Among all the papers there was a mass of administrative information relating to her course. One of the brochures was entitled ‘Welcome to your studies in the History of Literature’. Fredrika felt quite nostalgic as she turned the pages and read about how the department worked. Somewhere in the middle she stopped as one particular sentence caught her eye:
‘Not sure what to do after graduation? Come and find out more about Alpha, our mentoring network!’
The exhortation was signed by the president of the students’ union.
The mentoring network again. Now it had a name: Alpha. Fredrika knew something about the process, and she was aware that by no means all students who showed an interest were allocated a mentor. An assessment was made based on the student’s profile and ambitions. According to Alex, the financier Valter Lund had been Rebecca’s mentor; he was a man who had climbed rapidly within Axbergers, a major company. He was originally from Norway. But how had this come about? How did a girl who was studying the history of literature end up with Valter Lund as her mentor? Fredrika decided to take a closer look at Alpha.
On the last page of the brochure, she found a list of those who worked in the department, together with their contact details. Gustav Sjöö, Rebecca’s supervisor, was circled in red ink.
And next to his name, written by hand in the same red ink,
‘SPENCER LAGERGREN, DEPARTMENT OF THE HISTORY OF LITERATURE, UNIVERSITY OF UPPSALA’.
The red ink seemed to glow, and Fredrika suddenly felt weak at the knees.
Without thinking, she folded the brochure in half and slipped it into her pocket. She put everything else she wanted to take with her into the carrier bag, then switched off the torch and went back into the house.
‘I’ve finished now, thank you,’ she said to Rebecca’s aunt. ‘I’d like to take this with me, if that’s OK.’
She held up the carrier bag, the brochure burning a hole in her pocket. She could hardly breathe.
Spencer.
The man who had once promised he would never lie to her again. Who had suddenly decided he wanted to go on paternity leave.
What are you hiding from me, my love?
17
Alex Recht couldn’t decide how to proceed. Håkan Nilsson had been allowed to go home, but he was still being kept under surveillance, and both his mobile and landline were being monitored.
Fredrika had come back from her visit to Rebecca’s aunt, and was closeted in her office with the material she had brought in. She had given him a brief verbal report, suggesting that they should look more closely at the mentoring network. Alex didn’t really agree with her, but since none of their other lines of inquiry were entirely satisfactory, he didn’t raise any objections.
We need to keep every line of inquiry alive.
He glanced at the clock. Fredrika would probably leave in a few hours, and she wouldn’t be back until Monday morning. He hoped she would be able to balance work and home life successfully; the team didn’t need another Peder.
Alex decided to call Torbjörn Ross and thank him for the invitation to go fishing at the weekend. Unfortunately, he would have to say no; he had far too much on at work. Far too much to think about. Far too much to…
‘Torbjörn Ross.’
‘Hi, it’s Alex. I just wanted to let you know that I’d really like to come over this weekend.’
Would I?
His palms suddenly felt sweaty. Had he taken leave of his senses?
‘That’s great,’ said Torbjörn. ‘I thought you’d say no.’
So did I.
‘It was the fishing trip that persuaded me.’
‘Thought so. I’ll ring Sonja and tell her you’re coming with us.’
‘Hang on. I think it’s best if I bring my own car; I have to work tomorrow, and I’d like to join you a bit later, if that’s OK.’
Of course it was OK. There was nothing that couldn’t be sorted out. The important thing was that Alex was coming to the cottage, getting away from the city for a while. Fresh air and a glass or two of cognac with Torbjörn.
When he had ended the call, Alex rang his daughter to tell her about his plans for the weekend. He could hear how pleased she was, and knew that he was sending out signals that she found very welcome. Look, I’ve got a life. Friends, leisure interests. Everything I need.
His chest contracted with pain. The loss of Lena had proved that there are very few things people actually need. In the end, there hadn’t been a single thing he wouldn’t have given up to get her back. Not a single thing.
His mobile rang, providing a welcome distraction. Something to focus on.
‘It’s Diana Trolle. Am I disturbing you?’
‘Of course not. How are you?’
What would she say? What could he cope with? What if she said that her life was meaningless, that she could hardly bring herself to get out of bed in the mornings? She spared him the worst; it was understood.
‘I’m getting there. I just wanted to know how things were going.’
Alex closed his eyes for a second, wishing he could say that things were going really well, that they had identified the killer who was now under arrest in Kronoberg. Instead, he said:
‘Do you recognise the name Gustav Sjöö?’
‘No. Or… hang on. Yes, I do. He was Rebecca’s supervisor at the university.’
‘What was his relationship with Rebecca like?’
‘There was no relationship, as far as I know.’
‘I mean did they get on well on a professional basis?’
‘No, I don’t think they did. She wasn’t satisfied with him.’
‘What was the problem?’
‘He never seemed to have time for her. I remember she felt frustrated; she thought he could have done a better job. She even tried to change to another supervisor, but the university wouldn’t let her. Why are you asking about him? Is he a suspect?’
A question Alex didn’t want to answer.
‘We’re looking at a number of different people.’
Evasive, not warm and confiding as he had wanted to be.
‘Do you know who the father of her child was?’
There was only one possible answer to that question.
‘I can’t comment on that.’
There was silence at the other end of the line, and he could hear the sound of pain and loss.
‘Sometimes, I think I can hear her. All those little noises she used to make, and I never even noticed. I hear her, Alex. Does that sound crazy?’
When Alex tried to reply, the words stuck in his throat.
‘Not at all. I think it’s quite common to experience that kind of phenomenon in your situation. Losing someone you love can be like losing an essential part of your body. You’re aware of it all the time, even though it isn’t there any more.’
‘Phantom sounds.’
He smiled, blinked to clear his vision.
‘You hear them virtually all the time.’
‘Even though they’re not there.’
Her voice had faded to a whisper, and Alex rested his head against the receiver. He realised that he liked hearing her voice. It breathed life, even though it spoke of death.
When he had ended the call he went to look for Peder.
‘I want Gustav Sjöö brought in before the weekend.’
‘Me too,’ said Peder. ‘I’ve made a few calls, checked his alibi. It’s weak. He could easily have driven into Stockholm, picked up Rebecca and driven back to Västerås.’
‘Bring him in. Now.’
The view from her window was depressing; there was no point in looking out. How could anyone possibly have given planning permission to construct buildings as ugly as police HQ in Kungsholmen? One monstrosity after another. Small windows and poky offices.
There was no air, Fredrika decided. They assumed everyone had somewhere else to be where they could breathe more easily.
She rang home, checked that everything was OK. She sensed some imbalance in Spencer, but decided not to mention it on the phone. She couldn’t explain why, and that scared her. She could hear Saga in the background, and felt her heart swell. She had never imagined that it would be possible to feel such love. It was so pure, so self-evident and so unconditional; sometimes it left her speechless. She would catch herself watching the child and would suddenly realise she was on the verge of tears. If any harm came to Saga, she would lose her mind. Her very soul would be damaged.