The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest (Millennium 3)

"You stay there," she said.

She went into the kitchen and found a paper shopping bag from Konsum. She took down one picture after another and then found the stripped album and Berger's diaries.

"Where's the video?" she said.

Fredriksson did not answer. Linder went into the living room and turned on the TV. There was a tape in the VCR, but it took a while before she found the video channel on the remote so she could check it. She popped out the video and looked around to ensure that he had not made any copies.

She found Berger's teenage love letters and the Borgsjo folder. Then she turned her attention to Fredriksson's computer. She saw that he had a Microtek scanner hooked up to his PC, and when she lifted the lid she found a photograph of Berger at a Club Xtreme party--New Year's Eve 1986, according to a banner on the wall.

She booted up the computer and discovered that it was password-protected.

"What's your password?" she asked.

Fredriksson sat obstinately silent and refused to answer.

Linder suddenly felt utterly calm. She knew that technically she had committed one crime after another this evening, including unlawful restraint and even aggravated kidnapping. She did not care. On the contrary, she felt almost exhilarated.

After a while she shrugged and dug in her pocket for her Swiss Army knife. She unplugged all the cables from the computer, turned it around, and used the screwdriver to open the back. It took her fifteen minutes to take it apart and remove the hard drive.

She had taken everything, but for safety's sake she did a thorough search of the desk drawers, the stacks of paper, and the shelves. Suddenly her gaze fell on an old school yearbook lying on the windowsill. She saw that it was from Djursholm Gymnasium, 1978. Did Berger not come from Djursholm's upper class? She opened the yearbook and began to look through the pictures of that year's graduating class.

She found Erika Berger, eighteen years old, with a mortarboard and a sunny smile with dimples. She wore a thin white cotton dress and held a bouquet of flowers in her hand. She looked the epitome of an innocent teenager with top grades.

Linder almost missed the connection, but there it was on the next page. She would never have recognized him but for the caption. Peter Fredriksson. He was in a different class from Berger. Linder studied the photograph of a thin boy who looked into the camera with a serious expression.

Her eyes met Fredriksson's.

"Even then she was a whore."

"Fascinating," Linder said.

"She fucked every guy in the school."

"I doubt that."

"She was a fucking--"

"Don't say it. So what happened? Couldn't you get into her pants?"

"She treated me as though I didn't exist. She laughed at me. And when she started at SMP she didn't even recognize me."

"Right," said Linder wearily. "I'm sure you had a terrible childhood. How about we have a serious talk?"

"What do you want?"

"I'm not a police officer," Linder said. "I'm someone who takes care of people like you."

She paused and let his imagination do the work.

"I want to know if you put photographs of her anywhere on the Internet."

He shook his head.

"Are you quite sure about that?"

He nodded.

"Berger will have to decide for herself whether she wants to make a formal complaint against you for harassment, threats, and breaking and entering, or whether she wants to settle things amicably."

He said nothing.

"If she decides to ignore you--and I think that's about what you're worth--then I'll be keeping an eye on you."

She held up her baton.

"If you ever go near her house again, or send her email or otherwise molest her, I'll be back. I'll beat you so hard that even your own mother won't recognize you. Do I make myself clear?"

Still he said nothing.

"So you have the opportunity to influence how this story ends. Are you interested?"

He nodded slowly.

"In that case, I'm going to recommend to Fru Berger that she let you off, but don't think about coming in to work again. As of right now you're fired."

He nodded.

"You will disappear from her life and move out of Stockholm. I don't give a shit what you do with your life or where you end up. Find a job in Goteborg or Malmo. Go on sick leave again. Do whatever you like. But leave Berger in peace. Are we agreed?"

Fredriksson began to sob.

"I didn't mean any harm," he said. "I just wanted--"

"You just wanted to make her life a living hell, and you certainly succeeded. Do I or do I not have your word?"

He nodded.

She bent over, turned him onto his stomach, and unlocked the handcuffs. She took the Konsum bag containing Berger's life and left him there on the floor.

It was 2:30 a.m. on Monday when Linder left Fredriksson's building. She considered letting the matter rest until the next day, but then it occurred to her that if she had been the one invol

ved, she would have wanted to know right away. Besides, her car was still parked out in Saltsjobaden. She called a taxi.

Beckman opened the door even before she managed to ring the bell. He was wearing jeans and did not look as if he had just got out of bed.

"Is Erika awake?" Linder asked.

He nodded.

"Has something else happened?" he said.

She smiled at him.

"Come in. We're just talking in the kitchen."

They went in.

"Hello, Erika," Linder said. "You need to learn to get some sleep once in a while."

"What's happened?"

Linder held out the Konsum bag.

"Fredriksson promises to leave you alone from now on. God knows if we can trust him, but if he keeps his word it'll be less painful than hassling with a police report and a trial. It's up to you."

"So it was him?"

Linder nodded. Beckman poured her a coffee, but she did not want one. She had drunk much too much coffee over the past few days. She sat down and told them what had happened outside their house that night.

Berger sat in silence for a moment. Then she went upstairs and came back with her copy of the school yearbook. She looked at Fredriksson's face for a long time.

"I do remember him," she said at last. "But I had no idea it was the same Peter Fredriksson. I wouldn't even have remembered his name if it weren't written here."

"What happened?" Linder asked.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He was a quiet and totally uninteresting boy in another class. I think we might have had some subjects together. French, if I remember correctly."

"He said you treated him as though he didn't exist."

"I probably did. He wasn't somebody I knew, and he wasn't in our group."

"I know how cliques work. Did you bully him or anything like that?"

"No . . . no, for God's sake. I hated bullying. We had campaigns against bullying in the school, and I was president of the student council. I don't remember that he ever spoke to me."

"OK," Linder said. "But he obviously had a grudge against you. He was out sick for two long periods, suffering from stress and overwork. Maybe there were other reasons for his being out that we don't know about."

She got up and put on her leather jacket.

"I've got his hard drive. Technically it's stolen goods, so I shouldn't leave it with you. You don't have to worry--I'll destroy it as soon as I get home."

"Wait, Susanne. How can I ever thank you?"