‘Yes.’
‘How did you find out?’
‘Manfred told me when he came back the first time. He laughed at me because I’d rejected him, but thought Morgan was a friend.’
Of course, Fredrika thought. Why didn’t I realise that before?
‘Was that when The Guardian Angels broke up?’
‘Yes.’
Fredrika was struck by another thought.
‘Why did you have Manfred’s manuscripts published?’
‘He took the film with him the night he left. When he came back the first time, all I had to threaten him with were the manuscripts I’d found. Manfred had his own ambitions when it came to writing, you see. But if people found out that he’d written such disgusting books, he would never have any kind of career to speak of.’
‘And the next time he came to see you – that was when he died in your garage?’
‘Yes.’
Fredrika considered what Thea had said. She had certainly stopped her ex from enjoying any success in the literary world, but at a price; she herself was suspected of being behind the books. Who had actually started that rumour? Morgan Axberger? Or Elias Hjort, perhaps?
One last question:
‘Did Johan know about Morgan’s involvement in the film?’
‘All I said to Johan was that Morgan owed me a favour, so he might give Johan a job,’ Thea whispered. ‘He didn’t know anything else.’
Fredrika knew she had reached the limit. She wasn’t going to get any further with Thea.
‘We’ll be back,’ she said as she moved towards the door. ‘We’ll need to speak to you again.’
The author who had remained silent for almost thirty years followed her with her eyes as Fredrika left the room. Perhaps it was time to leave the silence behind at long last.
Fredrika’s thoughts were with Rebecca. In a way, she had succeeded in achieving her aim: she had shown that Thea Aldrin was innocent of the crime of which she had been convicted. However, there could be no talk of redress for a person like Thea, who, in spite of the fact that she had never murdered anyone, had so much blood on her hands.
When Fredrika reached the car park a little while later, she called Alex to report back on her conversation with Thea. He promised to bring in Johan Aldrin for questioning again, but made it clear that he didn’t expect it to lead anywhere.
‘He’ll say exactly what he said last time,’ Alex said, his voice heavy with resignation. ‘That Rebecca never asked him for help in contacting Axberger. That he was unaware that Rebecca knew about his past. That he therefore did not supply Axberger with the information that subsequently led to Rebecca’s death. And with regard to the murder of his father… Unfortunately, even if we managed to tie him to the scene of the crime, we don’t have a scrap of evidence to prove that he was in fact the killer. The fact that Thea, who has already been convicted of the murder, says that he was the perpetrator is not enough. And as we’ve already said, the crime is beyond the statute of limitations.’
‘I couldn’t give a toss,’ Fredrika said. ‘I just want to see Johan’s name dragged through the dirt. It doesn’t matter whether his mother is taking the blame or not; we know that it was Johan who tipped off Axberger.’
Or do we?
Fredrika was sure of her ground. Thea had saved her son for the second time. As far as Fredrika was concerned, she didn’t care how long it took. One day she would put a stop to Johan Aldrin’s success story, and make him answer for what he had done.
She ended the conversation with Alex, then made another call. Margareta Berlin, Head of Human Resources, picked up right away.
‘Fredrika Bergman. I thought I’d give you my final report. You asked me to keep an eye on Alex Recht when I came back from maternity leave.’
‘Yes?’
‘He’s absolutely fine. You don’t need to give it another thought; he’s perfectly capable of doing his job.’
She was about to ring off, but Margareta Berlin slipped in a comment.
‘I’ve received some rather worrying information that suggests otherwise.’
‘Oh?’
‘He’s embarked on a relationship with Rebecca Trolle’s mother Diana. During an ongoing investigation. That’s hardly a sign of sound judgement.’
Fredrika didn’t know what to say.
‘Alex is with Diana Trolle?’
‘So it seems, even if he probably wouldn’t put it quite like that.’
Margareta Berlin laughed drily.
Fredrika leaned against the car, staring up at the deep blue sky. Why must certain people make something bad out of something that was actually really good?
‘Alex has been to hell and back,’ she heard herself say. ‘If you and your colleagues stand in the way of his happiness, I will resign with immediate effect.’
Without waiting for a response, she ended the call.
Then she rang Spencer, who seemed to have been the least well-informed member of The Guardian Angels. The very thought of the club and the snuff movie frightened the life out of her. The fact that several versions of the film existed indicated that Manfred and Morgan had intended to show it, perhaps even distribute it widely, but without any risk of exposing their own involvement. Was there really a demand for that kind of thing? Fredrika shook off the unpleasant feeling. She didn’t believe it. Who would want to see a film that was over forty years old, showing a young woman dying in the most brutal way?
Spencer’s voice was weary, and Fredrika could hear her daughter babbling away in the background. She pressed the phone close to her ear and whispered the three words she needed to say, the words she thought he wanted to hear:
‘I miss you.’
66
The feeling of deep dissatisfaction usually came when darkness fell. It was at its strongest on those evenings when he was alone. He couldn’t honestly say that he loved his wife any longer, but she was adept at balancing his good and bad sides. Therefore, he wasn’t lying when he sometimes whispered in her ear that he would never be able to manage without her, because it was perfectly true. Without her he would be lost, in spite of the fact that her main function was to act as a kind of backdrop for his life.
He knew that he was a successful man. The newspapers mentioned him from time to time, quoting his comments as if they came from some higher power. He enjoyed the role that he had been given, half concealed behind the company’s annual reports and achievements, half in plain sight for anyone who wanted to seek him out.
A normal man. He believed that was how people thought of him, and that gave him a certain peace of mind on those evenings when the desire became too strong. The first time he felt it, he hadn’t been able to work out what was wrong. It spread like an itch throughout his entire body, allowing him no respite.
In that respect, he was eternally grateful to modern technology. Over the past ten years, it had become significantly easier to make contact with like-minded individuals. He was careful, of course. It was essential to leave no traces behind, otherwise there was always the risk of humiliation, of being remembered only for one’s sins.
He shuddered.
The weather had turned chilly. The last cold snap before the summer, the forecasters promised. As usual.
The desire increased as he stood up, pulsing through his body in time with the throbbing of his heartbeat. So it was to be one of those evenings. He sighed wearily as he moved through the house. The scent of her perfume was everywhere. Sometimes he wondered if she went around secretly spraying each room, so that he would sense her presence wherever he was. Even when she wasn’t there.
He unlocked the door of his study and went inside. The smell of her perfume disappeared as soon as he closed the door behind him. At least she couldn’t get in here. She had stopped asking long ago why she wasn’t allowed in his study. Perhaps she had accepted his assertion that he wanted one room in the house that was his and his alone. Perhaps she realised that she didn’t want to know why she wasn’t welcome.