Page 99 of Hidden in Memories
Anton is in the men’s toilets staring at his own reflection in the mirror. He feels so stupid for having contacted Carl. First of all it took him forever to gather the strength even to make the call. Then ... nothing. It went straight to voicemail, and instead of leaving a message, he hung up.
His courage failed when it came to the crunch. He’s going to have to look elsewhere for information on Bengt Hedin.
It is so frustrating. He splashes his face with cold water and shakes his head. There is no point in daring to dream. He ought to know better.
He switches off the light and closes the door. The corridor is silent and deserted. Raffe went home to Nilla a while ago, and Hanna and Daniel aren’t back from Storlien yet.
As he walks into his office, his phone rings. The name on the display makes his heart flutter.
Carl.
He’s not sure if he can manage to press the symbol to accept the call. He had just come to terms with the decision not to make any further attempts to establish contact. Just hearing Carl’s voice on the answering service had made him go weak at the knees.
And at the same time, the feelings of shame came flooding back, the realization that he had thrown away their burgeoning relationship last year.
He has to answer.
“Anton.”
“Hi, it’s Carl—I think you called me?”
At first Anton is confused, he didn’t leave a message. Then he realizes that of course Carl can see he’s had a missed call.
And from whom.
He could blame it on a butt-dial. Or mumble something noncommittal and hang up.
Carl has moved on; Anton has seen it with his own eyes. He doesn’t need to torture himself like this.
“Was there something you wanted?” Carl wonders.
The warm voice unlocks something within Anton. Carl sounds exactly like he did when they were together, when they lay chatting in the double bed before they fell asleep.
All thoughts of ending the conversation disappear, as does the original excuse of wanting to ask about Bengt Hedin and his work for the council.
The truth is perfectly simple.
He wants to be with Carl.
“I was wondering if we could meet,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
78
It is five o’clock by the time Hanna gets back to the station. She is sitting at her desk with a pile of candy, and has just gotten hold of Paul Lehto’s wife on the phone to double-check his alibi when he was “sick.” The wife confirmed the information her husband had given—he didn’t feel well after the weekend and had to stay home for a few days. She also repeated what she said earlier: that he was at home on both Sunday and Wednesday night at the times when the two women were attacked.
Hanna made notes and thanked her before ending the call.
The problem is that she doesn’t know how much she can rely on Lehto’s alibi. Many women would lie to protect their partner, especially in a case like this.
She has already gone through his background and checked all the databases to see if he has a record. Apart from the drunk-driving fine, there is nothing of note, nothing to suggest that he could be a killer.
She suddenly has an idea. She could try the K-archive in Östersund, where all crime investigations and police reports in the county are stored, everything that has ever come in to the police about an individual. The law decrees that information must be deleted from the databases after a fixed period—but it remains in the K-archive forever.
It is late on Good Friday, so it’s unlikely that anyone will be there, but it’s worth a shot.
She keys in the number and crosses her fingers. She is in luck—an administrator by the name of Cilla is still working. Hanna quickly gives her Paul Lehto’s ID number and asks Cilla to see if there is anything in the archive.
Ten minutes later the phone rings.
