Dark Secrets (62 page)

Toward him.

He took off.

He ran toward the house and the open door. After a couple of steps he heard the crack of a bullet as it hit the stone path behind him. He put on a spurt of speed. Someone appeared in the doorway in front of him. Vanja. With her gun in her hand.

“What’s going on?”

Sebastian was pretty sure he was close enough to the house for the angle to make it impossible to hit him from the upstairs window, but he had no intention of risking it by stopping to update Vanja. He threw himself into the safety of the hallway. Vanja was beside him in a second.

“Sebastian. What’s going on?”

Sebastian was gasping for breath. His heart was racing. His pulse was pounding in his ears. Not from the exertion, but he must have used up a year’s ration of adrenaline in the past fifteen seconds.

“He’s up there,” Sebastian replied breathlessly. “With a rifle.”

“Who is?”

“Johan. He shot Haraldsson.” They heard footsteps from above. Vanja spun around and pointed her gun at the staircase. No one appeared. The footsteps stopped.

“Are you sure?”

“I saw him.”

“Why would he shoot Haraldsson?”

Sebastian shrugged and took out his cell phone, his hands trembling. He typed in a number. Busy. He hung up, and tried again. Still busy. He assumed Torkel was calling for backup.

Armed backup.

He tried to gather his thoughts.

What did he know?

There was a teenager upstairs who had just shot a police officer. A teenager who, according to his mother, had been mentally unstable in the past. It might have been an impulsive act when he saw them taking his father away from him. Perhaps he was involved in the murder of Roger Eriksson in some way, and now he felt as if his whole world was falling apart.

Sebastian set off toward the stairs. Vanja placed a hand on his chest to stop him.

“Where are you going?”

“Upstairs. I have to talk to him.”

“No, you don’t. We wait for backup.”

Sebastian took a deep breath.

“He’s sixteen years old. He’s scared. He’s shut in his room. If he sees an entire fucking armed response team turn up and thinks there’s no way out, he’s going to turn that gun on himself.”

Sebastian looked at Vanja, his expression serious.

“I don’t want that on my conscience. Do you?”

Vanja met his eyes. They stood there in silence. Sebastian could see Vanja weighing the arguments against one another.

For and against.

Sense and sensibility.

He gazed at her, wondering how he was going to persuade her if she refused to let him go upstairs. It would be difficult, but he had to do something. He was certain that if someone didn’t make contact with Johan soon, the boy would die. That just couldn’t be allowed to happen. To his great relief Vanja nodded and stepped aside. Sebastian walked past her.

“Call Torkel and tell him what I’m doing. Tell them to wait.”

Vanja nodded. Sebastian took a deep breath, grabbed hold of the banister, and placed his foot on the first step.

“Good luck.” Vanja touched his arm.

“Thank you.”

Sebastian started up the stairs, moving slowly.

At the top a small landing led off to the left. Four doors. Two on the right, one on the left, and one straight ahead at the end. The white-painted walls were adorned with framed posters, photographs, and a child’s drawings, arranged in no discernible order. On the floor was a red runner an inch narrower than the landing. It was dusty. Sebastian looked at the closed doors and thought things over. The staircase turned ninety degrees to the left. The front door was on the same side as Johan’s window. So that should mean that the door at the end of the landing would lead him to Johan. Sebastian crept toward it.

“Johan?”

Silence. Sebastian pressed himself against the wall on the right-hand
side, uncomfortable with the idea of standing directly in front of the door. He had no idea whether a bullet from a Unique T66 Match was capable of passing through an internal door, but he didn’t have any desire to find out.

“Johan, it’s me. Sebastian.” He knocked tentatively on the door. “Do you remember me?”

“Go away,” he heard faintly from inside the room. Sebastian breathed out. Contact. An important first step. Now it was a matter of taking the second step. He had to get inside that room.

“I want to talk to you. Would that be possible?”

No reply.

“I think it would be a good idea if we had a little chat. I mean, I’m not even a police officer, remember. I’m a psychologist.”

In the silence that followed Sebastian could hear sirens approaching in the distance. He swore silently. What the fuck were they doing? The boy would just get more stressed. Sebastian had to get into that room.

Now.

He moved across to the left and placed his hand lightly on the door handle. It felt cold to the touch. Sebastian realized he was sweating. He wiped his forehead with the other hand.

“I just want to talk to you. Nothing else. I promise.”

No reply. The sirens were getting closer. They must be in the street now. Sebastian raised his voice.

“Can you hear me?”

“Just go away!” Johan’s voice sounded resigned rather than threatening. Subdued. Was he crying? Was he on the point of giving up? Sebastian took a deep breath.

“I’m opening the door now.” He pushed down the handle. No visible reaction from inside. The door opened outward, so Sebastian opened it just half an inch, then stopped.

“I’m going to open the door all the way now, and then I’m coming in. Is that okay?” Once again Sebastian’s words were met with nothing but silence. He inserted his index finger in the gap and gently pulled
the door wide open while still standing to one side. Protected by the wall. He closed his eyes. Focus.

Then he stepped forward and stood in the middle of the doorway, his hands clearly visible.

Johan was sitting on the floor under the window with the gun in his hands. He turned to face Sebastian with an expression that suggested his appearance in the doorway was a complete surprise.

Confused.

In shock.

And, therefore, dangerous. Sebastian remained motionless. He looked at Johan with sympathy. He looked so small. So vulnerable. The skin on his face was pale and sweaty. There were dark rings around his eyes, which looked sunken and bloodshot. Lack of sleep, perhaps. Whatever had happened, whatever Johan had done, it had persecuted him. Hunted him down to this point, where there was no longer any way back. The risk was that the pressure would be too great. That the thin surface keeping him in the real world would crack. Sebastian could see how tense the boy was. His jaws were working beneath the pale cheeks. Johan suddenly seemed to lose all interest in Sebastian and turned his attention back to the window and what was going on outside.

From his position in the doorway Sebastian saw an ambulance draw up, along with yet more police cars. Activity everywhere. He could see Torkel speaking to an officer from what must be the local armed response team. Johan raised the rifle off his knee and pointed it at Sebastian.

“Tell them to go away.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I just want them to leave me alone.”

“They’re not going anywhere. You shot a police officer.”

Johan blinked hard and a tear ran down his cheek. Sebastian took another step into the room. Johan twitched and raised the gun. Sebastian stopped, holding out his hands in a calming, nonthreatening gesture. Johan’s gaze darted ominously around the room.

“I’m just going to sit down here.”

Sebastian stepped to the side and slid down onto the floor with his back against the wall, next to the open door. Johan didn’t take his eyes off him, but he did lower the rifle.

“Would you like to tell me what happened?”

Johan shook his head, then turned and studied the activity out in the street once more.

“Are they going to come and get me?”

“Not while I’m here.” Sebastian stretched his legs out in front of him, moving slowly. “And I’ve got all the time in the world.”

Johan nodded. Sebastian thought he saw his shoulders drop a fraction. Was he beginning to relax? It seemed so. But the boy’s head was still twitching like a baby bird’s as he tried to see everything that was going on outside, and the rifle was still pointing straight at Sebastian.

“We try to protect the things we love. That’s only natural. I can see that you really love your dad.”

No reaction from the boy. Perhaps he was concentrating so hard on the activity in the street that he didn’t even hear. Perhaps he just wasn’t listening. Sebastian fell silent. They both sat there. From the open window Sebastian could hear a stretcher being wheeled across the tarmac, then the rear doors of the ambulance slammed shut. Haraldsson was in good hands. Muted voices. Footsteps. A car starting up and driving away. The lawnmower still humming away somewhere in the distance, where life was still comprehensible, still manageable.

“I tried to protect those I loved. But I failed.”

Perhaps it was something about the tone of voice. Perhaps it was that things had quieted down outside and were no longer demanding his attention, but Johan turned to face Sebastian.

“What happened?”

“They died. My wife and daughter.”

“How?”

“They drowned. In the tsunami—do you remember that?”

Johan nodded. Sebastian didn’t take his eyes off the boy.

“I would do absolutely anything to get them back. So that we could be a family again.”

As Sebastian had hoped, it looked as if his words had struck a chord deep inside the boy. This was something he could relate to. Family. The sense of loss when it was no longer there. Beatrice had talked about how Johan’s sorrow had made him ill. The family. The image of the perfect family. Sebastian was beginning to suspect just how far Johan would go to stop anyone spoiling that image.

Johan didn’t speak. Sebastian was feeling uncomfortable. Cautiously he drew up his knees and rested his forearms on them. Much better. Johan didn’t react to the movement. They carried on sitting there like that.

Opposite each other.

In silence.

Johan was chewing on his lower lip, a preoccupied look on his face. He glanced out the window with unseeing eyes, as if nothing out there was of any interest to him now.

“I never meant to kill Roger.”

Sebastian made out the words with some difficulty. Johan was speaking quietly through clenched teeth. Sebastian closed his eyes briefly. So that was it. He had suspected it when it became clear that Ulf had no motive, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. The tragedy was great enough as it was.

“I told Lena, his mom, so that she could stop it. But nothing happened. It just carried on.”

“Roger and your mother?”

Johan carried on staring out the window, his gaze fixed on a point outside. Somewhere else.

“Mom met somebody else once. Before. Did you know that?”

“Yes. Birger Franzén.”

“Dad left us.”

Sebastian waited. Nothing else came. It was as if Johan was counting on the fact that Sebastian could work out the rest for himself.

“You were afraid he’d leave you again.”

“He would have. This was worse.”

Johan sounded absolutely certain, and Sebastian couldn’t contradict him, even if he’d wanted to.

The age difference.

The relationship between teacher and student.

Her son’s best friend.

This betrayal would undoubtedly have been perceived as greater. Much more difficult to forgive. Particularly for a man like Ulf. A man who hadn’t even begun to forgive her for the last time.

“How did you find out they were seeing each other?”

“I saw them kissing once. I knew he was seeing someone. He used to talk a lot about… what they did. But I…”

Johan didn’t finish the sentence. Not out loud, anyway. Sebastian watched the boy shaking his head, as if he were continuing the discussion inside his head.

Sebastian waited.

The process was under way. Now that the boy had started to open up like this, it would take a great deal for him to shut down again. He wanted to tell someone. Secrets were a heavy burden. If they were combined with guilt, they could destroy a person. Sebastian was fairly sure that Johan was beginning to feel a sense of relief. He thought he could detect a physical change in the boy. His shoulders had dropped still further. His jaw was no longer so tightly clamped shut. His back, which had been straight and tense, was more relaxed.

So Sebastian waited.

It almost seemed as if Johan had forgotten that Sebastian was in the room. But then he began to speak again. As if he were playing a movie in his head and narrating what he was seeing.

“He called. Here. Mom answered. Dad was at work. I realized they were going to meet up. Mom was going to go for a walk.” Johan almost spat out the last few words. “I knew where they were. What they were doing.”

The words came faster now. His voice was louder. His eyes were still fixed on a place where only Johan could go. As if he were there, as if…

He is waiting by the soccer field. Hidden in the trees on the edge of the forest. He knows where she usually drops him off. Roger told him. Before he knew that Johan knew. He sees the school’s S60 approaching the parking lot. It stops, but no one gets out. He doesn’t even want to think about what they might be doing in there. The rifle he brought from home is lying on the ground, and he nudges it with his foot. After a while he sees the car’s interior light go on as someone gets out. It’s Roger. Johan thinks he hears him say something, but he can’t make out what it is. Roger walks quickly across the field. Coming toward him. Moving fast. Johan gets to his feet and picks up the rifle. Roger is heading for the path that will take him home when Johan calls his name. Roger stops. Peers in the direction of the trees. Johan steps out, sees Roger shake his head when he catches sight of him. Not pleased. Not surprised. Not scared. It’s as if Johan is just a problem that he could do without right now. Johan takes a few steps onto the field. It looks as if Roger has been crying. Does he notice the rifle, hanging down by Johan’s right leg? He doesn’t mention it, anyway. He asks what Johan wants. Johan explains exactly what he wants. He wants Roger to stop going to bed with his mother. He wants Roger never to come anywhere near their house again. He wants Roger to stay as far away from Johan and his family as possible. He raises the gun in order to give weight to his words. But Roger’s reaction is completely different from what Johan had expected or hoped for. He starts yelling.

That everything is just crap anyway.

That everything, his whole fucking life, has gone to hell.

That Johan is a fucking idiot.

That he can’t deal with him right now.

He starts crying. Then he walks away. Away from Johan. But he can’t do that. Not now. Not like this. He hasn’t promised that things
will change. He hasn’t promised to stop. He hasn’t promised anything. It seems as if Roger doesn’t understand the seriousness of the situation. How important this is. Johan has to make him understand. But in order to make him understand, he has to make him listen first of all. In order to make him listen, he has to make him stop. Johan raises the gun. Shouts at Roger, tells him to stop. Watches him carry on walking. Shouts again. Roger gives him the finger over his shoulder.

Johan pulls the trigger.