Dark Secrets (14 page)

When the boys were in junior high school Clara had been summoned to see the headmaster on a number of occasions; the last time there had been some talk of expelling Leonard from school, but of course school attendance was compulsory. Was there any possibility that Clara might be able to talk to Leonard, solve the problem on home ground, so to speak? It was of the utmost importance that this issue was resolved, Clara was informed. Compensation claims against schools that failed to tackle bullying were becoming more and more frequent and increasingly expensive. And Vikinga School had no interest in becoming part of the growing statistics.

Somehow they had survived. After the spring term—when Clara had felt as if she was doing nothing but threatening and bribing Leonard—the boys finished school, and during the summer holiday she managed to convince herself that things would be better at the high school. It would be a new start. It wasn’t. Because they both ended up at the same high school, Leonard and Roger.

Runebergs School. Leonard was still there; Roger had left after only a month or so. Clara knew that Leonard was probably a major part of the reason for Roger’s move to another school. But was there more to it? Clara was angry with herself for even allowing the thought to enter her head. What kind of a mother was she? But she couldn’t push it away completely. Was her son a murderer?

Clara heard footsteps approaching up the drive and turned around. Sebastian Bergman was lumbering toward her, carrying two plastic bags from Statoil. The lines around Clara’s mouth hardened.

“I see they’re back,” he said, nodding toward the house as he came up to her. “You’re welcome to wait in my house if you like; they’ll be a while.”

“So now you’re interested all of a sudden?”

“Not particularly, but I’m well brought up. And we are neighbors, after all.”

Clara snorted and looked at him coldly.

“I’ll be fine, thank you.”

“I’m sure you will, but you’re shivering and the whole neighborhood knows the police are here. Which means it’s only a matter of time before the press turn up as well. And they won’t stop at the garden fence. If you think I’m hard work, that’s nothing compared to them.”

Clara looked at Sebastian again. Two journalists had, in fact, already rung. One of them four times. Clara had absolutely no desire to meet them in person. She nodded and took a few steps toward him. Together they headed for the gate.

“Sebastian?”

Sebastian immediately recognized the voice and turned to face the man he hadn’t seen for a very long time. On the steps outside Clara’s house stood Torkel, wearing an expression that was puzzled, to say the least. Sebastian quickly turned back to Clara.

“You go on, the door’s open. Can you take these?” He handed her the bags. “And if you feel like making a start on lunch, be my guest.”

Clara took the bags, slightly surprised. For a second it looked as if she was thinking of asking a question, but then she changed her mind and set off toward Sebastian’s house. Sebastian looked at Torkel, who had almost reached him; the expression on the latter’s face suggested that he could hardly believe his eyes.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Torkel held out his hand and Sebastian took it. Torkel squeezed it hard. “Great to see you. It’s been a long time. What are you doing in Västerås?”

“I live over there.” Sebastian waved at the house next door. “It’s my mother’s house. She died. I’m going to sell it, that’s why I’m here.”

“Sorry to hear that. About your mother, I mean.”

Sebastian shrugged his shoulders. It wasn’t really anything to be sorry about, and Torkel ought to know that; in spite of everything they had been very close for a number of years. A long time ago, admittedly—twelve years, to be precise—but they had discussed Sebastian’s parents and his relationship with them on countless occasions. No doubt Torkel was just being polite. What else would he be? Too much time had passed for them to simply pick up where they left off. Too much time even to be able to say they knew each other anymore. Too much time for the conversation to flow like a stream in spring. Consequently there was a brief silence.

“I’m still with Riksmord,” said Torkel, breaking the silence after a few seconds.

“I realized that. I heard about the boy.”

“Yes…”

Another silence. Torkel cleared his throat and jerked his head back at the Lundin house. “I’d better get on…” Sebastian nodded understandingly. Torkel smiled at him.

“Might be best if you keep out of the way, so Ursula doesn’t see you.”

“So you’re still working together?”

“She’s the best.”

“I’m the best.”

Torkel looked at the man whom he would have described as a friend many years ago. Not his closest friend or even a good friend, but definitely a friend. He could allow Sebastian’s comment to pass unremarked, nod in agreement, smile, give him a pat on the shoulder, and go back into the house, but that wouldn’t really be fair. To either of them. And so he said:

“You
were
the best. At lots of things. Completely useless at others.”

Sebastian hadn’t really meant anything by his little retort. It was more of a reflex. Gut instinct. Over the four years during which he and Ursula had worked together, they had competed constantly. Different areas. Different tasks. Different methods. Different everything. But on one thing they had been touchingly united: only one of them could be the best on the team. That was how those two were made. But Torkel was right. Sebastian had been unbeatable in many—or, at least, some—areas. In others he had been completely useless. Sebastian smiled weakly at Torkel.

“Unfortunately it’s the useless side I’ve been cultivating. Take care of yourself.”

“You too.”

Sebastian turned and set off toward the gate. To his great relief there was no “we must meet up one evening” or “let’s have a beer sometime” from Torkel. He obviously felt as little need to resume their relationship as Sebastian.

Once Sebastian had turned to go home, Torkel noticed that Ursula had emerged from Clara’s house and was standing on the steps. She watched the man disappearing behind the place next door. If Torkel’s expression had been one of utter surprise when he saw Sebastian, Ursula’s was radiating something entirely different.

“Was that Sebastian?”

Torkel nodded.

“What the hell is he doing here?”

“Evidently his mother lived next door.”

“I see. So what’s he doing these days?”

“Cultivating his useless side, apparently.”

“No change there, then,” Ursula snapped.

Torkel smiled to himself as he recalled how Ursula and Sebastian had battled over every detail, every analysis, every single step in an investigation. They were actually very much alike, which was probably why they couldn’t work together.

They turned to go back into the house. Ursula handed Torkel a sealed plastic bag. He took it and looked at her questioningly.

“What’s this?”

“A T-shirt. We found it in the laundry basket in the bathroom. It’s covered in blood.”

Torkel looked with renewed interest at the item of clothing in the bag. Things weren’t looking good for Leonard Lundin.

It had taken rather longer than Vanja had hoped to speak to Lisa Hansson. She had gone to Palmlövska High, just outside Västerås. It was obviously a school with aspirations. Trees neatly planted in rows, yellow-painted stone walls with not a trace of graffiti, always in the top ten when it came to national tests. A school that wasn’t even on the radar for kids like Leonard Lundin.

This was Roger’s school. This was where he had moved from Runebergs, right in the middle of town. Vanja had a feeling there might be something in this change of school that she ought to check out. Roger had moved from one environment to another. Had anything happened in connection with the move? Big changes can lead to conflict. Vanja decided to find out more about who Roger really was. That would be the next step. First of all she needed to sort out those missing hours that Lisa Hansson so stubbornly refused to acknowledge.

By the time Vanja had finally discovered what class Lisa was in, found the right room, and interrupted the English lesson, half an hour had passed.

The other pupils started whispering curiously to one another when Lisa stood up and, in Vanja’s opinion, made her way with almost provocative slowness toward her. A girl in the front row put up her hand but didn’t bother waiting for any kind of response from either her teacher or Vanja before she spoke.

“Do you know who did it yet?”

Vanja shook her head.

“No, not yet.”

“I heard it was a boy from his old school.”

“Yes. Leo Lundin.” That came from a boy with a buzz cut and two huge fake jeweled earrings. “From his old school,” he clarified when Vanja didn’t react to the name.

She wasn’t really surprised. It was a relatively small town, and the kids were constantly connected. Of course they had been texting, tweeting, and posting on MSN that one of their contemporaries had been taken in for questioning. And under fairly spectacular circumstances. However, Vanja had no intention of doing anything to spread the rumors. On the contrary.

“We are speaking to as many people as possible and we are still investigating every possible avenue,” she said, before allowing Lisa to pass and closing the classroom door behind her.

In the corridor Lisa had folded her arms across her chest, boldly stared at Vanja, and asked what she wanted. Vanja explained that she needed to double-check a couple things Lisa had told her.

“Are you allowed to question me without my parents being present?”

Vanja felt a stab of irritation but did her best not to show it. Instead, she smiled at Lisa and said as steadily as she could:

“I am not questioning you. You are not accused of anything. I’d just like a chat.”

“I’d still prefer it if my mother or father were here.”

“But why? It’ll only take a few minutes.”

Lisa shrugged her shoulders.

“I’d still prefer it.”

Vanja had been unable to suppress a sigh of annoyance, but she knew better than to continue the conversation against Lisa’s will. The girl called her father, who evidently worked nearby, and after Lisa had refused Vanja’s offer of a cup of coffee or a cold drink in the cafeteria, they had gone down to the ground floor to wait for him.

Vanja had taken the opportunity to call Billy and Ursula. Billy had
told her that it was virtually impossible for such a brutal murder to have taken place on Gustavsborgsgatan. The proximity of Mälardalen University, a swimming pool, and a sports ground meant that there was a fairly high volume of traffic and passersby. The areas that were not built up were occupied by parking lots and open spaces. It was certainly too early to dismiss Leo Lundin from the investigation, but they had to come up with a different, more realistic scenario. The good news was that Billy had spotted CCTV cameras on the street. If they were lucky, the events of that Friday night would still be accessible somewhere. He was about to go and check it out.

Ursula didn’t have much to report, except that the bloodstained T-shirt had been sent for analysis. She had gone over the garage and the moped—no traces of blood on that—and was about to make a start on the house. Vanja reminded her to be particularly meticulous in Leo’s room, only to be informed that it was not possible for Ursula to be any more meticulous than she already was, on every occasion.

Lisa had been sitting on the floor with her back to the wall, watching Vanja wandering around with her cell clamped to her ear. Lisa gave the impression of being pretty bored, but her brain was busy trying to work out what that policewoman wanted to ask her this time. And how she was going to answer. Eventually she decided simply to stick to her strategy. If she was asked about details, she wouldn’t remember.

Roger arrived.

Homework.

Tea.

TV.

Roger left.

An ordinary, slightly boring Friday evening. The question was whether or not it would be enough.

Lisa’s father arrived after twenty minutes. Vanja didn’t know if it was because the gigantic beaded Jesus was still fresh in her mind or
if it was the cheap pale-blue suit and the neatly combed Ken-inspired haircut that made her think “Bible-thumpers” as the extremely agitated man came rushing down the corridor. He introduced himself as Erik, then spent the next three minutes informing Vanja that he had every intention of reporting the fact that a police officer had tried to interview a minor without the presence of a parent or guardian, and in his daughter’s school! They might as well hang a sign saying “suspect” around her neck! Did she have any idea how teenagers gossip? Could she not have been a little more discreet?