The Disciple (37 page)

‘I saw from the phone that you’d called. I was just about to ring you,’ he began, and surprised Sebastian by holding the door open to invite him in.

‘We need to talk.’

‘Evidently. I’m sure nine missed calls must mean something.’

Sebastian tried to smile disarmingly as he looked around the small, dark space. There were newspapers, clothes and mess lying all over the place. The blinds were closed, no curtains, the walls completely bare. It smelled of cigarettes, dirt and stale rubbish. Trolle showed him into the living room. The television was on with the volume very low; the only illumination was provided by some cookery programme featuring celebrities. The entire complement of furniture was made up of a sofa, on which Trolle appeared to sleep, and a glass table that must once have cost a great deal of money, but now served as a dumping ground for wine bottles, pizza cartons and an overflowing ashtray. The ceiling above the sofa was greasy and nicotine-yellow.

Trolle turned to Sebastian, noticed his critical expression and flung his arms wide. ‘Welcome to my world. Once upon a time I lived in a white two-storey house in a swanky suburb. Now I live like this. Life is full of surprises, wouldn’t you say?’ Trolle shook his head and looked around, then went over to the sofa and pushed the grubby bedclothes to one side. ‘Sit down. I’ve found something for you. Good stuff.’ He gave a smile which could only be described as malicious. ‘Really good stuff.’

Sebastian remained standing and shook his head. ‘I don’t want it anymore. I’ve come to ask you to stop digging.’

‘Read it first. Before you decide.’ Trolle bent down and picked up a white supermarket carrier bag, stuffed with what appeared to be papers. He held it out to Sebastian. ‘There you go.’

‘I don’t want it. Get rid of it.’

‘Read it anyway, it’ll only take you about half an hour. Time well spent.’

Reluctantly Sebastian took the carrier bag. It probably only weighed a few hundred grams, but it felt considerably heavier in his hand.

‘Okay. But you have to stop now. I’ll give you the money, and then you have to promise me that you’ll never tell anyone I asked you to do this. You and I have never even met.’

In spite of the gloom, Sebastian saw a glimmer in Trolle’s eyes. A glimmer of interest. That couldn’t possibly bode well.

‘And who would be asking me?’ Trolle looked at him with curiosity. ‘What’s going on, Sebastian?’

‘Nothing. I just want you to promise me that you won’t say anything.’

‘No problem.’ Trolle shrugged his shoulders. ‘But you know me. Promises mean nothing.’

‘I’ll pay you double.’

Trolle shook his head and turned away from Sebastian with a gusty sigh. ‘I helped you, and now you want to buy me off? Who do you think I am? I thought we were friends.’

‘If we’re friends, just promise me you’ll keep quiet. And stick to your word,’ Sebastian countered sourly.

‘Why don’t you tell me the truth instead?’

‘If anyone finds out about this, it will be a total disaster for me. Total.’ Sebastian gazed pleadingly into Trolle’s implacable eyes.

‘Why? Who is she, this Vanja? Why are you following her? Who’s going to start asking questions? I want to know.’ For the first time Trolle looked sincere. ‘Then I’ll stop. But not until then.’

Sebastian looked at him. He was screwed whichever way he looked at it. If he lied it would end in disaster. Trolle would probably go straight to Vanja out of sheer cussedness. If Sebastian told the truth, he felt as if he would never be safe again. But at least it would give him a little more time.

‘So what’s it to be?’

Sebastian thought frantically. The truth might already be in the white plastic bag. Trolle might already know. If Sebastian lied, it could make things worse. He made up his mind. ‘She’s my daughter. Vanja is my daughter.’

He saw at once that Trolle hadn’t known.

But now there was nothing more to hide, so he told Trolle everything.

All of it.

When he had finished he felt a kind of peace. He felt lighter. So did the plastic bag. The secrets had been weighing him down more than he realised.

Trolle looked at him in silence. ‘Bloody hell,’ he said eventually.

He sank down on the sofa. He seemed to be thinking. He looked up at Sebastian. His tone of voice had changed completely; the teasing note had gone. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I think you have to let her go. Stop what you’re doing. Things can only end badly.’

There was a sincerity in Trolle’s words that Sebastian really appreciated. He nodded in agreement. ‘You’re probably right.’

‘Look at me,’ Trolle went on. ‘I didn’t let go. I wouldn’t listen to anyone.’ He paused and looked over at a framed photograph on the windowsill. Two young boys and a girl, and a woman in the middle scribbled out with black ink. ‘Now all I have left is a picture of them.’

Sebastian didn’t say anything. His expression was sympathetic as he looked at Trolle.

‘If you fight too much, you destroy what you have,’ Trolle said quietly, almost to himself.

Sebastian went over and sat down beside him. He wondered briefly whether he ought to mention that there was a difference between following someone at a distance, and trying to frame your ex-wife’s new boyfriend for possession of Class A drugs and kidnapping your children, but he refrained. Trolle had lowered his guard. He wouldn’t appreciate it if Sebastian exploited the situation.

‘I haven’t told anyone else about this,’ he said instead.

‘I realise that.’

What Trolle did next surprised Sebastian. He took his hand. Clasped it in a kind, comforting, intimate grip. They looked at one another. Then Trolle leapt to his feet, his heavy body full of energy again.

‘If someone has been following you, as you say, then you’ve just led him to Anna Eriksson.’

It was obvious when Trolle said it, and yet it hadn’t occurred to Sebastian. When Torkel had said that he perhaps ought to try to warn some of the women he had slept with, he had meant by telephone, of course. But after the conversation with Ursula, Sebastian had become determined to visit them in person, for some reason. Somehow it felt like the least he could do. It had never crossed his mind that someone might still be following him. After almost being run down by the blue Ford outside Riksmord, he had somehow dismissed the idea. The man had been spotted, caught out, it was over. It had never occurred to him that his pursuer might carry on, possibly in a different car.

‘Do you think so? But I’ve already warned Anna. She’s planning on leaving town.’

‘Was that what you were doing when you were round there this evening?’

‘Did you see me?’

Trolle nodded, but there was something else on his mind. ‘I saw someone else too. I didn’t think about it at the time; I just happened to notice. But now you tell me you’ve been followed . . .’ Trolle didn’t complete the sentence.

Sebastian began to feel anxious. ‘What? You didn’t think about what?’

Trolle had gone pale. ‘Twice when I’ve been there and you’ve been there, I’ve seen a man sitting in a blue Ford Focus. I just assumed he was waiting for someone.’

Sebastian jumped up. ‘That’s him. He’s the one who’s been following me.’

‘He was there tonight as well. But in a different car – a silver Japanese job.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘Hard to say. He was wearing sunglasses.’

‘And a cap?’

Trolle nodded.

They ran out to look for a taxi. Sebastian wanted to go straight to Storskärsgatan, but Trolle insisted they make sure they weren’t being followed first. In spite of the fact that they couldn’t see a silver car anywhere, they mustn’t take anything for granted. They found a cab and jumped in the back seat. Trolle directed the driver, changing their destination, making him drive here and there, and once they got into the city centre he insisted they use bus and taxi lanes as much as possible. He was constantly checking behind them, and it was half an hour before he was satisfied.

They were alone.

Eventually he directed the taxi to Karlaplan, and they walked the last bit.

Storskärsgatan was deserted. A man with a dog was walking in the park a short distance away, but he was heading in the opposite direction.

Trolle turned to Sebastian. ‘Stay here. He’ll recognise you.’

Sebastian wanted to protest, but didn’t know how, so he said nothing. He stared up at the apartment where he knew Anna and Valdemar lived. There was a warm glow from the windows, but he couldn’t see anyone. How could he have led the danger here? He was an idiot!

‘Do you understand?’

Sebastian nodded without taking his eyes off the apartment. Trolle looked calm. His eyes were sparkling; Sebastian had never seen him so alive, so focused.

‘I’ll check up there too, I promise,’ said Trolle.

Sebastian withdrew into the shadows by one of the buildings on the corner and watched him go; he was glad he had confided in his former colleague. Trolle walked slowly along the short street. He looked as if he was out for an evening stroll, but Sebastian could see that he was carefully checking every car he passed. Sebastian looked up at the apartment again. Suddenly felt the weight of the carrier bag in his left hand. Trolle had refused to take it back, so Sebastian had had no alternative but to take it with him.

It was strange how quickly things could change. A few days ago Sebastian’s only aim had been to hurt the two people living up there. Now he wanted to save them. He saw a bin a few metres away and was about to go over and throw the bag away when he saw Trolle heading back towards him, on the other side of the street this time. He was ambling along and chatting on the phone, but he was still checking every car. As he came closer Sebastian was able to pick up snippets of the conversation.

‘I understand that, and of course if you’re happy with your pension provision, then . . . Okay, thank you. Goodbye.’ He ended the call and slipped his phone in his pocket as he walked past Sebastian.

‘Come on, let’s not hang around here.’

Sebastian quickly joined him. They turned off towards Valhallavägen.

‘She’s at home. Valdemar’s there too.’

‘What are we going to do?’

‘
We’re
not going to do anything. You’re going to go home. I’ll keep an eye on things here.’

‘But . . .’

‘No buts, Sebastian.’ Trolle stopped and moved closer to him. Placed his hands on Sebastian’s shoulders. ‘Trust me. I’m here for you, Sebastian. We’ll sort this out together. You can ring me any time.’

He gave Sebastian an encouraging pat on the shoulders and turned away. Headed back towards Storskärsgatan. Sebastian remained where he was. His feelings towards the man walking away from him were a mixture of trust and something approaching love. He didn’t usually allow himself to feel those emotions towards anyone. Not him. Not Sebastian. He had always been able to manage on his own. But not anymore.

He would be eternally grateful to Trolle. He would be his friend, properly this time.

He went home. He was absolutely exhausted; he took off his jacket and trousers and fell into bed. He didn’t throw away the carrier bag. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was too heavy, when it came down to it. He left it by the bed.

Didn’t look inside.

Not tonight.

Not yet.

Torkel was sitting in the kitchen with Yvonne. He had refused a glass of wine, but had accepted a beer while Yvonne got on with packing for a trip to Gotland the following day. She and the girls had rented a small cottage on the western side of the island for a week, and both girls had decided at the last minute that there were things in Torkel’s apartment that they absolutely had to take with them. He had gone home, gathered up the essential items and brought them round in a bag.

‘What time do you sail?’ he asked, taking a swig of his beer.

‘Half past nine.’

‘Do you need a lift?’

‘Kristoffer’s taking us.’

Torkel nodded. Of course he was.

‘Will he be coming over while you’re there?’

‘No, why do you ask?’

‘I was just wondering.’

Yvonne paused briefly in her packing and looked at him with curiosity. ‘Do the girls talk about him?’

‘No.’

Torkel tried to remember whether his daughters had even mentioned Kristoffer’s name while they were with him, but he couldn’t recall a single occasion. They didn’t talk much to him at all. Not as much as he would have wished. Maybe that wasn’t so strange. When they got divorced he and Yvonne had opted for joint custody without even needing to discuss the matter, but the girls spent far more time with Yvonne than with him. His job made a strict every-other-week schedule impossible. He was often away, and when he was at home it didn’t always suit the girls to stay with him. They now classed being with Yvonne as ‘home’; when they were with him they were ‘at Dad’s’. Yvonne was closer to the girls than he was. It was slightly painful, he couldn’t deny that.

‘Vilma thought that might have been why I left her birthday party early,’ Torkel went on, ‘but I explained that it was work.’

‘You mean she thought you were leaving because Kristoffer was here?’

‘Yes. She was afraid I might find it awkward, I suppose.’

For a moment it looked as if Yvonne might ask ‘And did you?’, but she went back to her packing instead.

‘So how are things with you?’ she asked in a deliberately casual tone. If she had been wondering what he thought about her new relationship, there was no hint of it in her voice.

‘So-so. We’ve found a connection between the victims, but I’ve brought Sebastian in again, so it’s all a bit difficult.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’ She stopped what she was doing and looked him in the eye. ‘Have you met anyone?’

Torkel thought about it. The question was the same one his daughter had asked a few days ago. But this was Yvonne. The answer could be different. He could tell her the truth.

‘I don’t know. There’s someone I see occasionally. She’s married.’

‘Is she going to leave him?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘And is that going to work?’

‘I don’t know. Probably not.’