But the sense of unease in the pit of his stomach knew better. It always did.
The dark dot came into sight for just a few seconds before vanishing into the haze once more. It could have been anything. A fishing boat, a light buoy or just a grain of sand on the lens of the binoculars. But it wasn’t, and once he spotted it a second time, he felt convinced it was what they were looking for.
He signalled to the harbourmaster to change course and noted that the old man’s hip had been correct. Conditions had gradually been worsening since they set out from the marina and a steadily thickening fog had appeared from out of nowhere. Now, just half an hour later, they were unable to see much further than a hundred feet.
‘I told you,’ called the man from behind the wheel, reducing their speed. ‘My hip is never wrong. Never.’
Fabian nodded and gave him a thumbs up. He didn’t even have time to start pondering whether there was a scientific explanation for how that worked before a yacht with lowered sails appeared out of the thick fog.
The boat with the characteristic dark-blue Hallberg-Rassy stripe along both sides was adrift on the long, rolling waves, and even if you didn’t know what had happened, it was an ominous sight.
Increasingly dense fog banks floated by like big cotton wads in various shades of grey, draining the world of colour and from time to time hiding the yacht from view entirely.
It looked dirty, and both the mainsail and the genoa were dragging in the water. The mainsheet wasn’t cleated either, so the boom kept sweeping back and forth with the waves. There was no sign of life on board, and apart from the boom and a stray fender rolling back and forth across the deck, nothing moved.
When they were no more than fifty feet away, Fabian signalled for the harbourmaster to circle the yacht, which was considerably dirtier on the other side. Through the binoculars, he could see that what looked like dirt from a distance was in fact sticky dark-red smears that in places had run down the hull.
Pontus Milwokh had refused to allow circumstance to trump the dice’s decision. Against all odds, he had not only survived, but located, caught up with and ruthlessly slaughtered a completely innocent family.
His evil seemed to know no limits. The monumental meaninglessness felt like a few more tons on Fabian’s shoulders. He could barely breathe under the pressure, and for the first time he asked himself how much longer he would be able to carry on. How much he was willing to give up to keep going.
Less than five minutes ago, they could have given up and turned back empty-handed. They could have blamed the fog and no one would have questioned it. But it was too late for that now, and there wasn’t going to be another phone call from Tuvesson about a new position further north. He was going to have to climb on board and do a quick inspection and then tie a rope to the bow so they could tow the boat back to shore.
The movement in one of the windows was almost imperceptible. But he’d seen it, he was certain. Something had moved inside the cabin. He turned around to see if the harbourmaster had caught it too, but was met by a vacant stare.
‘Hello? Is there anyone there?’ he called out as loudly as he could, while pulling out his gun. ‘If so, come out with your hands above your head!’
Nothing happened. But at least the harbourmaster snapped out of it and moved the skiff in alongside the drifting yacht. The waves made it far from easy, but eventually Fabian was able to step up onto the Hallberg-Rassy and down into the cockpit.
There was blood everywhere. The sticky smears on the white plastic bore witness to a protracted struggle.
‘Hello!’ he called again, but there was no answer.
The cabin door was swinging open and shut as the boat rolled. Fabian walked over to it and took a deep breath before throwing it open and pointing his gun down into the gloomy saloon, completely unprepared for the scream that greeted him, together with a fist that came flying straight at him.
He fired a shot and then three more in quick succession, before realizing it was just a big seagull with a severed hand in its beak that had been trying to get out and was now dying on the floor among a jumble of body parts that two other seagulls were still feasting on.
It was a bloodbath. A severed foot here, a forearm there. An ear and what looked like part of a torso. One of the seagulls hopped onto the top of Frank Käpp’s head, which was sitting on a sofa, and started to peck at the contents of one of the eye sockets.
About a foot from it, Fabian spotted the son’s head, mostly hidden under a soiled blanket. Only one ear, part of one cheek and some hair was visible, and even though he would have given a lot not to have to, he walked over and slowly lifted a corner of the blanket.
The eyes that met his changed everything.
‘Hi, Vincent,’ he said. ‘Remember me?’
The boy nodded, and just like that, the feeling of failure and preordained pointlessness Fabian had been carrying around for so long was replaced by something like hope.
Maybe he could make a difference after all.
50
THE FOG AND the dusk. What would he have done without them?
With them on his side, he was able to glide through Helsingborg harbour as though wrapped in a big invisibility cloak. The coastguard ship that had been out looking for him since last night, KB 202, was berthed just fifty yards away on his left, next to Parapeten. But he couldn’t even see that far.
For almost three hours, he’d bobbed around in the lifeboat from MS Vinterland with the engine turned off so as not to give away his position. At times, he’d been on the brink of discovery. But luck had been with him, and he hadn’t had to do anything but sit still, letting them pass him by in the milky fog.
Or maybe luck was the wrong word. Maybe it was a reward for his hard work. After everything he’d been through, he deserved to have things go his way, and for the first time in a long time, he was genuinely proud of himself.
He turned right after passing the first pier and continued towards a small gravel beach where he could pull the boat up and cover it with a tarpaulin.
Pretty much everything had gone wrong, and sure, he’d had moments of doubt. He had no problem admitting it. But he’d turned defeat after defeat to his advantage, and in the end, the complications had been the best part.
It almost felt as though the whole thing had been a big test. A challenge to find out if he was worthy of the dice’s grace. There could be no doubt about it now. He hadn’t just completed his task. He’d done so with flying colours.
The tide had turned the moment a big freight ship had blocked him from police view. After taping the throttle down, he’d been able to move up alongside the ship, which had been moving unusually slowly, and as though someone was rolling out a red carpet for him, there had been welded steps all the way up the side of it.
About an hour later, he’d left his hiding place and made his way up to the bridge, where the sword had finally been on his side when the female captain had decided to play the hero.
After that, she’d danced to his tune and done his bidding. It hadn’t been long before he could see the Hallberg-Rassy without binoculars, and after rewrapping the captain’s wound and making sure she wasn’t about to bleed out, he’d covered the last bit in one of the freighter’s lifeboats.
The sun had been high in the sky and the fog that a few hours later would blanket everything in grey candyfloss had yet to announce itself. There had been no chance of a covert approach, so he’d decided to stand up in the open boat and smile and wave to the man in the yacht instead, like the fond reunion it actually was.
The man had, predictably, sped up and tried to contact the police. But apparently his mobile hadn’t been able to make contact with a mast, and before he could get the shortwave radio up and running, the lifeboat had pulled level with the Hallberg-Rassy.
He’d calmly explained to the man that the dice had chosen him, and that neither one of them could change that. To his surprise, the man had listened and let him climb aboard while he made i
t clear that the best thing he could do in the present situation was to give up without unnecessary resistance, which would only prolong his own suffering and possibly even inflict some on his family as well. The man had nodded without protest, and after that everything had gone his way. There had been no more fumbling with the sword. Instead, the sharp weapon had felt like a natural extension of his arm, and he’d been able to swing it freely.
The whole thing had been like a dance in which the choreography comes naturally. Every swing had landed exactly where it should, and to minimize the man’s suffering, he’d started with his head. Seven swings it had taken him, and the thudding sound when the head finally hit the teak floor and the sight of blood spurting out of the man’s severed carotid arteries had spurred him to keep hacking away until there wasn’t so much as one whole body part left.
The only disruption had been the wife’s hysterical screaming once she woke up and realized what was happening. It had been so annoying he’d eventually had to pause halfway through to knock her unconscious. At least the kid had been smart enough to stay calm and let him have at it.
On the way back to Helsingborg, he’d washed his hands and face clean of blood, but his clothes were unsalvageable. Luckily, the harbour was deserted, and he didn’t see a living soul until he crossed the tracks via the overpass towards the Helsingborg District Court and turned down Carl Krooksgatan, and even then they were only fleeting shadows in the twilit fog, completely unaware of who they were passing.
Out on the water, he’d pondered where to go now that he’d been identified by the police. It didn’t take a PhD to realize they were going to assume he was on the run and doing everything in his power to lie low, which was the only sensible course of action. Maybe that was why the dice had decided he should do the exact opposite.
The workday was over, but the night was still relatively young, so they might still be there, examining his flat. Meanwhile, it was only a matter of time before they found the yacht, if they hadn’t already, and then they would likely relocate all resources to dealing with that. But he’d have to see. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it.
After cautiously entering the building, he left the lights off and took the stairs, two or sometimes three steps at a time. With six steps to go, he stopped and waited. At least his door was closed, and he could neither see nor hear anyone lurking outside, watching it, which in the end made him risk climbing the rest of the way.
As he’d noted when he left the flat twenty-four hours earlier, the drilled hole in the door had been covered with several layers of thick tape, and since the locks had been changed as well, he had to use his lock pick gun. So quick and easy it should be illegal, the description on the website he’d bought it from had read, and so far, he couldn’t accuse them of false advertising. It hadn’t let him down once.
Once he’d brought his bags into the hallway, he closed the door behind him and looked around. The bathroom door and the door to the walk-in closet were closed, as usual. Half-open doors had always bothered him. But apart from the damage to his front door, he couldn’t see any immediate signs of a police search. There was a hint of a strange smell in the air, but nothing that opening a window wouldn’t solve.
He continued into the living room, where he dropped the hockey bag and took off his backpack before going over to the window and peeking out. Nothing in any of the many windows in the façade opposite suggested his flat was under surveillance, which was definitely strange, considering. Maybe the police were simply short-staffed and had their hands full with other things.
The bedroom looked untouched, too. Had they even been there? It almost didn’t seem like they had. Maybe they’d just walked around with tweezers, collecting hairs, or maybe they’d been in a hurry and done a poor job.
The wardrobe seemed untouched, too, and opening it confirmed his clothes hadn’t been moved.
But it was only after he’d climbed into the wardrobe, closed it from inside, stuck his middle finger into the small hole in the back and pushed the narrow metal plate on the other side to the left, opened the secret door and stepped into his concealed room that he finally dared to relax.
51
THE CAR LOCK clicked behind Fabian as he made his way towards the entrance through the evening fog. He was walking briskly in an attempt to leave the images from the yacht behind. But they stubbornly kept pace with him.
Whatever he looked at became intermingled with the severed body parts in the cabin. Feet, legs, arms, heads. At the moment, they were littering the car park outside Helsingør Prison, and half an hour ago the ferry to Denmark had looked like an abattoir.
He walked through the lobby, showed his ID to the man at the glassed-enclosed reception desk and awaited his permission before proceeding to the security checkpoint, where he handed over his phone, wallet and keys and let them body-scan him.
The severed limbs had been everywhere in the yacht. He’d assumed the foot and the bare woman’s leg sticking out from under a sheet in the forepeak had been chopped off somewhere around the hip joint. Then the foot had suddenly twitched. Just a little, almost imperceptibly, but enough to make him pull the cover off the woman, who was slowly waking up.
The uniformed guard swiped his card through the reader and punched in a code, which made the door in front of them buzz open. They continued down an echoing, windowless corridor with cold fluorescent lights and polished laminate flooring.
He couldn’t tell if this was a good idea. Theodor had been clear about not wanting visitors. But he couldn’t just stand on the sidelines and watch his son dig himself deeper and deeper into a hole.
The boy and his mother had both been in extreme shock and completely unresponsive. Even so, he’d spoken to them continually in an attempt to keep their focus on small details. Like that he was there to help them, that there was another boat they were going to climb into, that they were going to be back on dry land very soon.
To spare them from seeing the worst of it, he’d used a scarf to blindfold the mother and pulled a hat down over the eyes of the boy. Then he’d helped them out into the cockpit and over to the wooden skiff, and they’d waited until the coastguard arrived to tow the Hallberg-Rassy down to Helsingborg, where Molander and his two assistants were standing by to start the crime scene investigation.
He’d accompanied the boy and his mother back to Halmstad, where an ambulance had been waiting to drive them to Helsingborg Hospital.
And then Jadwiga Komorovski had called.
The guard led him down corridor after corridor, but he didn’t recognize anything from his last visit with Sonja. It had only been twenty-four hours. But he’d aged at least a year in that time, and if it carried on like this, he was only weeks away from attending his own funeral.
At least he recognized the visiting room, and he could almost hear the echo of Theodor’s voice. I would appreciate it if you left me alone and didn’t come back…
The chairs around the table were unoccupied, as was the armchair and the plastic-covered cot. At least the body parts were gone for now, but the nagging worry remained. Was he doing the right thing, or was his unsolicited evening visit a dire mistake?
A fistfight, Theodor’s lawyer had said on the phone. At first, Fabian had assumed another prisoner had attacked his son, but after a while it had become clear it was the other way around. And the fact that they weren’t talking about a minor scuffle, but rather an aggravated assault, did nothing to improve matters.
That incarceration was proving tough on Theodor was hardly surprising. But according to Komorovski, he was refusing to cooperate, either with her or with the Danish police. His mental state was also exhibiting clear signs of deteriorating, which was why she’d insisted that Fabian come over and try to set him straight.
Fabian sat down in one of the chairs and stared at the door, waiting for it to open, which took another few minutes. Even so, he woke with a start when Theodor was led in, wearing handcuffs.
‘Hi, Theodor.’ He al
most flew out of his chair to give his son a hug. But Theodor dodged him and sat down, and the embrace turned into an awkward pat on the back instead. ‘I’m glad you agreed to see me. So glad.’ He was met with silence and realized his own forced smile was about to crack. ‘Excuse me,’ he called to the guard in an attempt to seize control of the situation. ‘I would appreciate it if you could remove my son’s handcuffs.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t,’ the guard said, shaking his head uncertainly.
‘Oh yes, you most certainly can. I’m not just his father, I’m also an officer of the law, so I think we can both safely assume I’m not in any danger, in case it’s my safety you’re worried about.’
‘Given what has happened, I’m obliged to—’
‘You’re not obliged to do anything. And as far as my son’s concerned, I can inform you he’s not a particularly violent person. So whatever happened here, I’m sure there’s an explanation, and I intend to find out what it is.’
The guard acquiesced with a sigh, went over to Theodor and unlocked his handcuffs, then left the room.
‘There, that’s better. Isn’t it, Theodor?’ He waited for a response, but when none came, he sat down across from his son and tried to catch his eye. ‘Hey… How are you doing, really?’ But that didn’t work either. ‘I heard you got in a fight. Is that something you want to tell me about?’ Again, he waited but had only silence in return. ‘Theodor, I know you and I know you wouldn’t just jump a person for no reason.’
Theodor stared at his fingers, which were drumming against the table.
‘Your lawyer, Komorovski, claims you’re refusing to cooperate. Is that true?’ Fabian continued and again had no reply. ‘Hey, why won’t you speak? We’re all just trying to help you.’
Theodor’s fingers against the table was the only sound. One by one they hit the tabletop, like an impatient countdown to when their meeting would be over.
Fabian heaved a sigh in an attempt to vent his frustration. ‘I don’t understand.’ But it was already too late. ‘Honestly. What do you think you’re doing? You don’t accidentally get into a fight serious enough to be labelled aggravated assault. And this thing I hear about not working with your lawyer. What’s going on?’ He stood up and walked around the table. ‘And why won’t you talk to me? I’m here for you, not me. Theodor, I’m talking to you!’ He grabbed his son and shook him. ‘Wake the fuck up! Say something! This is about you. You and your life, don’t you get that?’
X Ways to Die Page 27