calls, letters and so on?’ Vanja asked.
‘He’s not allowed phone calls, and he hardly gets any letters these days. But the ones that do arrive are all the same.’ Victor gave Billy and Vanja a meaningful look. ‘From women who can “cure” him with their love.’
Vanja nodded. Yet another of life’s little mysteries: the way certain women were attracted to the most disturbed and brutal men in the country.
‘Do you still have them?’
‘Copies. Hinde gets the originals. I’ll pass them on to you.’
They thanked him for his help and Victor went off to gather up the material they were going to take with them. Haraldsson leaned forward over the desk when the door had closed behind the security chief.
‘May I ask why you’re so interested in Hinde?’
Vanja ignored the question. So far they had managed to keep the fact that they were hunting a copycat killer away from the press. No one had even linked the latest three murders to the same perpetrator. Temporary staff working on the newspapers over the summer, presumably. Riksmord would prefer press interest in the investigation to remain minimal, and the fewer people who knew what they were actually dealing with, the greater the chance of maintaining that state of affairs.
‘We’ll need to speak to him,’ she said instead, getting to her feet.
‘Hinde?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s not possible.’
For the second time since her arrival Vanja stopped dead. She turned to face Haraldsson. ‘Why not?’
‘He’s one of three prisoners on the secure wing who are not allowed visits unless they are pre-booked and approved. Unfortunately.’ Haraldsson spread his arms wide in a gesture intended to further underline how sorry he was that he was unable to help them.
‘But you know who we are.’
‘Those are the rules. There’s nothing I can do, but Annika can give you a form so that you can apply for a visiting order. She’s my PA . . .’
Vanja couldn’t help feeling that Haraldsson was enjoying his position of power. Perhaps that wasn’t so strange – he had been well down the pecking order the last time they met – but even if it was understandable and perhaps human, it was still extremely frustrating.
‘How long does it take for one of these applications to be processed?’ she asked, struggling to keep the irritation out of her voice.
‘Three to five working days, but I’m sure we can speed things up for you; you are from Riksmord after all. I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Vanja marched out without saying goodbye. Billy nodded before he left the room.
Haraldsson gazed at the closed door. That had gone well. Now he was going to get himself a cup of coffee and call Jenny.
This was going to be a good day.
His third day.
‘So you’re still stalking her?’ Stefan was looking at Sebastian with an expression he recognised. The expression that said: ‘I know more about you than you know yourself, so don’t lie to me.’
The expression Sebastian hated.
‘That’s not the way I see it.’
‘You stand outside her apartment block every day. You follow her around town, you follow her to work and to her parents’ place. What else would you call it?’
‘I’m interested in her. That’s all.’
Stefan sighed and leaned back against the soft, pale upholstery of his armchair.
‘She’s my daughter,’ Sebastian ventured by way of an excuse. ‘I have to do it. I can’t let her go.’ He knew how lame that sounded. He was glad he hadn’t mentioned anything about Trolle.
Stefan shook his head and gazed out of the window for a moment. They always ended up at this point. Vanja. The daughter Sebastian had suddenly discovered. The daughter who knew nothing, and could never be allowed to find out. Or could she? Was there a way? That was the hope. That was the question Sebastian always came back to, sooner or later. The point he was unable to get past. The issue he was constantly fighting with.
Stefan
‘He’s not allowed phone calls, and he hardly gets any letters these days. But the ones that do arrive are all the same.’ Victor gave Billy and Vanja a meaningful look. ‘From women who can “cure” him with their love.’
Vanja nodded. Yet another of life’s little mysteries: the way certain women were attracted to the most disturbed and brutal men in the country.
‘Do you still have them?’
‘Copies. Hinde gets the originals. I’ll pass them on to you.’
They thanked him for his help and Victor went off to gather up the material they were going to take with them. Haraldsson leaned forward over the desk when the door had closed behind the security chief.
‘May I ask why you’re so interested in Hinde?’
Vanja ignored the question. So far they had managed to keep the fact that they were hunting a copycat killer away from the press. No one had even linked the latest three murders to the same perpetrator. Temporary staff working on the newspapers over the summer, presumably. Riksmord would prefer press interest in the investigation to remain minimal, and the fewer people who knew what they were actually dealing with, the greater the chance of maintaining that state of affairs.
‘We’ll need to speak to him,’ she said instead, getting to her feet.
‘Hinde?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s not possible.’
For the second time since her arrival Vanja stopped dead. She turned to face Haraldsson. ‘Why not?’
‘He’s one of three prisoners on the secure wing who are not allowed visits unless they are pre-booked and approved. Unfortunately.’ Haraldsson spread his arms wide in a gesture intended to further underline how sorry he was that he was unable to help them.
‘But you know who we are.’
‘Those are the rules. There’s nothing I can do, but Annika can give you a form so that you can apply for a visiting order. She’s my PA . . .’
Vanja couldn’t help feeling that Haraldsson was enjoying his position of power. Perhaps that wasn’t so strange – he had been well down the pecking order the last time they met – but even if it was understandable and perhaps human, it was still extremely frustrating.
‘How long does it take for one of these applications to be processed?’ she asked, struggling to keep the irritation out of her voice.
‘Three to five working days, but I’m sure we can speed things up for you; you are from Riksmord after all. I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Vanja marched out without saying goodbye. Billy nodded before he left the room.
Haraldsson gazed at the closed door. That had gone well. Now he was going to get himself a cup of coffee and call Jenny.
This was going to be a good day.
His third day.
‘So you’re still stalking her?’ Stefan was looking at Sebastian with an expression he recognised. The expression that said: ‘I know more about you than you know yourself, so don’t lie to me.’
The expression Sebastian hated.
‘That’s not the way I see it.’
‘You stand outside her apartment block every day. You follow her around town, you follow her to work and to her parents’ place. What else would you call it?’
‘I’m interested in her. That’s all.’
Stefan sighed and leaned back against the soft, pale upholstery of his armchair.
‘She’s my daughter,’ Sebastian ventured by way of an excuse. ‘I have to do it. I can’t let her go.’ He knew how lame that sounded. He was glad he hadn’t mentioned anything about Trolle.
Stefan shook his head and gazed out of the window for a moment. They always ended up at this point. Vanja. The daughter Sebastian had suddenly discovered. The daughter who knew nothing, and could never be allowed to find out. Or could she? Was there a way? That was the hope. That was the question Sebastian always came back to, sooner or later. The point he was unable to get past. The issue he was constantly fighting with.
Stefan
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