Silenced (42 page)

‘It’s very touching that the last thing you do in your life is to worry about how I’m going to get out of this awkward situation,’ Johanna said.

If the light had not been on in the room, she would have seen what he had in his hands and possibly been the first to shoot. But in the event it was Viggo, surrounded by swirling snow and standing a few metres from the house with one of her father’s shotguns raised to his shoulder, who fired the first shot. The weight of her sorrow was the last thing she felt.

The police were very close to the house when the shot rang out. It reverberated dully among the snow-laden trees and sent the adrenalin pumping round the officers’ blood.

Damnation, thought Alex, sensing Joar’s eyes on him.

The vehicles braked to a halt in the snow, the doors were wrenched open and the cold air streamed in. The squad left the minibus first and took up their positions round the house. Over the radio the detectives heard one of them say there appeared to be two people standing talking inside the house. Neither of them came out when the police ordered them to do so.

Alex peered up towards the house with a growing sense of anticipation. That horrendous holiday home, cradle of so much unhappiness and tragedy. Unspoken tensions mingled with the cold evening air. Alex blinked and knew everyone else was thinking the same thing. If there were two people visible through the window, was there a third, the victim of the shot they had all heard?

Johanna looked at her sister’s limp body. A pool of blood was slowly spreading out beneath her. Johanna reached out a hand and switched off the light.

‘Thank you,’ she said to Viggo, stroking his arm.

He stood numbly beside her.

‘It was the only right thing to do,’ Johanna said in a low voice. ‘And you know it.’

She followed his look out of the window, to the flashing lights of the police vehicles and dark figures moving across the snow.

‘We won’t get anywhere,’ he said.

She looked unsure, but not for long.

‘Well we’ve nowhere to go, anyway.’

Slowly he turned towards her.

‘So what shall we do?’

‘We’ll do what has to be done.’

She cautiously bent down and picked up the gun that Viggo had put aside. Blinded by his own naïvety and the belief that in Johanna he had found a woman who loved him, he did not react when she pointed the barrel of the gun in his direction.

‘You never loved me as much as you did her,’ Johanna said in an empty voice as she pulled the trigger and shot him in the chest.

For a single second she stood still, staring at the wounded body. She did not care what happened now; she had achieved her goal. Wearily she tossed down the weapon and made herself run out onto the front steps in full view of the silent police officers.

‘Help me,’ she screamed. ‘Please help me! He shot my sister!’

Ragnar Vinterman realised the game was up several hours before the police rang at his door. He felt nothing but relief when it came to it. So much had gone so completely and utterly wrong. People had had to pay with their lives for his, and other people’s, greed.

The truth of the matter was that, at heart, Ragnar shared Jakob Ahlbin’s innocent view of the group of people known as refugees who found their way to Sweden. He had most certainly not felt he was exploiting people in real need when he first provided them with food and lodging for payment, or when he got the idea of expanding his venture into people smuggling. Initially, nothing could have been further from his mind. Everybody could pay the price he was asking, after all. It ought not to be a problem for any of the parties involved.

But then Sven put his foot down and refused to continue the collaboration. At that point, Ragnar started to feel the first hint of doubt. Unlike Jakob, Sven could not be dismissed as emotional or irrational. Sven was a solid sort of person, but forced into criminal activity so he could provide the huge sums of money being milked out of him by his son. But he did not lack a sense of basic judgement, and that was what made Ragnar so unsure when Sven openly declared he had had enough.

The problem was Marja and Johanna. Ragnar had wondered, certainly, how two women in Jakob’s own family had come to move so far from the fundamental values the family had once all shared. But if
they
saw nothing to object to in the operation, why should Ragnar?

Just once, he had tried to discuss the matter with Marja, but she seemed troubled and embarrassed by his overture and evaded his questions. Her only proviso was that Jakob must not on any account find out what was going on. And he did not, until one of the hand-picked refugees Johanna called daisies broke the cardinal rule, and told a friend how he got to Sweden.

That was when we lost our grip, Ragnar thought hopelessly. That was when we turned into murderers.

The scheme was only in action for six months. It had been easy to create a network for generating money from hiding refugees, but harder to build up structures for bringing people to Sweden illegally, making them commit complex crimes, and then sending them home again. In actual fact they only sent three people back before they came to the conclusion they would have to dispose of the daisies some other way. People talked too much, it was as simple as that. And talk generated rumours, and that was not acceptable.

He would never forget that evening when, about to retire to bed, he heard on the radio that a couple had been shot in their home at Odenplan. He had carried on hoping to the very last that it would not need to go that far. That Jakob would see reason. But as usual, Jakob did not allow himself to be frightened into silence, and then there was only one way it could end. And Marja . . . Johanna insisted she had to be taken out of the equation, too, because she would never keep quiet if they had Jakob killed.

It would never fade, the memory of Johanna’s impassive face as she informed him they could leave the silencing of her parents to her. Nor did Ragnar think he would get an answer to the question that was causing his clergyman’s heart such torment: what must be missing from a person for them to be capable of killing their own maker?

Then the bell rang and Ragnar went to open the door. The police would demand the names of the others involved in his operation. The woman who knew the document forger, the man who spoke Arabic, all those people making a living smuggling refugees.

I shall give them everything, Ragnar decided. Because I have nothing more to hide.

He opened the door without saying a word and handed himself meekly over to the police. And the parish had lost yet another of its faithful servants.

The next call came just as Fredrika was about to go home. It was past nine o’clock, and Alex had rung in a final report that sounded so crazy she could hardly take it in. Johanna Ahlbin had handed herself over to the police, claiming to have shot Viggo in self-defence after he murdered Karolina. According to the doctors, Viggo was dead but Karolina would probably pull through.

‘We’re eagerly awaiting her statement,’ Alex said sarcastically, and urged Fredrika to go home.

But Fredrika didn’t. First she sorted and filed away all her paperwork, then she realised someone ought to ring Peder and let him know how events had played out. He seemed cheerful.

‘We’re just having dinner,’ he said. ‘My brother’s here, too.’

She thought he sounded in good spirits. Or possibly a touch embarrassed. Either way, she was glad for him. It would be a good thing for all concerned if Peder got his priorities in life sorted out.

The wind had dropped and it had briefly stopped snowing as she pulled on her coat to walk home. Her mobile rang and she saw it was another call from Spencer’s home number, which she answered as she put on her hat with the other hand.

Strange he’s not using his mobile, she thought.

‘Is that Fredrika Bergman?’ said an unfamiliar female voice.

Taken aback at the realisation of who she must be talking to, Fredrika stopped dead in the deserted corridor.

‘Yes,’ she said finally.

‘This is Eva Lagergren. I’m Spencer’s wife.’

Fredrika had worked that out already, but somehow it was still such a shock that she had to sit down. She sank slowly to the floor. Then Eva Lagergren said the words that nobody wants to hear:

‘I’m afraid I’ve got bad news.’

Fredrika held her breath.

‘Spencer’s been involved in a car crash. He’s in hospital in Lund.’

No, no, no. Anything but this.

Misery hit her like a punch in the stomach, and she had to lean forward and clutch her belly.

Deep breaths. In, out.

‘How is he?’

Her voice was scarcely a whisper.

She heard the other woman’s intake of breath.

‘They say he’s critical but stable.’

Eva seemed to be hesitating, and it sounded as if she was crying when she went on:

‘It would be good if you could get there this evening. He’s sure to want you there when he wakes up.’

Alex had a strangely festive feeling as he drove back into the city. His body felt far too wired for him to want to go straight home from Ekerö, so he went to HQ to write his report and wind down. Fredrika must have called it a night; her light was off and her coat had gone.

Alex was still feeling quite upbeat as he turned into the drive of his house in Vaxholm. Then it struck him that he and Lena were meant to be having a talk that evening, and he hadn’t even rung to tell her he would be very late.

He glanced at his watch. It was after one in the morning. The chances of Lena still being awake were minimal.

So he was very surprised to find her sitting in an armchair in the living room. He could see she had been crying, and it also struck him that she had lost weight. A great deal of weight, what was more. Then fear washed through him like physical pain. It was as if he was seeing his wife properly for the first time in several weeks. Thin, pale and without lustre.

I’ve missed something crucial, something dreadful.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, and sat down on the sofa, facing her.

She shook her head.

‘I rang the switchboard and they told me what was happening. Did it go all right?’

The question made him want to laugh.

‘Depends what you mean by all right,’ he muttered. ‘But basically no, it didn’t go all right. Not at any level, in fact. The special group’s future looks shaky, to say the least.’

Lena shifted uneasily in her seat, grimacing as if it hurt to move.

‘There’s something I’ve got to tell you,’ she said in a choked voice. ‘Something I’ve known for a while, but . . . I just couldn’t say anything. Not until I knew for sure.’

He frowned, feeling his anxiety turn to panic.

‘Knew what for sure?’

What was it that she couldn’t even tell her very best friend?
Because he knew he was, just as she was his. That was what lay at the core of their long, secure marriage. Their relationship was founded on friendship.

Guilt cut his soul like a knife. She wasn’t the one who had forgotten it; he was.

I’ve spent so bloody long chasing ghosts that I’ve lost my senses, he thought hopelessly.

And even before she started speaking, he knew that what she was going to say would change everything and rob him of any chance of making up for his grotesque mistake.

‘I’m going to have to leave you,’ she sobbed. ‘You and the children. I’m ill, Alex. They say there’s nothing they can do.’

Alex stared at her, blank-eyed. As the consequences of what she had just said sank in, he knew with utter clarity that for the first time he was facing a situation he would never be able to accept. Still less learn to live with.

They fell asleep with their arms around each other. It was late. The house was dark and silent and outside the snow had stopped falling. That was the last of that winter’s snow, except for a few showers in April.

And by the time autumn came, it was all over.

AUTUMN 2008

The compassionate Detective Inspector

STOCKHOLM

‘Did you have a good summer, Peder?’

Peder Rydh reflected.

‘Yes thanks. It was great, actually.’

‘Do anything in particular?’

Peder’s face lit up.

‘We had a motoring holiday in Italy. With our little boys and my brother Jimmy. Totally crazy, but unforgettable.’

‘So you and Ylva are together again now?’

‘Yes. I’ve sold my flat and moved back home.’

‘And that feels good?’

‘Very good.’

There was a pause.

‘We met a couple of times before your summer break, and I seem to recall you were a bit negative about our sessions to start with.’

Peder squirmed.

‘My experience of psychologists has been pretty mixed. I didn’t know what to expect.’

‘Ah, I see. And now what do you think?’

Peder hesitated for a moment, but then decided there was no reason to lie.

‘It’s been good for me,’ he said simply. ‘I’ve realised a few things.’

‘Things you weren’t aware of before, you mean?’

He nodded.

‘There was a lot of friction last winter between you and one of your colleagues, Joar. How are things now?’

‘Under control. I couldn’t care less about him.’

‘Really? But you have to work together, don’t you?’

‘No, he was transferred back to the Environmental Crime Agency. Or maybe he asked to go, I don’t know.’

‘So that only leaves you and Alex Recht?’

Sadness made Peder’s eyes fill up.

‘Er, it’s just me and a stand-in at the moment. Nothing’s been decided for definite, you could say. Alex is on leave for a few weeks.’

His voice petered out.

‘I wanted to see you to follow up on how you were, Peder. And to ask you a few last questions.’

Peder waited.

‘What’s the very worst thing that could happen to you today?’

‘Today?’

‘Today.’

Peder pondered.

‘Don’t think so much, say something spontaneous.’

‘Losing Ylva, that would definitely be the worst thing.’

‘And the boys?’

‘I don’t want to lose them, either.’