Watching You(21)

Micrometeorology, he thought, and chuckled.

Syl looked at him dubiously.

‘She replied: “Nathalie Fredén, but you’re not going to broadcast this crap on television, are you?” What was that?’ he asked.

Syl blinked hard a couple of times. ‘I presume you want to know if I’ve found a Nathalie Fredén?’

‘Definitely. In a minute. But first this point, specifically.’

He could see the tension in Syl’s neck.

‘She seems to think before saying her name,’ she said eventually. ‘And she thought very hard before she decided to speak at all.’

‘After which she gives a name which might or might not be her own,’ Berger said. ‘Then what?’

‘OK,’ Syl said. ‘She says her name, then says very quickly that this crap shouldn’t be broadcast on television. More or less.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. Why?’

‘Because she wants to make sure it won’t be broadcast,’ Berger said. ‘But at the same time she wants to get her name out. Who to?’

‘Don’t get carried away here,’ Syl said. ‘Seeing as she gave her name, it could very well end up on television, as a caption. At the bottom of the screen. But there was no broadcast; they showed the hockey instead, even if she couldn’t have known that. If she didn’t want her name on television she could simply not have given it.’

‘You’re right,’ Berger said thoughtfully. ‘It’s definitely a risky strategy. Even so, it was a conscious decision to reveal her name. Why?’

‘For God’s sake, Sambo,’ Syl exclaimed. ‘It’s almost two years ago. She’s not talking to you.’

Oddly enough, Berger felt himself blush.

‘I didn’t think she was. It just seems like she was aiming her comments at the police in general somehow. But OK, that can wait till later. So, you’ve managed to find someone with the fairly unusual name of Nathalie Fredén?’

‘There aren’t many in Sweden. This is V?ster?s. Do you want to take that as the starting point and move out from there? Do we assume that’s where she’s from, and then she expanded her field of operations?’

‘Don’t know,’ Berger said. ‘It’s not even certain that Julia Almstr?m was the first victim. Is there a Nathalie Fredén in V?ster?s?’

‘No,’ Syl said. ‘Only in Stockholm.’

‘Just one?’

‘Three. One’s a baby out in Farsta. Another one is in Year 4 at Alvik School. The third is thirty-six years old and lives near Odenplan.’

‘Bloody hell,’ Berger said. ‘What else?’

‘Not much. I haven’t had time. But there doesn’t seem to be much about her. She’s got an apartment on Vidargatan, wherever that is. Surveillance?’

‘Right away. And email me everything you’ve got on her. Passport? Driving licence? Date of birth and ID number?’

‘I’ll send you all I’ve got,’ Syl said. ‘But none of the above.’

‘We’ll have to instigate a large-scale search,’ Berger said, and then left.

A couple of seconds later he stuck his head back into Syl’s cubbyhole and said: ‘Thanks.’





11




Monday 26 October, 12.01

Then time entered two phases. At first it went improbably, almost unmanageably, quickly. Berger was standing at the whiteboard while his ever-expanding team ran back and forth with information. He tried to summarise it as best he could on the old-fashioned whiteboard, attaching notes with magnets and drawing lines and arrows.

No passport, no driving licence, no photographs beyond those they’d already found. But a date of birth and ID number linked to the apartment on Vidargatan. And a floor plan of the flat.

‘She doesn’t seem to be particularly digital,’ Deer said. ‘No Facebook, no Twitter, no Instagram, at least not under her own name. No immediately accessible email address. No blog, and no website.’

‘Is that even possible these days?’ Berger asked.

Samir came over, scratching his beard. ‘Tax declarations,’ he said, waving some sheets of paper.

‘OK?’ Berger said. ‘Have we got a place of work?’

‘No, she’s only declared minimal income for the past four years. And nothing before that.’

‘Minimal income?’

‘From various sources, never more than ninety thousand kronor or so. I’ve tried to contact a couple of her clients but I haven’t heard anything so far.’

‘What sort of work?’

‘Unclear. Secretarial, maybe. Possibly cleaning. It’s hard to tell. A temp agency.’

‘Go on,’ Berger said, fixing the tax declarations to the board. He looked at them, staring intently at the neat signature, the name Nathalie Fredén perfectly legible.

‘Report from Vidargatan,’ a voice said behind Berger’s back. He turned round and saw a young detective whose name he had suddenly forgotten.

‘OK?’ he said.

‘No one in the flat at present,’ said the young man whose name Berger was still fumbling towards.

‘Don’t tell me some idiot’s gone and rung the bell?’