Читать книгу Thomas Quick - Hannes Råstam - Страница 30

SÄTER HOSPITAL, WEDNESDAY, 17 SEPTEMBER 2008

WHEN WE MET for the third time in the visiting room at Säter Hospital, Sture Bergwall said, ‘Now I want to hear what you really think about it all.’

It was an unpleasant request.

After all, Quick had said that he took time out because of people disbelieving his confessions. What would happen if I also questioned them?

I tried to temper the bitter pill with a generous measure of humility.

‘I wasn’t there when the murders were committed. I wasn’t at the court hearings. I can’t say what’s true. All I can do is work with hypotheses.’

I could see that Sture was following my line of reasoning and that he accepted my description of the premises.

‘When I was in Norway I had the opportunity to carefully study the video recordings from your reconnaissance of the crime scene in Norway. I’ll tell you what I saw: you were given an addictive narcotic, a very strong drug, Xanax, in large doses. While you were being taken round you seemed very much under the influence of it. And when you got to Ørje and you were supposed to show them the place where Therese was buried you didn’t seem to have a clue what to do next.’

Sture was listening now, very attentively. His face had a concentrated expression but he did not reveal how he felt about what I was saying.

‘You were unable to show the police to the gravel pit, as you’d promised,’ I carried on. ‘You couldn’t show them the way to Therese’s body. You behaved as if you’d never been in that place before.’

I looked at Sture, my shoulders hoisted up tentatively.

‘I don’t know what the truth is. But as I said when I called you, I began to feel very hesitant.’

Sture looked straight ahead with an empty stare. We sat there for a long while, neither of us saying anything. Again, I was the one to break the silence.

‘Sture, can you understand that this is what I’m seeing in those films?’

Sture was still silent, but he hummed and nodded. At least he doesn’t seem angry, I thought. I had said what I had to say. I could not take it back and I had nothing to add.

‘But . . .’ said Sture and then went silent again.

He spoke slowly and with emotion: ‘. . . if it is true that I haven’t committed any of these murders . . .’

Again he sat in silence, staring down at the floor. Then he leaned towards me, threw out his hands and whispered, ‘. . . if it is true – then what can I do?’

I met Sture’s despairing gaze. He looked utterly devastated.

Again and again I tried to say something, but I was so overwhelmed that I couldn’t make a sound. Finally I heard myself say, ‘If it’s true that you haven’t committed any of these murders, you have the chance of a lifetime now.’

By now, the atmosphere in the little visiting room was so tense that it was physically tangible. We both knew what was about to happen. Sture was very close to telling me that he had lied during all those years when he was Thomas Quick. In principle he had already admitted it.

‘The chance of a lifetime,’ I repeated.

‘I live in a ward where everyone is convinced that I’m guilty,’ said Sture quietly.

I nodded.

‘My lawyer is convinced that I’m guilty,’ he continued.

‘I know,’ I said.

‘Six courts have convicted me of eight murders.’

‘I know. But if you’re innocent and prepared to tell the truth, none of that matters.’

‘I think we should leave it there,’ said Sture. ‘This is a bit too much for me to swallow in one go.’

‘Can I come back?’

‘You’re welcome back,’ he said. ‘Any time.’

I have no memory of leaving the hospital, only that a few moments later I was standing in the car park, talking to my producer Johan Brånstad at SVT. Most likely I was incoherently telling him about my overwhelming meeting and its ramifications.

Rather than going back to Gothenburg, as planned, I went directly to Säter Stadshotell and booked a room for the night. Restlessly I paced back and forth inside, trying to concentrate on my work.

I had been given strict orders never to call Sture after six o’clock in the evening. It was two minutes to six. I called the patient line at Ward 36. Someone went to fetch Sture.

‘I just wanted to know how you’re feeling after our meeting,’ I said.

‘Oh, thanks,’ he answered. ‘It actually feels good. I’m feeling it’s good, what’s happening now.’

Sture sounded happy, and this emboldened me to ask the question.

‘I’m still in Säter,’ I admitted. ‘Can I come and see you tomorrow?’

His reply was immediate, without the slightest pause for reflection: ‘You’re welcome!’