The Disappeared (28 page)

‘That’s what I think,’ Peder said. ‘That’s what it sounds like to me.’

Alex sensed trouble ahead.

‘So we should be able to eliminate him from our inquiries?’

‘Definitely. But Lagergren is still going to have serious problems.’

‘How come?’

‘Tova Eriksson’s father was the local councillor in Uppsala; he died a few years ago. Apparently, he was a close friend of the local chief of police, and Tova Eriksson took her complaint straight to the top. He’s taken a personal interest in the case; he sees it as an opportunity to raise his profile in equality issues. Unless Lagergren can come up with a bloody good explanation for all this, he doesn’t stand a cat in hell’s chance.’

Alex heard what Peder said, and understood all too well how things were likely to go for Spencer Lagergren. However, it wasn’t their problem. If the opportunity arose, he would try to have a word with Fredrika.

‘So your conclusion is that we don’t think this has anything to do with Rebecca?’ Alex said.

‘Correct. But I thought I might as well have word with Lagergren’s ex-wife anyway, since I’m here. I forgot to look up her address: Could you do that for me?’

‘Of course, hang on a second.’

Alex put down the phone and opened the internal address database. He couldn’t remember the name of the ex-wife, so he looked up Spencer Lagergren. He was currently registered at an address in Vasastan in Stockholm, and before that . . .

At an address in Östermalm.

A few more clicks of the mouse. He could hear Peder’s voice on the other end of the phone, but ignored it.

Eventually, he picked up the receiver.

‘Listen to this. Until April last year, Lagergren was registered at an address in Uppsala, where he lived with his wife. Do you know where he moved to after that?’

‘No – he was in hospital, wasn’t he? After that car accident Fredrika told us about.’

‘He was indeed, but his first change of address was a place in Östermalm. On Ulrikagatan. Close to Radiohuset, which was the last place where Rebecca was seen. Just a few streets away from Gustav Sjöö.’

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ Peder asked. ‘Rebecca had already been missing for a year by then.’

‘He’s owned the apartment for several years. It used to belong to his father.’

Peder was lost for words. Alex waited for his reaction.

‘Bloody Radiohuset,’ Peder said eventually. ‘It just keeps on coming up.’

‘And here we are again. But we do know that Rebecca was looking for a new supervisor. One of her fellow students has confirmed that she had decided to get in touch with Professor Spencer Lagergren. And that same Spencer Lagergren lived very close to the spot where she was last seen. It’s not in Spencer’s favour that he didn’t correct you on the phone when you referred to the fact that he lived in Uppsala. And he never got in touch with the police while Rebecca was missing, even though he must have realised that we wanted to speak to everyone who had been in contact with her.’

‘But had he been in contact with her?’ said Peder, who still had his doubts. ‘We don’t know that.’

‘Not for certain, but there’s a great deal to suggest that he had. Rebecca called Uppsala several times, and she has no other links to the university. She had written “SL” in her diary. And she had mentioned him to a friend, said she was going to get in touch with him.’

He heard Peder sigh.

‘There’s no way round it – we need to speak to him.’

‘You’re right. But have a chat with his ex-wife first of all. Her name is Eva.’

It took Peder less than ten minutes to drive from police HQ in Uppsala to the address where Spencer Lagergren had lived with his wife. It was an attractive house not far from Luthagsesplanaden. Only after he had rung the bell did it occur to him that Eva Lagergren might not be at home.

He rang once, twice. Ylva would have loved this house. She was keener on the idea of a garden than he was. She wanted to watch things grow, pick her own fruit and flowers. Peder couldn’t see how that would be possible. As long as they stayed in the apartment they could afford to live in central Stockholm, but if they bought a house they would have to move further out, to the suburbs. Over Peder’s dead body.

The door opened; Peder was stunned. Had Fredrika met her partner’s ex? If Ylva was half as beautiful at sixty, Peder would be thanking his lucky stars.

Eva Lagergren was strikingly attractive. There was nothing artificial about her appearance. She was well preserved, no more and no less. And beautifully dressed.

‘Yes?’

She smiled as she spoke, no doubt aware of the effect she had on men.

Peder smiled back.

‘Peder Rydh, police. I’d like to talk to you about a couple of things.’

She stepped aside to let him in. He had left his jacket and sweater in the car; he liked to feel the caress of the spring sunshine on his arms. As he walked into Eva Lagergren’s home, the fact that he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt felt completely wrong. She wasn’t just well dressed, she was dressed up. As if she were expecting a visitor. He asked the question as she showed him into a spacious lounge.

‘Am I disturbing you? Are you expecting visitors?’

‘No, no. I usually work at home in the mornings, then I go into the office after lunch. It’s a routine I’ve developed since I’ve been alone.’

For the past year, Peder thought.

They sat down and she asked if he would like something to drink. He declined; he wanted to keep the meeting as brief as possible. He found it difficult to find the words to explain what he wanted.

‘I’m here to ask a few questions about a matter that concerns your ex-husband, Spencer. And I would appreciate it if anything I say remains between the two of us.’

He couldn’t interpret her expression; her face gave away nothing. It frightened him. They couldn’t afford to make any mistakes in this case.

‘You’re here to talk about Spencer? Do go on. This should be interesting.’

There was no trace of irony in her voice. He cleared his throat.

‘Two years ago, a girl called Rebecca Trolle went missing.’

‘The one whose body you’ve just found?’

‘That’s right. We were wondering if she had had any contact with Spencer. Does that ring any bells with you?’

Why the hell would it?

As the words left his mouth he could hear how ridiculous they sounded.

‘Spencer and I never discussed who we were seeing.’

He stared at her, unable to grasp what she had said.

‘No . . . but . . .’

‘Listen to me, my friend. Spencer and I had a clear agreement which allowed us considerable freedom within our marriage. But for obvious reasons we never discussed the way in which we chose to use that freedom.’

It was a long time since Peder had felt so stupid.

‘I think we might have crossed wires here,’ he said. ‘I wanted to know whether Spencer had acted as her supervisor, or as a sounding board.’

‘How should I know? You’ll have to ask his colleagues about that.’

‘Of course,’ Peder said hurriedly. ‘But I wondered if he had ever mentioned Rebecca’s name at home, or . . .’

‘Never.’

Peder looked up as a movement at the window behind Eva Lagergren caught his eye.

‘There’s a man in your garden.’

‘He’s a friend. He can wait.’

She gave a wry smile that made him blush.

A friend? Who was younger than Peder?

One thing was perfectly clear: neither Spencer nor Eva Lagergren went for partners of their own age.

‘Do you remember a conference in Västerås in 2007? It was held in the spring, in March.’

She frowned, thinking back.

‘Not off the top of my head. We both did an unusual amount of travelling that spring. Spencer had a lot of conferences to attend; I don’t remember all of them.’

Peder smiled and got to his feet.

‘In that case, I won’t keep you any longer.’

‘No problem.’

They walked towards the door. All the walls were painted white, and were adorned with large works of art.

‘Just one more thing,’ he said.

She was listening.

‘During all the years you were married to Spencer, did you ever hear of any problems between him and his female students?’

‘Are you talking about sexual harassment on his part?’

Peder was embarrassed yet again.

She shook her head firmly.

‘Never. Spencer wouldn’t do such a thing. He doesn’t need to, neither to maintain his position of power nor to boost his ego.’

Straight answers were liberating. Peder thanked her for her time and reminded her not to mention his visit to anyone else.

As he was reversing out of the drive he saw the young man who had been standing in the garden walk up to the door and ring the bell. He was carrying a bunch of flowers. Peder couldn’t help feeling a stab of envy.

35

The textbook lay open in front of Malena Bremberg, but she couldn’t see a word. She just wanted the day to pass quickly, wanted the week that lay ahead to disappear. She didn’t want to do this any more. Life had lost its lustre since he called. She didn’t know what he wanted, and she hated Thea Aldrin, who understood perfectly but refused to say what she knew. If he called again Malena would force Thea to speak. Whatever it took.

The phone rang after lunch. It had rung in the morning as well, just after she had switched it back on, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to pick up. If it was him this time, calling from an unfamiliar number, she would hang up. But it wasn’t him. It was a wrong number.

A wrong number. And yet her heart was pounding as if she’d run ten kilometres.

She closed her eyes, resting her head in her hands. How much longer could she carry on? How much longer could she go on behaving in such a peculiar way before her friends started asking if she was OK? Before her family reacted?

Her father’s gaze was always the most difficult when it came to defending herself. He always wanted to know how she was feeling, if everything was as it should be. There had been many times when she had been at rock bottom; broken years lay piled up behind her, and she hated the thought that she might be heading down a blind alley, in spite of the fact that she had fought so hard and come so far.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

If it all went wrong this time, she would be lost. She would never have the strength to start all over again.

36

It was almost three o’clock, and Spencer Lagergren was desperate for Fredrika to walk through the door. Saga had a temperature, and had been grizzling all day. His hip and leg were aching more than usual, and when Saga fell asleep after lunch, he went for a lie down. The double bed felt horribly empty without Fredrika by his side. What would happen when he had to retire? He wouldn’t go willingly, but one of these days they would force him out. Would he end up spending all day alone? Waiting for Saga to come home from school, for Fredrika to come home from work?

His solicitor had advised him to wait; the police might not decide to proceed with Tova Eriksson’s accusations. But Spencer’s gut feeling was telling him something different. He was facing a problem that could spell professional ruin. Everything he had worked for could easily be destroyed. The very thought filled Spencer with panic.

The solicitor had read his mind.

‘Under no circumstances are you to contact the girl who reported you.’

‘But I have to speak to her; I have to find out why she’s so angry.’

‘We already know that. You rejected her, and she couldn’t deal with it.’

‘Do we know that for sure?’

‘Trust me, there’s not a shadow of doubt.’

All this brooding was driving him mad. He had to tell Fredrika soon, or he wouldn’t be able to cope.

His thoughts turned to the conversation he had had with one of Fredrika’s colleagues earlier that day. A very odd conversation indeed. Didn’t her colleagues know who she lived with? Didn’t she have any photographs of her family? Didn’t she talk about him and Saga? He should have offered to go down to the station, but he just couldn’t do it. The direction the call had taken had also made him nervous. Fredrika had asked if he knew Rebecca Trolle, the student whose dismembered body had been found recently. And Spencer had said no. Then her colleague rang in relation to the same case, but with a different question. Gustav Sjöö had stated that Spencer could confirm his alibi, which was correct. But why hadn’t Gustav called to warn him that the police would be in touch?

Spencer knew about Gustav’s position. The accusations had come as no surprise. After Gustav’s wife left him, he had developed a deep contempt for women. He couldn’t bear to see women in positions of power, women making decisions. That kind of sickness got into your soul. Spencer knew that, which was why he was keen to avoid ending up in a similar situation.

He had just fallen asleep when the telephone rang.

The voice on the other end was the one he knew best of all, but he realised he hadn’t heard it for many months.

‘Hello, Spencer; it’s Eva.’

Eva. A warm feeling spread through his chest, and he could do nothing about it. Her voice had always made him go weak at the knees, through all those years. Melodious and strong. Feminine, but never powerless.

‘How are things?’

He sat on the edge of the bed, misery surging through his body.

Bad. Things were bad. Even worse than the last time he had spoken to her.

‘Fine. I’m on paternity leave.’

He heard her laughing quietly.

‘I tried you at work and they said you were at home with your daughter. Unbelievable.’

He had to smile in the midst of all the gloom. From her perspective he was of course a lunatic who had become a parent just as he was approaching retirement age. At the same time, he felt anxious. He didn’t like the fact that she had called him at work.

‘Why did you want to speak to me?’

She stopped laughing, as the rain stops pitter-pattering on the surface of a puddle.

‘The police were here today.’

He closed his eyes.

‘Eva, listen to me. All that business about the student who made a complaint against me is groundless. Entirely groundless.’