Rebecca and Daniella had got together when Rebecca returned from studying in France. Fredrika found it difficult to imagine what the two girls would have had in common, apart from the desire to experiment. Rebecca was a sensible girl who lived a structured life and had clear-cut ambitions – at least on paper. Although that might have been the problem, of course. When structure and ambition become too suffocating, a desire to push the boundaries often grows stronger.
Cecilia rang the doorbell.
No reply. She tried again. They heard the sound of running feet from inside the apartment, heavy footsteps heading for the hallway. The latch clicked and the door opened.
‘Daniella?’
Fredrika edged in front of Cecilia and showed her ID.
‘Police – we’d like to speak to you.’
Daniella backed away from the door and Fredrika and Cecilia stepped inside.
‘Coffee?’
They both refused. ‘We won’t keep you for long,’ Cecilia said.
‘That doesn’t mean you can’t have a cup of coffee, does it?’
Daniella led the way into the kitchen, where she flopped down on one of the mismatched chairs. The apartment was sparsely furnished; it was obviously a sublet. The bare walls were covered in photographs, all showing the same person: a young boy staring into the camera with a defiant expression.
‘Who’s this?’ Fredrika asked, pointing to one of the photos.
‘My brother.’
‘It looks as if you’re the same age.’
‘Wrong. He was ten years older than me. He’s dead.’
Fredrika sat down at the table, well aware of Cecilia’s triumphant expression as she gloated over Fredrika’s faux pas.
‘I’m very sorry,’ she said quietly.
‘Me too.’
Daniella didn’t look the way Fredrika had expected. She was more powerfully built, bordering on fat. Her hair was spiky and as black as coal, contrasting sharply with the pale eyes.
‘I presume this is about Rebecca?’
‘Yes, we’ve found her.’
‘I saw it on TV.’
‘Are you glad she’s been found?’ Cecilia asked.
Daniella shrugged indifferently.
‘I didn’t care at the time and I don’t care now. She was a complete fucking bitch.’
The language was far removed from anything Fredrika would normally use.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘She was just playing with me, making me think what we had was real.’
‘When was this?’
‘A few years ago, when she got back from France.’
A few years ago. And she was still a fucking bitch.
‘You must have really loved her,’ Cecilia said gently.
Instead of replying, Daniella got up to fetch a glass of water. This time she didn’t bother asking them if they wanted a drink.
‘How did it end?’ Fredrika asked.
‘She rang and told me it was over.’
‘That’s low, not telling you face to face,’ Cecilia said.
‘Too bloody right,’ Daniella agreed. ‘And then she came back.’
‘You got back together?’
‘Not properly, just the odd snog. She was at the university – she was too good for me. I think she was ashamed of me.’
Fredrika looked at a photograph on top of the fridge: Daniella’s brother again. He was everywhere.
‘When did you break off contact?’
Daniella shuffled uncomfortably.
‘We didn’t. I didn’t want to let go completely, if you know what I mean.’
‘Not really.’
‘If you like a person, you want to keep in touch. You don’t want them to disappear.’
Like your brother did.
‘And what did Rebecca think about that? Did she call you sometimes, or was it always you who called her?’
‘It was mostly me. She was always so fucking busy. Swimming lessons for babies and the church choir and God knows what. And then there was bloody Håkan as well.’
Fredrika straightened up.
‘Håkan?’
‘He kept on poking his nose in, saying I shouldn’t ring Rebecca. He was off his head – he couldn’t see that she didn’t want him to ring her either.’
‘Did Rebecca regard Håkan as a problem?’
Daniella gave a short, barking laugh.
‘He followed her around like a puppy. He seemed to think they were best friends, or something.’
‘But they weren’t?’
‘No fucking chance. In the end she couldn’t stand him.’
And could she stand you? Fredrika wondered.
‘When did you last speak to Rebecca?’ Cecilia asked.
‘The day before she went missing; I rang her, but she didn’t have time to chat. She was on her way to see that toffee-nosed mentor of hers. She was supposed to call me later, but she never did.’
Fredrika noted the mention of Rebecca’s mentor; it had come up several times, and she still didn’t know what it meant.
‘One last question,’ she said. ‘Do you know whether Rebecca was involved in internet dating?’
‘Everybody knew that.’
‘OK, but do you remember hearing her talk about it?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘We’ve heard rumours that she was selling sex on the internet; do you know anything about that?’
Daniella’s cheeks were burning as she looked at Fredrika.
‘No.’
Her voice was subdued, almost a whisper.
‘Daniella, it’s extremely important that you don’t keep any information from us at this stage,’ Cecilia said.
Daniella cleared her throat and looked Cecilia in the eye.
‘I’m not keeping anything from you, because I don’t know anything. OK?’
Fredrika and Cecilia glanced at one another and reached a mutual decision to bring the interview to an end.
‘She’s lying,’ Cecilia said as they were getting in the car.
‘You’re right,’ Fredrika said. ‘The question is why? And what about?’
9
Alex was trying to persuade the pathologist to work faster. He was keen to get on, to move a step closer to a definite identification of the second body discovered in the forest.
‘I’m doing the best I can,’ said the pathologist. ‘I can’t work any faster when the body is this old.’
Alex was ashamed of himself, but thanked his lucky stars that they had known each other for such a long time. Their relationship was purely professional; over the years any personal exchanges had been few and far between. If the pathologist knew that Alex had been widowed, then it was because someone else had told him. Alex himself had never mentioned it.
It’s not because I’ve forgotten you, Lena.
He gathered the team in their temporary meeting room. Fredrika was still there.
‘What hours are you actually working? I thought you were supposed to be doing seventy-five per cent?’
He was trying to sound caring rather than annoyed.
‘I’m working approximately seventy-five per cent,’ Fredrika replied. ‘I was actually supposed to be somewhere else after lunch, but it all sorted itself out.’
An evasive tone, indicating that her working arrangements were negotiable. Alex didn’t know what to think. Apparently, the child’s father was about the same age as Alex; he wondered how that was possible. He certainly wouldn’t want to start all over again with a baby. Dirty nappies and sleepless nights, snotty noses and potty training. The thought made him feel a little sad. He hadn’t taken paternity leave, and to be honest he hadn’t actually wiped very many snotty noses. For a long time he had convinced himself that he wasn’t missing anything, that he could make up for it with the children later on.
Few lies in the history of the world have become more prevalent than the idea that you can somehow compensate at a later stage for not spending time with your children when they are little. When Alex was faced with the horrendous task of burying his wife, the mother of his children, it was very clear which parent was closest to those children. His son had come back from South America during the summer and stayed until it was all over. In every gesture he made, every word he said, Alex recognised Lena. He couldn’t see himself anywhere at all.