Naturally he was gone when she woke, and he should never have been there.
A call from Martin reminded her of the tragic truth underpinning the sweet lies of the night before, but now Sara had even more reasons not to answer, enough reasons never to answer.
With a strong sense of unreality, she got up, drank a glass of juice, showered and dressed, moving like a robot. She completely consciously avoided making any decisions or even trying to get a grip on reality.
Everything was chaos. It was so strange that there could be such calm around her.
It felt as if she were sitting alone on a raft in the middle of the Atlantic and somewhere, far away, there was a ship sinking that she had escaped from. The other passengers were screaming and drowning, but she didn’t notice that.
There was no rescue for Sara either, but she didn’t need to think about that right now. Here on the raft all was calm.
OK, Martin out of her head, Bielke out of her head, Uncle Scam out of her head, Anna Torhall out of her head, Ebba and Olle out of her head.
What did that leave?
Sara Nowak. And she wasn’t at all interested in thinking about herself.
Hedin.
She had called and had wanted something. A picture. One that was so secret she didn’t want to say on the phone what it depicted.
And she needed to re-park Eric’s car. Then she was going to tell him not to let Ebba borrow it any more. But she didn’t have much hope that he would listen to her. Ebba was his now, Sara thought to herself.
The car key was still lying on the kitchen table. And the pistol was under the hat on the hall table. She grabbed them both, went down to the car, picked off the yellow strip securing the parking ticket under the windscreen wiper and then drove towards Åsögatan.
Martin called, but Sara definitely didn’t want to talk to him. Ever again.
If the picture was so secret, perhaps Hedin would be angry with Sara if she didn’t take the window route in. She found a spot on Erstagatan just outside the Spuntino café and took it as a sign that she should use that entrance.
‘I’m going to see Eva,’ she said, smiling to the girl behind the counter.
‘Then you can take her coffee. She hasn’t been in to collect it.’
‘Yes, yes, sure.’
The girl poured a black coffee into a small takeaway cup.
‘And tell her she’s welcome to settle her bill. I mean, there’s no rush, but it’s been a few months since she got up to date.’
‘I can pay for it.’
To transfer ten thousand euros to a former Stasi officer, she needed Martin’s or Eric’s money, but Hedin’s café tab was something she could definitely pay with her own wages.
‘Can I add some credit too?’ she asked.
‘If you like,’ the girl said, smiling.
Sara ‘deposited’ five hundred kronor into Hedin’s virtual account. Then she took her coffee and was let out into the courtyard behind.
While crossing to the other side of the yard that connected the buildings on all sides in this block, she wondered what it might be that Hedin had found. Something that identified Faust – that was all she could think of. Something that revealed what Otto Rau was called today. And had been called for the last thirty years.
Should she say anything about Hedin’s appearance on A Thousand Answers? No, why should she? Not right now, at any rate. Even if Hedin had been wrong about Stellan being a spy, she had found all the material that had led to the unmasking of Geiger. And the prevention of what might have been the biggest terrorist attack in European history. And Hedin wasn’t the only one to have been deceived by Geiger. That was also true for Säpo, the BND and the Stasi.
Martin’s mobile again. Sara rejected the call. Couldn’t he just leave it?
When she was almost at the kitchen window, it occurred to her that she ought to have called and checked that Hedin was in before she came here.
But now she was here, she might as well go and tap on the window.
And it was then that Sara saw that Hedin was at home.
Hanging from a noose attached to the ceiling.
The coffee cup hit the ground as Sara dragged over a garden chair so that she could reach better and then she smashed the window with her elbow. She stuck her hand inside, opened the window and crawled through. She didn’t even notice that she cut herself on the shards of glass.
She ran over to Hedin and lifted her to minimise the pressure on her neck, but she realised immediately that she was holding a dead body.
So she let her go again to avoid contaminating the crime scene any more than she had done already.
Then she sank down onto one of the kitchen chairs and stared into space.
Suicide? No.
The same murderer as Stiller? Yes.
Rau.
And the hanging was a blatant signal – a discreet signature on the work.
Sara wanted to offer comfort, to hug Hedin, though she knew it wouldn’t help. But she took her hand. Her cold, slender hand.
Stubborn Eva Hedin, who had sacrificed everything for her research. Absolutely everything. Would she have lived if Sara hadn’t urged her to help pursue the terrorist Faust? She felt guilty and could find no good arguments in her own defence, although she desperately tried to do so. Was the photo that Hedin had found the thing that had cost her life? Had Rau taken it? Would Hedin had given it up?
Sara doubted that. Hedin had probably realised she had no chance. That it wouldn’t make any difference if she surrendered the proof. Her life couldn’t be saved whatever she did. So Sara thought.
Then she looked around the small flat and noticed right away that someone had rifled through Hedin’s papers, primarily the files from the Stasi. Hedin had maintained them in pedantic order, always had every bundle of paper straightened in a way that was almost compulsive. And now the stacks of paper and files with archival copies were in disarray.
Instinctively, Sara knew she couldn’t hope to find something that Rau hadn’t found.
Then her gaze fell on the fridge and she was at once sure that she knew where Hedin had hidden her discovery. The only question was whether Rau had discovered it.
She noticed that her hand was trembling a little as she reached to open the door.
And there, in the small freezer compartment, was an envelope that hadn’t been there last time.
A regular white C4 envelope.
Sara pulled it out, closed the compartment and then the fridge door, looked around and then opened the envelope.
The photograph was old, judging by the seventies clothes and haircuts. But despite the people in the photo being much younger, she recognised them.
Marita Werner, now known as Marita Leander.
Hans Gerlach, alias Bo Enberg, murdered by Rau.
Stefan Kremp, who had attacked her on Västerlånggatan.
And Axel Bielke.
Her boss.
He couldn’t have been more than twenty in the photo, he was more than sixty today; he was obviously the missing link in the terrorist cell.
Faust.
He had been given the identity of Bielke by the priest Jürgen Stiller, had most certainly not lived abroad in his childhood, hadn’t been the son of diplomats.
He had been raised as Otto Rau in West Germany.
Someone was watching her – she could feel it.
But there was no one there, and no one visible through the kitchen window. She turned her head and looked through the hall and the window on the other side towards Åsögatan instead. Someone was standing on the other side of the street, their gaze directed straight at Hedin’s flat.
Sara slowly went closer. She went through the blue hallway into the little room that had been Hedin’s combined bedroom, living room and study. Then she came to a halt in the middle of the floor.
Now she could see who it was standing there looking at her.
Bielke.