Watching You(26)

‘It’s all about this,’ he repeated.

She merely went on looking at the photograph.

‘Have I understood correctly?’ he went on. ‘You’ve waived your right to a lawyer?’

‘I don’t even know why I’m here,’ Fredén said in her dark, slow voice. ‘Let alone why I would need a lawyer.’

‘Is that a yes?’

‘Yes.’

Berger took a deep breath and turned to the electronic device on the side table.

‘Red light,’ he said, pointing. ‘When it’s lit the audio and video are on. So that everything is official and can be recorded. The light is off at the moment. Is there anything you want to say to me, and me alone, before we start doing this formally? Just between the two of us?’

‘That your mobile phone is already recording,’ Nathalie Fredén said.

It was lying upside down on the table between them. No lights, no sound. He smiled faintly, leaned over to the side table and pressed the record button. The red light came on.

He said the day’s date. He said where they were. He said who was present. He said: ‘Nathalie Fredén, you are primarily suspected of withholding information regarding the kidnap of Ellen Savinger, fifteen years old. I have now informed you of the nature of the suspicions against you. Do you understand these suspicions?’

‘Yes. But not what I might have to do with any of it.’

Berger put three photographs on the table in front of her. Two were enlarged, cleaned-up pictures from his mobile phone, taken from the porch in M?rsta. The third was a press photograph that Syl had only just got hold of. It showed Nathalie Fredén even more clearly. Even the brand of her bicycle was clearly visible. Rex.

‘Is this you?’ Berger asked.

‘It looks like it,’ Fredén said calmly.

‘Do you know where that is?’

‘Not really. I cycle a lot. It looks like it’s raining.’

‘You cycle a lot?’

‘Yes. I like cycling.’

‘What, thirty kilometres to M?rsta in the rain?’

‘M?rsta? OK, now I know where that is. The police were there. And the media. This is a press photograph, isn’t it?’

‘What were you doing there?’

‘Cycling. A Sunday excursion north of the city.’

‘And what happened?’


‘I saw flashing blue lights and followed them.’

‘Has that happened before?’

‘What?’

‘That you saw flashing blue lights and followed them?’

‘Now and again, yes. When you cycle as much as I do.’

‘Can you give me an example?’

‘No idea. Now and again.’

‘Here, for instance?’

And then three photographs from the wintry forest between Karlskoga and Kristinehamn, all with Nathalie Fredén and her bicycle in their centre.

‘That looks like winter,’ she said calmly.

Berger looked at her very seriously for the first time. If he had ever been under the illusion that this would be easy – which he probably hadn’t – then that illusion had long since blown away now. He would have to delve deeper.

He looked into her blue eyes and tried to get a real sense of who she was. Either she lied very easily, always had a good excuse to hand, or she was almost implausibly naive. It was incredibly difficult to determine which.

Then it dawned on him. He’d had an idea at the back of his mind, but this was the first time he managed to formulate it. Nearly two years ago she had made preparations to end up here, right here, when she gave her name to the reporter. Now he understood. She is where she wants to be. But why?

In a different world he might even have realised how beautiful she was. And now, when he understood how difficult this was going to be, how deep he would have to delve to get anywhere, he realised also that he would have to get to know her better. This was his only chance.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s winter.’

‘I don’t know where that is,’ she said. ‘A lot of unexpected things happen when I’m out cycling. That’s part of the charm of it.’

‘Of these long bike rides?’

‘Yes. They can take weeks. I cycle all round Sweden.’

‘Aimlessly?’

‘Mostly, yes. I try to be a free person.’

‘A free person.’

‘Yes, actually. I don’t think you’re as cynical as you sounded when you said that.’

‘Why not?’

‘It shows in your eyes.’

‘So you consider yourself to be a free person?’

‘We all follow a whole load of laws, not least the laws of nature. No one can be properly free. But you can seek freedom. That’s much harder than being cynical. Cynicism is the cheap version.’

‘A whole load of laws … Financial as well?’

‘Yes, those too.’

‘You have no income to speak of, no Swedish bank account. How do you finance your free life?’

‘It doesn’t cost that much. If it did, I wouldn’t be free. And I was given my bicycle by an ex.’

‘But a flat near Odenplan costs money.’

‘I inherited it from my grandfather.’