The Chosen (5 page)

And they had all been wrong. Fredrika had met people of her own age who seemed older than Spencer. It wasn’t the number of years that mattered, but the general attitude towards life.

‘Hi,’ she said.

She dropped her bag and her violin case on the floor, kicked off her shoes and went into the bathroom. She sank to her knees behind her husband and wrapped her arms around him. Just a brief
moment of closeness, then she would turn her attention to the murder Alex had told her about. A woman had been shot. In the middle of the city.

Spencer’s body was like part of her own. After holding him for only a few seconds she knew that something was wrong. The feeling was so strong that she stiffened, didn’t even reach
out to the children.

‘Hi,’ he said.

Saga greeted her mother cheerily like an echo of her father, energetically waving the book she was holding. Isak splashed away happily in the bath, in a world of his own.

‘Has something happened?’

She had lowered her voice without knowing why.

Spencer didn’t reply; he just reached down into the water and fished out a bottle of shampoo that Isak had knocked down.

‘What is it?’

‘Fredrika, we need to talk. When the children are asleep. It’s nothing serious.’

Her arms dropped. He still hadn’t turned around. Fredrika was never more sensitive to the possibility of a setback than when she was happy. The sense of impending problems was so
powerful that it bothered her as much as a foul smell would have done.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Alex called – I have to go into work for an hour or so.’

‘You’re going into work? Tonight?’

‘A teacher has been shot dead at the Solomon school in Östermalm.’

‘I heard about that. What’s it got to do with you?’

‘Apparently we’re investigating the case.’

‘Since when have you been involved in hate crimes?’

He lifted his son’s slippery body out of the bath and wrapped him in a towel. He still hadn’t looked at her.

She made an instant decision.

‘I’m not leaving here until you tell me what’s happened.’

Isak tore himself free and scampered out of the bathroom, stark naked. Saga hopped down from the toilet and followed him, yelling at the top of her voice. Brother and sister. Created by
Fredrika and Spencer. Yet another incomprehensible mystery: the fact that it was possible to make a new person. Biological magic.

Spencer was still on his knees, while Fredrika had got to her feet.

‘For heaven’s sake, what is it?’

She rarely snapped or raised her voice, but she was angry now. Or just scared?

Eventually he turned and looked at her as he had done so many times before. But only for a moment. Then he disappeared again.

‘I was called to a meeting today,’ he said.

‘And?’

She still hadn’t taken off her coat, and the sweat was trickling down her back.

Spencer stood up.

‘I’ve had an offer, but we have to make up our minds right away. Ernst has had a stroke.’

Confusion made Fredrika take a step backwards. An offer? Ernst, Spencer’s colleague at the university, had had a stroke. What did that have to do with anything?

‘And?’ she said again.

Spencer reached for a towel and dried his hands.

‘Ernst was supposed to be going to Jerusalem. He was going to be one of the principal tutors on a course at the Hebrew University. But now he can’t go.’

‘And they’ve asked you to go instead?’

‘Yes. It’s a two-week course.’

Two weeks. That was a long time to be away, but even so Fredrika felt calmer. She had thought he must have terrible news of some kind.

I must stop getting so stressed.

‘When would this be?’

‘I’d be leaving on Sunday.’

‘On Sunday? In four days?’

‘Yes.’

‘But Spencer, that’s out of the question!’

‘I know.’

But you want to go, don
’
t you?

Of course he wanted to go. Was she being unreasonable if she said no?

She shook her head.

‘We’ll talk about it when I get home,’ she said.

She went into the hallway and put her shoes back on, picked up her bag. Spencer was standing behind her as she moved to open the door.

‘You know I love you?’ he said.

She smiled, but didn’t let him see.

You don
’
t get away with it that easily, Professor.

‘I thought so, but it’s nice of you to remind me.’

She turned around, her hand still resting on the latch.

He smiled, and she went weak at the knees. There weren’t many men over sixty who looked as good as Spencer. She hoped that she and the children would keep him young for many years to
come.

Her mobile rang, and she fished it out of her pocket.

Alex. She rejected the call. She went over to Spencer and kissed him.

‘See you later,’ she said.

‘I certainly hope so. Anything else would be a disaster.’

She left her family behind, closed the door of the apartment. When she was outside the building, she called Alex.

‘I’ll take a cab; I’ll be at HQ in ten minutes.’

C
old and darkness.

And fear. Because it was too late; because he had done something stupid.

Simon and Abraham were sitting in a van. It was parked in the middle of a forest, and the man who had locked them in wouldn’t be coming back until the next day. That meant they would be
alone in the bitterly cold vehicle all night.

Both boys were crying with exhaustion. If only they hadn’t got into the car. If only they’d caught the bus.

When Simon thought about the drive out of the city, for some reason it was the windscreen wipers he saw in his mind’s eye, scraping back and forth, trying to clear the snow so that the
driver could see where he was going. Simon could see the back of his neck.

He had felt the bonds around his wrists beginning to chafe. Once when they were younger, he and Abraham had played a war game. Abraham had hurled himself at Simon and tied his hands behind his
back with a skipping rope. It hadn’t been much fun, and they had never done it again. In the car it hadn’t been a game. His hands were tied behind his back for real this time.

Simon was terrified.

Why hadn
’
t he got on the bus and left Abraham behind?

The only thing he knew for sure was that they were in serious trouble. Abraham hadn’t said a word when Simon got into the back seat. Not until the car stopped at the traffic lights. Then
he had yelled:

‘He’s got a gun, Si!’

And Simon had thrown himself at the door, fumbling with the handle, trying to get it open so that he could jump out. But the door was locked, and he was going nowhere.

‘Fasten your seatbelt and sit still!’ the driver had bellowed, and Simon had done as he was told, trembling with fear.

‘Sorry,’ Abraham had whispered, turning to look at Simon.

‘And you shut your mouth,’ the man said.

Another apology, just as bizarre as the first.

Simon had wanted to say that everything was okay, that it didn’t matter. That he forgave his friend. But he didn’t dare say a word.

He didn’t know what the man driving the car wanted; all he knew was that they weren’t heading for the tennis centre. They had set off in a completely different direction. They had
stopped once, when the man tied their hands and made Abraham move into the back seat.

It was like being in some horrible film, the kind Simon’s mum and dad wouldn’t let him watch. The mere thought of his parents gave him a burning pain in his belly. He wanted to go
home. Right now.

The man hadn’t driven particularly fast. He actually looked relaxed, which frightened Simon even more. After tying them up he had dug out their mobiles, switched them off and removed the
batteries. Simon had no idea why, but he realised it wouldn’t make any difference if he could reach his phone; it was useless anyway.

The car had driven up onto an impressive bridge, and all at once Simon recognised the location. They were heading out towards the big palace where the king and queen lived. Why?

They passed the palace without stopping. Eventually the man turned off the road and along a smaller track that led straight into the forest. Simon had travelled a great deal with his parents,
and he had never seen as many forests as there were in Sweden. Especially not in Israel, where all his relatives lived. In Israel there were only towns and sand. And the sea. Wild and
blue.

The car stopped and the man told them to get out on Abraham’s side. It might have been warm sitting in the back with their coats on, but it was freezing cold standing in the snow. They
couldn’t see the palace.

‘Come with me,’ the man said.

Only then had Simon noticed the large van parked a short distance away. A black van, without any windows. The man led the way and opened the back doors.

‘Get in.’

His voice was deep, and he spoke English. Simon wished he hadn’t understood what the man was saying; it would have been easier to kick off. But not the way things were; they both did
exactly as they were told. Not even Abraham was going to take on someone who had a gun.

Inside the van it was dark and cold. There were no seats, just a hard rubber mat on the floor. You couldn’t see the driver’s seat, because someone had put up a wall between the front
and the back of the van.

When they were standing in the van, Simon realised the man wasn’t coming with them. He was still outside in the snow. The two boys automatically backed away when he switched on a torch and shone it in their faces.

And then he said the words that made Simon lose all hope of getting home any time soon.

‘You can sit down over there under those blankets.’ He pointed towards the corner. ‘You’ll be staying here until daylight.’

Then the tears came, and Simon couldn’t stop them.

Over an hour had passed since then, and he was still crying.

‘I’ve been so stupid,’ Abraham sobbed. ‘I believed him when he said he wanted to talk to us about tennis.’

Simon didn’t answer. What would he have thought if he’d got in the car first? He didn’t know.

‘He said it was a coincidence,’ Abraham went on. ‘He said he was going to email us tonight to ask if we wanted to meet up tomorrow, and then he was driving along and he just
happened to see me. I swear that’s what he said.’

Simon still didn’t speak.

‘I want to go home,’ Abraham whispered.

‘Me too.’

Then they both fell silent.

And outside it grew colder and colder.

T
he underground car park was both cold and dark as Alex Recht walked over to the car with Fredrika. She looked excited and pensive at the same time. Alex could almost always read Fredrika
Bergman’s body language; she was a mistress of non-verbal communication, and had the ability to project several different moods simultaneously.

Alex focused on the fatal shooting outside the Solomon school, and ran through the latest information. Many of his colleagues had been hard at work; witnesses had been interviewed, leads
followed up. But so far there were still more questions than answers. A lot more.

A mantra kept on pounding in his brain.

The first few hours are the most important. Always and without exception.

‘The perpetrator was lying on a roof on the other side of the street,’ Alex said as they got in the car and fastened their seatbelts. ‘It’s difficult to interpret the
evidence because of the wind and snow, but the indications are that he – or she – was lying on his or her stomach when the shot was fired. The killer then disappeared the same way he or she got in
– through the attic. We’ve spoken to the residents’ association, and apparently people sometimes forget to close the outside door behind them when they come in from the street, so the killer didn’t necessarily need the entry code or a key to get in.’

‘But surely the door leading to the attic must have been locked,’ Fredrika said.

Alex drove out of the grubby car park.

‘I’m afraid not. They’re in the process of carrying out some renovations, and the workmen need access to all parts of the building. According to the chair of the association,
the attic door is left open all day, and locked in the evening.’

‘In that case there must be a pretty good chance that someone saw the perpetrator arriving or leaving. If there are workmen all over the place, I mean.’

Alex shook his head, his expression grim.

‘Apparently not.’

They had found very few traces of the killer. No fingerprints or footprints inside the building, which was interesting given that his or her shoes must have been soaking wet from the
snow.

‘But we’ve got footprints on the roof?’ Fredrika said.

‘Nothing of any use. The weather more or less destroyed them before the police got up there. The only thing we have is an indentation in the snow, which as I said indicates that the
perpetrator was probably lying on his or her stomach.’

The news that they hadn’t managed to track down the dead woman’s boyfriend worried Alex.

‘He wasn’t in the apartment when the police arrived; we’ve tried his registered mobile number, but there’s no answer. As far as we know, he’s unemployed at the
moment.’

‘But is he a suspect?’ Fredrika asked. ‘Do we think he shot his girlfriend?’

‘To be honest, no. Admittedly he has a record as long as your arm, but this shooting is too clean for someone like him. However, I still need to be able to eliminate him from our enquiries. We’ve shown a picture of him to the witnesses who were
on Nybrogatan at the time of the incident and just beforehand; no one has seen him. On the other hand, we don’t know how long the killer was waiting for Josephine to come out.
We’ve issued an appeal asking anyone who was passing in the hours before the shooting to come forward, but that’s going to mean interviewing a hell of a lot of people. I’m not
sure it’s going to be much help, to say the least.’

Fredrika thought for a moment.

‘Are we even sure that Josephine was the target? He could have been aiming at someone else who was around at the time, and missed.’