The Man Who Watched Women (56 page)

He was worn out when he got home. Followed his usual routine and switched on all the lights in order. Then he stopped. At a loss. The sports bag and the food. What should he do with them? Unfortunately it seemed that he would have to come up with a ritual for when he had failed. He thought it over for a while, then came to the conclusion that the best and most natural course of action was to go through the preparation ritual, but in reverse order. He removed the chlorine bottle from the carrier bag and replaced it in the cupboard under the sink, put all the food and drink back in the fridge, then folded the bag and put it away in the cleaning cupboard. Went into the bedroom. Unpacked the nylon stockings and the nightdress and placed them in the top drawer. Then he stopped. He really ought to put the sports bag in the space between the clothes now, but in that case what should he do with the knife? It hadn't been used, but with all the setbacks of the past few days his need to follow the rules to the letter felt so much greater. He decided to take the bag into the kitchen. There he removed the knife, rinsed and washed it, dried it and put it back in the sports bag with a fresh three-litre plastic bag. He threw the old one in the cupboard under the sink and went back into the bedroom. Now he could put the sports bag away in the top drawer and close it. All done.

He fell into bed, exhausted. The room was bright and warm; the hundred-watt bulbs in every corner took away the shadows, every last scrap of the terrifying darkness, and calmed him.

He had slept for a couple of hours. Woken from his dreamless sleep and tried to get going. He had spent the morning looking for Ellinor Bergkvist. She wasn't at work, and they had refused to say when they thought she might be back. He had tried calling Taxi Stockholm to ask if they could tell him where the cab with the registration number JXU346 had dropped the woman who had been picked up on Västmannagatan at about four o'clock yesterday afternoon. This was not the kind of information they were prepared to give out just like that, and when they asked who he was he had hung up. He hadn't found her. He had failed.

Ralph typed in his username and password. A message. From the Master. Sent during the night.

The message was brief and concise.

‘You are me now.'

That was all it said. Ralph got up and walked around the room, confused but somehow excited at the same time. He had been elevated to the status of an equal. There was no other way to interpret it. He felt a glow inside; he hadn't expected this at all.

But what did it mean? Was he no longer to receive orders from the Master? Was he to act completely on his own initiative? Evolve under his own steam?

He was lost in speculation when he heard something that sounded like a minor explosion from the front door. Seconds later, black-clad figures wearing helmets came storming in, carrying what looked like automatic firearms pointing straight at him.

‘Police! Get down on the floor!' screamed the figures. With lightning speed Ralph threw himself at the computer, grabbed hold of it and hurled it at the wall. Shards of plastic and electronic components flew everywhere. He rushed forward and stamped on the remains of the computer until burly men came and forced him to the floor. He didn't even struggle as they bent back his arms and snapped on the handcuffs. He looked at the broken computer in front of him. He had protected the Master.

They were rough. But it didn't matter. In fact, Ralph was suddenly suffused with a feeling of calm. This feeling grew as more black-clad figures entered the room and carried him out of the apartment. He had reached the next phase, and now he understood the full import of the Master's message.

You are me now.

Indeed he was.

Vanja arrived just as the emergency response team drove off with Ralph Svensson. From her car she had seen them lifting a tall, skinny man wearing a polo shirt and grey trousers into the back. He wasn't even struggling, he was just lying motionless as the four officers carried him. Vanja watched them disappear before she got out of her car. She slammed the door and walked over to the apartment block. She was angry, and the sight of Billy wearing a bullet-proof vest and smiling at her from the doorway didn't exactly help.

‘We got him, Vanja. It's him.'

‘Why couldn't you have waited for me?' She walked towards him. ‘It was my tip-off. It was me who got the name out of him.'

Billy's smile vanished immediately, to be replaced by the coldness she had encountered before. ‘Speak to Torkel. It was his decision.'

He walked away. Left her standing there. A short distance away she could see Torkel with the leader of the emergency response team. They were deep in conversation, and the other officer was gesticulating. They seemed to be going through the operation. Vanja set off towards them, but changed her mind. She didn't have the strength to fight with Torkel as well. And his decision had been the right one. She would have done the same if it had been up to her. The important thing was to act quickly, not who did what.

The professional side of things was just one aspect. The other was personal and was related to her position within the team, everyone's roles, and the division of responsibility. Everything that had been so clear and straightforward before this case. She watched as Torkel and the other officer shook hands and said goodbye.

‘Well done, Vanja,' Torkel called as he walked over to her.

‘Thanks. How sure are we?'

‘Ursula is in there now. She's doing a preliminary assessment on her own to avoid any risk of contamination, but it looks like a goldmine.'

‘Really?'

Torkel nodded calmly. He seemed relaxed, and Vanja realised that he was already convinced they had the right man. She felt some of her irritation ebbing away; this was something to celebrate. They might just have solved the case.

‘Ten identical nightdresses, nylon stockings, a leather folder full of newspaper cuttings about the murders,' Torkel went on. ‘A knife that seems to match the wounds. And a wall covered in pictures of the victims.'

‘But that's brilliant,' Vanja said; she was astonished. Was it really going to be that easy to tie Ralph Svensson to the murders?

‘Absolutely, and she's only just started. The DNA will take a day or so, at least for a preliminary result.'

Vanja nodded, and they looked at each other with something approaching affection. Both of them felt the weight of this moment. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining beyond the long shadow cast by the building where they were standing, making the grass look soft and inviting. It felt as if they were walking into the sunshine. Away from the shadows in which they had found themselves for such a long time.

‘I'm sorry we took him without you,' Torkel said kindly. ‘But we couldn't wait.'

‘I understand that,' she said without hesitation. ‘It was a good decision.'

Billy came up to them. He had taken off the bullet-proof vest. ‘Ursula says it will be a few hours at least before we can go in.'

The other two nodded, but said nothing. They stood there together in silence, gazing out at the sunshine and greenery.

Like a team.

The way things used to be.

The sound of Billy's phone broke the silence. His new girlfriend, they realised from the softness of his tone. He moved away to discuss their plans for the evening.

Torkel turned to Vanja. ‘Hallén is going to want to hold a press conference this afternoon. I'd like you there.'

‘But you usually deal with that kind of thing,' she said, surprised.

‘I know, but I want you to do it. It's thanks to you that we've cracked this.'

She smiled at him. Knew exactly why she had applied to work with Torkel Höglund and Riksmord. Because he was a good boss. Because he understood people. Understood that everyone needed to feel involved.

Sebastian had arrived at the police station around one o'clock. Looked for Torkel and the others. Nobody could tell him where they were. Eventually one of the uniformed officers he usually said hello to told him they were out on an operation. To the south of Stockholm, apparently, and it had gone well. Frustrated, Sebastian had called every single member of the team. Started with Torkel and worked his way down. None of them answered. He got an idea and headed for the remand centre, which was next door to the station, to see if he could find any of them there. Perhaps they were on their way to arrest this Ralph Svensson, whose name Hinde had given to Vanja for some inexplicable reason. No one there. No one who was prepared to tell him whether anyone was on their way in either. He was back in no-man's-land.

He went outside. Up to Fridhemsplan and the supervised entrance to the underground car park. He knew they would probably use it when they got back. Sat down on the grass a short distance away and waited. The guard stared at him suspiciously from his booth, but didn't challenge him. Sebastian was in a public area, and had done nothing illegal. A middle-aged man in a crumpled jacket, who lay down in the overgrown grass after a while. To the Securitas guard he must have looked like an alcoholic who had been heading for Kronoberg Park but who had run out of steam and flopped down on the first patch of grass he found. Only the bottle was missing.

He felt utterly worthless. A first-class degree, years of further study at institutions which included the FBI's Quantico Academy in the USA, a bestselling author, one of the Swedish police service's top profilers for a number of years, and yet the only hope he had left now was that the others would happen to drive past and that in some magical way he could become part of the investigation again. That was his only plan, the only solution he had managed to dig out of his enormous toolkit of knowledge. To stick with it.

His mobile rang. He grabbed it eagerly. It might be one of them. It wasn't. It was a number he recognised, but not a number that had ever called him.

His home number.

He answered.

It was Ellinor. Of course.

He thought about taking out his frustration on her, yelling at her, letting her feel his pain. But she sounded so happy he couldn't do it.

‘Sorry, darling, I know how difficult it can be when someone rings you at work. But I'm a bit worried that you might be cross with me.'

‘Why?'

‘Because I left the apartment.'

‘Why did you do that?' His anger turned into anxiety. Perhaps with no justification. If the operation had been a success, if Ralph was the one they were looking for, then the threat had been removed. She could go home. Move out. He could kick her out.

‘Well … I didn't actually leave the building.'

‘What? So where did you go?'

‘I went to see the neighbours. I thought I'd introduce myself.'

Sebastian was lost for words. All the negativity he had felt from the start was suddenly replaced by a strange feeling that he was always a part of some parallel universe when it came to Ellinor. They were fundamentally, totally incompatible. They had nothing in common. There was no way they could ever have a relationship.

‘I don't have anything to do with my neighbours,' he said tersely.

‘No, that's what they said. They were ever so curious about you. Anyway, you need to do some more shopping. We need to add to the list.'

‘I don't understand.' He sat up in the grass.

‘You mustn't be annoyed, but I've invited our next-door neighbour to dinner. Jan-Åke. His family are away. He's a doctor, like you.'

‘I'm not a doctor. I'm a psychologist.'

‘So you need to be home by five,' Ellinor went on as if she hadn't heard the correction, ‘and call me when you're in the shop. It'll be lovely. Or are you cross?'

Sebastian groped for his anger, for the words that would hurt her so much she would simply disappear. But he couldn't find them. They were hard to get hold of. Her world was so much softer. So much nicer. In her world he was worth something.

‘I'm doing this because I love you, you know that, don't you? You can't live like a hermit when you've got such a beautiful apartment. I'm not having it. Will you be back by five?'

‘Yes.'

‘Kiss kiss.'

‘Kiss kiss,' he heard himself reply. Then she was gone.

He got to his feet, feeling confused. Dinner with a neighbour he hadn't even spoken to in twenty years. But that wasn't the worst thing. The worst thing was that he was actually looking forward to it. A little bit. There was a place where he was still the centre of attention. A place where he was still wanted.

A place he hadn't had for a very long time.

A home.

Occupied by a very strange woman, admittedly, but even so. A home.

Prosecutor Hallén was so carried away that he forgot how to do up his tie for a moment. He wanted to go for the French knot he rarely used, and after a couple of attempts he managed it. He had called his wife and asked her to record the news on both SVT and TV 4. With a bit of luck there might even be a special broadcast, but he had no control over that; he could only hope for the best. As far as he was concerned, the big question – whether they had arrested the right person or not – had been answered. The initial evidence was overwhelming. Perhaps they should have waited for the results of the forensic investigation, but that wasn't realistic. News of the arrest would leak out, and the press conference would put a stop to the spread of rumours. And it would also show results.

Torkel Höglund and Vanja Lithner had arrived, bringing photographs taken inside the suspect's apartment. They were terrible and disturbing. The man had a photo wall with thirty-six pictures of each victim, apart from the first woman; there were only thirty-four pictures of her. Hallén felt slightly unwell when he looked at the photographs. The women alive, tied up, wearing a nightdress. Only seconds from death.

‘It's him,' he said, then he looked away, out over the small conference room. ‘I don't need to see any more.'