The Man Who Watched Women Read Free Page A

face.
    Torkel was filled with tenderness for his daughter. She wanted to protect him. Thirteen years old, and she wanted to shield him from heartache. In her world it was obviously an extremely awkward situation. No doubt she wouldn’t have wanted to see her ex-boyfriend together with someone else. If she’d ever had a boyfriend. Torkel wasn’t sure. He gently stroked her cheek.
    â€˜I have to work. It’s got nothing to do with Kristoffer.’
    â€˜Promise?’
    â€˜Absolutely. I would have to leave even if there were just the two of us here. You know how it is.’
    Vilma nodded. She had lived with him for long enough.
    â€˜Has someone died?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    Torkel had no intention of telling her any more. He had decided long ago that he wasn’t going to try to gain his children’s attention by passing on exciting and grotesque details relating to his work. Vilma knew that. So she didn’t ask any more questions, she simply nodded. Torkel looked at her, his expression serious.
    â€˜I think it’s really good that Mum has met someone.’
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜Why not? Just because she’s not with me anymore, it doesn’t mean she has to be alone.’
    â€˜Have you met someone?’
    Torkel hesitated for a second. Had he? For a long time he had been involved in some kind of relationship with Ursula, his married colleague, but they had never really defined what it actually was. They slept with one another when they were working away. Never in Stockholm. They never had dinner together, they never had those ordinary conversations about their private lives. Sex and talk about work. That was all. And not even that much at the moment. A few months ago, Torkel had brought his former colleague Sebastian Bergman into an investigation, and since then his and Ursula’s relationship had been restricted to nothing more than work. This bothered Torkel, more than he was willing to admit. It wasn’t the fact that everything was so obviously conducted on Ursula’s own terms – he could live with that – but he missed her. More than he would have thought. It annoyed him. And on top of everything else, it seemed as if she had grown closer to her husband Mikael recently. They had even been to Paris for the weekend not long ago.
    So had he met someone?
    Probably not, and he certainly wasn’t about to explain the complexities of his dealings with Ursula to Vilma, who had only just become a teenager.
    â€˜No,’ he said, ‘I haven’t met anyone. And now I really do have to go.’
    He gave her a hug. A big one.
    â€˜Happy birthday,’ he whispered. ‘Love you.’
    â€˜Love you too,’ she replied. ‘And my mobile.’ She pressed her freshly glossed lips gently to his cheek.
    Torkel still had a smile on his face as he got in the car and set off for Tumba. He called Ursula. She was already on her way.

    As he drove, Torkel had caught himself hoping that this would turn out to be something else. Someone else. That there wouldn’t be a link to the other dead women. But as soon as he looked into the bedroom he could see his hopes had been futile.
    The nylon stockings. The nightdress. The arrangement.
    This was the third victim.
    â€˜From ear to ear’ was an inadequate description of the gaping neck wound. It was, rather, from one side of the spinal column to the other. Like opening a tin and leaving a little bit so that you can bend back the lid. The woman’s head had almost been severed from her body. A considerable amount of strength would have been required to inflict such an injury. There was blood everywhere, high up the walls and all over the floor.
    Ursula was already busy taking pictures. She moved around the room carefully, making sure she didn’t step in the blood. She was always first on the scene if possible. She looked up, nodded a greeting and carried on with her photographs. Torkel asked