She stretched, shivered and pulled back the covers. Without really knowing how it had happened, she was up. Her body had instinctively made the decision for her. Take responsibility, it had said. Do your duty and don’t give in.
After a shower she got dressed and went downstairs to the kitchen, where Johan was sitting eating breakfast. Her lethargy had faded and she felt ready for a new day at work.
‘Are you up already? It’s only eight o’clock.’ She filled the coffee machine.
‘Yes, I couldn’t sleep. We’ve got a match tonight.’ He leafed through the paper, found the sports pages and began to read.
‘Is it a big match?’ Jeanette got out a cup and bowl, put them on the table, and took the milk and yogurt out of the fridge.
Johan didn’t answer.
Jeanette got the coffee pot, filled her mug, then sat down opposite him and repeated the question.
‘It’s a cup match,’ he muttered, without looking up from the paper.
Once again Jeanette felt the impotence of not knowing anything. Not having any idea of what her son’s everyday life looked like. It occurred to her that she hadn’t been to his school at all last term, except on the final day of the school year.
‘Who are you playing, and what cup is it?’
‘Give it a rest!’ He folded the paper and stood up. ‘You’re not really interested.’
‘Johan! Of course I’m interested, but right now you know I’ve got a lot going on at work …’ She lost her thread and thought about what she was saying. Were poor excuses the best she could come up with? She felt ashamed.
‘We’re playing Djurg?rden.’ He picked up his plate and put it in the sink. ‘It’s the final tonight, I think Dad’s going to come and watch.’ He went out into the hall.
‘You’re bound to win,’ she called after him. ‘Djurg?rden sucks.’
He didn’t reply, just went into his room and shut the door.
When she was about to leave she heard ?ke moving around on the sofa. She went into the living room. He had just woken up, and was sitting there rubbing his face. His hair was all over the place and his eyes were bloodshot.
‘I’m off now,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what time I’ll be home. It might be late.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ He looked at her, and from the weary look on his face Jeanette realised that right now he didn’t care if she came home or not.
‘Don’t forget that Johan’s got a match this evening. He’s hoping you’re going to be there.’
‘We’ll have to see.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll go if I’ve got time, but I don’t know if I will. I’m meeting Alex to put together an exhibition catalogue, and that might take a while. Why don’t you go instead?’ He smiled sarcastically.
‘Let it go. You know I can’t.’ She turned round, went out into the hall and walked towards the door. Their shoes and boots were in a big heap, surrounded by bits of grit and dust balls.
Inadequate, she thought. Worthless and self-obsessed.
‘I’ll call later to hear how it went.’
She opened the door, stepped out onto the porch and shut the door before he could answer.
Kronoberg – Police Headquarters
THE TRAFFIC HEADING into the city was sluggish as usual, but eased up slightly beyond Gullmarsplan, and as she parked the car she realised it had only just turned nine. She decided to start her working day with a long walk around Kungsholmen to clear her head.
When she got to her office Hurtig was sitting behind her desk waiting for her.
‘The best people always show up late.’ He grinned.
‘What are you doing here?’ She walked over, leaving no room for doubt that she wanted him to move.
‘Correct me if I’m wrong, Jeanette,’ he began. ‘But we’re in a pretty lousy position right now, aren’t we?’
Jeanette nodded. ‘What are you getting at?’
‘I took the liberty of looking at a number of old cases featuring extreme violence …’
‘OK, I’m with you.’ She suddenly felt excited, because she knew Hurtig wouldn’t be bothering her if he hadn’t come up with something.
‘By chance I came across this.’ He tossed her a brown document file. On the front were the words ‘Bengt Bergman. Case closed.’
‘Bergman has been here for interviews seven times over the years, most recently on Monday.’
‘On Monday? What for?’
‘A Tatiana Achatova reported him for rape. She’s a prostitute, and –’ Hurtig stopped himself. ‘Well, never mind her, that isn’t what made me suspicious. It was the brutality. And when I compared it with the earlier reports, it was the same there.’
‘Violence?’
‘Yes. The girls were badly beaten up, some had been whipped with a belt, and they’d all been anally raped with an object of some sort. Probably a bottle.’
‘I presume he was never convicted of anything, since he’s not in the register.’
‘Exactly. The evidence has always been too weak, and most of the victims have been prostitutes. His word against theirs, and if I’m not mistaken his wife’s given him an alibi for every occasion.’
‘So you think we should bring him in?’
Hurtig smiled, and Jeanette realised he’d been saving the best till last.
‘Two of the reports concern sexual abuse of minors. One girl, one boy. Brother and sister, born in Eritrea. And there was violence there as well …’
Jeanette picked up the file at once and began to leaf through it. ‘Damn, Hurtig. I’m glad I work with you. Let’s see … Here it is!’
She pulled out a thin document and glanced through it.
‘June 1999. The girl twelve, the boy ten. Extreme violence, wounds from being whipped, sexual assault, children with a foreign background. Case dropped because of … what does it say? The children weren’t thought to be credible because their testimonies didn’t match. And his wife gave him an alibi once again. It might be hard to link him to our cases. We need more than this.’
Hurtig had already thought of that.
‘We could take a chance,’ he said. ‘In Bergman’s file I found the name of his daughter. Maybe we could try giving her a call?’
‘I’m not with you. How do you think she could help?’
‘Who knows, maybe she isn’t as willing to give her father an alibi as his wife seems to be. OK, it’s a shot in the dark, but it’s worked before, hasn’t it? What do you say?’
‘OK. But you make the call.’ Jeanette passed him the phone. ‘Have you got her number?’
‘It wasn’t in the file, but …’ Hurtig said, turning to a page of his notebook with an extravagant gesture before dialling the number. ‘It’s a mobile phone, no address, sadly.’
Jeanette chuckled. ‘You knew I’d agree to this.’
Hurtig smiled at her as he waited in silence.
‘Yes, hello … I’m trying to get in touch with a Victoria Bergman. Is this the right number?’ Hurtig looked surprised. ‘Hello?’ He frowned. ‘She hung up,’ he said.
They looked at each other.
‘We’ll leave it a while, then I’ll try talking to her.’ Jeanette stood up. ‘Maybe she’d rather talk to a woman. Anyway, I could do with a coffee now.’