Dark Secrets (57 page)

“We now know that Ragnar Groth was secretly paying money to Lena Eriksson. Probably due to blackmail. Probably because Roger—voluntarily or under duress—was Groth’s lover.” Hanser’s expression sharpened and she leaned forward. “The school’s car has the right tires,
we have found fingerprints belonging to both Roger and the principal, and we know that it was on the street by the motel on the relevant evening. We haven’t found any traces of blood yet, but we need to go over it again. We still believe that the murder was not planned and that Groth and Roger drove off to the soccer field. While they were there, something went wrong. Groth shot Roger, then realized he had to get the bullet out. When we asked Lena Eriksson this morning whether she recognized the car, she lied to us. But she realized that Ragnar Groth had killed her son. She decided to put some real pressure on him this time, but Groth confronted her and things got out of hand.”

Torkel stopped in front of Hanser.

“Sounds reasonable to me.”

“It’s a chain of circumstantial evidence, anyway. We need to find forensic evidence to back it up.”

Vanja and Billy nodded. There was always a special feeling at those moments when a possibility became a real probability. Now all they needed was a way to turn the probable into the provable.

Suddenly Sebastian began to clap his hands in a solo round of applause that echoed annoyingly around the room.

“Bravo. Perhaps you’d like me to keep quiet about the fact that there are a number of small matters that don’t quite fit in with your fantastic theory? I mean, I wouldn’t want to spoil the atmosphere.”

Vanja flashed an irritated look at Sebastian, leaning back in his chair wearing a supercilious expression.

“Bit late for that, don’t you think?”

Sebastian gave her an exaggerated smile and waved his hand at the pile of DVDs on the table.

“Men. Real men. Grown men. Ragnar didn’t like little boys. He liked muscles and big cocks. Look at Frank Clevén. A mature, macho man. Not some downy-haired sixteen-year-old. You are making the mistake of thinking that homosexuals don’t have preferences. That as long as there’s a cock, they’re happy.”

“Although there are certain men who can’t say no to sex. Regardless of any kind of preference. I mean, you know that better than most, don’t you?” This was Ursula’s contribution.

“For me it’s not the sex, it’s the conquest. That’s a completely different matter.”

“Could we stick to the subject?” Torkel appealed to both of them. “That makes it kind of easier. You’re right, of course, Sebastian. We don’t know if Groth and Roger really were having a sexual relationship.”

“There’s another thing that bothers me in all this,” Sebastian went on. “Ragnar’s suicide.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at our murderer. He may not have planned to murder Roger, but once it happened he was prepared to go to any lengths to hide it. He even dug out the heart in order to remove the bullet.”

Sebastian stood up and started to walk around the room.

“When he feels threatened by Peter Westin, he eliminates him immediately. He has planted evidence in Leo Lundin’s garage, broken into Westin’s office. Under extreme pressure he has always acted with great single-mindedness. All to avoid being caught. He’s cold. Calculating. He doesn’t get stressed. He certainly wouldn’t hang himself in a boy’s bedroom, and he would never, ever ask for forgiveness. Because he feels no regret.”

Sebastian stopped, and silence took over. Conflicting emotions. Sebastian’s authority and argument versus the desire to have the solution within reach. Vanja was the first to speak.

“Okay, Sigmund Freud, just one small question. Let’s say you’re right. It’s not Groth. It’s a completely different murderer. Groth just happened to be at the motel. His car just happened to be parked on the street as Roger walked past. He was driving it. Roger was in the car. They went to the soccer field. But someone else murdered him. Is that your theory?” She sat back, her expression harsh but tinged with triumph. Sebastian stopped and gazed at her evenly.

“No, that’s not my theory. I’m just telling you that it doesn’t fit. We’re
missing something.” Torkel’s phone rang. He apologized and took the call. Sebastian went back to his chair and sat down. Torkel listened for a while before speaking. His voice was firm, to say the least.

“Bring it here. Now.” He ended the call and turned to Hanser.

“Your forensic technicians have just found something new at Groth’s house. They found the notebook belonging to Peter Westin in the wood-burning stove.”

Hanser smiled. They had Ragnar Groth now. Definitely.

Vanja couldn’t help turning to Sebastian.

“How does that fit in with his psychological profile, Sebastian?”

Sebastian knew the answer. But he couldn’t be bothered anymore.

They’d already made up their minds.

Sebastian left the room.

Those who were still in there wanted it finished. He could understand that. This had been a complex case that had taken it out of them, and they were tired. On the surface, the solution was perfect. But the surface wasn’t what mattered to Sebastian. He always strove to find the underlying connection. The clean answers. When everything he knew fitted together. When action, consequence, driving force, and motive all said the same thing. Told the same story.

That never happened on the surface.

Why did he care? The circumstantial evidence was unassailable, and on a personal level he ought to be more than satisfied. He should, in fact, be ecstatic. The temple of knowledge his father had built up would be sullied, tarnished, dragged down from the gods, and trampled underfoot by reality.

The early evening sun was shining in through the huge windows, and he took a few steps into the middle of the office full of busy police officers before looking back at Torkel and the others in the smaller room. They were busy gathering up their things. Westin’s notebook in Ragnar Groth’s stove. Most pages burned so that any possible evidence
was missing, but the very fact that it had been found in Groth’s house had convinced Hanser even more.

For Sebastian it was a discovery that blurred the picture still further. The Ragnar Groth he had met would never have been so careless. No chance. The man didn’t even allow a pen or a sheet of paper to be out of alignment. It just didn’t fit. He had glanced over at Ursula when he heard where the notebook had been found. She ought to be thinking the same thing as him; that was how well he knew her. Even though they always quarreled about the details, they were both looking for the same thing, the depth. The pure equation. He had, indeed, seen the same doubt in her eyes as he was feeling, but for once she hadn’t been her old self. Apparently she had taken some time off and gone for dinner with Mikael while she and Billy were searching the house. She hadn’t searched that part of the house and assumed Billy had done it. Billy had misunderstood and thought she had already looked there.

Ursula didn’t usually miss something so simple. Everyone in the room could see how embarrassed she was, and that was when Sebastian had made his decision. He was tired of this. If they were satisfied, then he would be too. They would drag Ragnar Groth’s name through the mud, and the real murderer would get away with it.

Sebastian could live with both of those things.

So he had stood up and left the room.

Now he was looking back at them one last time. He put on his coat and set off. He had almost left the station when he heard a voice behind him. It was Billy. He looked around as he walked over to Sebastian. Lowered his voice a fraction.

“I had a bit of spare time yesterday.”

“That’s nice.”

“I don’t know what you want it for, but I dug out the address for that Anna Eriksson.”

Sebastian looked at Billy. He no longer knew what he felt. Suddenly she was close. From nowhere. Thirty years later. A woman he didn’t know. But was he ready? Did he even want this?

“It hasn’t really got anything to do with the investigation, has it?” Billy looked at him closely.

Sebastian didn’t have the energy to lie. “No, it hasn’t.”

“In that case you know I can’t give it to you.”

Sebastian nodded.

Suddenly Billy leaned forward and whispered to him. “Storskärsgatan twelve in Stockholm.” He smiled and shook Sebastian by the hand. “I enjoyed working with you.”

Sebastian nodded. But he had to be true to himself. Particularly now. When he had got what he came for in the first place.

“I wish I could say the same.”

Sebastian left. He decided that he would never come back.

Never.

The man who was not a murderer could hardly sit still. It was everywhere. On the Internet, on TV, on the radio. It seemed as if the police had made a massive breakthrough. The high point was a short piece on the television news from the latest press conference. The female officer in charge was sitting there wearing a stylish suit, next to the inspector from Riksmord. She was relaxed and beaming, and her smile was so dazzling he almost thought she’d had her teeth whitened and wanted to show them off. The inspector from Riksmord didn’t look much different; he was formal and serious as usual. The woman, who was apparently called Kerstin Hanser, according to a caption that appeared on the screen, said that the police now had a suspect for the murders. More details would be given when the forensic investigation had been completed, but they were so sure of their ground that they had decided to release the information now. The breakthrough had come with the two tragic deaths that morning, and the suspect was the man in his fifties, a resident of Västerås, who had taken his own life. They didn’t say who it was. But everybody in the area knew anyway.

Particularly the man who was not a murderer.

Ragnar Groth, the principal of Palmlövska High.

He had picked up the rumor himself the previous day on a website called Flashback; it was absolutely packed with nasty gossip and speculation about everything and everybody. But there was also a surprising amount of accurate information. Under a thread titled “Ritual Murder in Västerås” he had found an anonymous posting insisting that the principal of Palmlövska High had been taken in for questioning by the police. The man who was not a murderer had immediately phoned the school and asked to speak to the principal, but had been told he was out on official business for the rest of the day. The man who was not a murderer had made his excuses at work and scurried to his car. He had found out Ragnar Groth’s address via directory inquiries and had quickly driven there. Parked the car some distance away and casually strolled past the two-story house, as discreetly as possible, but the car sitting outside told him all he needed to know. Admittedly it was an unmarked car, but he recognized it.

It was the same car that had been outside Leo Lundin’s house a few days earlier.

The man who was not a murderer had suddenly felt hot all over. As if he had just found out that he had won the jackpot in the lottery and nobody else knew about it. The prize was his, and he could do whatever he wanted with it. As he stood there the door opened and a woman came out. He started walking so that she wouldn’t notice him, but the woman had eyes only for herself. She seemed annoyed. He could see that by the way she slammed the car door. He carried on walking, but when her car had passed him he turned around and went back to his own car.

Ten minutes to fetch the notebook.

Ten minutes to get back here.

Only one police officer left inside the house.

It might work.

S
EBASTIAN WAS
standing motionless outside his parents’ house, which was in darkness. Gazing at it. The evening was chilly and he wasn’t very warmly dressed, but he didn’t care about the cold that came creeping over him. It suited the moment. So now it was time. To do what he had decided to do from the second he had arrived, but which the events of the past few days had prevented him from doing. Tomorrow he would leave. Clear off. Disappear. He had even managed to get the address that had led him into the investigation in the first place.

Storskärsgatan 12.