The Chosen (21 page)

‘There isn’t necessarily anything odd about the fact that he realised the killer might have left something behind,’ Fredrika said to underline her point. ‘I say
realised, but he might just have guessed.’

Alex agreed with her in principle, but in that case why had Kiel checked into the hotel using a false ID? Or had he given Peder the wrong hotel so that no one would be able to find him? Either
scenario didn’t sound like normal behaviour to Alex.

His thoughts turned to Eden Lundell. She would have a much better understanding of why someone would be travelling on a false ID. Perhaps Efraim Kiel wasn’t even his real name. If he
had a sensitive job back home, there could be other reasons why he wanted to keep a low profile.

‘I’ll call him,’ Alex decided. There was no reason not to. He dug out the number Peder had given him, picked up his phone and keyed it in. He waited for Efraim Kiel to answer,
but that didn’t happen. Instead a metallic voice informed Alex that this number was not in use.

He tried again.

And again.

He put down the phone.

‘No subscriber on that number,’ he said.

Fredrika frowned. Peder had once said that she looked pompous when she was thinking, but Alex didn’t agree; he thought she was a classic beauty.

‘But hadn’t Peder called Efraim on that number?’

‘Possibly, but it’s no longer in use.’

‘Maybe he’s left the country?’ Fredrika suggested. ‘If he’s not at the hotel, and he’s no longer using a Swedish mobile?’

Alex knew that could be the explanation. It had taken a few days to sort out the appointment of a new head of security, so it wasn’t surprising if Efraim had decided to
get himself a Swedish phone number temporarily. If he had completed his mission, then it was logical to assume that he had gone back home.

But he had told Peder he was staying on.

So where the hell was he?

‘Eden Lundell,’ Alex said.

Fredrika went from pensive to surprised.

‘What about her?’

‘I want to ask her about Efraim Kiel. She might be able to throw some light on all these elements that seem so inexplicable at the moment. Tell us what kind of background a man like
Efraim might have, why he’s behaving this way. And whether she thinks it’s worth contacting him.’

‘I didn’t realise you were still in touch with Eden.’

For the first time all day, Alex saw a hint of a smile on her face. It was a refreshing sight.

‘Oh yes, Eden and I are like this,’ he said with exaggerated enthusiasm, holding up two crossed fingers.

Fredrika burst out laughing.

‘Alex,
no one
is that close to Eden Lundell!’

That was probably true, but he still wanted to speak to her.

At that moment his mobile rang again. It was one of the IT technicians, finally ready to report on their examination of the boys’ computers.

‘Can you come over right away? We’ve found something that might be important.’

Any progress in the investigation into the deaths of the two boys was welcome. Because of a leak in the roof, the IT technicians had had to move down into the basement; entering their
office felt like visiting another universe.

Lasse, the technician who had called, showed them into a dingy room that smelled of dust. He switched on a desk lamp, then closed the door behind them.

‘Look at this,’ he said, handing them a pile of computer printouts.

They looked like extracts from an exchange of emails.

‘That Super Troopers forum is interesting, to say the least. It was originally created by a man who’d made a name for himself as a so-called sports parent – you know, one of those
idiots who’ll do anything to make sure his kids are going to be world-beaters at tennis or golf or chess or some other crap.’

Fredrika caught herself nodding. Oh yes, she had met parents like that.

‘As you already know, the boys were members and called themselves the Warrior and the Paper Boy. They rarely participated in the same discussion, and judging by their input they seem
to have been very different individuals. The Warrior wants to win at all costs, while the Paper Boy seems more interested in having fun.’

That fitted in with what they had been told by the boys’ parents. Once again Fredrika thought of the pictures she had seen of Simon and Abraham: serious and focused.

‘Did they make any friends on the forum?’ she asked.

‘Not many, but there was one exception. Both boys were contacted by someone calling himself the Lion. At first they communicated briefly in the open chat room, then they moved over to
email. And that’s where it gets interesting. Because if we’re interpreting their correspondence correctly, the Lion wanted to meet them.’

Lasse pointed to one of the pages he had given them. Fredrika quickly skimmed through the text; all the messages were signed Zalman, which she assumed was a forename.

According to the Lion, he was able to give excellent advice on how to achieve success. He said he was planning to set up a new tennis academy in Stockholm, and had therefore started to look
around for fresh talent in Sweden. He had heard from his Swedish contacts that Simon and Abraham had won a number of minor competitions and tournaments, and he was curious to know more. To Simon,
who had slightly less drive to win than Abraham, he wrote that it was possible to win without being nasty. The tone was playful, the messages brief. All communication had taken place in English;
the boys seemed to be pretty good at the language. On one occasion the Lion apologised for his lack of expertise in Swedish: ‘but I’m going to learn as soon as I move to
Sweden’, he wrote.

Fredrika’s heart beat faster when she saw the date on which the Lion had suggested meeting up. Some time between January 23 and 27. Now, in fact. The week they went missing. This was
something they would have to discuss with the boys’ parents, as soon as possible. They had to find out whether this meeting had taken place.

‘Have you managed to find out who the Lion is?’ she asked.

Lasse spread his hands wide.

‘I’ve been working on it all day, but I’m getting nowhere. I even became a member of Super Troopers so that I could get closer, but the Lion isn’t on there any more.
I’ve contacted the administrator, but it’s impossible to trace the Lion.’

‘Why?’ Alex said.

‘Because he or she has used different public computers every single time the Lion has been active.’

‘Where, for example?’

‘Places like the 7-Eleven convenience stores, or smaller internet cafés.’

‘Give us a list and we’ll contact them. With a bit of luck one or two will have CCTV, and we’ll be able to get a picture.’

Lasse’s expression was grim.

‘I can give you a list, but it won’t do you any good.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because all the places are in Jerusalem.’

A
ll roads lead to Rome. But not this time. In this case all roads appeared to lead to Israel. Alex Recht was alone in his office; Eden Lundell was on her way over from Säpo to talk about
Efraim Kiel, although Alex had chosen not to mention his name on the phone. He had simply said that a certain individual had come up in his investigation, and he thought Eden might be able to tell
him more about that person.

Fredrika had gone home. Alex had said he would call her later, because he still hadn’t had time to discuss his plan with her. He sincerely hoped she would think it was as good as he did;
if all roads led to Israel, there was no point in the team setting off in a different direction.

Just before Eden arrived, he called Diana.

‘Sorry, I’m going to be really late tonight as well.’

A laugh at the other end of the phone.

‘In that case I’ll have a glass of wine in the meantime. Come home as soon as you can.’

‘I will.’

And then, just as he was about to end the call, he said: ‘I love you.’

‘I know.’

And then she was gone.

‘I know.’ What a way to answer, but a warm feeling spread through Alex’s chest, because he knew that Diana loved him too.

The sound of rapid footsteps in the corridor interrupted his train of thought, and then there she was, standing in the doorway. Taller than he remembered, glasses perched on the end of her nose.
Messy blonde hair and a thin smile on her lips.

‘Alex.’

‘It’s been a while.’

He got up and shook Eden’s hand. He had never seen a woman wearing so many bracelets, fine and chunky, on both wrists.

She sat down, crossed her legs and looked around.

‘You should do what we’ve done – knock down the walls and go open plan.’

Alex suppressed a snort of laughter. Several of his colleagues would rather sell their own children than work in an open plan office.

‘I don’t think that would be a very good idea.’

‘People get used to it. Can I smoke if I open a window?’

Alex was so taken aback that he didn’t know what to say. Smoke? Indoors? She took his silence for assent.

‘Thanks!’

In a single fluid movement she rose and pushed open a window, letting in cold air and snow.

‘Bloody awful weather,’ Eden said, lighting her cigarette before she sat down again.

‘It’s supposed to get better next week.’

‘Really?’

She raised an eyebrow.

‘I think that’s what they said. The experts. But what the hell do I know – it might carry on snowing until midsummer.’

Why was he rambling on about the weather? There weren’t many people who had that effect on him, but Eden certainly did.

The smoke from her cigarette was making his eyes sting. Alex blinked and wondered what she did in her own workplace; surely she couldn’t smoke in an open plan office? He suspected the
answer was that she probably could. Eden did as she pleased.

‘You asked for my help,’ she said.

She was in a hurry to get home, of course. Her family were waiting, and the weekend was approaching. Alex felt slightly stressed, unsure where to begin.

‘You’ve heard about the murders in the Solomon Community?’ he said eventually.

‘Indeed.’

He saw a flash of surprise on her face.

‘I’ve already told the community that I don’t want to get involved,’ she said.

It was Alex’s turn to be surprised.

‘The community?’

Eden nodded and reached for an empty coffee cup on his desk.

‘Okay if I use this as an ashtray?’

Not really, no.

‘No problem.’

Grey ash landed in the bottom of the cup.

‘Are you saying the community rang you?’

‘They think they can count on my support, my resources. But they can’t. I work for Säpo and no one else.’

‘And exactly what did they want your support and your resources for?’

‘You might well ask.’ She sighed and rolled her neck from side to side. ‘It’s not that I don’t sympathise with their situation, because I do. It would be
stupid to deny that there’s a increased threat level against Jews and Jewish interests, but dealing with security issues of that kind is not part of my job.’

She stubbed out her cigarette in the china cup and pushed it away.

‘But I don’t imagine I’m here to talk about the Solomon Community’s security issues.’

‘No. You’re here because a certain individual has come up in our inquiry, and to be honest I have no idea how to approach him. I contacted you because I suspect you have a similar
background, and I thought it would be interesting to hear if you have any advice.’

‘I’m listening.’

Alex took a document out of his secure filing cabinet.

‘There are certain things that link the three murders – the teacher and the two boys.’

‘Really?’ Eden said. ‘My guess was that they were unconnected.’

‘Mine too, but it seems we were wrong. For example, all three victims were shot with the same gun.’

Eden let out a whistle.

‘That makes it rather difficult to claim there’s no link,’ she said.

‘Quite.’ Alex took out a photograph of the paper bag in which the plant had been delivered to the Solomon Community. ‘And then there’s this.’

He passed her the picture, and she looked at it closely.

‘It’s identical to the bags the boys had over their heads,’ she said.

Alex knew she had been out to Drottningholm before he and Fredrika arrived; he had heard her name mentioned among his colleagues.

‘Not identical, but almost,’ he corrected her.

He told her about the delivery, and how the bag had ended up in the hands of the police. When he had finished, Eden sat there motionless, staring at him.

‘Can I just check if I’ve got this right?’ she said slowly. ‘An Israeli is currently helping the community, and he seems worryingly well-informed about what the police
are doing?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you want to get hold of him?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you think I can help you?’

He felt utterly stupid. What had he been thinking? He spread his hands wide.

‘I realise I’m skating on thin ice here,’ he said apologetically. ‘It’s just that I don’t like the way this guy is behaving. He’s not at the hotel
where he said he was staying, at least not under what he claims is his real name. And the phone number he gave is no longer in use.’

Eden held up a hand.

‘You misunderstand me, Alex. I’m not saying he’s not suspect, or that he might have a background in intelligence. The problem is that I don’t know how I can
help.’

Nor do I, Alex thought.

‘By giving me some good advice?’

Eden burst out laughing.

‘Good advice costs nothing. If he has an intelligence background, he might well have several passports, and good reasons to use different names in different circumstances.
There’s nothing strange about that. But let me ask you a question: is this man a suspect in some way? Why are you surprised that he thought the killer might have left some kind of calling
card?’

‘Well, that’s just it,’ Alex said. ‘I’m not necessarily saying there’s anything suspicious about his behaviour, but as he guessed correctly, it would be
interesting to talk to him. There’s no more to it than that, really.’