The Chosen (24 page)

‘I’m calling about the murder of the schoolteacher,’ his colleague said.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s about the tracks on the roof where we think the sniper was lying.’

‘You mean the tracks that had almost been blown away or covered in snow by the time we got there?’

The weather had definitely not been on their side.

‘Exactly. The footprints were useless; the weather had more or less destroyed them. The only thing CSI would say with any certainty was that the large imprint must have been left by the
perpetrator’s body. Indentations in the snow showed where the knees and elbows had been placed.’

Alex already knew this, but he assumed there was more to come.

‘You found some footprints out at Drottningholm as well, I believe? Size 43 shoes, if my information is correct.’

‘That’s right.’

‘And this is where things get weird,’ his colleague said. ‘Because even taking into account the fact that the imprint on the roof had been affected by the wind and the fresh
fall of snow, we have been able to establish that the person in question can’t possibly have been any taller than one metre seventy.’

This was unexpected.

‘You mean that someone of that height wouldn’t be wearing size 43 shoes?’

‘I mean it seems highly unlikely,’ his colleague said. ‘And the footprints we found support that view.’

‘I thought you said they were no use?’

‘It was impossible to secure a cast of the sole, for example. However, CSI were able to get a rough idea of the size.’

Alex pressed the receiver to his ear.

‘And?’

The tension in his voice was clear.

‘There is no possibility whatsoever that those prints were made by someone wearing a size 43. According to CSI’s calculations, the maximum length of the shoe was twenty-five centimetres. Which means that the
perpetrator’s feet were a centimetre or so shorter than that. Which means that the person who lay on the roof and fired the gun was wearing shoes somewhere between size 36 and
38.’

Alex sat motionless in his chair.

He thought about the killer who had settled down on the roof and shot his victim through the falling snow. A killer who was no more than one metre seventy tall, and whose feet were small enough
to fit into a pair of size 38 shoes.

A killer who could be a woman.

T
he toboggans crunched in the snow as they walked through Vasa Park, heading for the hill behind the playground. Eden Lundell was towing one toboggan, her husband the other, a little girl
riding on each one. Mikael was holding her hand, and she hadn’t pulled it away. It was his day today. The weather had been kind to him, and he deserved to play happy families.

In Stockholm the sun was shining, but in London they had sleet and high winds. All flights had been postponed, and Eden wouldn’t be able to get away before evening at the earliest.

‘There you go,’ Mikael had said when she told him. ‘Sometimes things just sort themselves out.’

Eden had no idea what he thought had sorted itself out; she wasn’t going to be home any sooner just because her flight was delayed.

However, it was too nice a day to argue, so she didn’t object when Mikael suggested an outing to the park. Instead she packed sausages and rolls and drinks in a rucksack and pulled on her
thermal tights. The food was Mikael’s idea; he claimed there were big outdoor barbecues in the park for public use. Eden knew nothing about that kind of stuff.

The rucksack bounced against her back as they walked along. So at last the day had come: Eden was going to Vasa Park. She almost thought it might be fun.

Her daughters were thrilled when they realised where they were going, and their laughter warmed Eden’s heart. Sometimes she did the right thing. It was important to remember that.

From time to time Mikael said hello to people they met. People Eden didn’t recognise. When he spoke to a tall dark woman who gave him a big smile, Eden felt something she hadn’t
experienced for a very long time. Jealousy.

‘Who the hell was that?’ she said.

The tone of voice and choice of words gave her away. Mikael couldn’t help smiling.

‘Jealous?’

‘Of course not. I just wondered who she was.’

‘A colleague.’

Eden forced herself to keep on walking.

‘A colleague?’

‘Yes.’

‘You mean she plays the organ or something?’

Mikael’s laughter rang out across the park.

‘For fuck’s sake, pull yourself together,’ Eden said, punching him on the arm.

‘You pull yourself together! Plays the organ – what the hell are you talking about?’

‘Well, answer me then – and stop swearing!’

‘
Me
stop swearing?!’

‘Don’t change the subject.’

Mikael let go of her hand, and for a fraction of a second Eden felt the ground give way beneath her feet.

You
’
re not going to leave me, are you?

But Mikael wasn’t the kind of man to leave the woman he loved. Instead he put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a big hug. Bigger than she deserved.

Eden slipped her arm around his waist.

‘So who is she?’

‘She’s a priest.’

‘In your church?’

‘No.’

‘Do you find her attractive?’

Mikael laughed again, quietly this time.

‘Do you?’

‘What do you want me to say?’ he said.

‘How about: “No, she’s the ugliest woman I’ve ever seen”.’

He kissed her cheek.

‘I think she’s gorgeous,’ he said.

Eden couldn’t believe how much energy was contained in a child’s body. She lost count of the number of times the girls ran up the hill to slide down again. At one metre eighty, she
felt like a giant among all the children.

‘Again!’

Dani grabbed Eden’s hand and dragged her along. Her hat had slipped to one side and she had taken off her gloves, which dangled from the sleeves of her snowsuit. Eden picked her up and
carried her off to the side.

‘Put me down!’

The child kicked out at Eden, who was determined to have her way.

‘Quiet! We’ll go back up as soon as you put on your gloves, okay?’

She put her daughter down on one of the wooden picnic tables. Eden’s stomach rumbled as she thought about grilled sausages; she was getting hungry.

As she was helping Dani with her gloves, she detected a movement in her peripheral vision. Or rather a lack of movement. Someone was standing in the snow, watching her.

Slowly she turned her head.

And there he was.

Efraim.

Less than ten metres away.

No, no, no.

She could do nothing about her reaction. She stood there as if she was frozen to the spot, in front of her daughter with one glove in her hand.

They stood in silence staring at one another, Efraim and Eden. If she hadn’t had Dani with her, she would have done what she didn’t do the last time she saw him. She would have
hurled herself at him, knocked him to the ground.

‘Mummy?’

Dani’s voice sounded so far away.

Oh God, Dani.

With a start Eden woke from her trance and looked away from Efraim.

Got to get away got to get away got to get away.

He mustn
’
t see her.

Please, please, please God, don
’
t let him see her.

She picked up her daughter and began to back away. She had to get out of here.

But it was too late. That was obvious when she glanced in his direction. His expression had changed from indifference to something that resembled a mixture of shock and horror.

He was looking at Dani.

Staring at Dani.

He couldn’t take his eyes off the face that revealed so much, if you knew what you were looking for.

Dani noticed Efraim over her mother’s shoulder as Eden turned her back on him and set off towards Mikael.

‘Who’s that man?’ she whispered in Eden’s ear.

‘Nobody. Just someone who’s lost his way.’

But inside she was in total panic. The words she knew she would never say out loud to her daughter echoed in her heart and her head.

That, Dani, is your daddy and your sister
’
s daddy.

I
t had been a long, restless night. Time and time again he had woken up with all his senses on full alert. Dreams he couldn’t remember made his heart race. Eventually he gave up, and went
for a shower.

‘Are you okay?’ Ylva asked when he came back to bed.

‘Absolutely,’ Peder said.

Morning came and the curse was broken. Peder got up at seven when he heard noises from his sons’ bedroom. He found them sitting on the floor, playing with their Lego, still in their
pyjamas and with their hair standing on end. They hardly noticed him; they were completely absorbed in what they were doing.

For a while everything seemed fine.

Calm.

Peaceful.

Without Ylva and the boys, I would never have got back up again.

‘Do you want some breakfast?’

‘Not yet.’

Peder left them and went into the kitchen, put the coffee on and went to fetch the paper. Ylva came to join him; they enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and made plans for the day.

‘I need to put in a few hours’ work.’

‘Oh, Peder . . .’

‘I won’t be long.’

‘But we said we’d go somewhere – it’s such a beautiful day.’

In a previous life Peder would have reacted with fury, felt as if Ylva was accusing him of something, putting him under pressure. But not any more, because now he knew that she was right. It was
wrong to prioritise work over family; it always had been and it always would be.

Although that didn’t mean there was no room for compromise.

‘I’ve got a new job,’ he said. ‘And some terrible things have happened over the past few days.’

‘You’re not a police officer any more.’

‘I know that. But I am head of security. And I was a police officer for several years. It’s my duty to be around for a few hours over the weekend.’

Ylva stroked his arm.

‘I just want you to be careful.’

He knew she meant well. What she really wanted to say was that she was afraid, he thought. Afraid that he would lose control once again, make himself unhappy. But she didn’t need to worry
about that. The Solomon Community murders weren’t personal, and therefore his duties were only professional. Otherwise he would never have walked into such a hornets’ nest.

An hour later he left the house and drove into the city. There were two things he wanted to check out.

The hole in the facade was small, but not difficult to find. After Alex and Fredrika’s visit, Peder had spoken to the security guards who were taking it in turns to monitor the entrance to the Solomon school. He had asked if they had seen Efraim Kiel; they had. One of the female guards said she had seen Efraim
outside the school on at least two occasions.

Both times he had been interested in just one thing.

The bullet hole in the wall.

But why?

Peder leaned closer and peered at the hole. He had no idea what CSI had to say about the matter, and he couldn’t see anything odd about it. He turned around and looked up at the roof where
the sniper had been lying.

It had been a bold enterprise, shooting someone from that distance in such terrible weather.

Peder gazed up at the roof. Then back at the hole. Then back at the roof.

Wasn’t the hole a hell of a long way down?

The teacher had been shot in the back. The bullet had gone straight through her body. Even if you took into account the sharp angle of the shot, Peder still couldn’t make sense of it. If
you drew a straight line from the roof to the wall, it looked as if the bullet should have hit Josephine in the leg.

If she had been standing up, that is.

By this time, Peder knew the witness statements off by heart – the statements that had been taken by the community’s security guards, who had conducted their own interviews with
those who had been out in the street and seen what had happened.

The second before the shot was fired, Josephine had crouched down to help a child with a shoelace that had come undone. Either Josephine had been incredibly unlucky – if she had remained standing, the bullet would have caused nothing more serious than a leg injury – or she had taken a bullet that was
meant for someone else.

Peder breathed in the cold air.

That had been one of his very first thoughts: that the bullet wasn’t meant for her. That it was supposed to have hit one of the children instead. The discovery of the paper bag
strengthened his suspicions. Alex and Fredrika hadn’t been willing to tell him why the bag was important, but Peder thought he knew anyway: they must have found similar bags where the
two boys had died.

And still they were letting the National Crime Unit run the investigation into Josephine’s death.

It made no sense at all.

Peder went back to his office and pulled out the file containing all the information he had gathered so far. Which children had been standing outside when Josephine was shot?

He read the names out loud, but they meant nothing to him. That wasn’t necessarily significant; if the killer chose his victims at random, then he might not have been aiming at one
particular child. But if the choice wasn’t random, which child might he have been aiming at?

Peder read through the list again. He didn’t know the children, had no idea who they were. However, none of them was over four years old. The boys who had been shot out on Lovön
were ten.

There was one more thing he wanted to follow up. No doubt the police had already done the same thing, but that didn’t matter, because Peder didn’t have access to their material. When reading through the witness statements, he had noticed something which one of the parents who witnessed the shooting had said:

Josephine turned around to call to the child who was still inside. At the same time, one of the other children came up to her to ask for help with a shoelace that had come undone. As she
crouched down, the shot was fired.