The Man Who Watched Women (33 page)

Ursula got up from her desk. She was getting nothing done, and sitting there thinking about events that had happened almost twenty years ago was pointless. Time to go. Home, perhaps. Away from here, at any rate. Roland Johansson and José Rodriguez had both been eliminated as possible perpetrators. The prints and the sperm found at the crime scenes came from someone else. That didn't necessarily mean that the two men weren't involved in some other way – the car that had been used to follow Sebastian had been stolen just a few hundred metres from where Rodriguez lived, after all – but a decision on whether to pursue this angle, and if so how, could be left until tomorrow. Ursula passed Torkel's office on the way to the lift, and looked in. Empty. A pang of disappointment. Not that she knew what she would have done if he'd been there, but it would have been nice to round off the day sitting on his sofa, perhaps deciding to have dinner together. She was hungry. Her meal had been interrupted. By the man who was standing further down the corridor, apparently waiting for her. Ursula walked past him without so much as a glance.

‘See you tomorrow.'

‘I'll walk you to your car,' said Sebastian, setting off by her side.

‘Don't be ridiculous. There's no need.'

‘Don't start. I want to.'

Ursula sighed, walked over to the lifts and pressed the button. Sebastian stood beside her in silence. After thirty seconds the doors slid open and Ursula stepped inside, followed by Sebastian. She pressed P and fixed her gaze on the metal doors.

‘I was thinking about Barbro,' Sebastian broke the silence. ‘Maybe I ought to tell her as well.'

Ursula didn't speak. She decided to pretend she hadn't heard him.

‘I don't know where she's living now,' Sebastian went on, and Ursula thought she could detect a hint of apology in his voice. ‘She might have got married and changed her name …'

‘I've no idea.'

‘I thought maybe you two might have …'

‘No,' Ursula snapped. ‘We haven't.'

Sebastian fell silent. The lift stopped and the doors slid open. Ursula stepped out into the underground car park. Sebastian followed her. Ursula marched purposefully towards her car, the sound of her heels echoing on the bare concrete. Sebastian looked around as he remained a few steps behind her, watching out for any change, any movement. The car park was deserted. Ursula unlocked the car from a distance of a few metres; when she reached it she opened the back door, threw her bag inside, then opened the driver's door. Sebastian was standing by the front bumper.

‘Right then, goodnight. Take care.' He turned and lumbered back towards the lift. Ursula considered for a moment. Not that she really thought it was necessary, but just to be on the safe side …

‘Sebastian!'

He stopped and turned around. Ursula left the car door open and went over to him. He looked at her with a mixture of puzzlement and curiosity.

‘You must never, under any circumstances, tell anyone about you and me.' Ursula was whispering, which paradoxically sounded almost louder than normal speech as it bounced off the walls. ‘Never.'

Sebastian shrugged. ‘Okay.' He hadn't said anything to anyone for the last seventeen years, so he could probably keep quiet for a while longer. Evidently Ursula interpreted the shrug and one-word answer as an indication that he didn't think it was important.

‘I mean it. I would never forgive you.'

Sebastian looked at her. ‘And have you ever forgiven me?'

Ursula met his gaze. Was there a wish there? A hope? ‘Goodnight. I'll see you tomorrow.'

She turned and went back to the car. Sebastian remained where he was until she had left the car park.

It was going to be a long evening.

Storskärsgatan 12.

An address that was forever imprinted on Sebastian's memory. This was where the letter he'd found in his parents' house had led him. This was where he had gained a daughter. Again. He pushed open the door and stepped into the darkness of the stairwell. This was the second time he had been inside the apartment block. The last time he'd walked up these stairs he had been full of nervous anticipation, while at the same time he had tried to tell himself that he could be disappointed. This time … In many ways it was worse. He reached the third floor. Eriksson/Lithner on the door. Sebastian took a deep breath and let the air slowly filter out through his lips in a long sigh. Then he rang the bell.

‘What are you doing here?' was the first thing she said when she opened the door and saw who it was. Anna Eriksson. Her hair was shorter than last time. Some kind of bob. Same blue eyes. Same high cheekbones and narrow lips. Scruffy jeans and a checked cotton shirt that was big enough to belong to Valdemar.

‘Are you alone?' Sebastian asked, quickly deciding to skip the niceties. He was really asking whether she might have a friend in the apartment; he had seen Valdemar leave five minutes ago.

‘You weren't supposed to come here again.'

‘I know that. Are you on your own?'

Anna seemed to understand the implications of his question. She took a step forward, effectively blocking the doorway. After a quick glance at the stairwell behind Sebastian to check that he didn't have company, she lowered her voice to a hiss. ‘You can't come here! You promised to stay away from us!'

He had never done that, as far as he could recall. Promised. He had left with an unspoken agreement that he would never get in touch with Vanja, Valdemar or Anna again, but he hadn't promised. And in any case, the situation had changed.

‘I have to talk to you.'

‘No!' Anna underlined the word with a shake of her head. ‘It's bad enough that you were working with Vanja. I don't want anything to do with you.'

Sebastian reacted to the tense.
Were
working. Evidently Vanja hadn't mentioned that he was back on the team. At least not to her mother.

‘This isn't about Vanja,' he almost pleaded. ‘This is about you.'

He saw the woman in front of him stiffen. For a brief moment Sebastian could see what the last few months must have been like for her. She had lived with the lie for thirty years. Not just lived with it; it was the foundation stone of her entire existence. Thirty years. Long enough to almost start believing it herself. Definitely long enough to think she was going to get away with it. To think she was safe. And then he turned up. The person who could bring everything crashing down. Everything she had built up. Everything she had. Everything. Now here he was again, in spite of the fact that he wasn't supposed to come back. Things could only get worse.

‘What about me?' Her tone was purely defensive now.

Sebastian decided he wouldn't even try to soften the blow. ‘You could be in danger.'

‘What? Why?' Confusion rather than fear. The question was whether she had even taken in what he had said.

‘May I come in?' Sebastian said, as gently as he could. ‘I'll say what I've come to say, then I promise I'll go.'

Anna stared at him as if she was trying to work out whether he was lying. Whether there was some other, hidden purpose behind his visit. Whether yet more unpleasant surprises might be lying in wait.

Sebastian met her gaze as sincerely and openly as he could. ‘Please,' he begged. ‘It's important; I wouldn't be here otherwise.'

Anna sighed, looked away and stepped to one side. Sebastian walked past her into the apartment. With one final glance at the stairwell, Anna followed him and closed the door.

Outside on Storskärsgatan, about thirty metres from number 12, the tall man was sitting in his car. A new car. Somebody had got rid of the Ford immediately after Sebastian Bergman had come racing towards him in the street outside police headquarters. He now had a silver Toyota Auris. He didn't know what had happened to the old car, or where the new one had come from. Stolen, presumably. There had been a message on fygorh.se telling him where and when to pick it up. He had gone along at the appointed time and sure enough, it had been standing in the exact spot with the keys in the ignition. He could start following Sebastian again, but from a greater distance this time. Not quite so visible behind the wheel. He was more careful, but Sebastian didn't appear to be looking for him. Not once had he looked around or taken detours which would have made it difficult to follow him. For a moment the tall man had got the idea that this might be a trap. That the psychologist's lack of interest in his surroundings and the absence of any obvious impact on his movements might be because other officers were shadowing him in order to get a glimpse of the man who had been following him. But that didn't seem to be the case. If it had been, the tall man would have noticed by now.

They had found number four. In the apartment. The newspapers had made a big thing of it. The tall man had bought all the morning and evening papers that day. They were lying next to him on the passenger seat. He was longing to get home so that he could read them. Grow. When he saw the rapid updates on the internet, he realised that he needed to expand and refine the ritual which accompanied the saving of everything that had been written about him.

She hadn't been entirely straightforward, number four. She was a new acquaintance, as far as he could tell. Bergman had been picked up by his psychologist on the hill outside the apartment block where Vanja Lithner lived, and they had gone off to some kind of meeting. Bergman had emerged about two hours later and jumped in a taxi with the woman who was to become number four. They had driven to her apartment. The tall man had followed them into the stairwell and managed to work out which floor they had gone to, but it had been impossible to say which apartment. While Sebastian was inside with the woman, the tall man had gone back to his car and started searching. He had made a note of the names on the letterboxes on the third floor. It didn't take him long to ascertain that there was only one single woman on the right floor. Annette Willén. There was of course a slight risk that Sebastian had picked up some grass widow, and that he was in bed with one of the married or cohabiting women the tall man had found. But it was most likely to be Annette Willén, and that was where he intended to start.

Sebastian had left the building at about five o'clock in the morning. He looked worn and tired, the tall man noticed as he watched him until he was out of sight. Time to make sure. There was no margin for error. The tall man had got out of the car, entered the building, walked up three flights of stairs. This was where things got tricky. Ringing a doorbell at this time of the morning could attract unwelcome attention. A neighbour might wake up and peer through their peephole, and he wouldn't even know about it. But how else could he be certain? He knocked gently. No reaction. He knocked again, a little louder and longer this time. Movements from inside. Footsteps.

‘Who is it?' said a sleepy voice from the other side of the door.

‘I'm sorry to wake you, but I'm looking for Sebastian,' the man said quietly, turning his face away from the peephole as much as he dared without looking suspicious.

‘Who?' The woman obviously wasn't fully awake yet.

‘Sebastian Bergman. He's supposed to be here.'

‘Hang on a minute …'

Silence for a few seconds. The amount of time it took for Annette Willén to discover that she was alone. That was enough for the tall man. She had gone to look for Sebastian, therefore he must have been there. That was all he needed to know. He had already taken a step away from the door when the woman spoke again.

‘He's not here. He's gone …'

Even through the solid wooden door he could hear her surprise and disappointment. She sounded as if she might burst into tears.

‘Okay, sorry to disturb you.'

The man had hurried down the stairs before Annette got the idea of opening the door to speak to him. Like who was he and how did he know that Sebastian had been there? The tall man had no business inside the apartment. Not yet. First of all he had to report back and receive his orders. Then he would return.

He had gone home and been given his orders. She was to be number four.

The tall man had driven to the apartment block, parked a reasonable distance away and strolled back with the black sports bag over his shoulder. Up three flights of stairs, knocked on the door again. Annette had been at home, but hadn't opened the door. Wanted to know who it was.

‘It's me. I was here this morning looking for Sebastian …' The tall man had a plan to get her to open the door. He always had a plan. A new one for each victim. It was pretty obvious that this morning's departure hadn't been a result of mutual agreement. Sebastian had crept out while she was asleep. Left her. Abandoned her. He would make use of that.

‘I work with him,' the tall man went on quietly, his lips close to the door. ‘He feels a bit bad about this morning. Sneaking off like that.'

Silence from the other side of the door. At least she hadn't told him to go to hell.

‘He's not very good at … the morning after. But if I could come in, perhaps I could try to explain.'

‘Has he sent you?' Indignation in the voice.

The tall man laughed as if she had said something not only amusing but unthinkable. ‘No, no – he'd go mad if he knew I was here.' It was important to show that they were on the same side. The two of them against Sebastian Bergman. ‘He's an idiot in certain situations.'

No response. Had he gone too far? But then the security chain had rattled and the door had opened.

The tall man was inside.