Watching You(19)

He pointed to the picture of a smiling Ellen Savinger. That was the smile that the team had been faced with every day for almost three weeks now, a slightly reserved smile which still seemed to hint at a future of unlimited possibilities.

Beside the photograph were pictures of the clothes Ellen had been wearing when she disappeared, including an elegant if slightly too summery floral dress.

Berger went on: ‘We could probably find bicycle-woman much quicker if all media outlets published her picture simultaneously. But then we’d also be tipping her off. And I don’t want to risk a repeat of M?rsta. Right now we have the advantage of knowing something that she doesn’t know. And it has to stay that way for as long as possible. As long as we have the slightest advantage, we need to make the most of it.’

He stopped himself, but it was clear that he hadn’t finished.

He pointed at the two photofit pictures of Erik Johansson and then stuck an enlarged photograph of bicycle-woman’s face next to them.

‘This is the best picture we’ve got of her at the moment,’ he said. ‘And her relationship to him is unclear. She exists. Whether or not he does remains to be seen.’

Another pause. Then he said: ‘There’s just one thing that matters. We have to catch her.’

Berger still wasn’t quite finished. The team stopped halfway out of their chairs and stared at him.

He looked over towards the pillar by the corridor and said, emphatically: ‘OK, people, we’re not supposed to say it out loud, but we’re chasing a serial killer.’

As the meeting split up a powerful baritone rang out.

‘My office,’ Allan said with his eyes fixed on Berger.

Not unexpected.





10




Monday 26 October, 11.34

Bosses’ offices are almost always impersonal, but Allan seemed to have taken pains to break the record. No books worthy of the name on the bookshelves, just unmarked files and folders with militaristic abbreviations on yellowing labels, not a single photograph on the desk, not a single object that hinted at the slightest decorative instinct, not even any diplomas on the walls. No golf clubs, no fishing rod, no football lapel pin, not even a lawnmower manual.

‘So?’ Allan said, flashing a glance across the desk.

‘I did exactly what you said,’ Berger said. ‘To the letter. I didn’t say a thing until I had evidence. And if that bicycle-woman isn’t evidence that these three cases are connected, then we may as well abolish the word evidence.’

‘And then you said the S-word.’

‘To my team, not the media. They’re under the same oath of confidentiality as you and me.’

‘Even if they’ve got less to lose.’

‘I’m not sure I’ve got much to lose,’ Berger said. ‘Detective inspector with special responsibilities?’

‘Your life,’ Allan said.

‘My life? How can you say that, Allan, with this emotionally dead office as the centre of your world?’

‘So what does your workplace look like?’

‘I don’t have any walls to decorate.’

‘But you do have a framed photograph, I know, it looks very cosy there in your corner. Is it the Arc de Triomphe?’

‘Stop it,’ Berger said.

‘They’re no longer part of your life. They’re gone. Your life is here now. Here, and nowhere else. And you don’t want to lose that.’

‘What are you trying to say, Allan?’

‘As everyone knows, I’ll be retiring soon. And I’m assuming that you’ll be taking over. You have got a lot to lose, Sam. You shouldn’t have said the S-word. But because you did, we’ll be reading about it in the papers within the next few days.’

‘Three missing fifteen-year-olds.’ Berger said. ‘One of them gone for more than a year. This is a serial killer, I promise you, a serial killer who for some reason has decided to specialise in fifteen-year-old girls.’

Allan looked at him intently. Then he turned away and pulled a sheet of paper out of a pile on his desk.

‘The knives,’ he said with a gesture that was hard to read. ‘Homemade, according to Robin. So now there’s something as unusual as metallurgical analysis underway at the National Forensic Centre. Forging iron at home is so rare that some part of the process ought to be traceable.’

‘Possibly also the skill itself,’ Berger said. ‘How the hell would anyone know how to forge knives so that they fly straight instead of spinning? You’d have to be an expert.’

‘That’s under investigation too,’ Allan said. ‘Robin has been very busy, he’s got a whole list, topped with the heading “Do it again, do it right”. Does that ring any bells?’

‘No,’ Berger said serenely.

‘The list consists of the following: knives, knife-throwing mechanism, mooring rings, newly built wall, vacuum cleaner, labyrinth.’

‘Not toxicology analysis?’

‘I haven’t got to the Forensic Medical Unit’s analysis yet. I’d like to go through Robin’s list point by point, if you don’t mind.’

‘I don’t mind,’ Berger said. ‘Labyrinth?’

‘So that caught your interest?’ Allan said scornfully. ‘Just be patient, we’ll go through the list in order. So, the knife-throwing mechanism.’