Efraim’s bosses felt that taking out Nadia’s husband would be too destructive, so they let him carry on, but made sure they sabotaged every plan that Nadia was able to tip them off about.
When the joint operation with MI5 got under way, everything was suddenly heightened – both the exchange of information and their love affair. Nadia’s husband was the key player in the plot to launch a series of attacks on British embassies, and the Israelis decided they had had enough. Nadia’s husband had to go.
Efraim had not been involved in the strategic planning, otherwise there would never have been so many of them there on the day his life came to an end. The team had stood outside the house where Nadia’s husband was that afternoon, wondering if they dared go inside.
He had moved a short distance away, said he was going to call for reinforcements. Which he had done, but first he had called Nadia to make sure she was nowhere in the vicinity.
He could still remember the panic in her voice.
‘You have to abort the whole thing! Benjamin is with him!’
Efraim hadn’t seen his son emerge from the house.
He hadn’t been there when Saul and Gideon, those stupid bastards, had decided to approach him. A ten-year-old kid who had been scared of Israeli men all his life. Who knew it was almost never good news when they came calling.
The boy had run for his life.
Back to the house.
Which was booby trapped.
It had been over in seconds. There was nothing Efraim could do. But later, as he wept with Nadia, he had promised her vengeance.
Saul and Gideon had been badly affected by what had happened. They had both said they could no longer justify what they were doing. Efraim realised that their past was haunting them; when children were involved, they wanted out.
So they had left the country, but Efraim had kept tabs on them. He had never forgotten what they had done, and that there was a debt to be paid. Both Gideon and Saul were blessed with a son; Efraim couldn’t accept that such an outcome was fair.
‘I’ll give them ten years,’ he had said to Nadia. ‘Then I will take from them what they should never have been granted.’
But it was all over between Efraim and Nadia. She didn’t want him any more.
‘You gave me the best thing I ever had,’ she said. ‘But you also caused me the greatest pain I have ever known. I can’t reconcile those two experiences. I just can’t.’
Therefore, Efraim had lost not only a son, but the love of his life, and for that Gideon and Saul would pay the highest price imaginable.
Nadia made a new life for herself in northern Israel. They met occasionally, but briefly. She would remind him of what he had promised, and Efraim would assure her that he would never let her down again.
That promise rang hollow as he saw Nadia approach the door of the apartment block for the second time. Everything happened so fast. Before Efraim could take one step, she was inside. The door clicked shut behind her.
Shit.
Efraim raced across the road, afraid that every second was vital.
It took him ninety seconds to get the door open.
And that was all the time the woman known as the Paper Boy needed.
Her case was too heavy to carry in the snow. Fredrika Bergman had been indoors for far too many hours; she needed some fresh air, which was why she wanted to walk home.
She glanced at the suitcase, decided she could pick it up the following day.
But not her violin.
She was determined to take it with her so that she could play for Spencer.
She put on her coat, picked up the violin case and called in to see Alex on her way out.
‘Are you sure it’s okay if I go home? You don’t need me?’
Alex looked exhausted.
‘No, you get off. I won’t be long myself.’
Fredrika felt lost. Sad. Almost resigned.
‘It’s over,’ she said. ‘And yet it isn’t.’
Alex pulled a face.
‘As far as I’m concerned, there is absolutely no doubt: Gideon is the killer we’ve been looking for. And until we’ve had a proper conversation with Mona Samson, I’m not prepared to eliminate her completely from our inquiries, in spite of the fact that she’s finally condescended to get in touch.’
Fredrika agreed.
‘She could have been the person on the roof, if it wasn’t Gideon. When is she supposed to be coming in?’
‘Tomorrow. I hope she turns up, because otherwise she’ll be in real trouble.’
Alex picked up the copy of Gideon Eisenberg’s brief suicide note, which had been on his desk.
‘I wish he’d left a longer message,’ he said. ‘So that we could understand why he did what he did.’
But Fredrika had learned that it just wasn’t possible to understand some things.
‘He must have been so badly damaged by what Saul’s father did to him.’
Slashes and scratches inflicted all over his body with a knife.
A road map of scar tissue.
A daily reminder of what he had gone through. She tried to shake off the image.
‘That might be an explanation, but it’s hardly an excuse,’ Alex said.
He was right; as far as Fredrika was concerned, there was no excuse for shooting two ten-year-old boys and leaving their bodies barefoot in the snow.
‘We’ll find Polly tomorrow,’ she said.
Alex nodded.
‘We will. I’m sure she’s alive.’
‘Me too. Goodnight.’
She raised a hand and left.
She walked out of Police HQ, out into the fresh air.
It wouldn’t be a long walk, but she didn’t need one. She just wanted to feel the cold night air on her face, to stretch her legs. She decided to go via Sankt Eriksplan and Vasa Park, which would extend her route slightly.
She called home to tell Spencer that she was on her way.
He didn’t answer.
Perhaps one of the children had woken, and needed his full attention.
She put away her mobile, enjoying the winter chill even though it was snowing once more.
Across the street she could see the figure of another woman, who also seemed to be carrying something resembling a violin case. Fredrika followed her through the falling snow and saw her head towards the ICA supermarket on the corner. She was swallowed up by the store’s glass doors, and Fredrika carried on walking.
He ran twice as fast as he imagined his son had run on the day he died.
He glanced at the list of residents, because he couldn’t remember whether Eden lived on the second or third floor.
Third.
From a purely logical point of view, he should have realised that it was already too late.
That he wasn’t going to get there in time.
That she would not allow him to prevent the completion of her task.
When he reached Eden’s floor, there was nothing but silence.
The absence of sound made him feel sick.
He grabbed the door handle. Pulled it. Hard.
And found that the door was open.
Surprise made him lose concentration, just for a second. Then he could see once more. With terrible clarity.
Eden’s husband was lying on his stomach in the hallway. Efraim crouched down automatically and felt for a pulse.
He felt the faintest throb against his fingertips.
Erratic, but it would have to do.
He stepped over the body and carried on into the apartment.
He had expected a fight. An attack. Loud screams and vicious blows. To her head and neck, arms and knees. Whatever he had to do to put her out of action.
But she was one step ahead of him.
And Efraim realised he would never catch up.
She was standing in Eden’s bedroom.
He could see her in profile.
The main light was not switched on; only the street lamps cast a faint glow into the room.
That was all the light he needed.
He could see what there was to see. The two girls, lying in their parents’ double bed. Fast asleep. As peaceful as only children can be when they are asleep.
‘Don’t do it,’ he said.