They had no control over their shifting state of mind. One minute they felt strong; the next minute they felt weak and vulnerable.
Since that terrible day everything had changed. To avoid the disagreeable prospect of unexpected visitors, the first thing they did was move into a new apartment. The address must remain a secret from everyone except their mother.
However, there was still an issue with the authorities. To solve this they had been forced to acquire two properties; a rental unit where they were formally registered and another, a sublet, where they actually lived. Mail was delivered to a post box, providing them with an additional feeling of security.
A few minutes later they climbed out of the shower, grabbed a white bath towel hanging on the hook beside the screen door and wrapped it around their body. The cold shower had helped. They felt a lot calmer now. They stood in front of the washbasin and smiled grimly at their reflection in the mirror.
“Hello Kim!”
Kim was an androgynous name, which they had adopted to identify themselves.
Four years had passed since that fateful day. Little by little they had hardened their heart. A new person emerged – a strong and decisive individual who was determined to take the law into their own hands.
The changes had evolved systematically. They had cut off all links to their old life, assuming a new name and adopting a new lifestyle. On the whole, these were difficult decisions demanding painful adjustments, particularly the move to a new apartment. They had been forced to separate from their dog Rufus, a faithful companion over the years. Although Kim missed his playfulness – particularly during their daily jogging sessions – they were glad that their mother was now looking after him.
Kim’s ambitions for the future were now a faded memory. All they dreamed about now was how to cleanse their body and soul. A sanitisation process that would have enormous repercussions on those who were involved.
SANNA CLOSED HER EYES and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. It was Saturday morning. She was sitting up in bed, leaning against a large cushion and talking on the telephone. It was the umpteenth time since Malin’s death that she had spoken to her brother Markus suggesting they meet. He always found excuses. As long as Malin was alive Sanna had accepted Markus’ self-imposed alienation. Since their mother’s suicide many years ago they had only had sporadic contact. He had refused to attend Malin’s funeral just as he had shunned their mother’s. It seemed as if he wanted to forget their childhood and anything that reminded him of it - and that included Sanna.
“But Markus, surely you want us to stick together. It’s just you and me now.”
“Yes, of course we should stick together, we always have. But I’ve got a lot going on at home at the moment with the kids. If it’s not football then it’s judo… there’s always something.”
Sanna listened in silence. She had heard all these excuses before. As far as she was concerned, Markus’ children, who were already teenagers, were perfectly capable of looking after themselves.
“I just want to know how you are…”
There was a long silence.
“Sorry I can’t talk now, I have to go and fetch Anna. She’s downtown shopping and doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” he said.
Sanna sat there with the earphones in her hand. The sadness, which up to now she had managed to keep at bay, suddenly overwhelmed her. She closed her eyes and pressed her eyelids to stop the tears. She refused to give up on Markus. There must be a way of reaching him. When they were children they had been inseparable.
Sanna sprang out of bed and walked to the living room, which was where she kept her training equipment. She changed out of her nightclothes into her sports gear and, ignoring the dumbbells of varying weights lying on the floor, positioned herself in front of the punching bag hanging from one of the exposed ceiling beams. She smiled sadly. It was Markus who had taught her how to defend herself. He had nagged and nagged her and insisted that she learn different defensive grips and positions.
“Nobody will ever get the better of you,” he would repeat over and over again like a mantra.
“Nobody will ever get the better of me,” mumbled Sanna, her eyes brimming with tears. After binding her hands with mechanical movements and putting on the boxing gloves she began to attack the punching bag. The heavy sack swung pendulously back and forth in sync with her aggressive movements. She punched it again and again as the tears cascaded down her cheeks.
CHAPTER 6
The owner of the house
SHORTLY AFTER SIX O’CLOCK in the evening, Kalle Karlsson arrived at the quiet residential area of Älvsjö, with its traditional turn of the century houses. He parked his car alongside the garden hedge, which circumscribed Aron Alvik’s parents’ house. He was hoping to find out whether the victim was their son. The corpse was so badly decomposed that ascertaining the victim’s identity was proving problematic. Since the owner of the cottage was nowhere to be found, the police had started to suspect that he might be the victim.
Kalle Karlsson got out of the car and opened the gate leading to a secluded yard. He walked through the small, well-tended garden and rang the doorbell.
An elderly woman opened the door a crack and looked at him questioningly.
“Hello. I’m Inspector Karlsson,” he said, displaying his police badge. “I’m actually looking for Aron Alvik but…”
“He’s away on a business trip. What do you want him for?” interrupted the woman brusquely.
“Business trip?” repeated Kalle.
“Yes!”
“Do you by any chance have a photograph of him?”
“A photo? Why?”
“I just want to be sure we’re talking about the same person.”
“Oh, I see. Wait a minute.”
Five minutes later Aron Alvik’s mother returned with a photograph album. She turned over the pages.
“This photo was taken last year,” she said, pointing to a short man who was standing in a group next to her and three other people.
Kalle looked closer. There was no resemblance between the victim and the man in the photo.
“Your son owns a summer place on Värmdö, right?”
She looked puzzled.
“I mean Ingarö,” he corrected.
“Yes, but he doesn’t go there much. He doesn’t like country life,” replied the woman grudgingly. “His ex-wife did though and of course he would do anything to satisfy her.”
“When does he get back?”
The woman stroked her chin thoughtfully and looked down at the ground. “I don’t remember. He goes away so often that I’ve given up asking. What’s happened? Why do you want to know?”
“Does anyone know when he’s returning to Sweden?”
“He’s actually in Sweden now, in Malmö. You can have his work number. They should know when he’s expected back.”
“Could you give me his mobile number instead?”
She pretended not to hear.
“He does have a mobile phone, I assume?”
She looked at Kalle in annoyance, unwilling to disclose the number.
Kalle glared at her, determined to make her understand he had no intention of leaving empty handed.
With reluctance she dug her mobile phone out of the pocket of her grey jacket, scrolled down her contact list to find Alvik’s details and held up the screen so Kalle could see the number.
Kalle typed the information into his tablet computer.
“Do you have the keys to your son’s summer house?”
No. Why would I need keys to that place? What would I do there? However, since you’re a police officer I probably should tell you that he usually keeps a set under the stairs – so friends can use the place without having to ask him.”
CHAPTER 7
The investigation
IT WAS NINE O’CLOCK ON MONDAY MORNING and Sanna Johansson was standing in front of the whiteboard studying a display of photographs. She had been working intensively since a
rriving at the office and finding two large packages on her desk containing photos from the crime scene as well as some CD’s and DVD’s.
Kalle, who had joined her an hour earlier, was seated at the desk staring at a photo in his hand.
“The hair strand found under the victim’s body is very interesting…”
Sanna shook her head. “Unfortunately, I don’t think it’ll lead us anywhere. It’s synthetic.”
“Really? Have we already received the test results?”
“No, but if it is a souvenir left by the murderer I bet it matches the one found in Gothenburg. We’ll have to wait and see what forensics says.” She ran her fingers through her hair and looked at him expectantly. “Under the circumstances, I’m more interested in where the murderer chose to place the hair strand. He was very careful not to let it come into contact with the victim’s excrement.”
Kalle grimaced. “So you’re suggesting that the murderer uses a wig?”
“Yes, in all likelihood. A black one in Gothenburg and a blond one here.”
Kalle smiled sourly. “It sounds like the murderer could be a woman.”
“Or a man who dresses like a woman… a cross-dresser perhaps.”
“Hmm.”
The sound of Javier’s chuckling and Thorén’s effervescent laughter grew louder as they neared the investigation room. The two of them entered carrying mugs of coffee.
“Javier, did you find a strand of hair at Dexter Fleming’s place in Vasastan?” asked Kalle, referring to a similar case Javier had investigated a year ago.
“Que?” asked Javier in surprise.
“We found synthetic hair strands at the crime scenes in Gothenburg and Ingarö,” explained Sanna.
Javier closed his eyes and scratched his beard. “Oh yes, now you mention it, we did find a strand of red hair. The discovery led us to suspect that the attacker might be a woman, but as you know, we couldn’t follow it up since the investigation was suspended prematurely.”
Sanna felt her cheeks burn. “I feel a bit guilty about that, unfortunately.”
Javier stared at her.
“But now you get another chance!” said Thorén reassuringly.
Javier glanced at her and smiled.
“Yes maybe,” he said.
John Steward walked into the room carrying a pile of photos and CD’s. He placed the items onto the table and sat down and took a sip of coffee from the mug he was carrying.
“More photos! I hope there’s something here that helps you find the creep… Anyway, everything’s in order and it makes pretty gruesome viewing, I can tell you.”
Sanna sat down next to him and glanced at a couple of the images. “Let’s see what we can find out. Good job John!”
“Thanks. I have a good teacher,” he said, smiling proudly.
Sanna smiled to herself. Over time Steward had learned to appreciate her method and understand that there was more to the job that just clicking the camera. The aim was to highlight the shots that best illustrated the appalling sequence of events.
Sanna began to painstakingly inspect a pile of photos. Steward had sorted the material into different groupings. One series of images focused on the victim’s attempts to break free using close ups of his blistered wrists and the scars created by the leather straps. After pinning the photos onto the whiteboard, taking care to display them in order, she lingered in front of a close up of the victim’s penis and the blisters caused by a type of liquid detergent, which had dried out like dripping wax.
Blom, who by now had also joined the team in the investigation room, followed Sanna’s activity with interest. He stretched out his hand and Steward walked around the table to hand him a pile of photos.
Javier slurped down the rest of his coffee and walked over to the whiteboard to pin up a number of images depicting the murder scene. “This isn’t the first time we’ve dealt with a murder where the killer has cleaned the crime scene so fastidiously. Sanna and I have worked together on similar cases but haven’t become any the wiser in the process. Can anyone tell me what the murderer is trying to tell us with this pattern of behaviour?”
Thorén scrutinized the photos. “It’s so cold blooded. I get goose-bumps whenever I see a crime scene like this.”
“You’re right. Strangely enough it would be easier to accept if it looked like a normal crime scene, with blood splattered all over the place. A person would have to be incredibly cold hearted to spend time cleaning up after committing such a brutal murder.”
Thorén gasped.
Sanna took a deep breath and surveyed her co-workers. They, in turn watched her. “Even if it’s the third murder by this particular heavyweight, we’re still no closer to determining the reason for his or her ritualistic behaviour. However, I’m more interested in the letters and what message the murderer is trying to send us. Hopefully that will provide us with the motive.” She picked up her cup and sipped the lukewarm coffee. “One problem is our inability to link the murder to any known serial killers in the country. The attacker has his own unique modus operandi.”
Allan Jonsson and Samir Mohamed entered the room.
Sanna waited for them to sit down and then continued. “As I was saying, we now have three murders. The latest one bears all the hallmarks of the Thom Marks and Dexter Fleming murders. In all probability, they were all committed by the same person and he or she is trying to send us a message using letters of the alphabet.”
Blom opened his mouth to say something.
Sanna looked at him questioningly.
He cleared his throat. “Say ‘they’!”
“They?” repeated Sanna.
“Yes, say ‘they’ instead of ‘he’ or ‘she’.”
“What a good idea,” exclaimed Thorén, smiling broadly. “Let’s skip saying ‘he or she’ all the time.”
The team members looked at each other sceptically.
Sanna hesitated. “Okay, we can try using a gender neutral pronoun but only when speaking, not in written reports,” she replied eventually.
Blom looked satisfied.
“We’re in a rather tricky situation,” she continued. “What makes our investigation all the more complicated is the fact that the murders were committed in different parts of the country. Our murderer could be literally anywhere.”
Javier raised his eyebrows. “How do we conduct a nationwide search without knowing who we’re looking for?”
“Plus the murderer changes their appearance,” added Kalle. “First it’s a black wig, then a blond one. What will it be next time?”
“What do you mean?” asked Blom, looking disquieted.
“Each time they deliberately leave a different colour hair strand behind,” explained Sanna. “Okay. Do we have any interesting witnesses?”
“I talked to Rolf Andreasson,” said Kalle. “He’s the one who found the body and contacted the police, but he wasn’t much help. He was still quite shocked and to make matters worse his wife had just told him she wanted to move away from the area… Anyway, he didn’t even know what the owner of the house looked like. He suggested we talk to Stina Haag and she described the owner as a fairly ordinary looking man, approximately one metre seventy-five tall. She also mentioned that he was separated from his wife. That’s about all I’ve got from her. To be honest, she was a little uncooperative. I think we should call her in for questioning.”
“But haven’t you already spoken to Aron Alvik?” interjected Sanna.
“Yes, I have. He was rather unhelpful, to say the least,” added Kalle. “He kept going on about how stupid it was to leave a key under the flower pot. Anyway, we agreed that he should contact me as soon as he returns to Stockholm. He’ll try and identify the victim then.”
Javier snorted. “Not just that. He’s also got a lot of explaining to do. What about all the stuff we found at the cottage?”
“I didn’t mention any of that to him. I want to see his face when we interview him.”
“So he had no idea who the vict
im could be?”
“No, he sounded genuinely surprised. It seems a number of his friends had access to the cottage and he didn’t feel there was any point in speculating before seeing the body.”
Sanna pursed her lips and looked sceptical.
Javier clasped his hands behind his neck and leaned back on his chair. “I have a twenty nine year old man named Niklas Fors. He seemed a bit on edge and said he didn’t want to be involved. My guess is he knows something, so let’s call him in as well.”
“Anyone else? Allan, you were also outside talking to the spectators. Do you have anything to report?”
Allan Jonsson shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “No, nothing. Nobody I talked to had anything to say.”
Sanna glared at him.
“Oh yes,” said Kalle. “One of our colleagues at Värmdö mentioned two brothers living locally who like to keep a close eye on goings on in the neighbourhood. Apparently they’re a bit odd.”
Sanna raised her eyebrows. “Odd? How?”
“All he said was that they keep themselves to themselves and seldom talk to anyone. It’ll be in the preliminary report.”
“Hmm,” said Sanna as she made a note in her tablet computer.
“Okay Allan, you send a summons to Stina Haag and Nicklas Fors. Make sure they come in sometime next week at the latest.”
Allan Jonsson jotted down a reminder in his notebook.
“Anything new regarding the items seized at the property?” asked Sanna.
Thorén raised her hand. “Yup, Allan and I have looked through a bunch of the DVDs. The films show group sex between men and women. Sex orgies. Sadomasochistic games. Sometimes there are several women involved, sometimes just one. But it looks like the sex acts are consensual. Unfortunately, everyone’s covered from head to toe, so it’s impossible to see their faces.”
Allan passed a few photos around the table. The characters were all dressed in black plastic clothes.
“However, judging from the accent, one of them comes from Norrland,” continued Thorén. “He’s the tall, strong looking guy you can hear doing most of the talking. He’s the one setting the rules and always seems to get his way. There’s also a short guy who sounds like a Finnish Swede and a lanky, shrill sounding man with an accent that’s hard to place, as well as two people from Stockholm who only appear in a couple of the films. You don’t hear much from the women except when they’re moaning, presumably with pleasure. One more thing, all the recordings are at least three years old, nothing’s been filmed since then.”
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