The Man Who Watched Women (35 page)

‘Whose is it?'

‘That doesn't matter.'

‘What are we going to do here?'

‘You'll see.'

They had got out of the car and walked over to the lodge. It was summer. The forest smelled exactly as he expected a forest to smell on a hot, still day. A faint breeze soughed in the tree tops, but where they were walking there was no movement, thanks to the dense vegetation. Insects were buzzing. He thought he could just glimpse the shimmer of a lake through the trees. Perhaps they were going swimming?

A small flight of stone steps led up to a green wooden door, which Lennart opened. They walked into a narrow hallway. Wooden panels on the walls. A hat stand, a shoe rack on the floor. Even though there were no clothes hanging up and no shoes in the hallway, he got the feeling they were not alone. He couldn't see anyone, or hear anyone. It was just a feeling. He sensed a bigger room on the right and a small kitchen on the left, but Lennart had opened a door immediately to the left of the entrance and shown him a staircase leading downwards. To the cellar.

‘What's down there?' he had asked.

‘Go and see,' came the answer.

He had walked down the narrow stairs with horizontal wooden panels along the sides. At the bottom a naked bulb illuminated not only the staircase, but also the small room beyond. Half the size of the lodge, approximately. Wooden beams. Stone walls. No windows. Cold and damp. There was the smell of mould and something else, a faint metallic smell that he didn't recognise. Rugs on the floor. Otherwise empty. Nowhere to sit. Nothing to do. He was just about to ask again what they were doing there when he heard something that could only be footsteps from upstairs. More than one person. More than two. They seemed to be in a hurry. Creeping along in a rush. He was more puzzled than afraid as he turned to Lennart, who had stopped at the bottom of the stairs. His hand was resting on a black, old-fashioned light switch on the wall. Without a word he twisted it. An audible click was followed by darkness as the naked bulb went out. It was so dark that he couldn't tell whether his eyes were open or not. For a brief moment he thought he could see a strip of light right at the top of the stairs, and shadows slowly drifting in through the light only to be swallowed up immediately by the darkness. But he didn't know for sure. The image of the brightly burning bulb was imprinted on his retina, distorting and confusing. He blinked several times. Nothing but darkness. But he could hear footsteps coming down the stairs, he was sure of it. Footsteps and heavy, expectant breathing.

‘Granddad …' he said.

But no one answered.

In the car on the way home Lennart had been exactly the same as always. Apologised if he had frightened him. It was just a game. A big boy like him could cope with a little game, couldn't he? Nothing had happened, had it? He had shaken his head. He had been scared. Of the noises. Of the darkness. But more than that … He didn't know how long he had stood there in the darkness, but when Lennart switched the light on again the room was empty. No sign of anyone else. In the car he wanted to say that he hadn't liked the game, hadn't liked it at all, but he kept quiet. Nothing had actually happened. And sitting in the car in daylight, he wasn't even sure that others had been there. Perhaps he had just got scared. Imagined things. He didn't dare ask Lennart. They stopped at McDonald's for ice cream, then they went and bought a new video game. By the time he got home things were more or less back to normal. He had been afraid, but the memory was fading. It was beginning to feel like a dream. Like something that had never really happened. From the years with his mother he was used to adapting quickly to new situations, changing moods, broken promises, parameters that suddenly changed. He had become a master at forgetting and moving on. He could do that now as well.

He and Lennart went on several more trips. At first he had been hesitant, hadn't wanted to go, but it had been just like before. They had done things that were fun. Good things. The memory grew more and more faint. Disappeared, until he genuinely couldn't remember it anymore.

Until they ended up at the lodge again.

Months later. Reluctantly he walked with Lennart towards the brown wooden house in the clearing. Granddad was holding his hand. Pulling him along, more or less. Heavy legs. Hard to breathe. Into the hallway again. Into that special silence which is created only when several people are trying not to make a sound. He thought he could feel their presence in the rooms he couldn't see. Waiting. Down the stairs. The naked bulb. Lennart by the light switch. The darkness. The rapid, creeping footsteps from above. This time he didn't look at the bulb before it went out, which meant he was able to see more clearly by the faint light that seeped in when the cellar door was opened. People. Of course. Naked. Wearing animal masks. He definitely saw a fox and a tiger. Or did he? He wasn't sure. It was very quick. He was afraid. The door was open for only a few seconds. Then the darkness.

The creeping footsteps.

The breathing.

‘Who are they?' he had asked quietly in the car on the way home.

‘Who?' Lennart flipped the question back.

‘The people in the masks.'

‘I don't know what you're talking about,' Lennart replied.

After the second time he didn't want to go out with Lennart anymore. Not anywhere. Never again. He talked to his father about it. Couldn't he just stay at home? His father wouldn't hear of it. It was important to keep in with their new relations. Lennart had only one grandchild; of course he wanted to spend time with him. He should be pleased that he had a granddad who was so interested in him. Invested so much time and money in him. Pleased and grateful.

He tried to explain that he really didn't want to go. He was informed that this was of no consequence. He was going. End of discussion. He wasn't really surprised. Not even upset. He should have known. It was exactly the same as it had been with his mother. His feelings didn't count.

What other people wanted was always more important.

And so the excursions continued. Most times everything was just the same as usual. Normal activities among normal people. But at regular intervals, which it seemed to him were getting shorter and shorter, they would visit the lodge. He started trying to work out what he had done differently on the occasions when they ended up there. Was it his behaviour? Perhaps it was actually his fault? He became more and more conscious of everything he did, from the moment he found out his grandfather was picking him up until they were sitting in the car. If it was an enjoyable trip he did exactly the same things the next time. If he ended up at the lodge, it was probably because of something he had missed. Everything became significant. The way his bed was made. The way his clothes were folded. Nothing must go wrong. The way the food was arranged on his plate. The amount of time he spent brushing his teeth. The smallest mistake, the least thing done differently, could mean that he would find himself in the darkness in the cellar. The number of steps he took from his bedroom to the kitchen on the way to breakfast. The order in which he packed his gym bag. His life became more and more ritualised. He heard Sofia talking to his father about something called ‘compulsive behaviour' one night when they thought he was asleep.

She sounded worried. His father promised to have a word with him.

He had done so a few days later. Asked what the hell was going on. So his son told him. About the lodge. About the people who looked like animals. Who at first had just crept around in the darkness, frightening him. But who now did other things. Who were everywhere. Around him. On him. Inside him.

His father didn't believe him. People who looked like animals! He tried to explain the business with the masks, but he got all mixed up. Stammered. Became embarrassed. So where was this lodge? He didn't know. They seemed to take a different route each time. He would lose concentration when he realised where they were going. Everything became kind of blurred. It was in the forest. In a clearing. His father grabbed hold of him. His expression was serious. He must never speak of this again. Did he understand that? Never. Why couldn't he just leave things alone? Why was he trying to ruin everything now that life was finally good in every way? He was frightening Sofia with his peculiar behaviour. What if she grew tired of them? What would they do then?

His father reminded him of what had happened to his mother. She had been ill too, imagined things, got confused about reality. Perhaps it ran in the family. If he carried on like this, they might have to send him away. Lock him up. He didn't want that, did he?

He never said anything else to anyone about what happened in the lodge.

But it happened again.

And again.

It stopped a few weeks after he turned sixteen, when Lennart died. He had a big smile on his face all the way through the funeral, imagining that he had killed him.

The taxi stopped and Sebastian got out. Vasastan. Ellinor Bergkvist. The tall man already knew about her, but he would include her in his report again now that Sebastian had renewed contact with her. He looked at his watch. Even if Sebastian had time to visit one or two more before it became too late, he had to stop his surveillance at this point. He put the car in first gear and sped past the taxi, which was still stationary. He hoped he would be allowed to choose. If so, he would go for Anna Eriksson. The fact that Sebastian worked with her daughter would be a bonus.

Sebastian walked up the stairs to Ellinor's apartment. He hesitated before ringing the bell. This would have to be quick. She had held his hand, got him to eat breakfast and sent flowers on his name day. She was definitely not someone Sebastian intended to get to know better.

In, explain the situation, out. That was the plan. He would give her no opportunity to misinterpret the reason for his visit. He took a deep breath and rang the bell. The door opened wide before he had a chance to take his thumb off the button. Ellinor smiled at him.

‘I saw you through the window,' she said, stepping to one side. ‘Come on in. I've missed you.'

Sebastian sighed to himself, fighting the impulse to turn around and leave. Run. Forget the whole thing. But no, he had to tell her. For his own sake.

In, explain, out.

He stepped into the hallway.

‘I haven't missed you. That's not why I'm here.'

‘But you're here anyway.' Ellinor gave him a slightly roguish wink as she leaned past him and closed the door. ‘Take your coat off.' She gestured towards the hooks on the wall.

‘I'm not staying.'

‘But surely you can come in for a little while?'

Ellinor's expression was hopeful. Sebastian thought briefly, and decided that his errand wasn't really something that ought to be tackled while standing in a hallway. Not even when it came to Ellinor Bergkvist. He kept his coat on, but followed her into the living room. The windowsill crowded with pot plants. Sofa, armchairs, coffee table with a shelf for magazines underneath, a bookcase on one wall with a small number of books. A few ornaments lined up, souvenirs from trips abroad perhaps. No photographs. Two pedestals with large green plants on either side of the door.

‘Can I get you anything?' she asked when he had sat down on the sofa.

‘No.'

‘Are you sure? How about a coffee?'

‘No.'

‘I've bought some real ground coffee since you were last here, and one of those cafetière things.' She used her right hand to demonstrate pushing the plunger down in the pot.

‘I don't want any coffee! Thank you. I need to talk to you.'

‘What about?'

Was there a hint of expectation in her voice? Could he detect a hopeful little smile? He had no idea what she thought he had come to tell her, but there was no point in trying to soften the blow. He took a deep breath and embarked on the explanation he had prepared.

Four women had died.
(Yes, she'd read about that.)

They had all had a sexual relationship with Sebastian.
(What a coincidence!)

It was possible that someone had been following him for quite some time, so there was a risk that the murderer also knew about their one-night stand.
(What did he mean by that?)

She could be in danger.

Ellinor perched on the edge of one of the armchairs and gazed at him, her expression serious. ‘You mean he might come here?'

‘There is a risk of that, yes.'

‘What shall I do?'

‘The best thing would be to go and stay with someone. Get away from here for a while.'

Ellinor clasped her hands in her lap and seemed to be considering what he had just said. Sebastian waited. Just as with Anna Eriksson, he wanted to be sure that Ellinor understood the gravity of the situation before he left, and that she was actually intending to leave the apartment.

‘Who shall I go and stay with?'

All he knew about Ellinor was what he had found out after the talk on Jussi Björling, and they hadn't really touched on the issue of who she should go to if she suddenly had to leave her home. She knew he couldn't possibly know the answer. And yet she asked him anyway. That bothered him. Of course.