Impact Epub

by Lourdes Daza-Gillman

  “Anything about the anonymous letter?” asked Blom.

  “I’ve gone through all the surveillance camera footage. The internal mail officer was the one who left the envelope in reception,” interjected Samir Mohamed. “He claims he has no idea how the letter ended up in his tray. Since there was no address he decided to leave it at reception, so that’s a dead end. We also heard from Forensics that there are no fingerprints either.”

  “Okay. The letters are still a mystery. We should have received the full report from Forensics last week,” said Sanna turning to Segelström.

  “I’m going there tomorrow anyway so I’ll ask them for an update,” said Segelström.

  “Good,” continued Sanna. “It would be far too simplistic if the letters were connected to the victims’ names. I think we’re still missing a number of letters and I’m afraid they’re going to be delivered in new victims.”

  Blom looked at her in surprise.

  “Thom Mark’s body was discovered first but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s at the top of a causal chain. We know that the killer bides their time between murders – sometimes several months or years – so I wouldn’t be at all surprised if other bodies were scattered around the country. We might not have found the Ingarö victim yet if it hadn’t been for the neighbour’s dog reacting to the smell.”

  “There’s some truth to that,” grimaced Blom.

  “So we have three victims who were found by chance. The most recent was so badly decomposed that Arne Falk couldn’t determine exactly when he was murdered. That’s why I’m more and more convinced that we’ll find more victims, old ones or new ones…”

  CHAPTER 22

  BDSM and Gay Clubs

  THE BAR WAS JAM PACKED AND the beat of the music thundered in their ears. So far their evening spent visiting gay and BDSM clubs had been hard work. Receiving compliments from other men and being treated as sex objects by them was an unnerving experience. Javier was handling the effrontery slightly better than Kalle, who felt decidedly uncomfortable as the focus of men’s lustful glances.

  Groups of men clustered around the bar. Some were perched on stools while others had squeezed themselves in wherever they could find a space.

  Javier smiled at the bartender, who seemed in a good mood.

  “What can I get you?”

  Javier turned to Kalle, who was busy scanning the room.

  “Two Bitburger Drive’s, or any other light beer you have,” he replied, displaying his police identity badge.

  “Nice…” snarled the bartender.

  Javier reflected on the power of a police id. It had certainly wiped the smile off the bartender’s face.

  Kalle placed three photographs onto the counter.

  “Do you recognize any of these men?”

  The barman glanced at the photos, continuing to polish a glass at the same time.

  He shook his head.

  “Wait! I recognize that guy,” interjected another man who was standing beside them and craning his neck to get a better view.

  “When was the last time you saw him?” asked Javier.

  “A long time ago… a few months at least. Can’t say exactly when. Sorry.”

  The bartender picked up the photograph and looked at it more closely.

  “Hmm.”

  “Do you recognize him as well?” asked Kalle

  “I might do,” he replied, scratching his neck. “He looks familiar. But the man I remember was older than this. The last time I saw him he was completely off his head and causing a scene. I haven’t seen him since.”

  “Was he alone?” asked Javier.

  “Yes. He spent most of the time talking on the phone.”

  Another male guest approached them at the bar.

  “Hey, what are you up to?” said the newcomer, slapping his mate on the back and receiving a nod in return. He proceeded to pick up one of the photos. “I know him!” he added.

  “Who is he?” asked Kalle.

  The newcomer glowered at Kalle.

  “They’re cops,” said the barman. “They want to know if we recognize any of these guys.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “You said you know him,” said Javier, pointing at a photograph of Dexter Fleming, the Vasastan victim.

  “Well, I don’t really know him but he’s definitely the guy I saw practically fall down the stairs that night. There was a woman with him. She helped him into the car.”

  Kalle, who was about to take a swig of beer, froze with the bottle half way to his mouth. “Who was she?”

  “How would I know?” replied the newcomer, shrugging his shoulders. “This is a gay club so I guess it was his sister or a friend.”

  Javier gulped down his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Could you describe her?”

  “I’m not one to eye up the ladies but she was definitely hot. She was tall and dressed in flashy leather gear.”

  Kalle looked at him sceptically. “Are you sure it was a woman? Did you notice anything else about her?”

  The man narrowed his eyes. “Maybe you don’t have an eye for that type of thing, but let me make it perfectly clear – I know the difference between a trannie and a chick.”

  Kalle felt the blood rush to his face. “Maybe you do, but we need to be sure… you said she was tall?”

  “Yeah, about a hundred and eighty centimetres or more.”

  “Swedish?”

  “I think so. She had short red hair. What can I say? She was a very attractive woman.”

  Javier smiled to himself. For someone who claimed he wasn’t interested in females, when it came to this particular one, he certainly had excellent recall.

  “What did they do then?”

  “Not much. I followed in case they needed help but she managed just fine. She put on his seat belt and then they drove off.”

  “What type of car was it?”

  “I think it was a Volvo, an old V60.”

  “Colour?”

  “I’m not sure… black or dark blue.”

  Just as the bartender was about to speak he was approached by another customer. After taking care of their order he re-joined the group clustered around the bar.

  Nobody said a word. It was as if they were all waiting for someone else to speak.

  “Now that I think about it, it’s a bit odd he hasn’t been here since. He was a regular,” murmured the barman, as if he was thinking aloud.

  Javier ran his fingers through his hair and looked at him expectantly.

  “Did he usually leave the bar alone?”

  The barman and the newcomer exchanged glances.

  “Has anything happened to him?” asked the barman.

  “What’s your name?” asked Kalle, ignoring the question and turning to the newcomer.

  “Me? Why?”

  “Since you saw who he was with that night, we may need to contact you again.”

  “I see. Are you going to call me in to identify the woman?”

  “Either that or to look at some images,” said Javier. “We’ll get back to you if we need to but in the meantime if either of you remember anything else – anything at all – please contact us.”

  After noting down the names of the two men who had taken part in the conversation they handed out visitor cards and left the pub.

  IT WAS QUARTER PAST SEVEN in the evening and the team was gathered in the investigation room. Empty pizza boxes were strewn across the table. Although they had been there since early morning everyone was still hard at work.

  As compensation for working late Sanna had suggested everyone have a lie-in the next morning instead. She almost always stayed late anyway, as did Kalle and Javier, but it was by no means assumed that the others would agree.

  Some of the team were poring through the evening papers, others were checking their mobiles. Segelström placed a pile of papers on the table. It was the old criminal profiler’s report.

  “Well, that was certai
nly a detailed analysis,” said Sanna.

  Segelström smiled tenuously.

  “Unfortunately, it doesn’t tell us anything we didn’t know already. We still have absolutely no idea what type of person we’re looking for. There are so many unanswered questions,” said Sanna, walking over to the coffee machine to fix herself a café latte.

  “I agree, the so-called experts weren’t much help. However, apparently Dexter Fleming was a regular at a gay club, so at least we now know that he was homosexual or at the very least bisexual,” said Javier smugly.

  “Well, would you believe it,” replied Thorén with a glint in her eye. “Just as I told you, appearances can be deceptive. You can never be sure of a person’s sexual orientation, can you Javier?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Anyway, he left the bar with a woman.”

  Sanna smiled to herself. Javier hated admitting he was wrong.

  “What did she look like?”

  “According to our witness she was tall and a flashy dresser.”

  “Flashy in what way?” asked Segelström, looking up from his iPhone.

  “Short tight skirt, leather jacket.”

  “Probably a prostitute. A lot of dubious types hang out in those types of clubs. What can you expect with gays?” grimaced Segelström.

  “Ha ha, I’ve been to lots of gay clubs and I’m not a whore,” said Thorén. “In fact, perfectly ordinary people go there, both gay and heterosexual.”

  Segelström glanced at her shiftily.

  Sanna frowned but decided to ignore him.

  “Anything from the surveillance camera?”

  Kalle put up his hand. “Nothing, unfortunately,” he said, chewing on his last slice of pizza. “I contacted the person responsible as well as their technicians but they don’t keep the recordings for longer than six months.”

  “Okay, we don’t have much choice then. We’ll have to create a facial composite image. Gather the specialist team at County CID and contact the witnesses. Fingers crossed they come up with something we can use.”

  “I doubt it,” said Segelström shaking his head. “Nobody can remember a face after so many years. It’s a waste of time and money. We know he’s a homo. We should be looking for a man, not a woman.”

  “That may be, but we have to follow every lead, especially if there are witnesses who saw him on what was potentially his last day alive,” replied Sanna frostily. “Kalle and Javier, follow the trail and organise a photo confrontation as soon as possible.”

  Segelström scowled. “Those poor guys already have far too much on their plate. There are only three of them. I think you should reconsider. Stick to the facts instead!”

  “Those are my instructions,” insisted Sanna, with a piercing look. .

  Segelström snorted contemptuously.

  “I’m not familiar with their work – are you?” asked Thorén.

  “The specialist group at NBI consists of three people. They cover the entire country and have special software designed to create extremely realistic images of a suspect based on witness descriptions,” replied Javier.

  “That’s right,” added Sanna. “But obviously a facial composite can’t be compared to a photograph. It’s more like a caricature. The best we can hope for is that it provides enough information to identify a possible suspect. “

  Blom nodded in agreement. “That’s good! Hopefully it’ll help us get to the bottom of this.”

  Segelström glanced briefly at his boss.

  There was a long silence.

  Thorén cleared her throat to speak. “This is a complicated case and we need to use all the resources available to us. We have a group of five or six men, three of whom are dead. We need to find out where the others are and get to them before the killer does,” she said and continued: “Mohamed, what have you found out so far? Have you managed to make contact with any of them?”

  “We’ve got Bosse Krom’s social security number. He’s the only person with that name. We visited his registered address a number of times but nobody seems to know where he is. One of the neighbours told us that Krom is hardly ever home, so perhaps he has another address as well. Apparently he doesn’t have any relatives. His parents died ages ago and he was their only child.”

  “No luck with Åke Pettersson’s social security number yet, I’m afraid,” interjected Monika Lind. “We’ve hit a brick wall. The same with Jukka.”

  Kalle looked thoughtfully at her. “That’s strange. Have you checked out the shooting range?”

  “They haven’t been seen there for ages,” answered Mohamed.

  “The owner of the shooting range should have their social security numbers. Kalle, try to get in touch with him. We have to find Åke Pettersson and Anton Jukka Lidman as soon as possible!”

  “Assuming they’re still alive, of course,” added Javier.

  Sanna frowned. She glanced up at the ceiling and then turned to look at her team. “This is like a ticking time bomb, and we have no idea where it is or when it will explode,” she said solemnly. “If somebody’s out for revenge there must be a police report involving the group. Is there anything on the database?”

  “I double checked our file on the Dexter Fleming case in case there was something I missed. A couple of years before he was murdered he was accused of rape. However, the case never went to trial – the plaintiff withdrew the charges a couple of months after the attack and moved to the USA not long afterwards. According to the investigating officer the victim was scared and it was impossible to get anything out of her. He suspected she was being threatened. Anyway, we tried to contact her for questioning,” continued Javier.

  “And?”

  “She was adamant that she had nothing more to add and basically refused to talk to us. We couldn’t exactly fly her over for questioning. Anyway, looks like Dexter Fleming got away with it in the end.”

  Kalle straightened up in his chair.

  “Monika and I found nothing on Thom Mark. However, Konrad Berg has been charged with two offences – disruptive behaviour at a restaurant and attempted rape. Both investigations were suspended. The woman who accused him of rape wasn’t considered credible because she had made this type of accusation a number of times before. Regarding the disruptive behaviour charge, Berg apologized and the plaintiff accepted. Nevertheless, Berg was forced to pay for the damage he caused to the premises.”

  “Okay,” said Sanna and turned to Segelström.

  “What does Forensics say about the letters?”

  Segelström continued to fiddle aimlessly with his iPhone.

  “Nothing about Dexter Fleming,” he replied. “But there was a mark that’s proving hard to decipher on the piece of paper inserted into Thom Mark’s penis. They’ve tried a number of different methods but so far haven’t managed to determine if it was a letter or just dirt.”

  KIM WALKED QUICKLY, intermittently glancing back at a man who had been following them for some time. Wherever they went he was never far behind. All of a sudden he started running and instinctively Kim picked up pace, nervously gripping the pepper spray in anticipation. To their surprise the man overtook them and shouted to somebody up ahead. Kim stopped and leaned against a wall to catch their breath. This wasn’t the first time they had felt threatened but some days were worse than others. Wherever they went they always made sure that nobody was on their heels. Kim started to tremble. They felt as if they were losing control.

  CHAPTER 23

  Revisiting a witness

  WINTER DESCENDED SWIFTLY with five consecutive days of heavy snowfall. By seven o’clock on Monday evening, when Sanna Johansson and Cecile Thorén arrived at Ingarö, the entire area was blanketed in snow. They parked outside the Bergling brothers’ house. The yard was deserted and there were no footsteps in the snow.

  They exchanged knowing glances.

  “Shall we go in?” asked Thorén.

  “Let’s wait a minute… or… No we’ll go in now…”

  Before Sanna could fin
ish her sentence a Land Rover sped past them and screeched to a halt outside the house.

  A bald, heavy-set man climbed out of the vehicle. Sanna noticed that he wasn’t wearing winter clothes and was dressed in a green military overall and black combat boots.

  The man kicked open the gate, strode up the path towards the house and hammered on the front door with his huge fists.

  No answer.

  He banged on the door again. “I know you’re there, you fucking idiots!” he shouted as he bashed open the door with his foot and stomped into the house.

  Sanna and Thorén climbed out of the car and hurried towards the house. Sanna stopped by a window while her partner made her way around the side of the building, removing her weapon from its holder as she walked.

  It was hard to hear what was being said inside but through the glass she caught a glimpse of the two brothers clinging to each other and nodding deferentially while the man gesticulated wildly.

  A few minutes later the man turned to leave, deliberately smashing one of the chairs as he walked out.

  It was too dark to see his face clearly.

  “Who the hell was that?” asked Thorén.

  “Damn it! I couldn’t see his face and the number plate was obscured,” she growled.

  “What do we do now? Shall we go in?” asked Thorén.

  Sanna headed back to the car without answering.

  Thorén followed and jumped in just as Sanna started the engine and sped off in pursuit of the Land Rover.

  They could see the car headlights shining in the distance.

  The night sky was thick with cloud and all around them lay a coal black forested landscape with occasional patches of open ground along the road. Sometimes the lanes they drove along were narrow and winding and Sanna had to lower her speed to avoid getting too close to the target.