The Man Who Watched Women (41 page)

The little blue flashes.

The electrical buzzing.

A stun gun.

With renewed strength he tried to push the man's arm against the back of the seat.

Trolle swore and was just about to make an attempt to free his arm when the tall, thin man struck him with his left hand. The blow caught his mouth; it didn't really hurt, it just made him even more furious. He realised that his attempt to take the driver of the silver car by surprise had completely failed, and that he was suddenly in an extremely vulnerable position. He was in no condition to engage in close combat. He had to finish this quickly. He struck out twice in quick succession with his own left hand; one blow missed, the other caught the man on his cheek. He groaned and his head fell forward a fraction.

Trolle managed to free his right hand and pressed it against the man's body. Enough was enough. He couldn't fight in a fucking car. He pressed the trigger once again and waited for the Taser to do its job. In his peripheral vision he saw the man's left arm shoot out towards his stomach. He tried to block the blow, but missed. It didn't matter, this would soon be over in any case.

The man's blow landed first. It was incredibly painful. So painful that Trolle lost all his strength in an instant, and the Taser fell uselessly from his grasp.

How had that happened?

The pain exploded as the man struck again. Everything started to go black, and Trolle realised what was happening.

The man wasn't punching him.

He was stabbing him.

He did it again.

The whole of Trolle's lower body suddenly felt warm and wet. He was on the point of losing consciousness, but he managed to look down at the man's hand. It was holding something, and something was welling up out of Trolle's belly.

The first something was a knife.

The second something was his own intestines.

The last thing he saw was the knife going in again.

Ralph saw the blood and guts surging out and landing on the man's lap. It looked bizarre, but he carried on stabbing. He had to be sure. The old man in the passenger seat let out a long, rattling sound before he suddenly fell completely silent. Eventually he slowly toppled forward onto the dashboard. Ralph suspended his attack, but remained on high alert. One single movement from the intruder and he would begin again. But there was nothing. The silence inside the car was palpable. The sleeves of his white overalls were blood-red. The car stank of blood and intestines.

His mind was racing.

What had happened? Who the hell was the dead man sitting beside him? Was anyone else going to turn up? He looked around anxiously, but the street appeared to be deserted. There was no one heading towards his car, no one paying them the slightest attention. The old man could hardly be a police officer. They didn't use a Taser in a situation like this. They used real guns. But somehow his own identity, or at least his plans, had become known. Because the dead man wasn't sitting in his car just by chance.

‘It's over,' he'd said. You didn't say that if you were going to rob someone. You said that if you were intending to stop someone. The Master had been right. He had been careless in some way. Given himself away. Perhaps Sebastian Bergman was behind this. Perhaps he was a more worthy opponent than Ralph had thought. He had realised that Ralph was shadowing him. Had run towards him outside the police station. Perhaps changing cars hadn't been enough.

But that still didn't make sense.

If Sebastian had something to do with the fact that there was a dead man sitting in his car, then the man should have been a police officer. Sebastian was working with them. And there should have been more of them. A lot more. He was top priority. He was the most important case they were working on. So where were the rest of them?

He couldn't really come up with any answers.

Ralph looked anxiously around again. Saw a movement from the building where he ought to be right now. A taxi pulling up. He slid down out of sight. Saw Anna Eriksson come out of the main door carrying a suitcase. She got into the taxi. He ought to follow her, but realised this would be impossible. He had to change his clothes. Dump a body. Get rid of the car.

He had failed.

He had let the Master down.

He would have to face the consequences.

Vanja was already in a bad mood when she arrived at the station. To tell the truth, she had gone to bed in a temper the night before, and woken up furious this morning.

It wasn't even half past seven, but it was already a bloody awful day.

As if it wasn't enough that they were getting nowhere with the case, which she found incredibly frustrating, Sebastian Bergman was still an active part of the investigation. She just couldn't understand why. How could someone who had had a relationship with all four victims be allowed to remain part of the inner circle? Even if Torkel was right when he claimed that Sebastian's involvement might prevent further murders now that Edward Hinde had got his attention, it was still completely indefensible. If this came out, Torkel was finished. Not even he would be able to survive the media firestorm. But that wasn't the only thing that had put her in a bad mood. What really infuriated her was that Torkel seemed to prioritise Sebastian above everyone else in the team. He wasn't that fucking fantastic. Besides which, he got on her nerves. She couldn't relax when he was around. He kept on looking at her in a funny way. She felt as if she was being watched. He had an adverse effect on her work. She hated him.

And yesterday she had ended up in Södertälje, a trip which had been a total waste of time.

She hated Södertälje as well.

Then, when she asked Billy for a little bit of help, what had he said? ‘Do it yourself.' What the fuck was that all about? Since when did you respond to a request for help within the team with ‘do it yourself'?

Back in her apartment after the pointless jaunt to Södertälje, which had cost her a hundred kronor on top of everything else, she had had a shower, made tea and sandwiches and settled down to stare mindlessly at the TV. She wasn't going to sit down at the kitchen table with her case notes as she usually did. She was going to unwind. Relax.

She couldn't do it.

She definitely couldn't do it after Anna had called her very late to explain that Gran was ill and she was going to stay with her for a few days. Of course Vanja had wanted to know what was wrong with her grandmother, and had been told it was nothing serious. But why would Anna take time off work to go and stay with her if it wasn't serious? Anna was hiding the truth. Just as she had done when Valdemar got sick. She had kept quiet about test results, played the whole thing down. Vanja had had to go to her father to find out how things really stood. He told her everything. Anna had lied to her. Vanja hadn't been at all happy about that. Admittedly Anna was probably just trying to protect her daughter, but regardless of her motives, the lies hadn't exactly brought them closer. And there was already a distance between them; she called her mother Anna, but she called Valdemar Dad. That said something.

It was something that Vanja would have to discuss with Anna at some point, the fact that she didn't like the lies within their relationship. On the phone last night she had felt like saying she would go with her mother to visit Gran. But she couldn't take time off. Not right now. She couldn't leave work when they had got nowhere in over a month. No, that wasn't strictly true; they had made some progress. They had found the link to Hinde. But she wouldn't be allowed to follow up that lead. Sebastian would be doing that. Torkel had already made his decision.

Bloody Torkel.

Bloody Sebastian.

Bloody everything.

She had switched off the television and gone out. Just for a walk, initially. To get some fresh air, clear her mind, tire herself out. But then she had slipped into her local pub as she was passing. Had a beer, then a few more. Hooked up with some guys and gone on somewhere else. Bumped into people she knew. Had a few more beers. And then someone had started ordering shots. It might have been her. For a brief moment she had considered taking one of the guys home with her, but in the end she had resisted the temptation. She still hadn't got to bed until well after two. Quite tipsy. Drunk, in fact. Not like her at all.

Her alarm clock went off at the usual time. And now, after barely four hours of drunken sleep, she was at work. More bad-tempered than hungover, but it certainly wasn't a good combination.

She sat down at her desk and switched on the computer. Started searching for Rodriguez. Found him, but there was nothing about where or when he had been involved in the accident that had put him in a wheelchair. She would just have to keep looking. But first she needed coffee. Caffeine and a painkiller would work wonders. She went into the staff dining room, took a mug out of the cupboard above the sink and made a cappuccino before returning to her desk. She opened the top drawer and took out a box of Ipren. Swilled down a tablet with a sip of coffee. She was just about to get back to work and start expanding her search when Billy came in. The strap of his shoulder bag was across his chest, and he was carrying a cycling helmet. Billy had a bike with twenty-four gears. Made from the same material as a spaceship, or something. Hi-tech. Of course. Vanja's had three gears. She never used it.

‘Hi, how's things?' Billy said as he shrugged off his bag at his desk.

‘Fine,' Vanja replied without looking up. She did her best to look as if she was concentrating really hard in order to avoid any further conversation. It didn't work.

‘What are you doing?' Billy wanted to know, coming around her desk to have a look. He was hot, she noticed. The sweat was pouring down his cheeks and neck. He tilted his head to one side and dried himself with the sleeve of his T-shirt.

‘I'm trying to find out when Rodriguez ended up in a wheelchair.'

Billy felt a slight pang. The truth was that if Vanja hadn't already been there, Billy would have started the day by digging out the information she wanted. Maya thought he had done really well yesterday. But although it felt good to put his foot down from time to time, so that people stopped taking him for granted, he had felt guilty all evening.

‘Where are you searching?'

‘Why?' Vanja took her eyes off the screen and looked up at him. ‘Do you want to help?'

Billy hesitated. This was a new situation. Vanja wasn't asking for help. She was asking if he wanted to help. Billy went for the safe option and came back with a question of his own. ‘Do you need help?'

‘No.'

Vanja went back to the computer and started tapping away. Billy stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do next. She was in a bad mood, there was no doubt about that. Because of him, presumably. With a certain amount of justification. Should he just let it go, hope it would pass? He decided he would be a little nicer than usual to Vanja today. He didn't like it when they fell out.

‘Would you like a coffee?' A little puff on the pipe of peace couldn't do any harm, surely.

‘I've got some, thank you.' She pointed to her cappuccino.

Billy nodded to himself. He should have noticed. One more peace offering left. An outstretched hand that he knew she would take.

‘Her name is Maya.'

‘Whose name is Maya?'

‘The girl. The theatre girl … My girlfriend.'

Vanja looked up as if she was expecting more. Billy had nothing to add. He had been prepared for a battery of questions. He had decided to answer them all, except for mentioning what Maya did. After yesterday's telephone conversation Vanja would immediately put two and two together, and that would be it for Maya. Shit, when did everything get so difficult? Vanja was still looking at him encouragingly. He was beginning to feel a bit stupid. As if he had said it as some kind of boast.

‘It's just … I just thought you might want to know …'

‘Okay.' Vanja went back to her computer. Not interested in his girlfriends. She really was in a foul mood. Perhaps he wasn't the only reason after all.

‘Right, well, I'm going for a quick shower.'

‘Okay.'

Billy stood there for a couple of seconds, then left the office.

It was going to be a hard day.

Edward was sitting in the library.

For a comparatively small institution, Lövhaga had a big library. There were probably a number of reasons for this. The high level of supervision required by the inmates. The desire to strengthen the patients' intellectual development, to make them grow as people. The belief that books and knowledge would make them better in some magical way. And of course the thing that lay behind most human buildings: self-interest. The more impressive the library, the more inmates who regularly spent time in there improving themselves, the higher the grade the institution was able to achieve in internal reports. The logic was depressingly simple: an impressive library equals expert and proactive leadership.