects Erik Sundelius did not look at all as he had expected. He looked more like a GP, with neatly combed hair and a side parting.
‘Jakob Ahlbin,’ Alex said gravely. ‘What can you tell us about him?’
The face of the man on the other side of the desk fell, and he looked first at Alex, then at Peder.
‘That he was the healthiest ill person I’ve ever met.’
Erik Sundelius leant forward and clasped his hands on his desk, apparently wondering how to continue.
‘He did have his bad spells,’ he said. ‘Very bad, in fact. Severe enough for him to be admitted for ECT treatment.’
Peder squirmed at the mention of the electric shock treatment, but to Alex’s relief he made no comment.
‘Over the past three years I thought I could detect a change,’ the consultant went on. ‘A weight seemed to have been taken off him, somehow. He was always very concerned about the plight of refugees, but I think the increasing demand for his lectures gave him a new way of doing his bit for the cause that meant so much to him. I went to hear him speak once. He was brilliant. He chose his battles carefully, and won those he had to.’