Dark Secrets (61 page)

“You can’t be serious!”

At that precise moment Haraldsson leaned against a desk and knocked a pot full of pens flying.

The unmarked police cars parked roughly twenty yards from the yellow house and all five of the people inside got out. Haraldsson had
sat on his own in the back of one car, with Torkel and Vanja in the front. As they’d left the station he had attempted some small talk, but he soon realized that no one was interested, so he shut up.

They crossed the street, with Haraldsson, Vanja, and Torkel slightly ahead of Ursula and Sebastian. The residential area was quiet and peaceful in the afternoon sun. Somewhere in the distance they could hear the sound of a lawnmower. Sebastian knew nothing about gardening, but wasn’t April a bit early to be cutting the grass? An enthusiast, presumably.

The group approached the Strands’ drive. When they had picked up Beatrice at the school she had said that Ulf was usually home when Johan got back in the afternoons. The recruitment company said he’d left for the day. This seemed to fit; the family’s Renault Mégane was outside the garage.

Vanja walked over to the car and crouched down by the back wheel. Her eyes were shining with anticipation as she turned to face the others.

“Pirelli.”

Ursula quickly went over. She took out her camera, squatted down, and photographed the tire.

“P7. Good match.”

She took out a small knife and began to scrape off mud and dirt that was stuck in the tread. Vanja got up and moved behind the car. She tried the trunk. It wasn’t locked. She glanced at Torkel, who nodded. Vanja opened the trunk. Torkel came over and together they looked down into what was virtually an empty space. The sides were black, and without the right equipment it was impossible to determine whether there were any bloodstains on them or not. The bottom was lined with a plastic mat.

A new plastic mat.

Torkel leaned over and lifted it up. Underneath were two covered compartments, presumably housing the spare tire, warning triangle, fuses, and other uninteresting items. The covering itself, however, was far from uninteresting. It was made of needle felt. Gray needle felt. At least, the outside edges were gray. A large, dark red stain had spread
outward from the center. Both Vanja and Torkel had seen dried blood often enough to be aware immediately of what they were looking at. If they had any doubts, the smell helped to confirm their suspicions. They slammed the trunk shut.

Sebastian saw the grim expression on their faces. They had found something.

Something vital.

They were in the right place at last. Sebastian quickly turned to face the house. He thought he had seen a movement at the upstairs window out of the corner of his eye. He fixed his gaze on the window. Nothing. Everything was quiet.

“Sebastian…”

Torkel called them over. Sebastian gave the upstairs window one final glance before turning his attention to Torkel.

The man who was not a murderer had seen them walk up the drive and stop. By the car. He knew it. He’d known it all along. The car was his Achilles’ heel.

The day after that fateful Friday he had toyed with the idea of scrapping it, but had decided against it. How would he explain that? Why scrap a perfectly good car? It would have looked suspicious. Instead he did what he could. Washed and scrubbed it, bought a new mat for the trunk, and advertised the car for sale. Two people had been to look at it, but no one had made an offer yet. He had ordered new lids for the two compartments at the bottom of the trunk and was waiting for them to arrive. They would be here next week.

Too late.

The police were here.

By the car. Two women crouching by the back wheel. Had he left traces? Presumably. The man who was not a murderer swore to himself. He could have done something about that. New tires. Nothing odd about that. But now?

Too late.

There was only one thing to do. Go out and confess. Take his punishment. Perhaps they would understand. Understand, but not forgive.

Never forgive.

No one forgave him. Forgiveness demanded not only confession, but also regret, and he still felt not a trace of regret.

He had done what he had to do.

For as long as possible.

But now it was over.

“We know he has access to a gun, so be very careful.” Torkel had gathered them all around him and was speaking in a low voice, almost whispering. “Stay close to the walls. Vanja, you take the back.”

They all nodded, their expressions serious. Vanja drew her gun as she disappeared down the side of the house, crouching slightly.

“Ursula, take this side in case he climbs out a window and tries to get away via next door’s garden. Sebastian, you stay in the background.”

Sebastian had no problem following this particular instruction. This aspect of police work did not interest him in the least. He knew this was what the others had been looking forward to ever since they first heard about the missing sixteen-year-old by the name of Roger Eriksson, but the arrest itself meant nothing to him.

To him the journey was everything. The destination nothing.

Torkel turned to Haraldsson.

“You and I will go and ring the doorbell. I want you to draw your gun, but stand to one side with the gun lowered. We don’t want to frighten him. Understand?”

Haraldsson nodded. The adrenaline was pumping. This was serious. This was for real. He was going to catch Roger Eriksson’s murderer. Not on his own, but still. He was there. He was part of it. There was a rushing sound in his ears as he drew his gun and walked toward the front door with Torkel.

They had gone only a few steps when they saw the door handle slowly being pushed downward. Torkel drew his gun with lightning speed and aimed at the door. Haraldsson glanced at Torkel, realized that the order to keep his weapon lowered no longer applied, and also took aim. The door opened slowly.

“I’m coming out,” a voice said.

A male voice.

“Slowly! And keep your hands where I can see them!” Torkel stopped fifteen or sixteen feet from the door. Haraldsson did the same. They saw a shoe-clad foot appear in the gap between the door and the frame, then push the door open. Ulf Strand stepped out with both hands up.

“I presume it’s me you’re looking for.”

“Stop right there!”

Ulf obeyed. He gazed calmly at the police officers as they approached him with their guns at the ready. Ursula and Vanja reappeared around the front of the house; they too were armed.

“Turn around!”

Ulf turned around and stared into the untidy hallway. Torkel gestured to Haraldsson to stay where he was, then approached Ulf.

“Down on your knees!” Ulf did as he was told. The rough stones on the step dug into his knees. Torkel moved toward him and placed one hand on the back of Ulf’s neck, then quickly searched him with the other hand.

“It was me. I killed him.”

Torkel finished the search and pulled Ulf Strand to his feet. The other officers put their guns away.

“It was me. I killed him,” Ulf repeated as soon as he made eye contact.

“Yes, I heard you.” Torkel nodded to Haraldsson, who came forward with a pair of handcuffs.

“Hands behind your back, please.”

Ulf’s expression was almost pleading as he looked at Torkel.

“Would it be possible for me not to wear those? It would be nice to leave here in a normal way. So that Johan doesn’t have to see me as… a criminal.”

“Is he at home? Johan?”

“Yes. He’s in his room. Upstairs.”

Even if the boy hadn’t yet seen or heard what had happened, he was bound to come out of his room eventually. He shouldn’t have to find an empty house. He would need someone to talk to. Torkel called Vanja over.

“Stay here with the boy.”

“No problem.”

Torkel turned back to Ulf.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Ulf turned his head and called into the house: “Johan, I’m just going with the police for a little while. Mom will be home soon!”

No reply. Torkel grabbed hold of one arm; Haraldsson put away the handcuffs and moved around the other side. With Ulf Strand between them they walked toward the car. Sebastian joined them.

“How long have you known?” he said.

Ulf squinted into the afternoon sun as he looked at Sebastian with a genuinely puzzled expression.

“How long have I known what?”

“That your wife was having a sexual relationship with Roger Eriksson.”

Sebastian saw Ulf’s eyes open wide for a second in total surprise. Shock and disbelief chased across his face. Before he managed to get his features under control, Ulf quickly looked down at his feet.

“Um… for a while.”

Sebastian stopped dead. His entire body stiffened. He realized what he had just seen. A man taken by surprise. Completely. Utterly. A man who hadn’t had a clue what his wife and his son’s best friend had been up to, until Sebastian told him. He turned to the others.

“This isn’t right.”

Torkel stopped. So did Ulf Strand and Haraldsson. Ulf’s eyes were still fixed on the ground.

“What did you say?”

“He hasn’t got a fucking clue!” Sebastian walked over to Torkel.

“What? What the hell are you talking about?”

Sebastian realized the implication of his words the moment he uttered them.

“It wasn’t him.”

Before anyone had time to react they heard a shot, followed by a scream. Sebastian turned to Ulf and saw Haraldsson clutch his chest and fall to the ground.

“Gun!”

Ursula hurled herself forward and with a single movement dragged the profusely bleeding Haraldsson behind the parked Renault. To safety. Torkel reacted equally fast, shoving Ulf Strand out of the way as he crouched down and followed him. Out of range. In just a few seconds they were off the drive. Seconds that Sebastian made use of, to cast a quick glance over his shoulder. The barrel of a rifle was jutting out from the upstairs window. Behind it he could see a young, pale face.

“Sebastian!” yelled Torkel. Sebastian knew that the others had acted instinctively and that years of training meant that they were out of danger. He was still standing in the middle of the drive. In full view. He looked up at the window again and saw the barrel of the rifle move slightly to the left.