Watching You(68)

Blom went over to one of the carpentry benches and sat down on a now tolerably clean chair. The carpentry bench now held nothing but protein drinks. Then she started to unpack things from her suitcases, laying out cables and connecting her computer to numerous different devices.

Berger said: ‘Are those Security Service cases?’

‘Survival equipment for undercover jobs,’ Blom said. ‘They’re always in the van.’

‘And are you sure they’re not wired? Are they really untraceable?’

‘Seeing as I removed the SIM card from your mobile, we ought to be OK,’ she said. ‘This is my untraceable equipment, including a perfectly acceptable 4G connection.’

‘But we still won’t be able to access databases and internal networks?’

‘We will. The idea with this equipment is that I should be able to do precisely that from obscure locations, with total anonymity. One of the few advantages of working undercover.’

Berger nodded and assessed the interior of the boathouse. It was still filthy, and definitely ascetic, but it might actually work.

‘The basics, then?’ he said. ‘Running water, places to sleep, toilet, fridge, cooker, food?’

‘Running water?’ Blom said. ‘When we’ve got a lake right outside the door?’

‘That’s the sea. Salt water.’

‘OK, so we’ll have to pick up some bottles of water. And some sort of mini-fridge and a microwave. Sleeping bags and food. We’ll sort it later this morning. Don’t get hung up on details.’

‘Money doesn’t feel like a detail,’ Berger said. ‘Our bank cards are screwed.’

Molly Blom leaned down towards the suitcase again. She fished up a thick bundle of five-hundred-krona notes.

‘Undercover cash,’ she said. ‘Have a protein drink. Stop whining, start working.’





27




Wednesday 28 October, 12.14

Berger looked down at her legs from the van’s passenger seat.

‘Army trousers?’ he said. ‘Are we doing national service?’

She pulled a face and concentrated on driving.

‘Seriously, though,’ he said. ‘I didn’t see you buy them.’

‘You shop like a woman,’ Blom said. ‘I shop like a man. It took forever for you to choose underpants.’

‘It’s a sensitive piece of clothing,’ Berger said.

The rain was tipping down on Norrortsleden. They were passing beneath the E18, north of Ullnasj?n, heading out to the sticks.

‘Do you think changing the number plates will be enough?’ Berger asked.

‘I know there are rumours about some experimental method of reverse-tracking GPS,’ Blom said, ‘but I doubt they’d resort to that in this situation. We aren’t exactly a direct threat to Sweden’s democratic system, its citizens’ freedoms and rights or national security.’

‘No?’ Berger said. ‘What a disappointment.’

They were silent for a while. Then he changed the subject.

‘What do you think happened when William vanished after school? He went up in smoke, disappeared off the face of the earth.’

‘I think our shared hypothesis is correct,’ Blom said. ‘He must have had help.’

‘He was completely helpless right from the start, all the way through primary school,’ Berger said. ‘He and his mum kept moving round the suburbs of Stockholm because of the bullying. You haven’t got kids, Molly, you can’t begin to imagine the pain of seeing your child bullied everywhere they go. Being turned into a nomad because of cruelty. Knowing that in every new place you arrive, the same hell would be repeated.’

‘What do you remember about his mother?’ Blom asked.

‘Not much,’ Berger said. ‘She was pretty twitchy.’

‘Twitchy?’ Blom said.

‘Nervous, always doing something, couldn’t sit still. Smelled funny.’

‘Funny?’

‘Are you my psychologist?’

‘Focus now. Funny, how? Disgusting?’

‘No, not at all. More like nice. Sweet, perhaps.’

‘Alcohol?’

Berger paused. Then nodded slowly.

‘I hadn’t really been exposed to that back then. But that’s probably what it was.’

‘She died in rehab in Kista twelve years ago.’

Berger nodded again.

‘There’s a horrible logic to that,’ he said.

‘Do you remember what she looked like?’ Blom asked. ‘I’ve only seen a passport photograph. Blonde?’

‘No,’ Berger said. ‘Mind you, that really blond hair is usually a childhood thing. Nordic childhood, anyway. Then you end up with brown hair. I was blond when I was little. I bet you were too.’

‘What do you mean?’ Blom exclaimed. ‘I’m blonde now!’

‘Yeah, except for a couple of millimetres of roots.’

Blom wrenched the van to the left. The tyres shrieked, saving her the trouble. ?kersberga, which had appeared like a mirage, vanished again as they headed on into the countryside.

‘And no sign of a father?’ she said. ‘You don’t remember anything?’