Impact Epub

by Lourdes Daza-Gillman

  “I thought Segelström and Thorén were going to do the interviews,” said Javier.

  “Thorén’s home with her kids,” interjected Kalle.

  “… And Segelström says he’s too busy,” said Sanna.

  Silence.

  “To be honest, I’m a bit sceptical about this,” said Javier. “We’ve nothing to pin on them.”

  Kalle raised his eyebrows. “It’s worth a try. Two of the men have been involved in similar investigations before.”

  “I agree with Kalle,” said Sanna. “Although none of them are suspects I want to find out if they knew Konrad Berg. These are people who thrive on abuse. The person I’m going to question is a sadist with a reputation for using unnecessary force.”

  “We’ll see what I can get out of the twenty-nine year old,” said Kalle.

  Javier nodded and leafed nonchalantly through his brown folder. “I have to admit, I’m more than a little curious to find out how a sadist’s mind works!”

  CHAPTER 17

  Witness interviews - BDSM

  A LARGE, WELL-BUILT MAN sat slouched in a chair in the interview room, staring glumly at the wall, with his arms and legs crossed.

  Sanna entered and quickly sized the man up. He was a forty-six year old homosexual with a criminal background who, in recent years, had been the subject of a number of police investigations. He worked at a sadomasochistic club where violence was part of the game. A number of his clients had been victims of his brutality and reported him to the police.

  At first sight the man appeared confident and determined. His long blond hair was neatly combed back and tied into a ponytail and his beard accentuated his prominent chin. His narrow blue eyes exuded animosity.

  “Hello, I’m Detective Inspector Sanna Johansson.” She shook his hand. Dispensing with further formalities she took a seat opposite him and next to Thorén, who had arrived earlier after deciding at the last minute to hire a babysitter for a few hours and sit in on the interview.

  Sanna glanced briefly at the uniformed policeman sitting in the left hand corner of the room. She leaned across the table and turned on the recording device.

  The man watched her closely.

  “Interview with Kent Bengtsson on behalf of Stockholm Police, Monday 29th August led by Detective Inspector Sanna Johansson and assisted by Detective Inspector Cecile Thorén. The time is five past ten.”

  Sanna read out Kent Bengtsson’s social security number as well as the other information she was legally required to present before commencing the interview.

  Kent Bengtsson’s merit list in the police register confirmed his status as a seasoned assailant. Sanna had reviewed a few of the police reports categorized as assault. To her surprise, he had only been convicted in one of the cases and ordered to pay damages. The court had found it difficult to prosecute him for abuse since the parties had met by mutual agreement. What had been his undoing this time was the fact that he continued to use excessive force even though the other party had begged him time and time again to stop.

  Sanna casually leafed through a pile of papers, then looked up and glared at the witness.

  “It’s no secret that you like violence,” she said.

  Kent Bengtsson stared back at her. He didn’t move a muscle.

  “It must be all too easy, once you’re in the mood, to keep pushing the limits and accidentally go too far,” suggested Sanna, deliberately avoiding any reference to the man’s profession.

  Kent Bengtsson leaned back and looked up at the ceiling, carefully formulating his response. He turned to Sanna and shook his head.

  Thorén leaned forward and spoke into the recording device.

  “For the record, the witness is shaking his head.”

  “Come on! You’ve been charged with assault countless times. You routinely use excessive force and refuse to stop until you’ve had enough.”

  She paused.

  No response.

  “You can’t help yourself can you, even though your victim is screaming and begging you to stop… But no, you don’t give a damn about the rules, do you?” she added.

  Kent Bengtsson scratched his forehead and screwed up his eyes.

  He straightened up in the chair. “Where’s this going?” he said indignantly. “What am I being accused of?”

  “I want to know how many times you got carried away, unable to control your sadistic tendencies and determined to silence your clients once and for all.”

  The witness pushed up his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  “Do you have any evidence against me? Or are you asking me to confess to something I didn’t do?”

  She handed him a photo of Konrad Berg.

  “Is this man one of your clients?”

  He repositioned his glasses and bent forward to study the picture.

  “No, never seen him before,” he replied with an insidious smile, picking up the photograph and stroking it with his thumb.” “Is he the one accusing me of assault?”

  “He’s dead.”

  For a brief moment his expression clouded.

  “Ouch!” he grimaced as if in pain then shook his head, smirking. He leaned back in his chair and assumed his familiar deadpan expression.

  Sanna studied the man for a moment. She had been expecting him to behave belligerently and was prepared to be similarly aggressive in her questioning.

  She was well aware that cruel men like Kent Bengtsson were popular within their circles. If they had a reputation for ruthlessness they were more appealing to their clients. On one occasion he had broken a client’s nose and caused other serious physical injuries that demanded medical attention. However, there were no reports of him ever being implicated in anything remotely similar to the Konrad Berg case.

  Although Kent Bengtsson was, without doubt, a contemptuous human being, Sanna couldn’t help believing that his calm demeanour was genuine.

  “It’s quarter to eleven. We’re concluding the interview,” said Sanna wearily.

  She turned off the recording device.

  “We’re done here. You can go.”

  Sanna nodded to Thorén and left the room.

  “Oh, okay then,” said Kent Bengtsson, with a hint of disappointment in his voice.

  Thorén found it difficult to hide her amusement. She bit her lower lip. Maybe he wants to end up in prison, she thought.

  “I’ll show you out,” she said with a glint in her eyes.

  SANNA RETURNED TO THE investigation room where Javier was writing feverishly on his laptop. When she entered he looked up and gave her a perfunctory nod. A couple of minutes later Kalle strode in and plonked himself down onto an empty chair. Soon afterwards, Thorén arrived with a mug of coffee in her hand and sat down next to Sanna.

  “We can dismiss the fifty-year old man from our enquiries,” announced Kalle. “Before I began the interview he pulled out a pile of recent airline tickets, hotel bills and other travel documents. He lives in Germany and has been away all summer. So I’ll move on to the next witness. Nicklas Fors arrives in an hour.”

  “Well, that’s that then… How did your interview go, Javier?” asked Sanna.

  Javier stopped typing and looked up. He had been questioning a thirty two year old man from Stockholm who had been married for four years and had two children. The potential suspect worked in the building industry during the day but amused himself with sadistic games by night. Javier briefly described the man’s background and why he might be of interest to the investigation.

  “He’s still in the interview room. He’s already had a run in with the law – a year ago he was accused of brutally assaulting a homosexual man. What should we do?” said Javier.

  Sanna thought it over.

  “Detain him for a bit, I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  AS SOON AS SANNA HAD FINISHED ploughing through the relevant report she collected all the pages and placed them into a file. She hurried down the corridor towards the interview room and paused outside t
he door before taking a deep breath and entering. The man looked her up and down.

  “Who the hell are you?” he inquired before she had a chance to introduce herself.

  “Detective Inspector Sanna Johansson,” replied Sanna calmly.

  “Really! And there was me thinking that the police had decided not to record the interview and had splashed out on a secretary to take notes.”

  Sanna gave him a piercing stare. This wasn’t the first time she had been the target of sexist jokes.

  He glared back at her, antagonistically at first, and then began to squirm uneasily in his chair. He sighed and folded his arms against his chest and crossed one leg nonchalantly over the other.

  “What the hell?” he growled and peered up at the ceiling

  “There’s nothing wrong with liking rough sex… we’re not here to preach morality,” she began. “We understand how in a moment of temptation it’s easy to get carried away and let things get out of hand, not realising that the other person is screaming in pain – not desire.”

  Sanna tried to introduce a note of compassion into her voice. She was grasping at straws but there was no point in being aggressive.

  There was a long silence.

  The witness examined his nails and started to pick the dirt from underneath them.

  “He was so badly beaten you thought you may as well kill him, didn’t you?” said Javier, who was beginning to get sick and tired of this man’s attitude. “You didn’t want to be reported again,”

  The suspect was heavy set and muscular and approximately one metre eighty-five centimetres metres tall with short red hair that complemented his well-groomed beard. Although he was wearing a formal jacket, his look was casual.

  “I’ve got nothing to say!” he said finally, dragging out every letter.

  “If you’re not willing to cooperate we’ll have no alternative but to place you under arrest.”

  “On what grounds?” he shouted. “This is crazy.”

  “Do you want to call your lawyer?”

  “Why? I’ve got nothing to hide. Why would I need a lawyer?”

  “I’m legally required to ask you so that you can’t say later that you were never offered one,” said Sanna coolly.

  The witness did not respond.

  Sanna read through the man’s file. It was clear they were dealing with a particularly violent individual. She studied a photo showing the battered face of one of his victims, then returned to the beginning of the report.

  “So you live a double life. You’re married with two children yet hang out with homosexual men. Does your wife know about your addiction?” she said.

  The colour rose in his face and he jumped up from his chair.

  “There’s one thing you’d better get straight, you bloody cunt,” he screamed, spraying saliva into the air. “I’m not a fucking homo!”

  “Aha. So we can add hate crime to the list of potential charges,” said Sanna with a churlish smile, exchanging glances with Javier.

  Hate crime was a controversial issue, which they had discussed on and off. But nobody could agree whether it was relevant in this case. Now they had a known offender sitting opposite them who was prepared to use extreme violence against homosexual men.

  “When did you meet Konrad Berg?”

  “Who the hell is Konrad Berg?”

  “We know you’ve met him. There’s no point pretending otherwise.”

  “Oh yeah, and when would that have been?”

  “You met him several times. The last occasion was the thirteenth of July,” interjected Javier.

  The man twisted uncomfortably in his chair and gave a deep sigh.

  A few minutes passed.

  “Okay,” said Sanna finally. “You obviously have no intention of answering my questions. My patience has finally run out. You can stay locked up until you decide to talk. We’re going to end the interview here. The time is half past two.”

  She turned off the recording device.

  Sanna and Javier left the room.

  “We’ve got him!” declared Javier.

  “We’ll hold him for the time being… but we have to get more evidence if we want to make an arrest. We know they met at a sadomasochistic club. It’s odd that he hasn’t been convicted before. I would like to see the police reports.”

  “Hmm,” said Javier. “On what grounds can we hold him?”

  “Brutal hate crimes against homosexuals. We know that he hates homosexuals and there are indications that Konrad Berg was bisexual. I’m sure he’s withholding information… there’s something he wants to tell us and we need to find out what it is. We’ll contact the prosecutor when we have enough evidence for a detention hearing.”

  KALLE KARLSSON GLANCED at the clock in exasperation. He was sitting in an interview room with Monika Lind and their witness, a twenty-nine year old man named Nicklas Fors who had been in the crowd standing outside the police barrier tape at the crime scene.

  More than half an hour had gone by and they had made little or no progress. Nicklas Fors had a cocky attitude and kept insisting that he had nothing to contribute to the investigation.

  “How long are you going to keep this up? Why you won’t tell us what you know. You saw who visited the cottage!”

  Kalle studied the witness. Nicklas Fors was tall and gangly with a boyish early pubescent look and sloping shoulders that emphasized his nervous disposition.

  “Honestly, I was just curious about what had happened.”

  “Come on, you live nearby and cycle past the house every day, so don’t come here with your stupid excuses.”

  Nicklas Fors stroked his face nervously. “I must admit I was a bit surprised when I heard it was a man…”

  ”What do you mean?”

  “The victim…”

  “Why were you surprised?”

  “I…”

  “Come on.”

  Nicklas Fors coughed nervously. “I’ve seen them with women who were extremely drunk.”

  “How do you know they were drunk?”

  “That’s all I’m going to say,” he said, looking down at the recording device.

  “Just between us then.”

  “Hmm, I don’t trust the police. You’ll write a report.”

  “What are you so afraid of?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why not? What would happen if you told us?”

  “You should know.”

  “But I don’t. Enlighten me… tell me what all this is about.”

  “Violence, threats, blackmail. Everything you can think of. I would rather end up in jail than talk.”

  He stared at Monika Lind. “She’s making notes all the time!”

  Monika Lind stopped writing. “They’re just my own notes, nothing that will end up in a police report,” she said with a polite smile.

  “It’s okay, nobody’s going to take notes,” added Kalle reassuringly. “Tell us everything you know.”

  Nicklas Fors ran his fingers through his hair and hesitated before replying.

  “The women could hardly walk…,” he began.

  “When was this?”

  “I don’t remember, but it happened at least twice. Once when I was cycling home from a party at a friend’s place nearby, I got a bit too close to their car. I have to admit I’d had a bit to drink myself and was a little unsteady but I was doing my best to steer straight.”

  “Okay?” prodded Kalle.

  “So, anyway, one of them grabbed my arm so hard I nearly fell off.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “He was a big, tough guy from Norrland. He screamed at me to get the hell out of there otherwise he would chop me up into little pieces. That sobered me up, I can tell you. I scarpered away from there pretty damn quickly. God knows how I managed it.

  Monika Lind tried hard not to chuckle. Fors illustrated his story with such lively gestures that she could quite imagine the scene.

  “Was he also drunk?”

 
“No, I don’t think so. He was holding one of the women up to stop her from falling down. The others were just hanging around. She definitely had too much to drink… Even I noticed that.”

  “Who were the others?”

  “There were three or four of them but they didn’t say anything.”

  “See, there was nothing to be afraid of. You could have told us this earlier,” said Kalle.

  “But I live in the neighbourhood and cycle past the house several times a day. Whenever the guy from Norrland sees me he always gives me threatening looks. He knows who I am and I’m sure he wouldn’t think twice about beating me to a pulp if it came to it.”

  Monika Lind nodded in sympathy.

  Kalle looked at him intently.

  “Don’t get into your heads to ask me to testify at a trial or suchlike, because if you do I’ll deny everything.”

  Kalle rubbed his chin. They already knew that the house had been used as a venue for sex orgies but the fact that there was now a defenceless woman in the picture complicated the situation.

  “Did you see what went on inside the house?”

  “No, definitely not! I’d never dare go anywhere near the place if I knew they were there. That would be crazy and you know it!”

  KIM STARED AT THE HEADLINE in the evening paper.

  ‘A thirty eight year old man has been arrested on suspicion of murder or manslaughter. According to the prosecutor Carl-Magnus Alkelius, the detainee is suspected of attempting to withhold evidence material and this constitutes specific grounds for arrest.’

  So he was still locked up. Kim placed the newspaper to one side. They had been following the investigation closely and knew that this man was the main suspect. They felt relief and guilt in equal measure. How could they even consider letting someone else take the blame for their actions? This attack of conscience was aggravating.

  Kim picked up the paper and re-read the article. Despite the fact that hate crimes were relatively common, prosecutions were rare. There was no point in acting hastily. In due course Kim would direct the police’s attention elsewhere. The thirty-eight year old man could remain in prison for a few more days.