“They found a corpse at Alvik’s house,” the man shouted.
“And what’s that got to do with us?” replied the voice.
“They want to know if we saw or heard anything.”
What a strange pair, thought Sanna.
The man turned to face Sanna again and stared at her in a manner that could almost be construed as threatening.
“We didn’t see or hear anything. I’ve already explained that to the cops who were here earlier,” said Mr. Bergling, slamming the door in her face.
Sanna stood frozen to the spot. She decided there was no point waiting. However, just as she reached the foot of the steps the man came back out of the house and plonked himself down onto an old wooden chair on the veranda.
He beckoned to her.
After weighing up her options, Sanna climbed back up the steps and sat down next to him on a rickety chair, which creaked and rattled under her weight. She jumped up and leant against the wall.
Nisse Bergling’s grin became wider and wider. Eventually he could no longer contain his amusement and he burst into laughter.
She crossed her arms and looked at him warmly. He was, without doubt, completely mad but she had a gut feeling he might have useful information.
The man stopped laughing and dried his mouth on his ragged sleeve.
“I saw them,” he said cagily.
“Them?”
“Them,” he repeated pointing in the direction of the neighbour’s house.
“How many?”
“It varied,” he replied shrugging his shoulders.
“It varied…? Were there several occasions?”
“Yes, of course! How could it vary if I only saw them once!” he replied, glaring at Sanna as if she was stupid.
Sanna sighed to herself.
“How many people were there? Did you recognize any of them?” she asked, counting to ten under her breath to control her irritation.
“One evening I got curious and walked over to the house to find out why people were arriving so late,” he continued, ignoring her question completely. “Those bastards were having an orgy.”
He burst into laughter again.
It was time to start pressuring him to provide answers. However, Sanna was reluctant to destroy the fragile connection she had managed to establish with this strange man. Despite his odd way of speaking she believed he was telling the truth.
“How many men and women were there?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he whispered. He made a point of glancing at his wristwatch and strode back into the house.
“Damn!” mumbled Sanna as she watched him disappear. It was pointless trying to stop him. She was infuriated but determined to stay in control.
“Thank you Mr. Bergling for taking the time to talk to me,” she said loudly, forcing herself to adopt a friendly tone. She intended to return and hear the continuation of his story and wanted to convey her appreciation for his willingness to cooperate.
Under normal circumstances he would receive a summons requesting him to attend a witness interview at the police station. However, Sanna was afraid this would backfire. If she wanted him to answer her questions, she would have to tread carefully and adopt a more psychological approach.
THE SPARSELY FURNISHED BEDROOM was dimly lit. It was three o’clock in the morning. A twenty five year old person sat stiffly on a bed, which was strewn with leaflets and clippings from various newspapers. Kim was studying a black file – the broad strategic plan.
Although Kim had completed the outline of the project, they were still having trouble achieving the sense of equilibrium they longed for. They picked up the file and flicked aimlessly through the pages. The relentless pain was consuming them. The memories were so vivid.
It had happened on a Friday, an ordinary Friday, and Kim was looking forward to a quiet, end-of the-week get together with an old friend who had unfortunately pulled out at the last minute. By the time Kim got the message they were already standing outside the pub. They decided to go inside anyway.
It was a fateful decision.
But there was no point in crying over spilt milk. Nothing mattered any more. There was no turning back.
Kim had never expected to become ensnared by those men.
Outside on the street there was the sound of dogs barking, then women talking and the honking of a car followed by a man’s irritated voice.
Kim ran a hand over their face and continued to ponder the situation.
The respectable Kim had become nothing but a common murderer.
Perhaps that was what they were. No. What they were doing was evening the score, applying the same level of brutality that had been used against them.
Kim wasn’t suffering from post-traumatic stress, nor acting in a state of confusion. They were driven by hate and an uncontrollable desire for revenge.
If only they had been in full command of their senses this would never have happened. Never!
Those bloody cowards had spiked their drink.
Kim’s eyes watered. It was hard to hold their emotion in check. They had been dragged to a secluded property and raped.
The men had moaned and encouraged each other, taking it in turns to hold Kim down. How could ordinary guys be capable of such an act? The whole lot of them were guilty. They had all known exactly what they were doing and enjoyed every second!
Kim leafed through the file again, stopping at a page headed, “Working plan” – a list with six numbered points. Each numbered point was followed by the heading, “Subject”, and to the right of each heading was another number. The order of these numbers indicated when each “Subject” should be dealt with.
Kim was satisfied. So far the information they had gathered fulfilled its purpose.
They were careful not to list names or other personal information. Kim committed facts like this to memory. They were used to building a mental database of people’s individual characteristics, including their appearance. They didn’t need photographs because the men’s faces were permanently imprinted on their brain.
Kim was adept at rooting out information from official and unofficial databases, computer registers or other kinds of data storage options. It was part of their daily routine.
But the process had not been entirely straightforward. The gathering of facts had involved many months of hard work before they were able to confirm their suspicions. The men were members of some sort of club. They liked to compete with each other using a points system. However, they never disclosed the nature of the competition.
At least Kim had discovered that the men met at a shooting range, as well as who they were and how many were involved. The more Kim discovered about their lives the more difficult it was to understand why they operated as a homogenous group. They were about as different from one another as it was possible to imagine.
CHAPTER 10
Always on a Thursday
IT WAS A THURSDAY. They always met on the last Thursday of the month. Three men stood at the bar savouring their pints of beer. After their regular session at the shooting range they were now at a watering hole in Södermalm, the last stop on their pub-crawl. It was a traditional pub with a blend of English and modern décor. The time was eleven o’clock in the evening and the noise was deafening. The convivial atmosphere intensified as the level of beer consumption increased. One of the men was laughing and joking loudly. He had a pronounced Norrland dialect, possibly originating from the district of Umeå.
Another two men entered the pub arm in arm. They walked directly to the bar and ordered a couple of beers.
“What sort?” asked the barman.
“One pint of strong beer and one…?”
The man turned to his partner.
“I’ll have a Real Beer,” he smiled.
“We don’t stock that one,” replied the barman abruptly.
“Then I’ll have the same as him.”
The barman opened two bottles and plonked them onto the counter. Ju
st then one of his colleagues came up and snatched the bottles out of his hands.
“That beer’s off. We can’t serve it.”
“What?” said the barman.
“Okay, we’ll take the Bishop Kol then,” said the tall man.
“Sorry, that’s also off,” replied the second barman in a distinctly hostile manner.
The man from Norrland had a reputation as a bit of a rabble-rouser. He had been listening to the discussion and couldn’t resist getting involved. He moved towards the couple and stood in front of them with his legs astride.
“You moron! Don’t you get it? They don’t serve gays here!”
“Who the hell are you?” asked the shorter of the two men.
“You bloody fag!” taunted the man from Norrland as he aimed a punch at the man’s face.
The taller man reacted quickly. He shielded his partner with his body and caught the Umeå man’s punch in mid-air.
The two combatants were about the same height. They glowered threateningly, jaws clenched, as they gripped each other’s fists. The veins in their arm muscles bulged and their faces grew redder and redder.
Eventually, the man from Norrland took a step back to steady himself. His opponent stood his ground. He was in good shape with well-developed upper body muscles whereas the man from Norland sported a bit of a beer belly.
It was an unusually non-eventful confrontation for the man from Norrland. After a couple of minutes he relaxed his grip and let go of the other man’s hand. He rubbed his sore fist and stared at his opponent in bewilderment. They continued eying each other hawkishly.
With a burst of hysterical laughter, the man from Norrland turned his back and walked away.
The Norwegian laughed hysterically, and turned his back. “Bloody wimps!” He growled and walked away.
“So, can we have our drinks now?” glowered the tall man.
The barman quickly presented him with a couple of beers while the shorter man calmly paid the bill, smiling contentedly as if nothing had happened.
THE CLOCK TICKED AND THE TIME SPED PAST. Kim continued searching for information. The anticipated breakthrough following the discovery of the men’s disposable mobiles never materialized. Unfortunately, the group communicated with cryptic text messages. After a while, Kim worked out that the men had common interests. As well as being members of a shooting club, they shared a passion for sadistic sex – a significant discovery that forced Kim to widen the investigation.
Nothing would be left to chance. It was essential to maintain total control. The timing must be perfect; when to put the plan into action and under what circumstances.
Kim visited the next subject’s home district, exploring the area and studying the location of the property in relation to the rest of the neighbourhood to work out how to flee the scene without arousing suspicion.
The rest was fairly routine. Everybody would receive the same treatment. Not exactly like Subject 2, but almost. First the victim would be drugged, then, once they were incapacitated, Kim would wait until they recovered. The men would be aware of everything, every movement and every touch. Kim would only reveal their true identity in the final moments.
There were a number of important rules, one of which was that none of the attacks would take place in Kim’s own apartment. The victims would be found in their own stomping grounds, the places where they themselves had operated.
Kim leafed through the file, glancing quickly at its contents. The mapping was clear and precise but didn’t reveal when or where the next subject would be dealt with. Events must take their natural course and they would have to wait until every detail was finalized and a golden opportunity presented itself before springing to action.
Kim opened the folder that contained intelligence on the subjects already dealt with. Every decision they had made over the years had been based on the assumption that the tidal wave of anger that had engulfed them would eventually subside. Only then would they be able to go on with their life.
There was a sudden rattling at the front door. Kim went to retrieve the morning paper, casually flicking through the pages on their way back to the bedroom.
Kim stopped dead in their tracks.
They had found him!
“The body of a middle-aged man has been discovered in a summer cottage on the island of Ingarö. Police are treating his death as suspicious.
We have reason to believe that the man was murdered, says Henrik Blom, Detective Chief Inspector of the Stockholm Police.
A forensic examination was carried out at the scene and a preliminary investigation to establish the circumstances surrounding the man’s death has begun.
The man has still not been identified. The police are reluctant to disclose any more details at this time.
At present there are no suspects.”
Kim was haunted by a lingering sense of guilt. They were constantly battling to control the chaotic thoughts cluttering their mind. They believed in justice and the rule of law, and on several occasions had been tempted to go to the police and confess. It was just a matter of time. Kim intended to finish the project first.
CHAPTER 11
Aron Alvik
HE SLUMPED IN HIS chair. He looked tired; his face, which was normally pallid, was flushed and there was a layer of perspiration glistening on his upper lip, betraying his discomfort.
Kalle Karlsson leaned forward and poured water into a couple of glasses. He took a sip from one of them and passed the other across the table to Aron Alvik. They had been sitting in the interview room for more than an hour without making any progress.
Kalle studied his witness.
Aron Alvik’s hunched shoulders and general posture suggested he lacked confidence. However, his supercilious attitude implied the opposite. Aron Alvik addressed Kalle Karlsson as if he was speaking to a subordinate.
He replied to all Kalle’s questions with the same refrain: “When you’re having fun and drinking you don’t think about what you’re saying. Some of my friends must have let on about the cottage and that the keys were hidden under a flowerpot. You must believe me. I’m just as keen as you are to find out who the man is. After all, he was murdered in my house.”
But Alvik’s explanation didn’t impress Kalle. He was determined to achieve what he had set out to do during the interview, namely to find out who the victim was.
Kalle glowered at him.
“Sooner or later you’re going to have to tell me the man’s name. You’re not leaving here until I get that information!”
Aron Alvik reached for his glass and swallowed the water in one gulp. He glanced at the victim’s photo. Confronted with the unpleasant image of the victim’s decomposing corpse, his determination wavered.
“It’s hard to say for certain, but he kind of looks like an old mate of mine – someone I met years ago during military service.”
“What’s his name?”
Aron Alvik stroked his chin nervously.
“Konrad Berg…”
“When did you last see him?”
“As I said, it was a long time ago. Perhaps ten years or so.”
Kalle scowled at Aron Alvik, who flickered his eyes and looked away.
“I don’t buy it!” interjected Kalle scornfully.
“What do you mean?” protested Alvik.
Kalle leaned across the table.
“You expect me to believe that someone you met more than ten years ago knew about your cottage. My patience is running out. I’m sick and tired of asking you the same goddamn question again and again. When did you last meet Konrad Berg?”
“Am I being accused of anything?”
“Not yet, but I’m suspicious as to why you’re deliberately withholding information.”
Aron Alvik laughed bitterly and straightened up in his chair. He looked at Kalle impassively.
“I’ve been as cooperative as I can. You have no right to keep me here any longer. Since I’m not under arrest, as far as I’m concerned this meet
ing is over. If you want to interview me again you’ll have to contact my lawyer.”
Aron Alvik handed Kalle a visit card. He got up and walked towards the door.
“Sit down, we’re not done yet!”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s talk about your collection of sex toys, and the orgies that were held at your summer cottage?”
“What? Where on earth did you get that idea? You cops are ridiculous!”
“You know very well what I’m talking about. We’ve confiscated everything we found at your place, including your DVDs, so don’t come in here and play the innocent.”
“Whatever you found belongs to my ex. She’s the one who likes that kind of stuff. I used to let her do as she pleased. As I’m sure you know, we’re now divorced and she lives in China with her new husband.”
“I see. But you were quite happy to keep it all, weren’t you?”
Aron Alvik stared at him belligerently.
“That’s all I’m saying. As I said, you’ll need to contact my lawyer.”
“You can go. The interview’s over,” added Kalle. He got up and opened the door.
Alvik scowled at him.
“It’s your choice. If you’d been willing to cooperate from the start you’d have been out of here hours ago!”
Next time you’ll definitely talk, thought Kalle.
THE BODIES OF THREE NAKED MEN had been discovered in different parts of the country. They had all been tortured and brutally raped before being murdered.
The investigation team could not ignore the striking similarities between the murders of Thom Mark in Gothenburg, Dexter Fleming in Vasastan and Konrad Berg on the island of Ingarö. Before Sanna Johansson could draw definite conclusions, however, she would have to wait for the forensic report and see what NFC had to say.
Sanna lifted her feet onto the desk just as Kalle and Javier strode into her office. Kalle passed her a café latté and sat down in an old armchair in the corner while Javier plonked himself down on the guest armchair.
They drank their coffee in silence.
“Aha!” exclaimed Javier, thinking aloud.
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