The Disappeared (10 page)

But they weren’t there. There wasn’t a trace of the messages that had been sent to Tova, and nor were they in the ‘Trash’ folder.

‘This doesn’t prove anything,’ Erland said.

Spencer swallowed hard.

‘What do you actually want? What can I do to get out of this mess?’

‘Prove that none of this ever happened,’ Erland said. ‘But to be honest, I think that’s going to be very difficult.’

Once, when Peder was a child, a classmate had started a rumour about him.

‘Peder sucks up to Miss, that’s why she always gives him a gold star for his Maths tests.’

It made no difference that Peder could show he had got all the answers right in the tests; the other children still chose to believe the boy who said the stars were a result of Peder sucking up to the teacher. That was the first time Peder realised how soul-destroying the battle against a rumour can be. It is impossible to shake off certain things; they acquire a life of their own and cannot be suppressed.

The suggestion that Rebecca Trolle had been selling sex over the Internet seemed to be just such a rumour. All her friends had heard it, but none of them knew where the information had come from. And when the police started asking questions, they became evasive. No one wanted to be held responsible for passing on the gossip, no one was prepared to admit that he or she had started it.

The interesting thing was that the rumour had begun
after
Rebecca’s disappearance. As if it were an answer to the question why. Why did she disappear? Because she was selling sex over the internet, and one of her clients killed her.

Peder met Diana Trolle’s friend and the friend’s daughter in reception.

‘We’d like to speak to you separately,’ he explained.

Diana’s friend went off with another officer while Peder took the daughter, Elin. She looked scared when he opened the door of one of the bright interview rooms; she hesitated, and for a moment he thought he might have to chase her along the corridors of HQ.

‘Please sit down.’

They sat down on opposite sides of the table. He considered how best to tackle the conversation. On the one hand, he would quite like to give the girl a good shake, pin her up against the wall and ask her how the hell she could say such a stupid thing about a dead classmate. On the other hand, he didn’t really think this would achieve the desired effect. Elin looked as if she was on the verge of tears, more like a fourteen-year-old girl than a woman of twenty-five.

‘It wasn’t me,’ she said before Peder had even opened his mouth.

‘What do you mean?’

‘It wasn’t me that made up all that stuff.’

‘OK. So who was it, in that case?’

‘I don’t know.’

Peder tried to shuffle down in his seat, to look more relaxed.

‘So when did this rumour actually start?’

‘After she went missing, I think. My friends and I hadn’t heard it before.’

Peder thought for a moment.

‘Why do you think someone would make up something like this?’

Elin shrugged.

‘Everyone was so scared when she disappeared; I think the gossip became a kind of protection for us. If that was why she went missing, then it couldn’t happen to the rest of us.’

‘Because you weren’t selling sex over the Internet?’

‘Exactly.’

She looked as if she were telling the truth; she also looked relieved.

‘Were you a close friend of Rebecca’s?’

‘I wouldn’t say that. We just happened to be on the same course, and we went to the same parties. We hardly ever met up on our own.’

‘Was that why you helped to spread the rumours about her? Because you weren’t really friends?’

‘Hang on a minute, I didn’t “help”, as you put it.’

‘Oh, but you did. It was through you that the gossip got as far as Rebecca’s mother. I’m sure you realise that was unfortunate.’

Elin’s voice was trembling now.

‘I didn’t tell anyone except my mum; I didn’t think she would go to Diana with gossip. I didn’t tell anyone else. And even if I had, it wouldn’t have made any difference.’

‘Because everyone knew anyway?’

‘Yes.’

Peder decided to keep pushing.

‘So who started it?’

‘
I told you, I don’t know!
’

‘Oh, come on, Elin. You must be able to tell me about the first time you heard someone mention that Rebecca was selling sex over the Internet.’

His voice was harsh and implacable. A voice he would never use to Ylva or his sons. The boys were almost three – still too young to be held responsible for their actions. And he had too much respect for Ylva.

‘I can’t remember exactly; I think I heard it at a party a few months after she disappeared. Some people were talking; they said she’d been seen on one of those websites. But when we looked at it, we couldn’t find her. The gossip died away eventually.’

‘Just a minute, you’re telling me someone had seen her on a website? What website?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘For God’s sake, Elin! You just told me you had a look!’’

Elin sighed.

‘I think it might have been called “Dreams Come True”, or something equally cheap. I haven’t looked at it since, and I don’t think the others have either.’

Right.

‘The person who found her on this website – are they in the habit of buying sex there?’

‘No, no, I don’t think so. Definitely not.’

‘He or she just happened to end up on that website, and just happened to spot a friend?’

‘He. He’s a law student and he was writing an assignment about the new law relating to prostitution, so he was checking out a load of websites where girls were selling themselves.’

At last.

‘And what’s the name of your friend?’

‘He’s not my friend. Nobody likes him. And I think he regretted talking about what he’d seen; he kind of tried to take it all back. But by then it was too late; people were already talking. Not that we thought it was true, but . . .’

‘But?’

‘He had seen her on the website, after all.’

Silence.

‘I need a name.’

‘His name is Håkan Nilsson.’

11

Malena Bremberg’s expression was anxious as she watched the lunchtime news on the flickering TV screen. She didn’t normally bother with the news, but today’s newspaper headlines had driven her back to the sofa. She thanked her lucky stars that she wasn’t working; sometimes it was difficult to find time to sit down in front of the TV in the care home.

There were lots of different stories. An earthquake in a country she’d never been to, unrest in the car industry, new proposals regarding legislation to make things easier for small businesses. She couldn’t have cared less. The only thing she wanted to know more about was the woman whose body had been found in Midsommarkransen. After fifteen minutes her prayers were answered.

‘The police are still refusing to release further details surrounding the discovery of the body of Rebecca Trolle,’ the newsreader reported. ‘A murder investigation is well under way, and a significant number of additional officers have been placed at the disposal of the Senior Investigating Officer. Rebecca Trolle was twenty-three years old when she disappeared; she was last seen in the vicinity of Gärdet in Stockholm . . .’

Terror clutched at Malena’s heart. She recognised Rebecca Trolle as soon as her picture appeared on the screen. The bright smile, the freckled face. She had never understood what made the girl so important. She had visited the home on only one occasion, and hadn’t come back.

The following day he had phoned.

‘Has anyone been in?’

And for the first time, she answered yes. Yes, someone had been in. A young woman. She’d stayed for half an hour. She’d had coffee with Thea Aldrin, the writer, then left. He had demanded the name and telephone number of the person in question, said he had to get hold of her. Malena had hesitated, agonised, wished she was a million miles away.

Rebecca Trolle. That was her name.

A week passed. Then another. Then came the headlines. Rebecca Trolle, who had visited the home, was missing. After a week Malena was a wreck, and went off sick. He rang every day, patiently explaining that she would regret it forever if she told anyone about their work together.

‘We don’t work together!’ she yelled.

Hurled the telephone at the wall.

Didn’t dare to set foot outside for several days.

He was waiting for her the first time she left the apartment. Materialised behind her out of nowhere, forced her back inside. He stayed for a whole day, after which she never considered defying him again.

She still felt sick when she remembered how he had looked when he left, having kept her prisoner for twenty-four hours. Noticeably pleased with himself and what he had achieved. His final words drove her crazy:

‘You’re beautiful in real life, Malena. But you’re even more beautiful on film.’

12

The list of matches against the database came through just as Peder Rydh was starting to think about going home for the day. Ellen Lind, the team’s administrator, knocked on his door.

‘I’ve run a check on all the main characters who came up in the original investigation,’ she said.

‘Anything interesting?’

‘There are a few points, but two are definitely worth looking at: her supervisor at the university, and the leader of the church choir.’

Peder suddenly felt stressed. Two new names. They already had more than enough to do.

Ellen placed the lists on his desk and left. Peder thought she was starting to fill out; could she be pregnant? Best not to offer congratulations until she mentioned it herself.

A quick glance at the clock, and Peder decided he would stay a while longer. Just a little while. He could hear Alex talking in the corridor, his voice loud and agitated. Alex worked day and night. On several occasions, Peder had thought about inviting his boss round for dinner, but the words stuck in his throat every time. What would be the point?

The list of names was practically burning his fingers. He didn’t know what to think any more. Håkan Nilsson was beginning to look more and more suspect. Elin’s words echoed in his mind:

He’s not my friend. Nobody likes him.

Peder found it difficult to understand Håkan’s behaviour. If he was the killer, why would he start a rumour about having seen Rebecca on a website selling sex? In order to divert attention from himself? And if he wasn’t the killer, why hadn’t he told the police what he had seen, when he had spent so much time helping them? Peder had discussed the matter with Alex, and they had decided not to confront Håkan until they had the results of the DNA test. Meanwhile, he was still under surveillance, and the prosecutor had also given Alex permission to tap his telephone. With a bit of luck, that would be in place later in the day.

Peder glanced through the results of Ellen’s checks. The leader of the church choir of which Rebecca had been a member had been reported for violence against his partner on two occasions during the past eighteen months. The accusations had not led to charges, as there was no proof. According to the register, the couple were still living together.

During the original investigation the choirmaster had been dismissed as being of no interest. Since he was relatively young, the question of whether he might be Rebecca’s new boyfriend had come up, but there was nothing to suggest that this was the case. He already had a partner, and the analysis of telephone traffic to and from Rebecca’s mobile showed that they had been in contact only once during the weeks before her disappearance. He did not feature in her emails, on her Facebook page or in her cryptic diary entries. Peder therefore concluded that these more recent accusations of violence did not alter the situation as far as the police were concerned; the man would still remain outside the inquiry.

The supervisor, however, was another matter. Gustav Sjöö, a man approaching sixty, who had been reported for attempted rape by a female acquaintance less than a year ago. The report indicated that she had described him as controlling, jealous and unstable. The woman had obvious injuries that were difficult to explain away, and the case had gone to the magistrates’ court. Gustav Sjöö was not convicted, but the woman had appealed to the crown court. The hearing had not yet taken place.

Peder’s interest was caught by the information that had emerged during the first hearing. The prosecution had called two female students to testify that Sjöö had made inappropriate advances, and that he had threatened them with dire consequences if they told anyone. For this reason he was suspended from his post at the university until further notice; Peder suspected that he was unlikely to be reinstated even if he was acquitted.

He went back to the original material. Sjöö had been in touch with Rebecca by telephone on a number of occasions during the months before her disappearance, but this had seemed perfectly natural since he was her supervisor. Peder remembered that he had also appeared as ‘GS’ in her diary.

Could Gustav Sjöö be the new man in Rebecca’s life? Peder had his doubts when he looked at pictures of Sjöö, just as Alex had done. An elderly, grey man without any hint of a spark in his eyes. Then again, everyone’s taste was different; perhaps Sjöö had attributes which were not apparent in a photograph, and which Rebecca had found attractive.

He checked records and saw that Sjöö lived on Mariatorget in Södermalm. He seemed to have moved there about a year ago; before that he had lived on Karlavägen. Peder searched for the address on the internet and saw that it wasn’t far from Gyllenstiernsgatan. Close to Radiohuset. He went back to the old telephone records. Rebecca had spoken to Sjöö the day before she went missing. And he had been living near Radiohuset at the time, which was the final destination of the number four bus.

Sjöö had been interviewed, of course, and had an alibi for that evening. He was at a conference elsewhere, and didn’t get back until the following evening. But he lived alone, Peder thought. There was no one to confirm that he got home when he said he did. And while his colleagues could state that he really had been at the conference in Västerås, the distance from Stockholm was negligible if he had a car, which he did. Peder decided to take a closer look at the conference programme. Rebecca had disappeared some time after seven thirty in the evening; it could be that she had arranged to meet Sjöö.