‘Anyway,’ Margareta said in conclusion. ‘I just wanted to give you an opening in case you feel you need to talk at some point in the future.’
‘About Alex?’
‘Or anything else.’
The meeting was over, and Fredrika got ready to leave.
‘This new case,’ Margareta said as she stood in the doorway.
‘Yes?’
‘I remember what Alex was like when he led the investigation into Rebecca Trolle’s disappearance.’
Fredrika waited.
‘He was like a man possessed. It was the last case he dealt with before he was given the chance to form his own team, the one you and Peder belong to. He took the fact that we didn’t find her very badly.’
‘And you’re afraid things will be too much for him now she’s finally turned up?’
‘Something like that.’
Fredrika hesitated, her hand resting on the door handle.
‘I’ll keep an eye on him,’ she said.
WEDNESDAY
4
It was a fantastic spring, Malena Bremberg thought, as she dealt with the flowers that one of the residents in the care home had received from her son. All those hours of sunshine after a long winter.
She returned to the old lady’s room with a vase.
‘Aren’t they lovely?’ she said.
The old lady leaned forward to inspect the flowers.
‘I don’t like the yellow ones,’ she said firmly.
Malena found it difficult to suppress her laughter at the emphasis on the word don’t.
‘Oh, dear,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. What would you like me to do with them?’
‘Chuck the lot.’
‘Oh, no, they’re so pretty! And from such an elegant young man.’
‘Stuff and nonsense, he’s only after my money. Take the flowers away – give them to Egon. He never has any visitors.’
The glass vase was cool against her palms as Malena carried it into the kitchen.
‘Doesn’t she want them today either?’ asked her colleague, who was busy emptying the dishwasher.
They both laughed.
‘She told me to chuck the lot.’
Malena’s colleague shook her head.
‘I don’t know why he keeps on turning up week after week, when she’s so unpleasant.’
‘She says it’s because of his inheritance.’
‘And I say it’s love.’
Malena put down the vase on one of the tables.
‘Do you think she’ll recognise the flowers by dinnertime?’ she asked.
‘No chance. Her memory seems to be getting worse and worse. It’s almost time to see if they’ve got room for her upstairs.’
Upstairs. The abstract paraphrase for the secure unit on the upper floor where those suffering from dementia were cared for. Many residents seemed to end up there sooner or later. The heavy doors of the unit frightened Malena. She hoped to God that she would never be affected by some form of dementia.
The television was on in the kitchen. Malena’s attention was caught by a news item about a woman’s body that had been found in an area of forest in Midsommarkransen. The police hadn’t released many details, but the man who had found the body was happy to be interviewed.
‘It was the dog that found her,’ he said, standing up very straight. ‘Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to tell you any more than that.’
‘But what did she look like?’ the reporter asked.
The man looked confused.
‘I’m not allowed to say.’
‘Can’t you tell us if she was wearing any clothes?’
The man’s earlier self-confidence had completely disappeared.
‘I’ve got to go,’ he said. ‘Come along, Svante.’
He walked away from the cameras, dragging the dog behind him.
Malena’s mobile rang in the pocket of her overalls. The ugly uniform with which the care home provided its employees had just one advantage: the big pockets where you could keep a mobile phone, throat lozenges and other unnecessary items.
She stiffened when she saw who was calling. So long ago, and yet the memory hadn’t faded at all. He just kept on ringing, making his demands. Threatening and saying those foul things.
‘Hello.’
‘Hi, Malena. How are you?’
She left the kitchen and moved down the corridor, hoping her colleague wouldn’t overhear the conversation.
‘What do you want?’
‘The same as before.’
‘We had an agreement.’
‘Yes, and we still do. I can only apologise if you thought otherwise.’
She was breathing heavily; she could feel the panic rising like the bubbles in a bottle of cola.
‘Nobody has been here.’
‘Nobody?’
‘Not a soul.’
‘Good. I’ll be in touch when I need more information.’
She remained standing in the corridor for a long time after the conversation was over. She would never be free. Certain debts could never be paid off, it was that simple.
5
‘Aren’t we meeting in the Lions’ Den?’
Peder stopped dead when he heard Fredrika’s question.
‘We can’t use it at the moment; the air conditioning system broke down and the whole corridor smelled of shit. We’re borrowing the others’ room for the time being.’
The others, Fredrika thought. An interesting way of describing the colleagues who were on the same corridor, but who didn’t belong to Alex’s team.
Peder glanced at her.
‘You came back a bit bloody fast,’ he said. ‘Overnight, in fact.’
When Fredrika didn’t reply immediately he added hurriedly:
‘It’s good to have you here, of course.’
‘Thank you,’ said Fredrika. ‘Things changed at home, so I ended up coming back to work a bit sooner than I’d intended.’
Peder still looked surprised, but Fredrika couldn’t help him. She was confused herself. The step from beginning to miss her job and thinking it might be nice to go back part time to actually starting work had been rather shorter than she had expected. Astonishingly short, in fact. And she wasn’t really back, not properly. She would be working part time for the next three weeks, and then… She would just have to wait and see what felt right.
Alex was waiting for them in the conference room, which looked almost exactly the same as the Den. The memory of her conversation with Margareta Berlin was bothering Fredrika. She had promised to report back if Alex’s leadership seemed unsatisfactory, out of the ordinary in some way. Few things were worse than volunteering to be a spy for the head of HR. But it wasn’t entirely voluntary.
It’s because I care about you, Alex.
Fredrika had heard about his trip to Iraq, and wept when she was told why he had gone. There were no words to describe how she felt when she thought about the kindness of what Alex had done, travelling halfway around the world to return an engagement ring to a woman who had lost the man she loved without knowing how or why.
I nearly lost you, Spencer.
They sat down around the table: Fredrika, Alex, Peder, and a number of faces Fredrika didn’t recognise. These were additional colleagues on loan to the team because of the dismembered body in the plastic bags.
Rebecca Trolle. Initial tests using DNA from a body in an advanced state of decay had proven her identity. The process had been speeded up because of the unusual circumstances, given priority at SKL, the National Forensics Laboratory in Linköping, and everywhere else as necessary.
Alex, who had never been in any doubt about the identity of the corpse, was keen to get started.
‘We heard from SKL less than an hour ago, and we won’t be releasing any information to the media until Rebecca’s mother has been informed.’
‘Are we telling her that her daughter’s dead?’ Peder asked.