The Disciple (62 page)

Jenny seemed satisfied with his explanation.

No doubt there would be more questions later, when it had all sunk in, but by then he would know what the result of today’s events had been, and would be able to tailor his answers accordingly. But right now they were going home.

He was so glad she was unhurt.

They had hardly got through the door before Victor was on the phone again. Stressed. Desperate. The ambulance transporting Hinde hadn’t arrived in Uppsala. The hospital was unable to contact the crew. Lövhaga was unable to contact the guards who had accompanied Hinde. Haraldsson had to come in.

He tried to get out of it, but Victor made it clear that this was a situation which required the presence of the governor. He told Jenny he had to go into work for a while. He really had no choice. Should he drive her over to one of her friends, if she didn’t want to be alone? No, she wanted to stay with him. They walked back to the car together.

Jenny was quiet most of the way to Lövhaga. Probably going over the events of the day. That suited Haraldsson. He needed to think through possible scenarios, plan how to handle the situation that had arisen.

Time for some damage limitation.

Under no circumstances must anyone find out that he had had anything to do with all this.

For his sake. For Jenny’s sake. For everyone’s sake.

He started with Jenny. No one knew she had been missing. Oh yes, the girls at the office, but nobody else. What they knew would never come to the attention of the board at Lövhaga, so Jenny didn’t constitute a risk. Even if she told anyone at the prison about her unpleasant experiences, no one would make the connection with Hinde’s escape. Check!

Next question: should he attempt to retrieve the beetroot jar and the bottle from the chemist’s?

It was risky. If they were found, the assumption would surely be that Ralph Svensson had smuggled them in to him. They wouldn’t take fingerprints from something like that, would they? Not when they already had a suspect who had been in contact with Hinde for a long time. Of course everyone would think it was Ralph who had helped him. The best course of action would probably be to stay well away from Hinde’s cell.

Or should he take a different approach?

He could demonstrate his initiative by searching the cell. ‘Finding’ those items. That would explain the presence of his fingerprints if there was an investigation at a later stage. But then Ralph’s fingerprints wouldn’t be on them anyway. Ah, but cleaners wore gloves, didn’t they . . .

His thoughts were interrupted by his phone ringing. It was the chef, back at the house. Where were they? Haraldsson sighed; he had forgotten all about dinner. He explained that something of an emergency had arisen, and that they would have to miss the evening’s culinary treat, unfortunately. The chef was understandably put out. Haraldsson would have to pay for the lot. The food, the wine, his travel expenses, his fee. Just so Haraldsson knew. Haraldsson didn’t protest; he simply apologised and ended the call.

‘Who was that?’ Jenny wanted to know.

‘It was a chef; he was coming to the house to cook dinner for us tonight.’ Nice to be able to tell the truth for once without having to think and adapt.

‘So you’d arranged it all?’

‘Yes, but nothing’s turned out the way I planned. I’m really sorry.’

‘Well, it’s not your fault.’

‘No, but even so . . .’

‘You’re a star.’

She leaned against him and kissed him on the cheek. He smiled to himself, but in his head he was already thinking through the essentials again.

Yes, he could deal with the bottle and the jar, but what if someone searched the cell and found the photograph of Jenny? How would he explain that? He almost hoped that Hinde had taken it with him. But when they caught Hinde, if they caught Hinde, and found a photograph of the prison governor’s wife on him . . . He would simply pretend to be astonished. Wonder how the hell Hinde had managed to get hold of it. It would remain a mystery . . .

Victor Bäckman was waiting for them in the car park when they arrived. He was surprised to see Jenny, but Haraldsson explained that it was their wedding anniversary and they wanted to be together. Victor swallowed the lie. He had more important things to worry about. They walked towards the building together.

‘We’ve gone through his cell. We found an empty beetroot jar and an emetic bottle – ipecac. Also empty.’

‘Where did he get those from?’ Haraldsson asked as naturally as he could manage.

‘Ralph must have given them to him.’

‘I expect you’re right.’ Haraldsson nodded, mightily relieved.

‘But that’s not the worst thing.’ Victor looked extremely troubled. ‘We found a modem.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘He’s had unlimited contact with the outside world. We’re going through the computer now, trying to see if there’s anything about the escape. But it’s password-protected, so it might take a while.’

Haraldsson barely heard the last part. Contact with the outside world. That could definitely be used to explain a number of things if necessary. Victor’s remit. Victor’s mistake. Not his. It looked as if everything was going to be okay. He didn’t dare ask about the photograph. Presumably they hadn’t found it, or Victor would have mentioned it.

He suddenly realised that the head of security had stopped, and appeared to be waiting for some kind of response.

‘What?’

‘I said the hospital still hasn’t managed to track down the ambulance. What do we do?’

‘We contact the police and tell them we have a possible attempted escape.’ Haraldsson was impressed by the authority in his voice, the way he had taken command of the situation. No more mistakes. Victor nodded, and together they went into the administrative block.

It wasn’t long before vigilant journalists who were already interested in Lövhaga got wind of the fact that someone had escaped. The police force leaked like a colander sometimes. They also made the link with the missing ambulance, and the circus was underway. Haraldsson ducked and dived for a while, but realised that it would be best if he spoke to them so that he could control what was said. He issued an order that all media enquiries should be referred to him. It was like opening the floodgates.

The phone never stopped. Annika kept on putting them through, one after the other.

Different callers.

The same answers.

Yes, it was true that an ambulance which had picked up a patient from Lövhaga was now missing.

Yes, there were a number of points which suggested this might be an attempted escape, but it was too early to say anything definite.

No, he had no intention of telling them who was in the ambulance.

Every single one asked if it was Hinde.

He hung up. Oddly enough the phone didn’t ring again. He got up and went over to Jenny, who was sitting in one of the armchairs. She had got herself a cup of coffee and a sandwich from the canteen, but had eaten barely half. What a wedding anniversary. Still, they could celebrate on another day.

The important thing was that they were together. He had never known an emotional rollercoaster like it. But he had managed the situation very well. He would continue to do so. The worst was over.

‘How are you doing?’ He crouched down in front of her and gently pushed a strand of hair off her face.

‘I’ve been sitting here thinking.’

‘I can understand that . . .’ Haraldsson took her hand and squeezed it. ‘Perhaps you need to talk to someone about what’s happened. A professional.’

Jenny nodded, her expression slightly distant.

‘Darling?’

‘Yes?’

‘How did you know where I was?’

Haraldsson stiffened.

Perhaps the worst wasn’t over after all.

He had got home earlier than agreed. When he was in Östermalmstorg he had remembered that he had promised Ellinor he would do some shopping for dinner. It was probably the man ahead of him carrying two bags that reminded him. At first he was inclined to forget the whole thing; dinner with Ellinor and a neighbour he didn’t even know struck him as utterly ridiculous. Like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle that just didn’t fit anywhere. But the more he tried to push the thought aside, the more persistent it became.

There was something liberating about the simplicity of it all. A shopping list and a basket to put things in. Shopping alongside other people, just as if he was a normal, functioning individual. As if he had something to look forward to.

He went into the Saluhallen food hall and began to shop as he had never shopped before. Fillet steak, new potatoes, vegetables, fruit and a dozen or so dessert cheeses. He sampled Italian salami and prosciutto, and decided to buy both. Picked up basil and dill. Bought a French pâté which tasted divine. Top-of-the-range, freshly ground coffee. He didn’t want to stop shopping. All these tastes opened up possibilities of something he had never experienced. At the bottle store he bought champagne, white wine, red wine, whisky and cognac. He thought about buying a vintage port, but he had run out of hands and plastic bags. He had to stop and put the bags down several times on the way home so that he wouldn’t drop anything when his fingers went numb.

Ellinor rushed over and hugged him before he had even managed to put the shopping down. Her joy at seeing him was irresistible. He pressed closer. She smelled delicious. Her red hair was soft, her lips against his even softer. He held her tight. He just wanted to lose himself in her, in those lovely giggles. They stood in the hallway for a long time. She let go first, but kept one hand resting on the back of his neck. Looked at the bags on the floor.

‘How much have you actually bought?’

‘Loads. I didn’t bother with the list.’

She laughed. ‘You’re crazy.’ She kissed him on the mouth again. ‘I’ve missed you. All day.’

‘I’ve missed you too.’ At that moment he realised he wasn’t lying. Perhaps he hadn’t actually missed her. No, not her. But the direction in which she was taking him. That’s what he had missed. For a long time. She took some of the bags into the kitchen. He watched her go. It was as if he had suddenly found himself in a siding heading in a different direction, and he never wanted to rejoin the main track. Never.

She came back, smiling at him. ‘You’ve bought such lovely things.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Do you want to go to bed, or shall we have a glass of champagne first?’

‘I don’t drink.’

‘Not even champagne?’

‘No.’

‘Boring!’ She flashed him a flirtatious smile. ‘In that case there’s only one option.’

She pushed back her long hair and looked at him with that expression he found so difficult to resist. For a moment he was lost in the promise of intimacy, of closeness. But then he surprised himself.

‘Shouldn’t we do something about dinner first? I mean, you’ve invited our neighbour round.’

She looked at him with exaggerated disappointment. ‘Like I said – boring!’ She turned on her heel and went back into the kitchen. He followed her to help unpack the shopping.

He was surprised at his decision, to say the least.

Prioritising the neighbour over sex.

That was something new for him.