Dark Secrets (34 page)

The abbreviation PW first appeared at the beginning of February,
then again at the end of February and the first week in March, then every other Wednesday at ten o’clock in the morning. Vanja picked up on what seemed to be the only recurring entry and turned the pages until she reached that fateful Friday in April. Every other Wednesday, PW. Always at ten o’clock. Who or what was PW? Since it was during the school day, it ought to have something to do with school. She carried on turning the pages and realized that Roger had missed a meeting with PW since he died. She quickly checked the previous year’s diary to see if PW was in there too. Indeed it was. The first time was at the end of October, then every other Tuesday at three o’clock until the end of term in November.

Roger’s circle of friends was very limited and so far had provided the investigation with little information. But here at least was a person he saw on a regular basis—if it was a person and not an activity. She looked at the clock: only a quarter to nine. Not too late to make some calls. She tried Roger’s mother first. No answer. She wasn’t surprised; the phone had rung several times when she and Sebastian were there and Lena had made no attempt to pick it up. She decided to call Beatrice Strand. As his class teacher she ought to know what Roger was doing at ten o’clock every other Wednesday.

“He had a free period then.” Beatrice sounded a little tired, but she would do her best to help.

“Do you know what he used to do at that time?”

“I don’t, I’m afraid; the next lesson started at eleven fifteen and he was always on time.” Vanja nodded and picked up the previous year’s diary.

“What about last autumn? Tuesday afternoons at three?”

There was a brief silence.

“I think school was over then. Yes, that’s right, we finished at quarter to three on Tuesdays.”

“Do you have any idea what the abbreviation PW might stand for?”

“PW? No, not off the top of my head.” Vanja nodded; this was getting better and better. It seemed that Roger had hidden his meetings
with PW from Beatrice. She felt as if that was important. After all, she wasn’t just his teacher—they knew each other outside school.

“Was he meeting this PW on Wednesdays?” Beatrice asked after a while; she had obviously been giving the abbreviation some thought.

“Exactly.”

“It could be Peter Westin.”

“Who’s that?”

“He’s a psychologist who does some counseling with the students. I know Roger went to see him a few times just after he started at the school. It was actually me who mentioned Peter to Roger. But I didn’t realize he was still seeing him.”

Vanja thanked Beatrice for her help and took down Peter Westin’s contact info. She called him, but got his answering machine, which informed her that his office would be open at nine in the morning. A quick look at the map showed her that the office was only ten minutes from the school. Roger could easily have gotten there and back in his free period without anyone knowing where he’d been, and if there was one thing you talked to a psychologist about, it was secrets. The kind of thing you didn’t want to discuss with anyone else.

Her cell beeped. A text message.

Found Axel J’s ex-girlfriend. Want 2 come & talk 2 her? Billy

Quick reply.

YES.

This time she did add a smiley face.

Axel Johansson’s ex-girlfriend, Linda Beckman, had been at work when Billy got hold of her. She had pointed out several times that she and Axel were no longer together and that she had no idea where he was or what he was up to; it had taken a great deal of persuasion on Billy’s part to get her to agree to a meeting. When she finally gave in she insisted there was no way she could come to the police station. If they
wanted to talk to her tonight they would have to come to the restaurant where she worked, and she would take a short break. So now Vanja and Billy were sitting at a table in a pizzeria on Stortorget. Neither of them ordered anything to eat but settled for a cup of coffee.

Linda came and sat down opposite them. She was a blond, fairly ordinary-looking woman of about thirty. Her hair was shoulder length, and her full bangs ended just above her blue-green eyes. She was wearing a black-and-white-striped sweater and a short black skirt. The sweater didn’t particularly flatter her figure. She had a gold heart on a thin chain around her neck.

“I’ve got fifteen minutes.”

“In that case we’ll try to get through this in fifteen minutes,” said Billy, reaching for the sugar. He always took sugar in his coffee. And not a small amount either.

“As I said on the phone, we’d like to know a bit about Axel Johansson.”

“You didn’t say why.”

Vanja took over. It would be stupid to reveal that they knew about Axel’s little sideline, at least until they had an idea of Linda’s attitude toward her ex. Instead Vanja started a little more circumspectly.

“Do you know why he got the ax?”

Linda smiled at the two police officers. She knew what this was all about.

“Yes. The booze.”

“The booze?”

“He was selling it to the kids. Idiot!” Vanja looked at Linda and nodded. She didn’t seem to be a member of Axel’s fan club.

“Exactly.”

Linda shook her head wearily, as if to reinforce her negative view of Axel’s activities.

“I told him it was a stupid thing to do. But did he listen? No. And then he got the ax, just like I said. Idiot.”

“Did he ever mention a Roger Eriksson?” Vanja ventured optimistically.

“Roger Eriksson?” Linda seemed to be thinking about it, but her face showed no spark of recognition.

“A sixteen-year-old boy,” Billy went on, handing over a picture of Roger.

Linda took the picture and studied it. She recognized him.

“The boy who died?”

Vanja nodded. Linda looked at her.

“Yes, I think he came by once.”

“Do you know why? Was he buying alcohol from Axel?”

“No, I don’t think so. They had a chat. He didn’t have anything with him when he left, as far as I remember.”

“When was this?”

“Maybe two months ago. I moved out shortly afterward.”

“Did you see Roger again? Please think carefully—this is important.”

Linda sat in silence for a while, then shook her head. Vanja changed tack.

“What was Axel’s reaction when you moved out?”

Linda shook her head again; it seemed to be her default response whenever she thought of Axel.

“I don’t think he cared one way or the other. He didn’t seem angry or upset or anything. He didn’t make any attempt to get me to stay. He just… carried on. As if it didn’t matter whether I was there or not. He was completely fucking unbelievable.”

When Vanja and Billy thanked Linda Beckman twenty minutes later and set off back to the station, their picture of Axel Johansson had not only acquired contours, but every little detail was clearly visible. In the beginning, Axel had been the perfect gentleman. Attentive, generous, amusing. After only a few weeks she had moved in. At first everything had continued to go well. Then things had started to crop up. Not too serious to start with. Hardly noticeable, really. There was slightly less money in her purse than she’d thought, that kind of thing. Then a piece
of gold jewelry she had inherited from her grandmother disappeared, and Linda began to realize that to Axel their relationship was mainly a way of reducing his costs. She had confronted him, and he had been full of regrets. He had gambling debts and had been afraid she would leave him if he told her, so he’d done what he had to do to get straight. Just so that he could start fresh with Linda. No baggage. She had believed him. But before long money was going missing again. The last straw was when she found a hidden rent agreement and realized that she was, in fact, paying the whole of the rent, not half as she had supposed. Linda colored in the rest of the picture. Their sex life was hopeless. He was hardly ever interested, and on the few occasions when it did happen he was dominant almost to the point of violence and always wanted to take her from behind with her face buried in the pillow.
Too much information
, Vanja thought, but she nodded encouragingly to Linda. Axel was always out at odd times, sometimes all night; he would come home first thing, or late in the morning. The rest of his time, when he wasn’t working at the school, was spent coming up with different ways to make money. Axel’s entire world revolved around screwing the system.

Only idiots do as they’re told
was his motto. The only reason he applied for the job at Palmlövska High was because the students had richer parents and a stricter upbringing, which in Axel’s world led to fewer problems. The families tended to solve any problems on their own. Just as the principal had in the end.

Sell to those who can pay the most, and who have the most to lose if they get caught,
he had said. But Linda never saw any money. That was the thing she found most difficult to understand. In spite of all the “business” he did, Axel was always broke. Where the money went was just one big mystery to Linda. He didn’t seem to have many friends, and he was always cursing those he did have because they wouldn’t lend him any money. Or if they did lend him some, he cursed them because they wanted it back.

He was always dissatisfied.

With everything and everybody.

The most important question for Vanja and Billy was what Roger had to do with Axel. Roger had been to his apartment, they knew that now. Was there a link to the fact that Roger had gotten Axel fired a few weeks later? That was one possible scenario, at any rate. By the time Vanja and Billy said good night, they were quite happy with the last hour’s work. Axel Johansson had become even more interesting. And they were going to see a psychologist with the initials PW the following morning.

Torkel nodded to the woman at reception and walked over to the elevator. Once inside he hesitated as he slid his key card into the reader, then pressed 4. His room was 302. Ursula was on the fourth floor. The sound of the Rolling Stones was coming through the hidden speakers. Torkel thought back to when he was young and the Stones had produced the hardest rock he’d ever heard. Now they were elevator music. The doors slid open and Torkel didn’t move. Should he forget it? He didn’t even know if she was still angry with him. He just assumed she was. He would still have been angry with her if she’d done that to him. But it was probably best to know. Torkel walked down the corridor to room 410 and knocked on the door. A few seconds passed before Ursula opened it. The neutral expression on her face gave Torkel a pretty good clue what she thought of the visit.

“Sorry if I’m disturbing you.” Torkel did his best to prevent the nervousness from showing in his voice. Standing here in front of her, he realized he really didn’t want them to fall out.

“I just wanted to check how things stand between us.”

“How do you think they stand?”

As he had feared. Still angry. Understandably. But Torkel had never found it difficult to apologize when he had done something wrong.

“I’m sorry, I should have told you I was intending to bring in Sebastian.”

“No, you shouldn’t have brought him it at all.” For a brief moment Torkel felt a stab of irritation. Now she was being unreasonable. He
was apologizing. He admitted that he had handled the situation badly, but he was the boss. He had to make the decisions and bring in the people he thought were best for the investigation, whether everybody else was happy with that or not. It was a case of maintaining a professional approach. Torkel quickly decided not to say any of this, partly because he didn’t want to upset Ursula even more, but also because he still wasn’t completely convinced that Sebastian’s presence really was the best thing for the investigation. He had the feeling he didn’t just need to explain his actions to Ursula, he also needed to sort it out for himself. Why hadn’t he simply said “thanks but no thanks” to Sebastian in the hotel dining room that morning? His expression was almost pleading as he spoke to Ursula.

“Listen, I really need to talk to you. Can I come in?”

“No.” Ursula made no attempt to open the door. Quite the opposite. She pushed it slightly farther shut, as if she was expecting him to kick it down. From inside the room came the sound of three short, three long, three short beeps. SOS. Ursula’s ringtone.