Fredrika tried to move the discussion forward.
‘To be honest, I think Peder’s idea is the closest to the truth.’
‘You believe Polly Eisenberg was the intended victim?’ Alex said.
She nodded. Peder looked pleased.
‘In that case, we have a problem,’ Alex said.
‘We do.’
‘But isn’t it a good thing if Polly was the target?’ Peder said. ‘It means this is personal, so you’re not looking at a serial killer. In other words, we don’t need to worry about more victims.’
Alex raised his eyebrows; he could see that Fredrika shared his unease.
‘Unfortunately I don’t think we can make that assumption,’ he said.
‘Because?’
‘Because if Polly was the target, then the killer has failed to achieve his goal. Which means we have a five-year-old girl who won’t be safe for a second until we have caught whoever is after her.’
The sunshine made Stockholm look even more stunning than usual. The most beautiful capital city in the world, Eden had once said. Efraim Kiel had contradicted her, said he couldn’t imagine a lovelier city than Jerusalem. They had spent a day driving from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem. Taken tea on the magnificent terrace of the King David Hotel. Strolled through the Old City and visited the Western Wall. Eden had slipped her hand into his and he had let it happen. He had sensed, believed, that her love for him would eventually be so strong that he would be able to win her over to their side.
He had failed. Failed, but he had been convinced that she was the only one who would have to pay.
How wrong he had been.
How very wrong.
Efraim Kiel was sitting motionless on the edge of his bed in his hotel room. He had left the glorious winter weather behind; he wanted no part of that particular idyll. He had waited for Eden outside the door of her apartment block, thinking that she and her family wouldn’t want to stay indoors on a day like this.
Right so far.
Her carefree attitude had surprised him; at no point had he thought she might spot him. That was one of the main reasons why he had been tempted to creep up on her as he had done; he had wanted to put her in her place, make her realise that it didn’t matter how many of her Säpo goons she put on his tail.
He would always win.
That’s how he had felt when he walked up to her.
Before he saw the child who was obviously her daughter.
He couldn’t believe his eyes.
It was like staring at a carbon copy of his younger sister. She had died in a car crash as a child, and he still carried a picture of her in his wallet. Eden had seen that picture, which had been a big mistake; he should never have let her touch any of his personal possessions. Everything he had shown her had been a facade, an invention, a stage set. The small amount that was not a part of this facade was in his wallet, but the only thing Eden had been interested in on that one occasion when she unconsciously got too close to the truth was the photograph of his sister.
She had thought it was his daughter.
‘You’re so alike,’ she had said.
‘We were,’ he had said. ‘But she’s not around any more.’
And he had immediately come up with a story of how his sister had been blown up in a terrorist attack, and how his parents had never got over it. The last part was true, in a way; his parents were still grieving for their lost little girl. But there had been no terrorist attack, just an unnecessary car accident.
Efraim closed his eyes, conjuring up once again the image of Eden’s daughter.
Their daughter.
But how was that possible?
They had used protection. Every single time. Or had they? Efraim recalled just one time when he hadn’t used anything, but Eden had stroked his cheek – how fucking stupid had he been? – and said:
‘It’s okay. I’m already pregnant.’
Why had she said that?
Efraim had had no reason to doubt her, because after a while the pregnancy had begun to show, and Mossad’s leaders had decided to put the project on the back burner. If motherhood meant that she was likely to move back to Sweden and leave MI5, then she would no longer be of interest to them. But Eden had given birth to her children and remained in London. Six months later, Efraim had made another attempt. It took a few weeks, but then she was his once more.
That was when he had realised that she was in love.
Deeply in love.
During the first phase of their relationship she had been driven by lust, but in this second phase it was all about love. He had been surprised when he saw the change in her, and he hadn’t been slow to capitalise on it. Recruiting an MI5 agent was invaluable.
Thank God she had fallen for him.
She must have known he was the father of her children. The only question was what he should do with that information now.
Efraim felt as if the challenges were beginning to pile up, but the fact that he had unexpectedly become the father of two little girls didn’t necessarily need to be one of them. Eden clearly had no intention of causing him any problems, and if he had interpreted the situation correctly, she hadn’t told her husband what she had done. Hadn’t mentioned that he wasn’t the father of the children he loved and supported.
How the hell could she live with such a huge lie?
Efraim wondered if he was supposed to feel something for the kids. He didn’t think so. He hadn’t been there at the birth, hadn’t been a part of their lives. He hadn’t even known they existed, so he hadn’t missed them either.
Not the way he had missed Benjamin over the past ten years.
As always his heart swelled with sorrow when he thought of the boy he hadn’t been allowed to keep. To think that grief could hurt so much for so long. The things we are prepared to do for those we love… He hadn’t understood until he himself suffered the greatest loss of all.
If it hadn’t been for what had happened to Benjamin, Efraim would have been less inclined to appoint a man like Peder Rydh as head of security. But when he learned about Peder’s past, the terrible choice he had been forced to make, Efraim had felt nothing but respect. Seeking vengeance for those who have died at someone else’s hand was a duty and a curse.
Efraim knew why Simon Eisenberg and Abraham Goldmann had had to die.
It was as obvious as any law of nature.
But the second murder, the teacher outside the Solomon school…
Efraim didn’t understand that at all. When he heard that the same murder weapon had killed all three victims, he knew who had murdered Josephine.
But he didn’t know why.
What the hell was going on? It must have been a mistake. The bullet must have been meant for someone else.
There had been another message waiting when he got back from the park. This time it had been pushed under the door of his room. When he read it, he realised that the game was over, and that the person going by the name of the Paper Boy was seeking peace. And his support.
I will finish what you cannot bring yourself to do.
Try to understand.
Two hours, Fredrika Bergman had said to Spencer. She would be gone for two hours, no more. But with the new development in the case, she wasn’t at all sure she could get home by then.
‘Can you cope?’ she said on the phone.
Spencer sounded hoarse when he replied.
‘Of course.’
‘Are you going to be well enough to travel tomorrow?’ she said.
She really didn’t like the idea of going on her own; it just felt wrong in every way.
‘I don’t think so, Fredrika.’
Her heart sank.
‘Okay, but…’
‘Maybe we should talk about this when you get home?’
He was right. He usually was, unfortunately.