During the ongoing investigation she came across confidential documents revealing the two men’s suspicious activities. Åke Pettersson and Raino Cederberg were an unpleasant pair. Anyone who crossed Oxen – as Åke Pettersson was known – would discover the consequences. Cederberg would assert his power and find a way to finish them off.
Kim left the secret chamber and paced the walls of the room like a big cat patrolling the periphery of its territory. “You’re going to make it Kim,” she muttered and walked to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with cold water. She pressed the glass to her face to cool her feverish face. Thoughts of the man from Umeå continued to torment her. She drank the water in one go and returned to the secret room.
Kim picked up the folder again; it felt hot in her hand. The documents had been useful, but things were different now – Åke Pettersson’s details were imprinted on her brain. She remembered every last detail about Subject 1.
There was no point in continuing to procrastinate. She opened the folder and ripped out the pages.
Done. But there was still work to do.
She leaned pensively against the wall and looked at the papers strewn across the floor, making a quick evaluation of the options available to her. The aim was to make sure none of the information could be recycled. Was she being paranoid? No, not at all. Kim knew exactly how this worked; it was a skill she had refined on the job, and she had learnt to consider all the possibilities. At this point, planning was essential. To be aware of every conceivable outcome and bear in mind that you could never take too many precautions when it came to technology.
After weighing up the pros and cons, she decided to go to her grandmother’s and dispose of the material in the wood burner. All she needed to tell her grandmother was that she didn’t want anyone to access the information. She would understand.
Kim picked up the phone and dialled the number.
“Hi Grandma…it’s me…”
“Hello sweetheart, great to hear from you,” said the elderly woman affectionately.
“What are your plans for the weekend?”
“Well, honey, I’m at the cottage as usual,” she said, laughing softly.
“Do you want company? I could come on Saturday afternoon for coffee.”
“You’re always welcome, dear. You know you don’t have to ask, you can just show up. Come earlier so we can have lunch if you like.”
“Sounds good, I’ll see you at eleven.”
AT QUARTER PAST SIX on Tuesday morning Sanna rolled over in bed for the umpteenth time. Yet another sleepless night. The investigation had been going on for six months now and for the first time Sanna felt as if they were getting close to a resolution. She got up. Still half asleep, she went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. When the water was warm enough she climbed in and let the powerful spray wash over her face. Her thoughts ran away with her.
One of their suspects was Nina Jay, the woman who had threatened Konrad Berg. Her body type matched the suspect’s profile and she had connections with a number of criminal networks. In short, Nina Jay was considered untrustworthy.
Another person of interest was the policewoman who had chatted with Ruth Bengtsson at the pub.
The third suspect was the twenty-five year old murdered police cadet.
The descriptions of these women correlated with the description of the person who had been seen with Dexter Fleming, the Vasastan victim. In addition, two of the suspects had been in contact with Konrad Berg.
She shampooed her hair, absentmindedly continuing to use the same bottle to wash the rest of her body. What the hell! Her eyes stung as she tried to read the label on the bottle. Shampoo! She pressed her lips tightly together, grabbed the showerhead and quickly rinsed off the lather.
As she applied conditioner to her hair, her thoughts returned to the police cadet.
The promised photo-fit image had finally arrived and the image resembled the description of the police cadet both in physiognomy and body type. Today, after meeting with the witnesses, including the bartender, she would find out if it was the same person or not.
IT WAS NINE O’CLOCK on Wednesday morning and the phone rang just as he was getting ready for work. “Kalle Karlsson,” he answered, glancing through the stack of papers on his desk to make sure he had everything. “Sorry, what did you say?” His face crumpled and he stumbled onto the nearest chair. For a moment he remained utterly still, unable to gather his thoughts. He wanted to scream. After what seemed like an eternity, he walked to the door as if in a trance.
Sanna observed him from a distance and intercepted him before he could leave.
His eyes filled with tears.
“What happened?” she whispered anxiously.
“It’s Mia.” He burst into tears but quickly managed to pull himself together. “I’m going to the hospital.”
Sanna recognized the gravity of the situation and put her hand on his arm.
“I can pick up the kids from school if you want.”
He nodded.
“Does Pontus have keys to the house?”
Kalle nodded again and walked out.
CHAPTER 44
Searching for the truth
THE WIND LASHED against her face. She buried her hands in the pockets of her thick winter sweatshirt and pulled down the hood to shield herself from the biting cold. She shivered. Winter had arrived and the snowstorm, with winds up to thirty metres per second, would soon defeat her. She was tired. She had rented a car to give herself maximum mobility, and for several merciless nights had been following the trail of the man from Umeå. However, to avoid drawing attention to herself, she had been forced to cover the last stretch on foot.
Her efforts did not go unrewarded. On her second day in Umeå she managed to figure out that the men met in a centrally located basement locale with an entrance onto the street. Now, at least, she would be able to focus her surveillance on one area.
This was the fourth night she had spent huddled in the corner and yet again the weather was against her. The premises had no windows so she couldn’t see what they were doing or listen to their conversation.
During the surveillance operation she had established that the group had set routines. Without exception the meetings were followed by a visit to the pub. The men would look for a secluded table where no one could hear them chat, although at this hour it was often impossible to find one and the men would resort to sitting at the bar.
It was almost eleven thirty when she heard voices at the cellar door. She pricked up her ears.
“Okay boys, let’s grab a beer”, said Oxen.
“I’ll swing by a little later. Are you going to the Bishop’s Arms?” asked one of the men.
“No, let’s go to Droskan,” answered Oxen, who always decided where they were going. They climbed into the Land Rover and drove off. A few metres down the road, the car suddenly stopped and one of the men got out. His heavy footsteps came in her direction.
She pressed herself against the wall, completely still and hardly daring to breathe. It was a dark night and there were no streetlights nearby.
The man paused a few steps away from her hideout, unzipped his flies and urinated against the wall.
“Hurry up!” yelled someone from the car.
“Yeah yeah! A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,” he mumbled.
Kim waited for them to drive away and as soon as the coast was clear, she set off in her car behind them, still shaken from her narrow escape.
THE PUB WAS HEAVING and in order to make themselves heard above the background music and persistent hum of conversation, customers were forced to yell at each other. Oxen and his companions jostled through the crowd and scrambled to attract the attention of the barman.
By the time she arrived at the pub, they had already ordered their drinks. She elbowed her way to the bar and stood as close to the men as possible. With her make up free face and inconspicuous attire she melted into the background. This time he didn
’t notice her.
“Has Dragan given you a new date yet?” asked one of the men.
Oxen glared at his friend.
“That fucking prick changed the meetings to the first Monday of the month instead of Thursdays,” he replied, downing his beer.
“Oh!”
“I suggested we meet here instead. I damn well don’t want to go to Stockholm on a Monday!”
“Yeah, you meet your shooting-club mates on Thursdays don’t you? What did he say?”
“He insisted on Mondays!” grunted Oxen, glancing around, first to his right, and then to his left. “It looks like someone’s on to us, so we’re going to meet at a different place. He’ll get back to me with the info.”
She smiled to herself. This was all she needed to know for the moment. Oxen was the Norrland contact for an extensive network of alcohol smugglers and he was going to Stockholm to meet one of the gangs.
THE WITNESSES WERE INTERVIEWED one by one. Three men claimed to have seen Dexter Fleming’s female companion. The bartender, who together with her partner had seen Annelie with Konrad Berg, was also summoned to a police line-up, the purpose of which was to test the witnesses’ powers of recall.
Witnesses would normally be called upon to identify the suspect through photos, videos, or an identification parade via a two-way mirror.
However, in this particular instance none of these methods applied. The witnesses were asked to look at a couple of facial composite images of the woman seen at the nightclubs as well as a photo of the police cadet. And if the witnesses had no objection to seeing the victim in the flesh they could continue to the morgue.
The questioning continued for almost two hours, but none of the witnesses recognised the police cadet.
The final interview for that day had started more than forty minutes ago. Sanna took a deep breath and made a conscious effort not to sound annoyed.
Ruth Bengtsson and her partner, Tor, sat across from the detectives. Thorén held up the images again. For some reason the couple weren’t as enthusiastic as they had been during their previous witness hearing. This time they seemed unresponsive and evasive.
Tor shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know why you don’t believe us…The woman we talked to had a broader build and her hair was light brown. The woman in the picture is much thinner than Annelie plus she’s got short blond hair.”
“Why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me?” said Sanna.
The colour drained from Ruth Bengtsson’s face and she began to cry. Tor took his partner’s hand and glared at her pointedly.
“Let’s take a break”, suggested Sanna. “Do you want anything to drink?”
“No!” replied Tor. “We’ve got nothing else to add. Can we go now?” He glanced at Sanna and then looked down at the table.
There was a brief silence.
“What are you scared of? Is somebody threatening you?”
Tor looked up with a stunned expression. Ruth nodded, but quickly tried to disguise the gesture by scratching her forehead.
“No, why?” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “Anyway, that’s irrelevant. I repeat, we’ve never seen or spoken to the lady in the photo. There’s really no need for us to be here!”
HE FOLDED THE WASHING with slow, deliberate movements. The chores still needed to be done. Mia was always very particular about clean clothes and believed that if you handled the washing in a particular way, you could get away without ironing. He leaned dejectedly against the wall. His legs buckled and he sunk to the floor in tears. He no longer had the strength to pretend for the sake of the children. He had lost his life partner, the person he was supposed to grow old with. But fate had a different agenda. He had never given up hope that the doctor would find a miracle cure against the evil disease that had insinuated itself into the body of his beloved. Her tiny frame had collapsed under the weight of the disease and death had claimed her.
Kalle dried his tears with the back of his hand. He tried to concentrate on the job at hand.
“When’s dinner?” yelled Pontus from his room.
Kalle checked the time and hurried down the stairs to the kitchen. “In fifteen minutes!” he yelled.
CHAPTER 45
Revelation
“IMPACT! WHAT THE HELL’S THAT SUPPOSED to mean?” exclaimed Javier after reading the NFC report on the piece of paper found in Jukka Lidman’s genitalia.
“Yeah, beats me. What’s she trying to tell us?” said Sanna.
“SHE? How do we know the assailant is a woman?” asked Thorén, who had just stepped into Sanna’s office. Unusually for her, she was carrying a bottle of water.
Kalle scratched his neck. “We didn’t see that coming…”
“Do we know who she is? Do we have any DNA?” continued Thorén as she sat down next to Javier.
Javier glanced at her. “What’s wrong with coffee?”
“Ha ha, I’ve decided to be healthier from now on.”
Javier smirked and sipped his coffee. “Mm, delicious!” he teased.
“There’s a trace of DNA that doesn’t match one hundred percent, but we know it belongs to a woman,” said Sanna.
“So what’s the problem?” asked Kalle.
“Well, based on a chromosome analysis, the assailant’s definitely female. However, NFC is doing more tests in the hope of pinpointing a specific person. I’m not aware of exactly what the problem is, but it seems the victim’s blood got mixed into the only good fingerprint on the belt.”
“Let’s hope she’s in the DNA register,” Javier added.
Sanna nodded.
Silence.
Thorén frowned. “I must admit that I’m really puzzled about the message…what does the killer mean by the word ‘impact’?”
Kalle looked at her for a moment. “It’s hard to say, but it reminds me of cause and impact.”
“Me too…causation or causality. If causality exists between two phenomena, one of them is titled Cause and the other Impact. One usually says that impact can’t precede cause…in other words impact is the result of something that happens,” concluded Sanna.
“Okay. In that case we should have received a number of letters making the word ‘Cause’. It’ll be interesting to find out how many letters are missing. I was convinced that we were only missing the letter ‘r’ and that the letters would form the word ‘rapist’, but now I don’t know what to think,” grumbled Thorén.
THERE WAS A TANGIBLY OPPRESSIVE atmosphere. Two days had passed since they had been briefed about the technical report and Anders Segelström had been in Henrik Blom’s office for more than an hour.
“Anders, listen to me! We had an agreement that you would handle your work responsibly. I trusted you. I thought you understood the gravity of the situation and would heed my warnings.”
“I still don’t understand what I’m being accused of. We haven’t completed the investigation, and, as I’ve said before and will say again, I was waiting for the technical report. I wanted to be sure we had something solid.”
Blom sighed heavily. “As you’re well aware, the reason we gave you a second chance was out of respect for your father, an excellent detective and a good friend of my father’s. But if you think that I’m going to back you up this time, you haven’t learned a thing during the years we’ve worked together. You’re on your own, and you’ll have to accept the consequences of your actions.”
“I understand, and I assure you that I’ve done nothing to compromise the investigation. And I won’t.”
“This is the last time you will get away with withholding information. Next time… No, that’s my final word on the subject. There won’t be a next time.”
THREE HOURS HAD GONE BY – three long hours listening to his monosyllabic answers and Sanna Johansson’s nerves were shredded. The atmosphere in the cramped interview room was rancorous. Aron Alvik and Sanna Johansson stared antagonistically at each other. However long it was going to take, Sanna was deter
mined to get answers.
Aron Alvik had finally admitted knowing the men who attended the shooting range, but still hadn’t revealed anything concerning their BDSM activities, stubbornly insisting that it was his ex-wife who was the enthusiast, not him.
“You don’t seem to understand why we’ve called you in,” said Sanna. “Despite admitting that you know all the victims, you refuse to tell us why they were murdered. There must be a good reason why you feel threatened. You ask for police protection, but I can’t authorize a decision like that without knowing why – you must understand that.”
Aron Alvik adjusted his glasses.
Sanna looked in her notebook and underlined Stina Haag’s statement.
“I’ve already asked you countless times, but I’ll do it again: what type of activities do you conduct in your cottage? How can I knock it into that thick head of yours that we already know what you’re up to? We have reliable witnesses who are willing to testify.”
The man began to show signs of discomfort. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and stared at the table.
After a moment’s silence he looked at Sanna.
“I don’t know where to start…” he said. “I think it’s a woman following me…”
“Why do you think that?”
“I just do…” He rubbed his hand over his face and let it rest over his mouth. “There was an incident a few years ago, but it makes no sense why this is happening now.”
“Why what is happening?”
“That my friends are being murdered. Why would someone suddenly do this? In such a brutal manner?”
“Why do you think? You must have your suspicions.”
“No…yes…no. I don’t know.”
“Of course you do! You said yourself that there was an incident a few years ago, and that a woman is threatening you. Did you rape her?”
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