Jeanette opens the next book and finds Victoria Bergman’s name in the list of pupils not present. The same thing happens in the last year, and Jeanette has a feeling that Victoria Bergman was good at hiding even then, as she pulls out the first yearbook and looks at the picture again.
It had been taken almost twenty-five years ago, and she assumes it’s useless for identification purposes today.
Or is it?
There’s something about the look in those eyes that she recognises. A fleeting impression.
Jeanette Kihlberg is so deeply immersed in the photograph that she jumps when the phone rings.
Kenneth von Kwist says his name in his most ingratiating voice, and Jeanette feels annoyed at once. ‘Oh, it’s you. Why are you calling?’
He clears his throat. ‘Don’t be so abrupt. I’ve got something for you that you’re going to like. Make sure you’re on your own in the office in ten minutes’ time and look out for a fax.’
‘A fax?’ She doesn’t know what he’s up to, but is immediately suspicious.
‘You’re about to receive some information that is for your eyes only,’ he goes on. ‘The fax you’ll be getting consists of documents from Nacka District Court, dated autumn 1988, and you’re the first person apart from me to read them since then. I presume you know what this is about?’
Jeanette is speechless. ‘I understand,’ she finally manages to say. ‘You can trust me.’
‘Good. Well, don’t forget, and good luck. I have every confidence in you and I’m relying on this remaining confidential.’
Wait, she thinks. This is a trap.
‘Listen, don’t hang up. Why exactly are you doing this?’
‘Let’s just say …’ He thinks for a moment before clearing his throat again. ‘This is my way of apologising for having put a wrench in the works before. I want to make up for that, and, as I’m sure you’re aware, I have my contacts.’
Jeanette still doesn’t know what to believe. His words are apologetic, but his tone of voice is just as self-satisfied as always.
When they hang up she leans back in her chair and picks up the yearbook again. Victoria Bergman looks just as evasive as before. Jeanette is still having trouble working out if this is all a cunning joke.
There’s a knock on the door and Hurtig comes in. His hair is wet and his jacket is soaked.
‘Sorry I’m late. Fucking awful weather.’
The fax machine seems to be churning out paper forever, and Jeanette has her hands full moving the sheets from the floor to her desk. When the machine falls silent she gathers all the sheets together and puts them in a heap in front of her.
In September 1988 the National Board of Forensic Medicine reported that Victoria Bergman had been subjected to serious sexual abuse before her body reached full maturity, and Nacka District Court had therefore agreed to grant confidentiality for her personal details.
Jeanette is disgusted by the cold language. Full maturity – what does that mean?
She reads on and finds the explanation further down. The girl, Victoria Bergman, had, according to the board, been subjected to extensive sexual violence between the ages of zero and fourteen. A gynaecologist and a forensic medical officer had conducted a thorough examination of Victoria Bergman’s body and had found that the girl was severely damaged.
Yes, that was actually what it said. Severely damaged.
Finally she reads that it hadn’t been possible to determine who had carried out the assaults.
Jeanette is astonished. That thin, fair-haired, serious little girl with the evasive look in her eyes had evidently chosen not to press charges against her father.
She thinks about the reports filed with the police against Bengt Bergman that she herself had been involved with previously. The two Eritrean refugee children, subjected to whipping and sexual assault, and the prostitute who had been badly beaten, whipped with a belt and anally raped with an object of some sort.
The second report, from the Stockholm County Police Authority, confirmed that in interviews it had emerged that the plaintiff, Victoria Bergman, had been subjected to sexual abuse at least since the age of five or six.
Well, surely it isn’t possible to remember much further back than that? Jeanette thinks.
It’s certainly difficult to evaluate the credibility of such a witness. But if the abuse had begun when she was very young, it could be presumed that she was already being exploited sexually even then.
Hell, she’d have to show these documents to Sofia Zetterlund, regardless of her promise to von Kwist. Sofia would be able to explain how a little girl who had been subjected to so much would be affected mentally.
The last thing in the report says that the police officer responsible for the investigation believed that the threat against the plaintiff was sufficiently serious that she should be granted a protected identity.
Here, once again, it had not been able to ascertain the identity of the abuser.
Jeanette realises that she’s going to have to contact the people responsible for these investigations as soon as possible. It may have been twenty years ago, but with a bit of luck they might still be in the same jobs.
Jeanette goes over to the small side window, which is slightly open. She taps out a cigarette, lights it and takes a deep drag.
If anyone comes in and complains about the smell of smoke, she’ll force them to read what she’s just read. Then she’ll hand them the packet of cigarettes and direct them to the open window.
Back at her desk she reads the report from the psychiatric department of Nacka Hospital. The contents are fundamentally the same as the other documents. The plaintiff should be granted a protected identity in light of what had emerged during some fifty therapy sessions, which had dealt partly with sexual abuse between the ages of five and fifteen, and partly with sexual abuse after the age of fifteen.
Fucking bastard, Jeanette thinks. It’s a shame you’re dead.
Hurtig comes in with coffee, and they each pour a cup. Jeanette tells him to read through the court files from the beginning, while she tackles the final recommendation of the court.
She gathers together the thick bundle of paper and glances at the last page, to satisfy her curiosity over which police officer had investigated the case.
When she sees who had signed the report and recommended that the court grant confidentiality to Victoria Bergman, she almost chokes on her coffee.
Hans Sj?quist, authorised medical officer
Lars Mikkelsen, detective superintendent
Sofia Zetterlund, accredited psychologist
Vita Bergen – Sofia Zetterlund’s Apartment
IT COULD HAVE been different.
The linoleum floor is cold and sticks to Sofia Zetterlund’s naked shoulder. It’s dark outside.
The lights of cars passing by in the street play across the ceiling, to the sound of nervous rustling from the trees’ dry autumn leaves.