Watching You(80)

‘Not any more. Nothing’s coincidental now.’

‘On a completely different level, maybe. When he showed me his clocks he wanted to be admired, judged for his talents not his face. He wanted to share something. Going through the things he went through, well … what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Yet anyone who becomes a murderer is as good as dead.’

‘You mean it’s suicide by proxy?’

‘Yes, he just doesn’t have the right make-up, I guess.’

‘And what would be the right make-up?’

‘I don’t know,’ Berger said. ‘Forgiveness isn’t my area of expertise.’

‘That would have been the only solution, you mean?’

‘Maybe. Learning from evil in order to understand it and be able to counteract it, both within yourself and out in the world. I’ve failed to do that.’

‘I didn’t forgive either,’ Blom said. ‘Does anyone, truly?’

‘But you did manage to go on.’

‘By acting my way through my life, yes.’

‘That feels like what we all do,’ Berger said with a snort. ‘When I was a son I played the part of a son. When I was a father I played the part of a father. I’ll play the part of an old man too. Hell, I’ll end up playing dead.’

‘But not a police officer?’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever played the part of a police officer, no. Have you?’

‘It’s the only role I’ve never played,’ Blom said.

They stood there for a while. The redness turned into morning light and spread relentlessly across Edsviken. Day had come.

‘That role will probably be over and done with soon,’ Berger said.

Blom nodded slowly; then in the end shook her head. She went back into the boathouse. Berger waited a while longer. Then he followed her.

Blom pulled on her tracksuit top and drank a protein drink as she looked through the previous day’s security footage. The screen was divided into four. Four rectangles displayed shots from around the boathouse, and nothing happening in any of them.

‘A quiet night,’ she said, zipping up her top.

She watched sceptically as he picked up his old jacket and slowly pulled it on.

‘We’re an odd couple,’ she declared, and walked out.

He caught up with her by the fence.

‘I’ll drive,’ she said.

He didn’t object: he had no great desire to drive a stolen 1994 Mazda with false plates all the way to Kristinehamn.

The rain held off, more or less, for the first 250 kilometres. They had just one significant exchange throughout the entire journey.

‘Tell me about mountain climbing,’ Berger said.

‘Mountain climbing?’ Blom said. The car wobbled on the irritating 90 km/h stretch near ?rebro.

‘It seems to be your one real passion in life.’

‘You’re seriously suggesting we talk about our lives?’

He laughed. ‘Don’t bother, then. But it’s a bit uneven.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I know you much better as Nathalie Fredén than as Molly Blom. Whereas you’ve already drilled pretty deep into Sam Berger’s boringly stable psyche.’

It looked as if the smooth forehead actually frowned, but it was probably a result of the sun suddenly breaking through the clouds.

‘Yes,’ she eventually said. ‘I like climbing.’

‘I always imagine that undercover officers would relax by doing something that didn’t remind them of work. Crocheting, maybe? Growing geraniums?’

‘You think climbing reminds me of work?’

‘Doesn’t it? Aren’t they both about precision and control on the brink of the abyss?’

‘In some ways,’ she conceded. ‘But when I’m dangling there with nature stretching out to infinity, the only thing I feel is a vast, overwhelming sense of freedom.’

He nodded. ‘I’m scared of heights,’ Berger said. ‘And I don’t really trust myself. I might get a sudden impulse and just let go.’

‘Tell me about the watches.’

He smiled. ‘The watches make me calm. There’s something remarkable about the way all those tiny cogs interact. I enter a different world and recharge my strength. Time is always the same there. Calm and straightforward. Because of the complexity.’

‘Oddly enough, it sounds a bit like mountain climbing,’ Blom said.

‘Mountain climbing with a safety net,’ Berger said.

They were silent the rest of the way to Kristinehamn.

At one corner of S?dra Torget a moody-looking girl was sitting in the worsening rain. Her tattoos were clearly visible through her far-too-thin clothes. As she peered inside the car she looked extremely suspicious.

‘Sandra,’ Berger said.

‘Hmm,’ the girl said. ‘Who’s she?’

Blom held up her fake police ID. ‘Jump in the back.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Sandra said. ‘Isn’t that what Jonna and Simon did?’

‘Weren’t you in Australia then?’ Berger said. ‘Don’t worry, we are police officers. And we only want to talk to you. On the phone yesterday you said something about a secret hideout …?’