Third Voice (28 page)

‘Oh dear… And that’s when you realised I was right!’

‘No, not like that, but it doesn’t exactly feel great. Can we meet at Kristallen in a bit?’

‘Of course! I’m in Skrapan at the moment. I’m just going to buy some rain clothes, and then we’ll go and drown your sorrows!’

Stilton was out wandering through the streets again, this time on Kungsholmen. He had to process his meeting with Ovette Andersson. She’d admitted that Rune Forss had bought sex from her, but she would never testify. Stilton knew that he couldn’t force her. He didn’t want to either. He turned from Fleminggatan down towards Norr Mälarstrand and called Mette. She summed up the situation straight away.

‘Well, then we know that he wasn’t just a name on her client list. He actually bought sex from prostitutes.’

‘Yes.’

‘But because Ovette doesn’t want to come forward, it’s not much use to you.’

‘No. But she confirmed that there were more people he bought sex from.’

‘But you didn’t get any names?’

‘No.’

‘Back to square one.’

‘Thanks.’

Stilton ended the call and stepped over a puddle. Square one? Hell no! He was going to go through this town with a fine-tooth-comb to find another witness. A witness who wanted to speak. Who wasn’t as vulnerable as Ovette. That might take time, but if there was something he did have, it was time. For things like this – getting revenge.

In one way or another.

He peered at some baffling graffiti art on the building opposite. For some reason Abbas popped into his head. He called him. No answer this time either. His general level of irritation grew even higher. When he got hold of Jean-Baptiste he sounded more angry than worried.

‘I’ve tried to reach him like a million times and he doesn’t answer! What the hell is he playing at?! Have you been in touch with him at all?’

‘Yes, hasn’t he called you?’

‘No.’

‘He’s in hospital.’

Stilton froze. He didn’t want to hear this. This was definitely not something he needed in his current state.

‘What’s happened?’ he said.

‘Some horrible bastards kicked the shit out of him.’

‘Badly?’

‘Yes.’

‘How badly?’

‘Enough for it to be visible for quite a while. But he’s coming home as soon as he’s discharged.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I’m a policeman.’

Stilton interpreted his answer correctly: Jean-Baptiste had given Abbas an ultimatum. Good. Then he’ll come home. Stilton ended the call and headed down to the City Hall. In hospital? He felt his stomach tighten again. I should have stayed in Marseille. I should have stuffed that bloody ticket down his throat and stayed. But I didn’t.

He sat on a damp bench and looked out at the water at Riddarfjärden.

Dark, cold water.

So, Abbas had been beaten up and he had no witnesses to pin down Rune Forss.

He drummed his feet against the paving stones.

And what about Jackie Berglund? Could he get anywhere with her? Get her to admit that she’d hooked Rune Forss up with sex workers? How would that work? By scaring her? Jackie wasn’t a woman you scared.

He looked towards Norr Mälarstrand. He knew that she lived there, he knew her address. He’d been there to collect her
for questioning many years ago, as part of an investigation into the murder of a pregnant prostitute who’d been part of Jackie’s stable. He assumed that she still lived there.

Stilton got up and walked along the quayside. He stayed on the far side of the trees. He couldn’t remember what number it was, but he knew what the building looked like. As he got closer, a taxi stopped outside a house. He saw two people getting out. First Jackie Berglund and then a large man. He didn’t recognise the man. Had she got herself a bodyguard? Just before the couple disappeared in through the front door he saw that Jackie turned in his direction.

He hid behind a tree.

‘There. You see?’

Jackie was standing by one of her large windows. The lights were off. She pointed down the street and Mickey Leigh followed her gaze. There was a man standing alone by a tree.

‘Who’s that?’

‘Tom Stilton. A former detective who’s been on my case quite a bit over the years.’

‘And now?’

‘I guess so. Why else would he be standing down there staring?’

Jackie went to pour some gin.

Mickey carried on looking down at the man by the tree.

Abbas was discharged from hospital at six o’clock in the evening. He was in a rush. He had taken Jean-Baptiste’s warning very seriously. He’d looked into the large policeman’s eyes and understood that his time in Marseille was running out. But he would have time for one more visit. To the high-rise building, to see Marie.

He took a taxi there.

‘What have you done?!’

Marie looked shocked, justifiably so. Abbas looked horrific. He leant towards the side of the door and hoped that none of her children was near. He didn’t want to scare the life out of them.

‘Are you alone?’ he asked.

‘At the moment, yes. Come in. What happened?’

Abbas gave an even shorter account of what had happened than he’d told Jean-Baptiste. When he’d finished Marie tried to give him a hug. She stopped herself when she saw that he flinched after she barely touched his chest.

‘Do you have a computer?’ he asked.

‘Paul has one. It’s in there.’

Marie pointed into the living room and Abbas went in. The computer was on. He opened the browser straight away.

‘What are you going to do?’

Marie was standing in the kitchen making the coffee. She looked at Abbas over her shoulder.

‘Looking for information.’

‘Oh right.’

Marie didn’t want to ask any more, she didn’t want to get involved. She had a husband and children and could see the state Abbas was in. She was happy for him to use the computer, but she didn’t want to know what for. She hoped that no one had followed him here. She made a couple of cups of strong coffee and gave one to Abbas.

‘Thanks.’

‘I’ll sit in the kitchen. The kids will be home in fifteen minutes. Do you think you’ll…’

‘I hope so.’

Abbas feverishly scrolled down through various websites. He was looking for actors’ lists. Of agencies that managed actors, who also appeared in ‘adult films’. He found two. It took quite a while to scroll through the first one. The other one went more quickly. After just a couple of pages he saw it, the picture of the
man who’d assaulted him. A colour photograph of a smiling man with an oiled body and a long CV next to it.

‘Do you have a printer?’ he called out to Marie.

‘Yes, it’s connected.’

Abbas printed three pictures from the agency site.

The printouts were black-and-white, but it didn’t matter.

They would serve their purpose.

Once again he took the stairs on the way down.

When Olivia stepped into the venerable Pelikan restaurant on Söder, Lenni had already got a table and ordered her a beer. It was still early and the bar section, Kristallen, was only half-full. Good, Olivia thought, it was still possible to have a conversation.

‘So tell me. Who’s this girl he’s met?’ Lenni said.

Olivia told her about the meeting with Ove and her reaction, which she hadn’t really expected.

‘But if you told him how you felt, don’t you think he would realise it too? That he’s in love with you as well?’

‘What do you mean as well?’

‘Jesus, Olivia! Stop! Can’t you hear yourself? It’s time to face facts. How can you be so slow about some things and so quick about other stuff?’

But Olivia was stubbornly refusing to face these ‘facts’. It wasn’t about love, it was about friendship. A very special friendship that she’d never had before with a guy.

And now she was grieving that it was over.

Nothing more.

And Lenni, as the trusted friend she was, stopped pointing out how wrong Olivia was. Even though she had to bite her tongue when Olivia kept going on about how much Ove had meant to her the past year and still didn’t see why. They only paused to get more beer.

After three large beers, Olivia’s head began to spin. She hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. Now she was having a liquid dinner. Not so great. The place had really started filling up and the noise level was high. Lenni had just gone to the toilet and Olivia was sitting alone at the table thinking that it was time to go home.

Definitely.

‘Oh my god! Hello!’

The voice came from behind and Olivia turned around. Her movements were not entirely coordinated at this stage and she had to grab hold of the chair so as not to lose her balance. Alex Popovic was standing behind her smiling.

‘Oh my god, hi!’ she said.

‘Are you here on your own?’

‘No, with a friend. She’s in the loo.’

‘Can I sit down?’

Olivia cast a glance towards the toilets. Lenni was just coming out and was heading to the bar to greet a mutual friend who was waving at her.

Lenni wasn’t going to want to leave.

Not yet.

‘Sure,’ she said.

So Alex sat down.

‘We can have that beer now if you want,’ he said.

‘What beer?’

For a flat in Stockholm it could certainly be considered to be spectacular. If it had been in the old Meatpacking District in New York it would have been pretty ordinary, but not here. It was a converted loft of almost two hundred square metres in an old industrial building, with a dark pine floor and raw, white-chalked brick walls. Heavy wooden beams criss-crossed the ceiling of this huge open space. A black fireplace exploded upwards in the middle of the room.

Alex had a nice place.

But nowhere near Borell’s standard, Olivia thought as she dropped her jacket on the floor.

‘Shall we light a fire?’

‘No.’

Olivia didn’t want a fire. She wanted to have sex, now, preferably with the lights off. She was drunk and she knew that she was going to pass out soon.

‘Something to drink?’

‘No, thanks.’

‘Some music, then?’

Olivia shrugged her shoulders. If he wanted music then it was fine by her.

‘You put it on,’ he said. ‘I’m just going to hang up my jacket.’

Alex gestured towards the huge CD rack on one side of the wall and disappeared in through a dark doorway on the other side. Olivia approached the CD rack. CDs? Didn’t everyone use Spotify these days? Not Alex apparently. Olivia peered at the pile of CDs in front of her and felt the titles spinning around in her head, she had a hard time focusing. She took out a CD and tried to see what it was.

‘Find something?’

Alex came in from the other side. She’d hoped that he’d be wearing a dressing gown or be naked, but he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt just like before. He walked towards her. Olivia pulled off her jumper and undid her bra. Alex stood still a couple of metres in front of her. The contrast between her firm white breasts and her extremely tanned upper body was striking. She never sunbathed topless.

‘Shall we go to bed?’ she asked.

It had taken a while to find The Bull’s address. The information on his CV had helped. The telephone number and address had led him to an area that he wasn’t very familiar with. In the
centre, but outside Abbas’s former radar, on the eastern side, a rather posher neighbourhood. His flat was at the top of an old stone building. There was no problem getting in – there was a gap between the old wooden door and the lintel. He climbed the stairs to the top and reached a heavy iron door. There was no name on the letterbox, but he knew that he’d come to the right place. He caught his breath and felt across his body with his hands. Everything was where it should be. He took out one of the black knives and prised open the letterbox with the tip of the blade, quietly and carefully. He couldn’t see any lights. He released the metal slot again and rang the bell.

‘I’ve turned a blind eye once, I never do that twice.’

Abbas heard the large policeman’s cold calm voice in his head. He recalled what else he’d said: ‘Sadly a dead porn actress isn’t really at the top of the agenda right now.’

It was pretty high up on Abbas’s agenda.

He rang the bell again. Nothing. He put his ear against the door and listened. Nothing.

He headed back down the stairs and onto the street. There were some stone steps further down the street that led up to a square and he sat down. He could see both the front door and the windows of the top-floor flat from there. There was no light to be seen.

He planned to wait until The Bull came home.

Mickey Leigh had dedicated himself to his duty as Jackie Berglund’s houseguest. He was standing in the shower now and she stuffed some toilet paper in her crotch to protect her pants. She’d gone through the menopause a couple of years ago, so there was no cause for concern about the sperm, but she didn’t want semen in her pants. She sat on the toilet and watched the man standing in her shower. The glass was frosted so she couldn’t see any details. She didn’t need to. She looked at the
silhouette of his body and thought back to bygone years. A long time ago. When they’d spent time together on the continent, both of them in the same industry. She’d been a sought-after escort girl and he was good at what men like him are good at. They’d had fun. On many levels.

It had been intense.

Then she’d settled in Stockholm and got involved in the more administrative part of the escort business, eventually starting out on her own.

And Mickey Leigh had stayed on the continent.

The occasional phone call, a few letters and later emails, some rather risqué photographs every now and then. Not much more. But enough to keep in touch.

And now he was here and they were having fun again.

Mickey opened the shower doors and reached for a towel. Jackie smiled at him. He smiled back and dried himself.

He didn’t have that back then, Jackie thought. That tattoo.

A small black bull on his neck.

I wonder when he got that?