The Invisible Man from Salem (28 page)

‘The jewellery,' I say. ‘Tell me about it.'

‘It annoyed me. I wasn't told about it beforehand. It was in my P.O. box that same day, in an envelope with one of those yellow sticky notes on it. It said I should put it in the girl's hand.'

‘Have you still got the envelope?'

‘Of course I haven't.'

‘What kind of jewellery was it?'

‘Like a necklace. I didn't pay much attention.'

‘When you left Chapmansgården,' I say, ‘did you see anyone on the way?'

‘This is Stockholm. Of course I did.'

‘Who?'

‘No idea. I didn't exactly inspect them.'

‘What were you wearing?'

‘Eh?'

‘What clothes did you have on?'

‘Why do you ask?'

‘Answer the question.'

‘Black jeans. A black jacket. A dark-grey shirt.'

That matches the witness statements. I realise that I'm nodding, and that Koll notices. I stop nodding.

‘What did you do after that, once you'd left Chapmansgatan?'

‘Went home.'

‘And where is that?'

‘I've got a studio in Västra Skogen.'

‘So you were on Kungsholmen, and you live in Västra Skogen. You took public transport home? The underground?'

‘Yes.'

‘And which route did you take from Chapmansgatan?'

‘Does it matter?'

‘Yes.'

‘I went down to Norr Mälarstrand, took the first left. I think it's Polhemsgatan?'

‘That's right.'

‘Then down a street that I don't know the name of, and up another road, Pilgatan, which I followed up to Bergsgatan. Then I took a right, down to Rådhuset underground station.'

According to Birck, the crucial witness had seen Koll at the junction of Pilgatan and Bergsgatan. It fitted.

‘Bar Marcus on Pilgatan. Is that a place you visit often?'

‘They have good Spanish liqueurs. My dad and I always drank Spanish liqueurs. There was a bar in my home town, and they had loads; Dad used to bring some home. I still like it.'

‘Is that a yes?'

‘That's a yes.'

‘And the barmaid, do you know her?'

‘No.'

‘She recognised you anyway. Why might that be?'

‘What do you think? Probably because I go there.'

‘She knew your name.'

He shrugs.

‘I always pay cash. But I must have told her once.'

This is what Birck needs. Strictly speaking, the question of who killed Rebecca Salomonsson has been answered. But the question of the conspiracy to murder her remains. I usually feel a rush of adrenalin and relief at times like this. This time, I just feel confused.

‘The person who gave you the instructions concerning the necklace was the same person that asked you to kill Rebecca Salomonsson?'

‘That's right.'

‘Why?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Why were you asked to do it?'

Koll furrows his brow, and his eyes dart around, as though he's hesitating.

‘I don't usually ask questions like that, you know, that's why people come to me. But this time … there was something weird about the whole business. I think she'd seen something she wasn't supposed to see, or heard something she wasn't supposed to hear.'

‘What makes you think that?'

‘I asked around a bit. This thing seemed extremely low-key, if you get my meaning. Lots of people had no idea.'

‘Your impression was that she knew something. About what?'

‘I don't know.'

‘I don't believe you. I think you know. Why are you keeping it to yourself?'

‘It's not something you talk about, okay? Do you know what I mean?'

‘No.'

Koll sighs and shakes his head.

‘I think that somehow she found out about his true … who he is.'

‘Your employer?'

‘Yes. The rumour, and I'm pretty sure it was true, was that someone she knew went to him for help, not long ago. And that she found out then, don't ask me how. And you know what the whores at Chapmansgården are like — they've got nothing. So I think she was trying to blackmail him, threatening to reveal his identity.'

‘She threatened to go to the police?'

‘Where else would you go?' Koll waves his hand dismissively. ‘I'm talking too much, man, I'm talking too much; I don't want to say any more now.'

‘Just one more thing,' I say. ‘Before we finish. Why were you instructed to only talk to me?'

‘He said you'd understand why,' Koll says.

‘I don't,' I say, but at the same time I'm aware of a slight sense of relief: if Koll's right, she didn't die because of me.

‘Well, then, that's your problem.'

‘What did he say his name was?'

‘Daniel Berggren.'

‘And that was what Salomonsson found out?'

‘No, no. Berggren was just a … you know … an alias. If I got it right, she found out his real identity.'

Daniel Berggren. Just ordinary enough — there will be too many out there to find the right one — but not so common that it looks like a made-up name to hide behind. It's well thought out, elegant almost. It's got Grim written all over it.

‘His real identity?' I say.

‘Yes.'

‘And you don't know what that is?'

‘No idea.'

It can't be John Grimberg. That's been untouched for ages. He must be using a third, one that I haven't come across yet.

‘What do you know about him?'

‘Not much. He stays under the radar. Does jobs for people, gives them new identities.'

‘Was he going to do one for you?'

‘No. He offered me one, but I wanted the money, that's why I did it.' Koll leans forward. ‘I mean, I didn't like him. And now there's something in your eyes — fear. I'm good at spotting stuff like that, you know. I don't like it when things don't go according to plan, when things aren't prepared in advance. It's unprofessional. I'd worked it out to the minute, and then all of a sudden that fucking necklace is in the picture … it slowed me down. If it hadn't been for that, I probably wouldn't have got nicked. So I'll give you a tip.'

Koll pauses for effect.

‘Yes?' I say.

‘You're never going to find him. There are too many Daniel Berggrens. So,' he says, lowering his voice to a whisper, ‘you need to find Josef Abel. An old man. He can help you.' Koll scans the closed door behind me. ‘But don't say this to your colleague. It mustn't be recorded.'

‘Josef Abel,' I say. ‘How do I find him?'

‘Go to Åby. Ask around. There's only one Josef Abel. The Man With No Voice.' Koll hesitates. ‘I'm only saying this because I don't like him. You understand?'

I study him carefully.

‘So you haven't been instructed by him, by Berggren, to tell me exactly this?' I ask. ‘It's not the case that this is all part of it?'

Koll smiles weakly.

‘You're not stupid, are you?'

‘So I'm right?'

‘You can be clever and still be wrong, you know.'

‘Am I wrong about this?'

‘Does it matter?'

Yes, I think to myself. There's something about this contrived situation, a suggestion that he's watching me the whole time, shadowing me. As though I'm following an invisible, predetermined path right into a trap. Koll's right. I am scared.

‘Am I wrong?' I attempt, again, and strain to hide the fact that my hands have started shaking again. ‘Are you dropping him in it, or is this part of the job?'

‘Who knows?' is the only answer I get out of him, and he refuses to say any more, even though I'm putting the pressure on. I end up grabbing Koll's shirt and raising my clenched fist towards his face to get him to talk, but that's as far as I get. The door opens behind me, and Birck comes rushing in and grabs me, and he's much stronger than me.

XXI

I stood outside the gates of Rönninge High School that Monday at the end of August. It was a beautiful day, I remember. I was waiting for Grim, who'd said that he would come to the early lesson.

‘Leo,' said a voice behind me, and as I turned my head I saw Julia walking towards me.

‘Hi,' I said.

‘I tried to call you yesterday.'

‘Did you?' I said, surprised.

‘There was no answer.'

I couldn't remember the phone ringing, but then again the whole weekend was like a thick white fog.

‘Weird,' was all I said.

We started walking in silence. As long as we did that, it felt like we had everything under control, as though everything was okay.

‘Do you remember Tim?' she said. ‘I've mentioned him before. I thought I saw him on Friday.'

‘Where?'

‘In Salem, on our way home. But it was from a distance, and I was quite pissed.'

‘I … how was that? Seeing him? After all this time, I mean.'

‘Good,' she said. ‘I think. I'm glad he's back, even if we didn't know each other that well at the end. It still feels good having him here, somehow.'

‘Well, that's good then,' I forced out.

‘We need to talk,' she said, stopped, took a step towards me. ‘I … first of all, I think John already knows about us. Not suspects, knows. And then, I …' She looked at her watch. ‘I've got English now.'

‘I've got R.E.' I hesitated. ‘We can walk in together anyway?'

We carried on, and from the corner of my eye I saw Tim walking ahead of us and through the entrance. It must have been his first day at school, his first day back here. He seemed nervous or stressed, but he was probably just late. Seeing him gave me this stabbing sensation. I could just about see a black eye, like a print. But I knew there was more: aches in his stomach from those blows; the spinning, streaking pains in his ribs; and the dull ache between his legs. And the other pain, the pain that doesn't show. The one in his heart.

Julia didn't see him. Halfway across the schoolyard, she put her hand in mine and held it there until we went separate ways down the corridors. We'd been seen by many; Grim wasn't one of them, but by that point I'm not sure I would've cared if he had been.

THE LUNCH BREAK
. Sometimes it was only forty-five minutes, but it was usually ninety. One-and-a-half hours. We used to spend that time eating, not in the school but at the burger stand round the corner, and smoking cigarettes or listening to music.

That lunchtime, Julia and I ate at the burger stand. We talked about the party on the rec, and she told me how she'd started feeling ill while I was away. She had wanted to stay and wait for me, but Grim had taken her home to the Triad. She'd thrown up pretty much all the way home.

‘You were drinking fast,' I say.

‘I was nervous,' she muttered. ‘What happened later, after we'd left?'

‘Nothing,' I said, and drank some pop. ‘I went home, too.'

Our lockers were at opposite ends of the school, and Julia didn't know which one was mine. I didn't know which was hers. We went to mine first.

I remember this: there weren't many people in the corridor. Outside, the sun was shining brightly, and there were twenty minutes left of the lunch break. Some people were standing by their lockers; others were sitting on the worn-out benches. The common-room telly was broken. The screen had been smashed in a fight late that spring. I showed Julia my locker, and she noted the number, asked me to open it.

‘Why?' I said.

‘I want to see what you've got in there.'

‘It's not tidied.'

‘Surely that doesn't matter.'

I started opening the locker, took the padlock off. Just as I opened it and peered in to see just how bad it was, someone screamed, and in that same instant I heard Julia's voice.

‘Leo, watch out.'

She grabbed my shoulder so hard that it turned me around. Julia was standing in front of me and my eyes met hers, clear and warm, and then, bang, her grip tightened on my shoulder, before her hand went limp and fell away.

‘Ow,' she whispered.

More screams. Something metallic fell to the floor; I looked up. Tim Nordin was standing five or six lockers away with his arms hanging by his sides, and a toy gun on the floor in front of him. He stared at me, his black eye almost shining. Then he turned around and ran, through the corridor and down the steps. I looked around, trying to work out what had happened, where the bang had come from. I couldn't make the connection between the toy gun and the scene playing before my eyes: Julia collapsing; more screams. Everything stopped. I could smell burning.