The information coming out of interview after interview indicated that Sara did not have an enemy in the world, apart from her husband.
Fredrika returned to HQ exhausted, clutching a hot dog in her hand. She fervently hoped Alex was back. And if he wasn’t, Fredrika was going to take the opportunity to shut herself in her room and try to relax for a little while. She needed to put her feet up and listen to a piece of music her mother had recommended, which she had downloaded to her MP3 player.
‘Something to meditate to,’ her mother had said with a smile, knowing that Fredrika, like her, considered music as important an element of everyday life as food and sleep.
But it was Peder she ran into first.
‘Ooh, hot dog!’ he exclaimed.
‘Mmmm,’ answered Fredrika with her mouth full.
To her surprise, Peder followed her into her office and virtually collapsed into her visitor’s chair. Clearly there would be neither rest nor music for her at the moment.
‘How was your day?’ he asked, sounding tired.
‘Good and bad,’ she said evasively.
She still hadn’t told him that she had taken herself off to Flemingsberg, still less that she had then sent an identikit artist there to make a sketch of the woman with the dog who had held up Sara Sebastiansson and made her miss the train.
‘Did the searches reveal anything?’ she said instead.
Peder took his time to frame his thoughts and eventually said:
‘They certainly did. And it all seems a damn sight murkier than we thought, to be honest.’
Fredrika sat down at her desk and studied Peder. He still looked the worse for wear. Her attitude to him had at times been one of casual contempt. He was childish, puppylike, and unhealthily fond of showing off. But this particular afternoon, when they were all feeling the effects of what had happened over the past few days, she could see him in a different light. There was a human being inside Peder, too. And that human being was not coping well.
She quickly ate up her hot dog.
Peder somewhat hesitantly laid a thin sheaf of papers on her desk.
‘What’s this?’ Fredrika asked.
‘Print-outs of emails from Gabriel Sebastiansson’s work computer,’ replied Peder.
Fredrika raised an eyebrow.
‘I got them about an hour ago,’ said Peder, ‘just after I got back from interviewing Gabriel’s uncle. Fat lot of bloody use that was.’
Fredrika gave a wry smile. She’d had a few interviews like that herself in the course of the day.
‘What’s in them?’ she asked.
‘Read them and see,’ responded Peder, ‘because I’m not sure I can believe they say what I think they’re saying.’
‘Okay,’ said Fredrika, leafing through the sheets.
Peder just sat there. He wanted to watch as she read. Uneasy and eager at the same time.
She read the top sheet first.
‘It’s an exchange,’ Peder explained. ‘It starts some time in January.’
Fredrika nodded as she read.
The exchange was between Gabriel Sebastiansson and someone calling himself ‘Daddy-Long-Legs’, which Fredrika with her scanty knowledge of children’s literature assumed to come from a harmless series of picture books she knew.
Gabriel and Daddy-Long-Legs were discussing various types of wine and planning dates for wine tastings. By the time she had read two pages, Fredrika could feel a wave of queasiness rising inside her.
Daddy-Long-Legs, 1 January, 09.32: The others in the circle don’t want to taste wines of any vintage earlier than 1998. What’s your view?
Gabriel Sebastiansson, 1 January, 11.17: I think 1998 grapes would be fine, but preferably a younger wine. I am sceptical about long storage.
Daddy-Long-Legs, 2 January, 06.25: Questions have also been asked about the countries of origin of the wines, and the grape varieties. Is this important to you?
Gabriel Sebastiansson, 2 January, 19.15: I naturally prefer blue grapes to red. I am less concerned about the regions from which the wines come. I might like to sample something a little more exotic than I did last time our eminent circle met. Perhaps from South America?
‘Oh good God,’ whispered Fredrika, her throat tightening.
‘It isn’t wine tasting they’re talking about, is it?’ said Peder dubiously.
Fredrika shook her head.
‘No,’ she said. ‘No, I really don’t think so.’
‘Red grapes, could they be girls? And blue grapes boys…?’
‘I reckon so.’
Fredrika’s stomach churned.
‘My God,’ she said under her breath, and put her hand over her mouth as she read on.
Daddy-Long-Legs, 5 January, 07.11: Esteemed Member! Our next wine tasting will take place next week! Our supplier will provide us with delicious wines to sample and enjoy through the evening and night. Payment in cash on the day. Further details of the venue will follow as previously arranged.
They could work out that Gabriel Sebastiansson had attended four ‘wine tastings’ in all, since the start of the year.
‘How do they find out about the venue?’ Fredrika asked.
‘Don’t know,’ Peder said in a weary voice. ‘But I rang a friend of mine in the National Crime Squad who deals with this kind of shit. He said they have all sorts of ways: could even be by text message from unregistered mobiles.’
‘How absolutely horrible,’ said Fredrika in agitation, and reluctantly went back to the print-outs.
‘Read the last sheet,’ Peder demanded a little impatiently.
Fredrika was more than happy to skip some of the text, and leafed to the end.
Daddy-Long-Legs, 5 July, 09.13: Esteemed Member! The high point of the summer is almost upon us! We have taken delivery of an unexpected consignment of wonderful wines made from numerous grape varieties and all from the incredible vintage of 2001! Come and enjoy them next week! Venue to be announced separately as usual, but you can mark Tuesday July 20th in your calendar as the red-letter day. You can assume our event will start at around 4 p.m. Please note that this event is not to be held in our own wonderful part of the country, and you should allow at least five hours for the drive. Let me know as soon as possible if you can attend!
Fredrika instantly raised her eyes and stared intently at Peder.
‘But… the 20th of July was the day Lilian went missing,’ she said with a deep frown.
Peder nodded without a word.
They held each other’s gaze for a few moments more.
Then Fredrika flicked through the print-outs. There were no messages with dates any later than the email she had just read.
‘According to Gabriel’s employer, he was on leave on Monday to Wednesday this week,’ she said reflectively. ‘He left it very late to apply for the leave, said he needed some days off for private reasons.’
‘And as far as we can tell from the movements of his mobile, he was somewhere near Kalmar just after 10 p.m. the day Lilian was taken. The phone hadn’t been used since that morning, but late in the evening he turned it on again.’
‘And who did he ring?’
‘That was when he rang his mother,’ said Peder.
Fredrika gave Peder a long look.
‘Just say their little, what can I call it… “event”… was in Kalmar,’ she began, and Peder nodded to show the same thought had occurred to him. ‘That would more or less fit with the journey down taking five hours.’
‘So he must have left town at about eleven to get there for four when it all kicked off,’ Peder supplied.
‘Exactly,’ said Fredrika eagerly, putting the print-outs on the desk. ‘Have we got anything to fix when the phone left Stockholm?’