Peder was thinking and took a while to respond.
‘Shall I go round to all the driving schools I can find in Söder and show them the picture, while I’m here? She might have tried another one when that car hire place couldn’t do it.’
‘Good idea, as long as we don’t overlook the woman who thought she might have fostered the girl.’
‘I’ll get that sorted, too,’ Peder said swiftly. ‘Heard anything from Fredrika yet?’
‘No,’ sighed Alex. ‘I think she’s on her way to have an extra little chat to Sara. She was going to call before she went on to the airport.’
Alex was about to hang up when Peder said:
‘There’s one more thing.’
Alex waited.
‘Why did he go to Jönköping and murder that girl just then? I mean, he must have had his hands full with Lilian. Why would he draw even more attention to himself?’
Alex nodded to himself.
‘I’ve been thinking about that, too,’ he said unsurely. ‘There seems to be some plan behind it all. First he holds up the train and Sara in Flemingsberg; then he sends the box of hair and clothes. Maybe the Jönköping murder was part of the ritual, though we can’t see it yet?’
‘I thought the same,’ said Peder, ‘but it doesn’t fit. It feels more like the Jönköping murder was an emergency measure. He didn’t even wipe the floor. He’s been so bloody careful everywhere else, and then suddenly he leaves evidence behind him.’
‘Well he did that on the train, too,’ Alex objected.
‘Because he had no choice,’ said Peder. ‘He couldn’t go cleaning the floor in there, and he could hardly get on the train barefoot or in his socks. That would really attract attention. And anyway, he probably felt relatively safe on the train, where there’d be lots of other footprints.’
‘So you think he murdered the woman in Jönköping to shut her up?’
‘Yes,’ Peder replied after a brief pause. ‘That seems the only plausible explanation.’
Alex pondered this.
‘All right, but how did he know?’
‘Know what?’
‘How did he know she needed shutting up?’
‘Yes, that’s the thing,’ Peder said uneasily. ‘How the hell did he know she’d rung the police? Or can we assume he would have topped her anyway?’
Ellen Lind felt happy, elated even. She thought about the previous evening and night and felt all warm inside.
‘Perhaps he loves me,’ she murmured.
She was so glad she had been able to see him last night. He had been such a good listener, just when she needed to get all that wretched Lilian stuff off her chest. Even though he had no children of his own, he really seemed to understand how traumatic it was for everyone involved.
Then they had talked about new films they might go and see. Ellen felt a tingle of excitement. They had never been to the cinema together before. Their socializing had always been geographically confined to whatever hotel he happened to be staying at on the evening they met, and the pattern of their dates was always the same: they had a meal, they talked, they made love, they slept.
It would be good for us to do something new, thought Ellen with a roguish smile.
If she was able to get him to a film, then it ought not to be a problem to persuade him to meet her children, too. If he really did love her, he would understand that the kids were part of the package.
Ellen smiled as she took out her mobile. She had just sent a text and was waiting for him to answer. But she had no new messages.
When they parted that morning, Ellen had asked when she would next see him. He had hesitated for a few moments and then said:
‘Soon, I hope. We’ll have to see when I can make it.’
‘When I can make it,’ Ellen repeated silently to herself with a wry smile. Why was it always on his damn terms?
The sun had finally made Stockholm quiver a little in the heat, Fredrika Bergman noted, as she hastily parked outside her block of flats. She raced up the stairs, key at the ready, and was inside her flat in what felt like seconds. It would not take long to pack an overnight bag for her Umeå trip.
Her case was on the top shelf of the walk-in wardrobe. Fredrika caught a glimpse of the violin in its case, tucked in behind. She tried not to see it, not to remember. But the usual thing happened. The speed of her thoughts won out over the strength of her will not to remember. The words flew through her head as automatically and painfully as ever.
I could have been somebody else, I could have been somewhere else today.
Fredrika’s mother had brought up the subject a while back.
‘The doctors never said you couldn’t play at all, Fredrika,’ she said softly. ‘They just said you couldn’t play professionally.’
Fredrika shook her head obstinately, tears burning her eyes. If she couldn’t play as much as she once had, then she didn’t want to play at all.
The message light on the telephone was flashing when she went out into the kitchen. Surprised, she played the message.
‘Hello. Karin Mellander here,’ said a rather throaty, elderly-sounding female voice. ‘I’m ringing from the adoption centre, about your application. I’d appreciate it if you could call me back, whenever it’s convenient, on 08…’
Fredrika stood dumbly as the woman recited a number. The figures flew across the room and into Fredrika’s head, where they dissolved into thin air.
Shit, thought Fredrika. Shit, shit, shit.
Panic and stress had a way of making Fredrika very rational. This time was no exception.
She went swiftly back to the wardrobe and started packing. Knickers, bra, top. She hesitated over an extra pair of trousers; would she really be away more than one night? And couldn’t she wear the same trousers two days running, if it came to it? Her brain was far too busy concentrating on other things to worry about such trivia. She threw in the trousers.
Fredrika tried to concentrate as she packed her sponge bag. For some reason, she couldn’t get Spencer out of her mind.
I’ve got to tell him, she thought. I’ve really got to tell him.
Her case was ready and the door slammed shut behind her.
Air, she thought. I need some air.
Hot tarmac breathed warmth onto her legs as she stood outside on the pavement.
Shit, what was all this about? If the adoption was so badly thought through that she was reacting like this, maybe she should give up the whole idea.
Fredrika swallowed hard.
One look at the billboards of the kiosk in the next block brought her back to the here and now.
‘Who murdered Lilian?’ shrieked the billboards.
That’s what I ought to focus on, Fredrika thought, gritting her teeth. I ought to focus on Sara Sebastiansson, who’s just lost her child.
She wondered what was worse. To have a child, and then lose it. Or never to have a child at all.
For some reason, Fredrika had not been expecting Sara herself to open the door, and was surprised to find herself standing face to face with her. Fredrika had not seen Sara since Lilian’s body had been found. She knew she ought to say something. She opened her mouth but then closed it again. She had no idea what she was expected to say.
I’m a monster, she thought. There’s no bloody way I should be allowed to have children.
She took a breath. Again she tried to speak.
‘I’m truly sorry.’
Sara gave a stiff nod.
Her red hair flamed around her head. She must be exhausted.