The Chosen (31 page)

He hadn’t heard any more from Efraim Kiel. He had no idea whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, but he realised that the police were interested in Kiel, which worried him.

It couldn’t do any harm if Peder checked out the man who had recruited him. He would begin by finding out whether Kiel could possibly be in the frame for the shooting of the teacher and
the kidnapping of the two boys. If the Solomon Community could provide an alibi, then he could be eliminated as a suspect.

The police officer within Peder was still there, occupying his body like a restless soul. He couldn’t escape, couldn’t get away. Not that he wanted to. The desire to know more drove
Peder from his desk and down the corridor to the general secretary’s office.

He looked up when Peder tapped on the door and walked in.

‘I’m glad you’re here,’ he said. ‘Have you heard anything from the police about Polly Eisenberg?’

‘No, but that’s not why I’m here.’

‘
Bevakasha,
please sit down.’

The general secretary glanced over Peder’s shoulder.

‘Would you mind closing the door?’

‘I’d rather not. My son is out there.’

Peder sat down. He had planned his strategy.

‘Efraim Kiel, the man who was here when I was appointed,’ he began. ‘Do you know how I can get hold of him?’

‘Efraim? No, the only contact details I have are the ones I’ve already given you. Why do you want to speak to him?’

It was clear that the general secretary was shaken. He was the leader of a community that had suffered terrible losses over the past few days. Evil had placed its cold hand on their lives,
terrified them all beyond rhyme and reason.

If only they knew how to stop all this.

‘The police are looking for him.’

The words just came out, but he felt no regret. It was true.

‘Efraim? What on earth for?’

That was the most difficult question to answer; Peder didn’t want it to look as if he was trying to do the police’s job for them.

‘It seems he’s cropped up in their investigation. Somehow. But that’s just between you and me.’

The general secretary went pale, then he burst out angrily:

‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! Why would someone like Efraim be mixed up in all the terrible things that have happened here? If that’s the way
the police are working, I’m not surprised that another child has gone missing!’

Peder made an effort to retain control of the conversation.

‘I’m not saying he’s a suspect; I think he’s important for other reasons. Given his background and so on.’

Meaningless words, meaningless sentences. Time was running out for Peder, and he was getting nowhere. The general secretary’s eyes narrowed, and Peder realised that his anger was
about to be directed at Peder instead.

He changed tack.

‘Besides, Efraim is automatically ruled out as a suspect, isn’t he? He was working here when Josephine was shot and the boys went missing, wasn’t he?’

‘Exactly,’ the general secretary said. ‘Efraim was here. With me. So unless I’m a suspect too, the police can cross him off their list. You can tell them that from
me.’

Peder thought about Alex and Fredrika, wondered what they were doing.

I
’
d give anything to be a part of this investigation.

‘Absolutely,’ he said.

When he left the centre a little while later with his son, he took out his mobile and called Alex.

‘It’s Peder. I think I have some information that might interest you.’

T
he silent protests were the worst. The ones that were not uttered out loud, but settled in the air like a thin filter. Diana’s body language told him all he needed to know. She
didn’t like the fact that he was working on a Sunday. ‘Unhealthy’ was the word she would have used if she had said anything about it, but she didn’t, and that was even worse
than an open confrontation.

‘Do you know how boring it is to ski alone?’ she said when she called Alex.

It was morning, and he felt worn out. He had slept badly because of all the thoughts crowding his brain, most of them about Polly, who still hadn’t been found. Alex was afraid that she was
already dead.

But if that was the case, we would have found her.

Diana wasn’t indifferent to his job, but it worried her that he sometimes let himself be swallowed up by it, that he withdrew from what other people referred to as everyday life. When
work occupied every single waking hour, things had gone too far.

‘When this is over, I’ll take some time off,’ he said.

‘I should think the snow will be long gone by then.’

He laughed, then fell silent, overcome by sadness. He was convinced that with the speed the case was moving, it wouldn’t be many days before they were sitting there with the answers. The snow would be the least of his problems.

He ended the call and focused on the matter in hand.

A missing five-year-old girl.

A teacher who had been shot dead.

Two ten-year-old boys, hunted down and shot.

And a series of strange elements that he didn’t understand at all. The paper bags with faces drawn on them. The story of the Paper Boy, who attacked other children. Two families who seemed
to be at the centre of the investigation, but who were unwilling or unable to explain why. Two families who had left Israel and moved to Sweden, for reasons which were unclear. Plus two Israelis
who had entered Sweden and now could not be found.

Eden Lundell had called Alex the previous evening. Unfortunately his phone had been switched off by mistake; the battery had run out. She had left a message, but it wasn’t clear what
she wanted; she had just said she had something to tell him, and would call again later.

Alex couldn’t work Eden out. She was frighteningly sharp, but incredibly difficult to reach on a personal level. He thought – or rather knew – that they would have made a good team and
worked well together. She was neither emotional nor confrontational. Above all, she didn’t take things personally. Alex often found himself analysing what he had said to Fredrika about
this or that, checking to see whether some comment could have been taken the wrong way, but that never happened in his dealings with Eden.

But apart from that . . . Leaving aside the fact that they could talk to one another, what a special person she seemed to be.

Curiosity got the better of him: why had she called? Perhaps she had information that was vital to the case. There was no harm in trying to reach her; if she was busy, she would say so.

Before Alex had time to call, his phone rang. It was Peder Rydh.

‘I’ve been checking up on Efraim Kiel,’ he said. ‘Well, I say checking up . . . I spoke to the general secretary of the Solomon Community.’

Alex had a bad feeling about this. Peder was driven, full of energy; nothing ever moved fast enough for him.

‘I hope you didn’t tell him that we have our suspicions about Kiel?’

It sounded as if Peder was out and about; the sound of the traffic was noticeable, making it difficult to hear him.

‘No, of course not. But I had to give him something, otherwise he would have wondered why I was asking questions. I said you were trying to get hold of him because it would be
interesting to discuss the investigation with someone with his background.’

That sounded like an acceptable lie to Alex, and to be fair it wasn’t entirely untrue. Without knowing the details of Kiel’s background, Alex thought he might well be able to make a
valuable contribution.

If only he hadn’t been behaving so strangely.

His task within the Solomon Community was obviously not a secret; Peder had met him, and Alex had spoken to him on the phone. His voice had been deep and rough, leaving very little margin for
compromise.

So why had he checked into the hotel under a false name? If he had stayed there at all. And why had he got rid of his mobile, even though he was still in the country?

Something occurred to him.

‘Sorry Peder, before you go on: you didn’t get Kiel’s new number the last time he called you?’

‘No, I didn’t. If I had, I would have passed it on to you.’

Alex heard what Peder really wanted to say:

I
’
m on your side, don
’
t you get it?

Once again he was conscious of how much he missed working with Peder.

When this is over, before or after the snow has melted, I will do whatever I can to get you back in the police.

‘Anyway, I called to tell you that Efraim can’t have shot Josephine or kidnapped the two boys.’

‘And how do you know this?’

‘He was in a meeting with the general secretary all afternoon. They were working on staffing issues. When they heard someone had been shot, Efraim went outside with the security
guards. He was still on the premises when the boys were abducted on their way to their tennis coaching session.’

That was a classic watertight alibi. It didn’t mean that Efraim wasn’t involved in some other way, of course, but it definitely made him less interesting. Alex felt a stab of
disappointment. This was one of the few leads they had.

Fredrika’s plane would soon be landing. Israeli colleagues were meeting her at the airport. Alex was trying to keep his expectations about her visit in check, but it was hopeless. Without
a miracle they were lost.

‘I’m glad you called,’ he said to Peder. ‘Thanks for your help – I won’t forget this.’

Peder said something that Alex didn’t hear.

‘Sorry, there’s a lot of noise at your end,’ he said. ‘Can you say that again?’

After a pause, Peder said: ‘It was nothing important. I’ll speak to you again soon.’

‘Good,’ Alex said.

He meant what he said. Peder’s help had been invaluable in many ways, and Alex would make sure his superiors knew that.

After the conversation came the emptiness. Efraim Kiel was out of the frame; he was no longer a viable suspect. Coincidences could be significant, or they could be nonsense, and in this
case they appeared to be nonsense. There was probably no exciting explanation as to why Kiel had asked Peder about calling cards left at the crime scenes; he was just a particularly skilled
investigator.

His mobile rang again; number withheld.

Eden’s husky voice came down the line.

‘I missed your call yesterday,’ Alex said.

Which was a stupid thing to say – why waste time stating the obvious?

‘My fault, it was very late when I called. Are you free to talk now?’

‘Absolutely. If you’d rather meet face to face and you happen to be at work, you’re welcome to come over.’

It was no problem for Eden to come to Alex’s office, whereas his chances of dropping in to see her at Säpo were non-existent.

‘That would have been nice, but unfortunately I’m not in today.’

Did he think everyone else worked Sundays as well? Even someone like Eden Lundell was entitled to some time off to breathe in the fresh winter air, spend time with her family. She was married
with children, wasn’t she? Or was that just a figment of his imagination?

‘Alex, I haven’t been completely honest with you.’

Her tone was serious.

‘I lied when I said I didn’t know who Efraim Kiel was. I’m very sorry, but given the situation, I couldn’t tell you what I knew until I’d spoken to my
boss.’

Eden was the head of the counter-terrorism unit, and she had had to speak to her boss. Who was the General Director of Säpo.

‘Okay,’ Alex said. Warily, because he had no idea what he was supposed to say.

‘You absolutely must not pass this on, but I can tell you that Säpo has had reason to monitor Efraim Kiel’s activities here in Sweden. I can’t tell you why, but I promise
you it has nothing to do with the murders you’re investigating.’

‘Hang on a minute,’ Alex said, but Eden interrupted him.

‘You’ll just have to take my word for it. Säpo is not investigating the murders of individual members of the Solomon Community, but if we had information that could benefit
your work, then needless to say we would have passed it on.’

Unless of course national security was at risk, Alex thought.

Less than five minutes ago, he had received information that virtually ruled out Efraim Kiel as a suspect, but of course Eden didn’t know that. He appreciated the fact
that she had called, and he couldn’t care less why Säpo was following Efraim, as long as it had nothing to do with the murders.

His thoughts turned to Polly Eisenberg. To her brother’s body, lying on the dazzling white snow. To the paper bag over his head.

This has to end.

He heard a rustling noise, then Eden was back.

‘Has Fredrika left?’

‘Yes, she should be there by now.’

He wished they could have gone together, that it hadn’t been so urgent.

And he hoped Fredrika would take care of herself, all alone in the land of the Paper Boy.

O
ne of the smallest countries in the world, from a purely geographical point of view. The desert meeting the sea. Heat and aridity. Two nations laying claim to the same narrow piece of land.
Almost two decades ago there had been a peace process, but there was nothing left of that initiative now. The country where the Paper Boy had once been given life was a strange place.

‘Have you been here before?’ asked the man who met Fredrika at the airport.

‘Once, but it was a long time ago.’

She had been twenty-four years old, and she had just fallen in love.

This would have been so much more fun if Spencer was here.

They were in a car on the way to Jerusalem from Ben Gurion airport. The hills forming the landscape were a fascinating sight, a mixture of barrenness dotted with patches of vegetation and
settlements.

Her companion was called Isak Ben-Zwi. He was roughly the same age as Alex, and as far as Fredrika could make out, worked for the Israeli equivalent of the National Crime Unit.

‘You have a terrible situation in Stockholm,’ he said.