Impact Epub

by Lourdes Daza-Gillman

  “How do you know Konrad Berg? Why was he trying to blackmail you?”

  “My private life is none of your business! I really don’t need the cops butting in.”

  “Mrs Jay, please understand that we know why he threatened you, but we want to hear your own version.”

  She stared at Javier silently.

  “Does your husband know that you were having an affair with Berg?”

  “You mean my ex. I’m no longer married to that man.”

  “When did you get divorced?”

  “Six or seven months ago. What does it matter?”

  “Was it because of Berg?”

  “There’s one thing you’d better get straight! It wasn’t a love affair. It was just a fuck and nothing else. Anyway, I haven’t heard from the son of a bitch for more than a year.”

  “Why did you stop seeing him?”

  “Why do you think?” she replied with a sardonic smile. “You already seem to know all the answers.”

  She’s a quick thinker and cold as ice, thought Javier as he leafed through the blue folder.

  “You threatened Konrad Berg on the fifteenth of April last year,” he continued, watching her keenly.

  She didn’t move a muscle.

  “Did you spring into action then?”

  “What the hell are you getting at?” she growled, only softening her tone when she noticed that people were staring at them.

  She stood up abruptly. “Next time you want to talk to me you’ll have to contact my lawyer first. I really don’t have time for this nonsense.”

  “Mrs Jay, I suggest we try and get this over with. After all, you did make the effort to come here,” said Javier, who by now had got the message loud and clear that Nina Jay was not a woman you could easily manipulate. Attempting to do so would only aggravate her further.

  “I don’t have time to listen to your idiotic questions.”

  “I’m convinced you have information that could help our investigation. That’s why I have to ask uncomfortable questions. Konrad Berg has been murdered and you might know something that can help nail his killer… even if you don’t think so.”

  Nina Jay sat down again in silence.

  Javier stroked his chin and glanced out of the window. He turned back to face her.

  “I want to know how you threatened him. What made him so scared?”

  Her eyes sliced right through him.

  He waited. Maybe she would finally start to talk.

  “The thing is, I…” she broke off and gulped. “The only thing I can tell you is that I had absolutely nothing to do with his death.”

  “Do you have any idea who might have wanted him dead?”

  “I asked myself that. There must be a lot of women who hated him.”

  “Why?”

  “He and his gang were into sex orgies.”

  “Orgies?”

  “Yes,” she replied slowly. “Orgies.”

  “Could you be more precise? What kind of orgies?”

  “According to him there were plenty of women willing to take part in group sex.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I have to ask… did you ever participate?”

  “Now you’ve gone too far!” The colour rose in her face and a veil of perspiration glistened on her upper lip.

  “Would you please just answer the question?” said Javier in the politest tone he could muster.

  “Actually, the creep did ask me to join in once, but it was the first and last time. I slapped him so hard he almost fell over. He definitely got the message.”

  A guy would be crazy to try and mess with her, he thought. He could imagine the power of her hands.

  “Did he continue to blackmail you after that?”

  She fell silent again. Javier waited.

  “As I said, I have nothing to say. I didn’t kill him. If you don’t believe me I suggest we meet again at the police station – this time with my lawyer,” she said staring at the recording device.

  Javier switched off the machine. “Off the record then?”

  She drew a sharp intake of breath and her eyes darted about the room.

  “Okay, off the record. I’m warning you I’ll deny everything if you ever mention this.”

  Javier put his finger to his lips. “My lips are sealed.”

  “You know who my ex-husband is?”

  Javier nodded. Juri Sacharov was a member of a feared underworld gang. Compromising photographs of the type Konrad Berg had taken could easily have cost him his life.

  “Konrad Berg threatened to send photos to my husband, pictures he had secretly taken of us together. If Juri ever found out he would have killed both of us.”

  “What type of pictures?” asked Javier, feigning ignorance.

  She glowered at him.

  “You’ll have to use your imagination.”

  “So, that’s not why you got divorced?”

  “No, in that case I wouldn’t be here to tell the tale.”

  “Did you ever meet any of Berg’s mates?”

  “No I didn’t. That’s it, I’m not answering any more questions. I think we’re done now.”

  She stood up and waved goodbye.

  CHAPTER 27

  Foreboding

  TWO MEN WERE LEANING AGAINST the bar holding bottles of beer. One of them looked around to make sure nobody was within earshot.

  “This sucks!” he said with a strong northern accent

  His companion nodded in agreement and ran his fingers through his hair nervously.

  “The media reports are freaking me out!” whispered the man from Norrland. “What happened to the lads is terrible, but never in my wildest fantasies could I have imagined it had anything to do with us! I contacted one of my police buddies to find out more – a couple of them owe me a favour – and he managed to get me a copy of the autopsy report,”

  “And..?”

  “Guess what, Bosse. They were all murdered in exactly the same way!” He stroked his hair into place and cracked his knuckles on his chin.

  The colour drained from Bosse’s face. “Damn it, Oxen! How long have you known this?”

  “Does it matter? I’m telling you now, aren’t I?” replied Oxen irritably. “This whole thing is giving me really bad vibes. We can’t just sit here and wait for our turn, doing nothing!”

  “Christ! What are we going to do?”

  There was a moment’s silence.

  “Have you talked to Thom?” said Bosse eventually.

  “No. He’s abroad somewhere. I can’t understand why he hasn’t been in touch. Three years, damn it, three years!”

  “What?”

  “Three years since he left Sweden and not even a text message!”

  “Hmm, strange, that’s not like him.”

  “He used to be so good at keeping in contact. I just don’t get it. Now it’s just us left.”

  “Hmm,” said Bosse

  “Hmm, hmm… is that all you have to say?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “She’s already got to Dexter and Konrad for Christ’s sake!”

  “So you think it’s her?”

  “Goddamn it Bosse, of course it’s her! Who the hell else could it be?”

  “In that case, maybe it’s not just Konrad and Dexter. I also have a police contact and he told me about a similar case in Gothenburg. He didn’t want to give me the victim’s name but I think it could be Thom. Just think about it, we haven’t heard from him in ages and have absolutely no idea where he is.”

  “What the hell do you mean? Why didn’t you tell me this before?” shouted Oxen, glancing around nervously. However, none of the other guests seemed to be interested in their conversation.

  “Why would I have thought this had anything to do with us?” said Bosse, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “I don’t even know the victim’s name. Plus, the police thought it was an isolated case. I don’t think they’ve found out who did it yet.”

  “So it is Thom?” said O
xen.

  “No! We don’t know anything for sure but I’m just assuming it’s him because of what happened to Dexter and Konrad and the fact that we haven’t heard from him in a while.”

  The two men drifted into silent reflection.

  “I haven’t heard from Jukka in ages either,” said Bosse eventually. “Not since he moved to Malmö… Have you?”

  Oxen looked intently at his friend and shook his head.

  “We’re going to teach that stuck up bitch a lesson, a fucking good lesson! She won’t get away with it. By the time I’ve finished with her she’ll be begging me to put her out of her misery.” He banged his fist on the bar and knocked over a glass of wine in the process. As the waiter dried off the counter and poured a new glass for the aggrieved guest, he felt everyone’s eyes upon him.

  “I don’t even remember what she looked like,” said Bosse.

  The man from Umeå glared at his friend. “What?”

  “Do you remember what she looks like? I don’t… Well, I guess we’ll find out soon enough when she contacts us,” Bosse whispered.

  SHE WAS SHOCKED AT HER OWN PASSIVITY. Although she often came into contact with domestic violence victims, now she knew that one of her friends was himself a victim, Cecile Thorén felt uncharacteristically inert. She was powerless to help, unable to provide Allan with advice or even fill out a police report – something that she would normally have done without a second thought.

  “This is terrible!” she said.

  “Don’t you dare tell anyone,” instructed Allan.

  Thorén nodded. If the roles were reversed she probably would have reacted in the same way.

  ”What would you do if it was me?”

  “Please Cecile, I don’t feel like talking about it… I’ve had enough.”

  “I think you should report it.”

  “NO! I won’t speak to you any more if you keep on about it!”

  AS SOON AS JAVIER RETURNED to the police headquarters he hurried to the men’s room, then went to fetch himself a mug of much needed coffee, sipping the hot drink carefully as he walked to his office. He removed his laptop from his brief case and, while waiting for it to start, hung his jacket on a hook behind the door.

  The interview with Nina Jay had been decidedly unsatisfactory. Despite her confident, bullish manner, whenever he asked her direct questions she pointedly avoided eye contact with him.

  He sat down at his desk and inserted a USB stick into his laptop containing files downloaded from Berg’s computer. He clicked on a folder consisting of correspondence between Berg and Nina Jay and scrolled aimlessly through the emails. Although there were several angry exchanges, so far he hadn’t come across anything particularly incriminating. Javier was convinced that he must have missed something. Nina Jay was definitely capable of overpowering Konrad Berg. Her build corresponded perfectly to the mental image they had formed of the killer. He opened one of the most recent emails:

  “Unless you have a death wish, stop contacting me!”

  CHAPTER 28

  Evidence

  THEY FACED EACH OTHER ACROSS the table, palpably irritated. Half an hour had gone by. The suspect’s sullen responses weren’t exactly conducive to a congenial conversation.

  Seated in the interview room were the detective inspectors, a thirty two year old male suspect and his female lawyer. Although the young man had once again declined the offer of a defence lawyer, this time Sanna had insisted.

  Sanna sighed and leaned back in the chair with her hands clasped behind her neck. The suspect refused to let his lawyer speak, even thought she was there to protect his best interests.

  Javier stared at the man. “You may as well tell us why you did it. We’ve gone through all your phone calls with him and know that you threatened to kill Berg. You must have been livid when you found out that he was your wife’s lover.”

  The suspect closed his eyes and adjusted his glasses. “Yes, I admit that I threatened him. But it would have been crazy to actually go through with it. She’s not worth it. I got divorced instead. I have no intention of ending up in prison because of her.” He pressed his sinewy frame against the back of the chair and then shifted position again almost immediately. His legs were so long it was hard to find a comfortable position.

  He could easily lift Berg onto a bed without too much effort, thought Sanna.

  “When did you last see Konrad Berg?” she asked.

  “I’ve never met him!” he protested, glaring threateningly at her with his piggish blue eyes. “How many times do I have to repeat myself? You cops just don’t get it, do you?”

  “You have no case against my client,” said the lawyer. “I demand you release him immediately!”

  The thirty-two year old suspect looked at his lawyer but made no attempt to argue.

  “No,” said Sanna. “You’re the one who doesn’t get it. How many times do we have to keep telling you that we have witnesses to back us up? You can’t continue to deny everything. All you’re doing is making your situation worse.”

  “The more you lie the more suspicious we get,” added Javier.

  The suspect leaned back and crossed his arms.

  “That’s it for now, but make sure you stay in Stockholm. We haven’t ruled you out of our enquiries,” instructed Sanna, looking first at him, then at the lawyer.

  THEY EMPTIED THE BANANA BOXES one by one and sifted carefully through the contents.

  “Aron Alvik certainly liked to collect mementos,” said Monica Lind wearily.

  “That’s for sure,” said Kalle. “There’s a lot to go through, but so far it seems as if the stuff we found on the first day is much more interesting. These are just old, nostalgic photos of the group.”

  Monica Lind looked at him in disbelief.

  “Look, here’s a photo of Aron Alvik, Konrad Berg and another man. We need to find out from Alvik who this other man is.”

  SANNA JOHANSSON WAS ENGROSSED reading a case file when Samir Mohamed knocked gently on the door. He entered and placed a post-it note on the table.

  “We’ve got a few tips and a couple of people claiming responsibility for the murders,” he smiled.

  “Hmm,” mumbled Sanna.

  “About five minutes ago we received a potentially interesting call from a bus driver who saw a woman coming out of the house on Ingarö.”

  “What’s his name?” asked Sanna with sudden enthusiasm.

  “Markström… Jonas Markström. I have his mobile number.”

  “Good, ask him to come here tomorrow – preferably in the morning.”

  Mohamed nodded and left the room.

  IT WAS NINE THIRTY IN THE evening and Javier was craning his neck to get a better view of the two people standing outside a restaurant on Södermalm. The wind and heavy rain had subsided but water continued to stream down the window screen, obscuring his view. Javier pointed the lens of his camera at the woman and her male companion – a well-built man with shaved head and a prominent tattoo on his left arm. Nina Jay was as statuesque as he remembered. Today she was dressed in black leather motorcycle gear, which accentuated her female form. Javier took more photos and waited.

  Suddenly, a Harley Davidson spun around and screeched to a halt in front of the couple. The driver tucked his helmet under his arm and handed Nina Jay a large envelope.

  They exchanged a few words.

  “Damn!” mumbled Javier in irritation. He couldn’t hear what they said, but the exchange didn’t seem friendly.

  Javier aimed his camera and clicked away eagerly at the dispatcher and his bike. He studied the images. He had managed to get a shot of the man’s profile just before he put his helmet on and drove off but the vehicle registration number was obscured in the darkness.

  ”Bloody hell!” he growled.

  A few minutes later the pair continued towards the restaurant. Javier decided not to follow them.

  CHAPTER 29

  Interview with the Bus Driver

  A HEAVY SET MAN IN HIS F
IFTIES waited in the interview room. He was uncomfortably seated in a chair that was too small for him and creaked under his weight. Jonas Markström had wide shoulders, strong muscular arms and a large beer belly. He leaned forward in an affable manner but, despite his calm expression, sweat was pouring down his forehead.

  He was dressed in a blue shirt and jeans, not dissimilar to a bus conductor’s uniform.

  Sanna stepped into the room. She introduced herself and shook hands with the witness then sat down opposite him and switched on the recording device.

  “Interview with Jonas Markström on Wednesday the nineteenth of September led by Detective Inspector Sanna Johansson of Stockholm Police and assisted by Criminal Assistant Samir Mohamed. The time is quarter past eight.”

  Sanna stated Jonas Markström’s social security number and civil status.

  “You told the police that you saw a woman leave the house on Ingarö,” said Sanna. “When was that?”

  “Ages ago! Four or five months at least. I remember I got really sick the next day. My wife says it was early spring and there had been a lot of rain.”

  “So it could have been in May?”

  “Yes,” replied Jonas Markström tentatively. “It could have been.”

  “Can you describe her?”

  “I was driving, but I remember she had a large white scarf wrapped around her head so it was hard to see her face. All I could see were her eyes. She was wearing white clothes and jogging shoes, I think. I noticed she was carrying a black bag that looked like a rucksack.”

  “Do you mean she was wearing a burka?”

  “No, I don’t think so. It didn’t look like a burka anyway.”

  Sanna nodded slowly.

  “The reason I remember her is because she was clearly in a hurry and people out and about that early in the morning usually take the bus. I thought it was a bit odd. I honked at her but she just wrapped the scarf even tighter around her face and carried on walking.”

  Markström ran his fingers through his hair. He leaned across the table with his burly frame, poured himself a glass of water and gulped it down directly. “That’s why I thought you’d find it interesting.”

  “Was there anyone else on the bus?”