Dark Secrets (46 page)

“Are you refusing to let us examine your guns?”

“Not at all. Help yourselves. Take as long as you like.”

“We’d also like to take a look around your apartment.”

“I live in a detached house.”

“In that case we would like to take a look around your detached house.”

“Don’t you need some kind of warrant for that?”

“If we don’t have the owner’s permission, then all we have to do is speak to the prosecutor.” Vanja knew they couldn’t expect the principal to be helpful for much longer, so she decided to go for a threat overlaid with consideration.

“There’s a certain amount of administration involved in obtaining a warrant, and of course the more people who see our application, the greater the risk that the details will be leaked.”

Groth gave her a look and she realized that he had seen through the false consideration and completely understood the threat.

“Of course. Search wherever you like. The sooner you realize that I didn’t harm Roger, the better.” Vanja had a feeling this was the last time Groth would be so cooperative.

“Do you have a cell phone?”

“Yes. Would you like to see it?”

“Please.”

“It’s in the top drawer of the desk in my study. Are you going to my house now?”

“Soon.”

Groth got to his feet. Vanja and Torkel stiffened, but he simply reached into his trouser pocket and took out a small bunch of keys. Three keys. He put them on the table and firmly pushed them over to Vanja.

“The key to the gun cupboard is hanging up on the right in the cleaning cupboard. I must insist on your discretion. No uniforms, no flashing blue lights. I am a respected person in the neighborhood.”

“We’ll do our best.”

“I hope you will.” He sat down again, leaned back as comfortably as possible, folded his arms once more. Vanja and Torkel exchanged a quick glance. Vanja also looked up briefly at the mirror. Sebastian brought the microphone up to his mouth.

“I don’t think we’re going to get any further.”

Vanja nodded, read out the time, and switched off the tape recorder. She met Torkel’s eyes and realized they were both thinking the same thing.

They’d brought him in too soon.

I
F ONE
wanted to be pedantic, Ragnar Groth actually lived in a link-detached house. His carport was attached to the house next door. It wasn’t difficult to spot which house belonged to him. Both Billy and Ursula knew instinctively that they were approaching the right address. The house was… cleaner.

Every last bit of gravel from the winter’s road gritting had been meticulously swept away from the street and pavements outside the property. Inside the carport everything was hung up, stacked, and arranged in impeccable order. As Billy and Ursula walked toward the house they noticed that not one fallen leaf from last year lay on the garden path or on the beautifully kept lawn. When they reached the front door, Ursula ran her finger along the nearest window ledge. She held it up to show Billy. Spotless.

“Keeping things this tidy must take up every waking moment,” said Ursula as Billy inserted the key, opened the door, and went inside.

The house was quite small: 990 square feet divided into two floors. They walked into a narrow hallway leading to a staircase, with two doors and two archways in between. Billy switched on the hall light and they looked at each other. Without a word they bent down and took off their shoes. They didn’t usually bother when they were searching someone’s property, but in this house it felt almost like sacrilege to walk in wearing outdoor shoes. They left them on the rug, even though there was room on the shoe rack below the coat stand just inside the door. On
the shelf lay a hat, with an outdoor coat on a hanger underneath. At the bottom stood one pair of shoes. Polished. Not a grass stain or a scrap of mud to be seen. It smelled clean. Not of cleaning products, just… clean. It made Ursula think of a brand-new house she and Mikael had looked at several years ago. That had smelled like this.

Impersonal.

Uninhabited.

They moved along the hallway and each opened one of the two doors. The one on the right was a cloakroom, the one on the left led to a downstairs bathroom. A quick inspection indicated that both were as irreproachably clean and tidy as everything else in Ragnar Groth’s life. The rest of the house provided further confirmation. The archway on the right led to the small, tastefully furnished living room. Opposite a sofa with two matching chairs and a coffee table stood a bookcase, half the shelves taken up by books and the other half by vinyl LPs. Jazz and classical. In the middle of the bookcase was a dust-free record player. Groth didn’t have a television. Not in the living room, at any rate.

The opening on the left took them into the spotlessly clean kitchen. Knives hanging neatly from a magnetic strip on the wall. A kettle on the worktop. Salt and pepper mills on the table. Apart from that, every surface was empty. Clean.

Together they headed upstairs, to a small square landing with three doors. A bathroom, a bedroom, a study. Behind the dark, heavy oak desk Ragnar’s guns were hanging in a locked, officially approved gun cupboard. Billy turned to Ursula.

“Up or down?”

“Doesn’t matter. What would you prefer?”

“If I take downstairs, you can deal with the guns.”

“Okay, and whoever finishes first takes the carport and the car?”

“Deal.” Billy nodded and went back downstairs. Ursula headed into the study.

It wasn’t until Vanja was standing with her arms around her father that she felt the immense difference. Before and after. He had lost weight, but it wasn’t just that. Over the last few months every hug had held within it a quivering fear engendered by the fragility of life, a desperate tenderness where every touch might be the last. With the positive news from the doctors, this hug suddenly meant something different. Medical science had extended their journey and saved them from the edge of the abyss on which their relationship had been teetering of late. Now their hugs promised a future. Valdemar smiled at her. His blue-green eyes were brighter than they had been for a long time, even though they were shining with tears of joy.

“I’ve missed you so much.”

“Me too, Dad.”

Valdemar stroked her cheek.

“It’s really strange. I feel as if I’m discovering everything afresh. As if it’s the first time.”

Vanja looked up at him. “I can understand that.” She took a couple steps back; she had no desire to stand in a hotel lobby crying. She made a sweeping gesture toward the window and the gathering dusk outside.

“Let’s go for a walk. You can show me around Västerås.”

“Me? I haven’t been here for ages.”

“You know the place better than me. You lived here for a while, didn’t you?”

Valdemar laughed, took his daughter’s arm, and walked toward the swinging doors.

“That was a thousand years ago. I was twenty-one and I’d just gotten my first job at ASEA.”

“You still know more than me. I’ve only been to the hotel, the police station, and a few crime scenes.”

They set off. Talked about the days long ago when Valdemar was an
enthusiastic young trainee engineer in Västerås. They were both enjoying their time together. The small talk was just that—small talk, rather than a way of avoiding the one thing that filled their thoughts every minute of the day.

Darkness was beginning to fall; the weather had changed, and there was a light drizzle in the air. They hardly noticed it as they walked along by the water side by side. It wasn’t until it had been raining for half an hour, the drops getting bigger all the time, that Valdemar thought they ought to find some kind of shelter. Vanja suggested going back to the hotel for something to eat.

“Have you got time?”

“I’ll make time.”

“I don’t want you to get into trouble for my sake.”

“It’s fine—the investigation can cope without me for another hour.”

Valdemar gave in. He took his daughter’s arm once more and they hurried back to the hotel.

Vanja ordered a glass of white wine and a Diet Coke as her father studied the bar menu. She looked at him. She really did love him. She loved her mother too, but things were always more complicated with her—there was more conflict, more jostling for space. With Valdemar she was calmer. He was more accommodating. He challenged her too, of course, but in areas where she felt more secure.

Not on the subject of relationships.

Or her abilities.

He trusted her. That made her feel secure. She would have liked to have a glass of wine too, but thought she’d better not. She would probably have to work later, or at least catch up on any progress in the case. It was best if she remained alert.

Valdemar looked up from the menu.

“Mom sends her love. She wanted to come with me.”

“So why didn’t she, then?”

“Work.”

Vanja nodded. Of course. It wasn’t the first time.

“Give her a hug from me.”

The waitress brought their drinks and they ordered. Vanja went for a chili cheeseburger while Valdemar chose fish soup with aioli and garlic bread. The waitress took their menus and left. They raised their glasses in a silent toast. She was sitting there with her reborn father, as far from the investigations and the hassles of everyday life as she could get, when she heard a voice. A voice that under no circumstances had anything to do with this private moment.

“Vanja?”

She turned toward the voice, hoping that her ears had deceived her. But no. Sebastian Bergman was heading toward them, his coat wet from the rain.

“Hi, have you heard any more about Groth?”

Vanja stared at him with an expression she hoped would make it very clear that he was disturbing them.

“No. What are you doing here? Have you got no home to go to?”

“I’ve been for something to eat and I was on my way back to the station. I thought I’d check if Billy and Ursula have found anything. Have you heard?”

“No, I’m taking some time off.”

Sebastian glanced at Valdemar, sitting in silence in his armchair. Vanja realized she had to do something before her father decided to introduce himself and, if she was really unlucky, ask Sebastian to join them for a drink.

“We’re just going to have something to eat. You go on and I’ll be there later. See you at the station.”

No normal person could avoid hearing the dismissal in her voice, but as she watched Sebastian extend his hand to Valdemar with a tentative smile, she realized she’d forgotten. Sebastian was not a normal person.

“Sebastian Bergman. I work with Vanja.”

Valdemar’s response was friendly; he half rose from his chair and shook Sebastian’s hand.

“Valdemar—I’m Vanja’s dad.” Vanja was even more put out; she knew how interested her father was in her work, and she realized this could turn into much more than a brief greeting. Too right. Valdemar settled back down and looked at Sebastian with curiosity.

“Vanja’s told me about most of her colleagues, but I don’t think she’s mentioned you.”

“I’m only attached to the team on a temporary basis. As a consultant. I’m a psychologist, not a police officer.”

Sebastian noticed the change in Valdemar’s expression when he said he was a psychologist. As if he were searching through his memory.

“Bergman… You’re not the Sebastian Bergman who wrote that book about Hinde, the serial killer?”

Sebastian nodded swiftly.

“Books. But yes. That’s me.”

Valdemar turned to Vanja; he seemed almost exhilarated.

“But that was the book you gave me years and years ago, you remember?”

“Yes.”

Valdemar turned back to Sebastian and gestured toward the empty armchair opposite Vanja.

“Wouldn’t you like to sit down?”

“I’m sure Sebastian has other things to do, Dad. We’re in the middle of a pretty complex investigation.”

Sebastian met Vanja’s eyes. Was that a pleading expression he could see? There was certainly no doubt that she didn’t want him there.

“No, no, I’ve got plenty of time.” Sebastian unbuttoned his wet coat, took it off, and draped it over the back of the chair, then sat down. The whole time he was looking at Vanja with a smile and a look on his face that could only be described as teasing. He was enjoying this. She could see that, and it annoyed her even more than the fact that he was staying.