His embarrassment made her smile.
‘How about a late night stroll?’
‘I ought to go home.’
‘It’s only an hour since you had a glass of wine.’
‘I still ought to go home.’
And he smiled.
She got up, came around the table and took his hand.
‘My dear detective inspector, I’m absolutely certain that a breath of fresh air would do us both good.’
There was no point in trying to resist. He wanted nothing more than to stay, he wanted nothing more than to go home. A walk seemed like a good compromise.
They strolled through the area where Diana lived, and she took him on a guided tour of her life. She pointed out the park where her children used to play when they were little, and she wept as they came to a tree Rebecca had loved to climb. The tears stopped, and with a wobbly smile she showed him where the children’s father had lived following their separation.
‘We tried to keep things as civilised as possible,’ she said. ‘We both thought it would be terrible if the children suffered.’
Alex told her about his own family. About his son, who was something of a lost soul, but who seemed to have grown up after his mother’s death. About his daughter, who was now a mother herself, and had made him a grandfather. Diana began to cry again, and Alex apologised.
‘Forgive me; that was a stupid topic of conversation to choose.’
She shook her head.
‘I’m the one who should be apologising. Because I can’t let go. Because I can’t get it out of my head that my little girl was pregnant when she died.’
Alex swallowed; he didn’t really want to discuss Rebecca’s death with Diana. He squeezed her hand.
‘We don’t know our children as well as we would wish. We just don’t.’
He could see that she didn’t agree, but she didn’t say anything. She wiped away her tears once more, and pointed out another landmark.
‘When Rebecca was a baby I used to bring her here in her pram,’ she said, pointing to an overgrown patch of grass between a play area and a large house. ‘It was my little oasis. I would sit on the grass and read while she slept.’
Where had he gone with the children when they were little? Alex had no similar memories. Nor had he needed an oasis; he had always had his work, after all. While Lena took care of everything at home. What the hell had they been thinking? His thoughts turned to his daughter; he hoped she wouldn’t repeat the mistakes her parents had made. Even a man like Spencer Lagergren could see the point of taking paternity leave. The basis for a good relationship with children was laid when they were little, not when they had grown up. You only got one stab at some things, and the childhood of a human being was one of them.
Although, when it came to Spencer Lagergren, Alex had his doubts. His decision to take paternity leave had more to do with running away from his problems than a genuine interest in his daughter. As Alex considered Spencer’s motives for spending time at home, it occurred to him that he hadn’t heard from Fredrika since he had called her when she was in Uppsala. A feeling of unease over what she might do in order to sort out her life made him suddenly stiffen.
‘What are you thinking about?’
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Just a friend who’s having a few problems at the moment.’
They set off back towards Diana’s house. Where had all these warm spring evenings come from? The roof formed a black shape against the gathering darkness. The door was a gateway to the unknown. To a place he dare not go. Not yet.
‘Are you staying?’
He wanted to. But he couldn’t.
But he wanted to.
He wanted it more than he had wanted anything for a very long time. The need to refuse was so painful. He struggled to find the right words, but when he opened his mouth, they simply came.
‘I can’t.’
They said good night by his car. She did what she had done last time; she leaned over and kissed his cheek. He opened the door and got in the car. Drove a hundred metres down the street before he changed his mind. Stopped the car and reversed back to her house. Got out of the car and rang her doorbell.
He wanted to. And he could.
There was something deeply moving about seeing small children asleep, thought Peder Rydh as he gazed at his sleeping sons. The peace and security in their faces was all the evidence he needed to tell him he was getting it right. Coming home from work at a reasonable time. Behaving like an adult rather than a panic-stricken teenager. Taking responsibility, showing respect.
Ylva appeared behind him. Slipped her slender arms around his waist and rested her head against his back. He loved feeling her closeness.
They left the children’s room and sat down on the balcony, where Peder’s papers from work were strewn all over the table. Ylva settled down with her novel, and Peder carried on reading an article on Thea Aldrin. Things really had gone crazy. A writer and a dead man. A film club and an amazing career as an author. A dead solicitor and rumours of a dead son.
It’s the film club and the writer that link this whole mess, Peder thought. It’s only because we can’t see how that we keep on trying other avenues.
He thought about Valter Lund, who might have had a relationship with Rebecca Trolle, and about Morgan Axberger, who was Lund’s boss, and also a member of The Guardian Angels. They were intending to bring Lund in for questioning the following day, which made Peder feel slightly better. He tried to imagine what information Rebecca Trolle had stumbled upon that had cost her her life. He leafed through the pages relating to her dissertation, asking himself whether the key to this wretched case might be there.
How had the person who killed her found out what she knew?
Peder read through Fredrika’s notes. Unlike all the other minor figures in the investigation, Håkan Nilsson had no connection with either Thea Aldrin or any members of the film club. His only connection was with Rebecca and the child she had been expecting. If Håkan was the killer, then the dissertation was totally irrelevant.
Peder looked at a picture of Håkan Nilsson and asked himself how they were going to get him to talk. How could they get through to him, make him understand that they had his best interests at heart? The fact that Rebecca had not been alone in her grave was actually all the proof they needed that Håkan was innocent, because Håkan couldn’t possibly have murdered Elias Hjort as well.
And there has to be a connection.
Torbjörn Ross claimed that the police had been looking for Elias Hjort because of a film that might have been based on books that might have been written by Thea Aldrin. Books for which Elias Hjort had received royalties. But the film was of little value unless it was genuine, unless it was a recording of an actual murder. A snuff movie. Peder didn’t know much about that kind of film, but as far as he knew, the genuine article had never been found. His colleagues with the National CID would probably know more about that kind of thing; he would check with them tomorrow.
The telephone rang and Ylva went indoors to answer it. She sounded agitated; she seemed to be walking towards him.
‘Peder,’ she said.
He turned to face her; he would never forget how she looked that evening. The telephone in her hand, her face pale, eyes wide open.
‘Apparently, Jimmy has gone missing.’
INTERVIEW WITH ALEX RECHT, 03-05-2009, 15.00 (tape recording)
Present: Urban S, Roger M (interrogators one and two). Alex Recht (witness).
Urban: So, another body.
Alex: Yes.
Roger: That must have been depressing.
Alex: No, actually. I felt as if that last discovery somehow made things easier.
Roger: Interesting. Could you explain that in a little more detail?
Alex: It was just a feeling I had.
Urban: Elias Hjort. The solicitor with the gold watch. What was your next move with regard to him?