The Disciple by Michael Hjorth Page B

sorry?’
    ‘Governor. You’re my third.’
    ‘Right . . .’
    The bare room fell silent. The only sound was the faint hum of the air-conditioning system. Nothing from the corridor, nothing from outside. Edward kept his eyes fixed on the new governor, convinced that he wouldn’t have to be the one to break the silence.
    ‘I just thought I’d drop by and say hello,’ Haraldsson said with a nervous smile.
    Hinde smiled back politely. ‘That was nice of you.’
    Silence once more. Haraldsson shuffled on his chair. Edward sat motionless and stared at his visitor. No one ever just dropped by to say hello. The man opposite him wanted something. Hinde didn’t know what it was yet, but if he sat still and didn’t speak, he would soon find out.
    ‘Are you happy here?’ Haraldsson asked, in a tone of voice which might have been appropriate if Hinde had just left home and moved into his first apartment. Edward had to suppress a laugh. He looked at the patently insecure man in front of him. The first governor had been a hard bastard, two years from retirement when Hinde arrived. He made it perfectly clear to Edward from the start that he had no intention of putting up with any nonsense. By nonsense he meant anything that didn’t involve Hinde going exactly where he was told to go, speaking when he was permitted to speak, and giving up any attempt at independent thought. Hinde had spent a great deal of time in solitary confinement. He had barely glimpsed the second governor, who had stayed for twelve years. They had never spoken, as far as he could recall. But this one, this Thomas Haraldsson, could well be worth getting to know better. He unleashed a disarming smile.
    ‘Yes, thank you. And how are you getting on?’
    ‘Well, it’s only my third day, but so far so . . .’
    Silence again. But the nervous man opposite seemed to like meaningless small talk, so Edward deviated from his strategy of allowing the other person to lead the conversation, and smiled at Haraldsson once more. ‘What’s your wife’s name?’
    ‘What?’
    Edward nodded at Haraldsson’s left hand, which was lying on top of the right on the table. ‘The ring. I noticed you were married. But perhaps you’re one of those modern men who have a male partner?’
    ‘No, no, not at all.’ Haraldsson waved his hands defensively. ‘I’m not . . .’ He stopped. What made Hinde think that? Where had that come from? Haraldsson had never heard anyone say he looked gay. Never.
    ‘Jenny, my wife’s name is Jenny. Jenny Haraldsson.’
    Edward smiled to himself. There was no better way of finding out about someone’s wife than to suggest that the person in question might not be straight.
    ‘Children?’
    ‘First one on the way.’
    ‘How lovely. Boy or girl?’
    ‘We don’t know.’
    ‘So it’s going to be a surprise.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I’ve never killed a pregnant woman.’
    Haraldsson suddenly felt a little unsure of himself. So far things had gone well. An initial contact, a chat about this and that, getting Hinde to lower his guard before gradually leading the conversation to Riksmord. But Hinde’s last comment had confused Haraldsson, and frightened him a little. Was Hinde saying that he couldn’t imagine killing a pregnant woman, that this would be a step too far even for him, or was he saying that he’d just never had the opportunity? Haraldsson felt himself shudder. He really didn’t want to know. Time to steer things in the direction he wanted.
    ‘Riksmord want to talk to you,’ he said, keeping his tone of voice as normal and noncommittal as possible.
    There.
    The real point of this visit.
    For the first time Edward looked genuinely interested. He straightened up in his chair, and his gaze was alert. Penetrating.
    ‘Are they here now?’
    ‘No, but they’ll be here in a day or two.’
    ‘What do they want?’
    ‘They didn’t say. Any ideas?’
    Hinde ignored the question. ‘They want to talk to me.’
    ‘Yes. Why do you think