That was a classic watertight alibi. It didn’t mean that Efraim wasn’t involved in some other way, of course, but it definitely made him less interesting. Alex felt a stab of disappointment. This was one of the few leads they had.
Fredrika’s plane would soon be landing. Israeli colleagues were meeting her at the airport. Alex was trying to keep his expectations about her visit in check, but it was hopeless. Without a miracle they were lost.
‘I’m glad you called,’ he said to Peder. ‘Thanks for your help – I won’t forget this.’
Peder said something that Alex didn’t hear.
‘Sorry, there’s a lot of noise at your end,’ he said. ‘Can you say that again?’
After a pause, Peder said: ‘It was nothing important. I’ll speak to you again soon.’
‘Good,’ Alex said.
He meant what he said. Peder’s help had been invaluable in many ways, and Alex would make sure his superiors knew that.
After the conversation came the emptiness. Efraim Kiel was out of the frame; he was no longer a viable suspect. Coincidences could be significant, or they could be nonsense, and in this case they appeared to be nonsense. There was probably no exciting explanation as to why Kiel had asked Peder about calling cards left at the crime scenes; he was just a particularly skilled investigator.
His mobile rang again; number withheld.
Eden’s husky voice came down the line.
‘I missed your call yesterday,’ Alex said.
Which was a stupid thing to say – why waste time stating the obvious?
‘My fault, it was very late when I called. Are you free to talk now?’
‘Absolutely. If you’d rather meet face to face and you happen to be at work, you’re welcome to come over.’
It was no problem for Eden to come to Alex’s office, whereas his chances of dropping in to see her at Säpo were non-existent.
‘That would have been nice, but unfortunately I’m not in today.’
Did he think everyone else worked Sundays as well? Even someone like Eden Lundell was entitled to some time off to breathe in the fresh winter air, spend time with her family. She was married with children, wasn’t she? Or was that just a figment of his imagination?
‘Alex, I haven’t been completely honest with you.’
Her tone was serious.
‘I lied when I said I didn’t know who Efraim Kiel was. I’m very sorry, but given the situation, I couldn’t tell you what I knew until I’d spoken to my boss.’
Eden was the head of the counter-terrorism unit, and she had had to speak to her boss. Who was the General Director of Säpo.
‘Okay,’ Alex said. Warily, because he had no idea what he was supposed to say.
‘You absolutely must not pass this on, but I can tell you that Säpo has had reason to monitor Efraim Kiel’s activities here in Sweden. I can’t tell you why, but I promise you it has nothing to do with the murders you’re investigating.’
‘Hang on a minute,’ Alex said, but Eden interrupted him.
‘You’ll just have to take my word for it. Säpo is not investigating the murders of individual members of the Solomon Community, but if we had information that could benefit your work, then needless to say we would have passed it on.’
Unless of course national security was at risk, Alex thought.
Less than five minutes ago, he had received information that virtually ruled out Efraim Kiel as a suspect, but of course Eden didn’t know that. He appreciated the fact that she had called, and he couldn’t care less why Säpo was following Efraim, as long as it had nothing to do with the murders.
His thoughts turned to Polly Eisenberg. To her brother’s body, lying on the dazzling white snow. To the paper bag over his head.
This has to end.
He heard a rustling noise, then Eden was back.
‘Has Fredrika left?’
‘Yes, she should be there by now.’
He wished they could have gone together, that it hadn’t been so urgent.
And he hoped Fredrika would take care of herself, all alone in the land of the Paper Boy.
ISRAEL
One of the smallest countries in the world, from a purely geographical point of view. The desert meeting the sea. Heat and aridity. Two nations laying claim to the same narrow piece of land. Almost two decades ago there had been a peace process, but there was nothing left of that initiative now. The country where the Paper Boy had once been given life was a strange place.
‘Have you been here before?’ asked the man who met Fredrika at the airport.
‘Once, but it was a long time ago.’
She had been twenty-four years old, and she had just fallen in love.
This would have been so much more fun if Spencer was here.
They were in a car on the way to Jerusalem from Ben Gurion airport. The hills forming the landscape were a fascinating sight, a mixture of barrenness dotted with patches of vegetation and settlements.
Her companion was called Isak Ben-Zwi. He was roughly the same age as Alex, and as far as Fredrika could make out, worked for the Israeli equivalent of the National Crime Unit.
‘You have a terrible situation in Stockholm,’ he said.
Fredrika could only agree.
‘Have you found the little girl who went missing yesterday?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
She took out her mobile; a new message she hadn’t had time to listen to yet. She was about to put her phone away when Isak said: ‘Please – we’re not here to make small talk, we’re here because we have a job to do. Don’t mind me.’
She gave him a grateful look and clicked on her voicemail.
Alex’s voice in her ear was a reminder of why she was there.
‘Peder called. Efraim Kiel can’t have abducted the boys or shot Josephine, because he was in a meeting with the general secretary of the Solomon Community at the time. Speak to you later.’
So. That considerably reduced the possibility that Efraim was involved. Of course it could be that one person had abducted the boys and another had shot them, but that seemed unlikely. As a general rule, if there was more than one perpetrator, they were usually responsible for different victims.
‘Problems?’ Isak said.
Fredrika didn’t want to share what she had just heard. She and Alex had agreed before she left that it was best to leave Efraim Kiel out of their collaboration with the Israeli police.
‘Yes, but nothing new.’
She forced a smile and gazed out of the window.
‘Is the weather always this good in January?’
The sun was shining, and it was eighteen degrees. The contrast with Stockholm was depressing.
‘Not always, but sometimes – if we’re lucky. Jerusalem is a little cooler; the city is higher up than Tel Aviv. We even have snow there occasionally, but it’s very rare.’
They drove in silence towards the Israeli capital, which was still not recognised internationally.
‘We’ve started going through the material you sent over,’ Isak said eventually. ‘The various addresses where the individual calling himself the Lion logged into Super Troopers.’
Fredrika’s spirits rose.
‘Any luck?’
‘Not so far, but as I said, we’ve only just started. I’ve got some of my team visiting these places to see whether they keep customer records, or whether any of them have CCTV.’
If so, they might be able to get a picture, which would be invaluable. A picture and personal details. Fredrika tried not to be over-optimistic.
‘We’re very grateful for your co-operation,’ she said.
Isak kept his sharp eyes fixed on the road.
‘We’re happy to help,’ he said. ‘The Jewish people have the right to feel safe. Wherever they may be.’
Fredrika knew what he meant, but felt no empathy. She didn’t really know who her own people were. A small political elite in Europe was trying to create a European identity for the members of the European Union, but Fredrika couldn’t see them succeeding. Such constructs didn’t usually have a long-term future.