Third Voice (26 page)

Stilton had tried to reach Ovette Andersson a couple of times on her mobile, but each time it went straight to voicemail and she didn’t call him back. Eventually he asked Mink to find out how to get hold of her. Mink knew straight away.

‘At Qjouren. She works there.’

‘Thanks.’

Qjouren was started by a charity called RFHL Stockholm four years ago and it was Sweden’s only women’s shelter for drug abusers. There were plenty of other women’s shelters, but none that took care of women drug abusers subjected to violence, even though it was this group who were most in need of protection.

Stilton knew Qjouren. He’d collected Muriel there once. She’d been assaulted after some casual liaison and sought refuge. Now Ovette Andersson was working there. Stilton waited outside, she’d be coming out sooner or later. It had been a year since he’d seen her – when her eleven-year-old son Acke had helped him pin down the so-called mobile murderers.

So he recognised her when she came out.

And she recognised him.

‘I’ve been trying to call you,’ he said.

‘I know.’

‘Do you have time for a coffee?’

‘What do you want?’

‘Can we discuss that over coffee?’

Ovette considered the offer for a few seconds. She had reason to. Stilton looked at her. A year ago she’d been a broken woman, selling her body to make a living. Far down the ranks. On the streets. That she’d been part of Jackie Berglund’s exclusive escort service many years before had really surprised him. Now he saw a rather different woman standing in front of him. Ovette was still broken, you can’t hide a certain kind of physical erosion, but she had a different expression on her face, another look.

She looked alive.

‘OK, ten minutes. Then I’m meeting Acke,’ she said.

They went and sat down in a suitably empty café. Ovette called Acke and told him where she was. Stilton waited for her to finish and then started asking her about Qjouren, to get her to start talking. She told him about the organisation. She’d stopped working on the streets after Acke was attacked last year, as she’d promised. Now she’d been working at Qjouren for six months. It gave her both purpose and insight about a lot of stuff she’d suppressed when she was vulnerable herself. Her experiences had made her a good contact person for other women at risk.

‘Now they’ll probably be closing the whole organisation down,’ she said.

‘Why?’

‘Because we no longer get government subsidies and the municipalities don’t want to support us. Women drug users suffering abuse have the lowest possible status. It’s ridiculous.’

Stilton saw how upset Ovette was. He understood her. It was always like that. Those most in need of help got the least: there were too few of them, they didn’t generate any votes. Solidarity had become a special-interest issue.

He thought it was disgusting.

‘So what did you want?’ Ovette asked.

‘To talk about Rune Forss.’

Ovette averted her gaze and looked into her coffee cup. Stilton knew that he didn’t have long, but he nevertheless gave some background information. His own. And how it included Rune Forss. He delivered it so passionately that he managed to get her attention again.

Then he asked the question.

‘Did Forss buy sex from you when you were working for Jackie Berglund?’

‘Yes.’

‘So would you be prepared to talk about this publicly?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’ve left that world behind. I don’t want to be reminded or dragged into it. And I know what Jackie’s like. How do you think she’ll react if I snitch on one of her high-ranking clients?’

Stilton understood all of her reasons and he could see that she wasn’t going to change her mind. He tried to hide his disappointment.

‘Did he use any other escort girls?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know which ones?’

‘No.’

Either she knew and didn’t want to snitch or she didn’t know. But now he knew that there were more girls. He’d have to keep going without Ovette.

So he changed the subject.

‘How’s Acke doing now?’ he said.

‘Good. He’s well, he’s much more stable. That’s another reason.’

‘Because?’

‘He doesn’t know who his father is. If I were to drag all that up again it would complicate things.’

‘What do you mean complicate things?’

‘I have to go now.’

‘OK. Take care. Say hi to Acke.’

‘Will do.’

Ovette saw Acke walking up the road. She got up and left. Stilton swirled his finger around his coffee cup. Complicate things? How? What did she mean by that? Did she mean that…? He didn’t dare to think the thought in full. In one go. He was forced to let it float around some more before he could formulate it in his head. He looked out and saw Ovette walk off with her arm around Acke.

Was Rune Forss Acke’s father? Did he knock up a prostitute eleven years ago? And does he have a son with her whom he doesn’t know about?

Stilton looked at Ovette’s coffee cup. The meeting had confirmed what he knew. Rune Forss had used prostitutes. Although he was never going to be able to prove it with Ovette’s help.

Nevertheless, Stilton now had another way of approaching him.

Olivia sat down on a pew towards the back of Sollentuna Church. Sandra and Charlotte were sitting right at the front. There were quite a few people there, some of whom she recognised. One of them was Alex Popovic. They’d nodded at each other as she snuck in. She quickly ascertained that Jean Borell wasn’t there. He might well have been, and that would really have complicated things. She didn’t want Borell to know about her connection with Bengt Sahlmann.

Maria, her mother, on the other hand was there. She shook her head when Olivia turned up, late, and sat down in the pew next to her.

The priest who led the ceremony was a thin, upright man with short dark hair. Olivia assumed it was the same priest who’d been to see Sandra and Charlotte a few days ago. He delivered a very heartfelt and touching eulogy. Olivia realised that he’d been very close to Bengt and the family, which was confirmed when Maria whispered: ‘He was the one who buried Sandra’s mum.’

Olivia nodded. She didn’t like funerals. She’d only been to two in her life – her fathers’ funerals. First Arne and then Nils Wendt, her biological father.

But now she was here for Sandra’s sake.

After the ceremony there was tea and coffee in premises next door. Olivia had a moment to talk to Sandra before they went in. She saw that Sandra was struggling to keep things together. They hugged. Olivia understood all too well what Sandra was going through: there wasn’t much to talk about.

‘Is there a toilet here somewhere?’ Sandra asked and Olivia pointed towards a couple of doors further down. Sandra walked off just as Charlotte approached Olivia. She was dressed in a tasteful black dress and her hair was tied in a tight bun. She looks a bit like Therese, Olivia thought. She remembered Sandra’s mother having the same blonde hair and quite unusual eyes, rather too close together. Sandra had said that Charlotte was the eldest of the sisters and had worked as a golf instructor.

Charlotte walked towards her with open arms and they gave each other a little hug. Olivia noticed that Charlotte’s mascara had smudged a bit under her eye.

‘It’s so terribly sad,’ Charlotte said quietly.

‘Yes.’

‘He was such a good person.’

‘Did you have much contact?’

‘A great deal. I was his sister-in-law, and when Therese died we got even closer, it was a terrible time for both him and Sandra. Being alone with a child in those circumstances, that wasn’t easy.’

‘I can understand that. And you’d lost your little sister.’

‘Yes, but it was harder for him, much harder. There were many evenings and nights when I had to sit and comfort him, once Sandra had fallen asleep, because he didn’t want her to see too much of his sorrow.’

‘No.’

‘So yeah, we got very close, it was a tough period… but gradually things got better, with time. Bengt started functioning again, feeling happy and looking forward. That’s why I never believed what Sandra told me, the first time, that Bengt had killed himself. It just didn’t make sense to me. Sure, he’d been a bit depressed of late, but to go from there to suicide is a pretty big step.’

‘Was it because of what happened to his father? At Silvergården?’

‘Yes, that as well.’

‘What else?’

Charlotte turned and looked down at the toilet doors. No sign of Sandra.

‘I don’t think that Sandra knows this,’ she whispered. ‘And she shouldn’t either, but Bengt was very sad.’

‘Why?’

‘He called me one evening and told me that he’d fallen in love again, for the first time since Therese died.’

‘With whom?’

‘A woman at work.’

Gabriella Forsman was the name racing through Olivia’s mind.

‘Do you know her name?’

‘No. But Bengt had fallen in love with this woman and then something happened at work that suddenly made him very sad.’

‘What happened?’

‘I don’t know, but apparently it made his relationship with this woman impossible somehow. He didn’t say why. But like I said, to go from that to suicide is quite a big step.’

‘And then it turned out it wasn’t suicide.’

‘No.’

Both of them stopped talking when Sandra came back from the toilet. Charlotte walked towards her and gave her a hug. They carried on next door. Olivia stayed where she was, she didn’t know what to do. Most of all she just wanted to get out of there, leave. But she couldn’t.

So she went next door as well.

Charlotte and Sandra had sat down at a table with Maria and a couple of people whom Olivia didn’t know. The table was full. She got herself a cup of coffee and a couple of biscuits and wasn’t really sure where to sit. She saw that Alex had sat down next to the priest and a woman she didn’t recognise. I’ll just stand over here on the side. The room wasn’t very large and considering the nature of this event it was pretty quiet. Which is why it was rather clear when Alex raised his voice.

‘Because he’s a fucking arsehole.’

Who he was calling an arsehole couldn’t be heard, as he lowered his voice immediately. But it got Olivia’s attention. The only arsehole whom she connected to Alex was Jean Borell. So she discreetly moved closer towards the table.

Now she could hear even more muffled words.

‘I think you’re exaggerating,’ said the woman.

‘It’s possible,’ Alex said. ‘In your world. To me it’s a bloody cheek not even to turn up. Sending some flashy wreath? To show he can afford it? He’s bloody well known Bengt since they were seventeen!’

‘Can’t you fine-tune your language a bit, Alex?’

The priest was trying to get Alex to tone it down.

‘Sorry,’ Alex said. ‘I just think it’s bad form.’

‘But maybe he’s not in Stockholm?’

‘He’s here. Why are you defending him?’

The priest smiled.

‘Someone has to. People tend to give Jean a pretty tough time.’

‘Well, there’s probably a reason for that.’

Alex turned his head and spotted Olivia.

‘Hi! Come and sit down.’

Alex pulled out a chair, which made it difficult for Olivia to decline. She sat down at the table. Alex introduced everyone.

‘Tomas Welander. Agnes von Born. This is Olivia, she knows Sandra.’

‘She’s talked about you,’ Welander said, looking at Olivia inquisitively.

‘Has she?’

‘Yes. Apparently it was you and your mother who took care of her that awful night.’

‘Yes, she stayed over at our house. My mum lives near the Sahlmanns.’

‘I heard.’

‘Now I have to go,’ Alex said and got up.

‘Can I get a lift with you?’

Agnes von Born wanted him to drive her and he said yes. Both of them left the table and then Alex reminded her about that beer that she’d talked about. Olivia promised to get in touch. She was rather troubled to see Alex and von Born go off.

Leaving her with a priest.

‘So how do you think Sandra is now?’

Welander had picked up his cup of coffee as he asked the question. Olivia was rather caught off guard. She felt that her relationship with Sandra was private. And nothing she wanted to talk about with other people. But he was a priest.

And, more than just that, he was also a friend of the family.

‘I don’t really know,’ she said. ‘What do you think?’

‘I’m worried.’

Welander looked over to Sandra’s table.

‘Why?’

‘Because I see the same signs as before.’

‘Before? You mean when her mother died?’

‘Yes, she was in a really bad place then. For a long time. She almost became catatonic. I’ve been very worried that there might be a similar reaction now. I’ve been in touch with her on a daily basis and I think things are very much up and down.’

‘But that’s probably not a strange thing.’

‘No, absolutely not. She’s suffered such terrible tragedies, at such a young age.’

‘Yes.’

‘She’s coming now.’

Welander got up and greeted Sandra with open arms. They hugged. Olivia remained seated alone at the table. She was thinking about what Charlotte had said out there.

Gabriella Forsman? And Bengt Sahlmann? What did that have to do with Silvergården? Nothing. It may well have had something to do with the missing drugs at Customs and Excise.

Was her theory falling apart?

Mette had been waiting for Mårten’s archiving day. One day a week, he went into the city to dig into his past. He’d started researching his family history in his old age.

‘Why?’ she’d asked when he brought it up the first time.

‘Because I want to know where I’m from.’

‘You’re from Tjärhovsgatan on Söder.’

‘And before that?’

That’s where it had ended. Mette was totally uninterested in her past. Sooner or later you find out that you’re related to a murderer or a nutty count in Germany. What was so fun about that? Surely it was enough to know that you were related to yourself.

So when Bosse and Lisa rang the doorbell, she knew that she had a couple of hours. To themselves. In that big house.