If it was the same man, he had changed his MO after his initial failure. He had knotted the ends of the twine into loops and had added the flower and the photograph. Then there was the strange inscription on the envelope. Would he move on, change his MO again?
A short sequence of images flickered through Irene’s mind: the garden seat in the rose bed, the uprooted asters, the dead cat in the mailbox, the footprints in the freshly raked earth. She couldn’t prevent a shudder from running down her spine.
12.
There was a delivery note on the drying rack with Krister’s name on it; he had already signed it.
Irene heard his footsteps in the hallway and called out, “What did you order?”
“Nothing. I have no idea what it is.”
“The sender is Expo Team APS, Denmark,” Irene read out loud.
“I suppose it could be kitchen equipment, probably pans or knives—the kind of thing they send out as a bonus if you place a large order. The restaurant got new fans and worktops from a company in Denmark, but that must be at least six months ago. I placed the order, but I have no idea why anything would be sent here. How would they know my home address?”
Krister looked completely bewildered, but then he shrugged.
“We’ll find out when we pick it up,” he said.
It was a large, heavy box. Krister sliced through the tape and opened the lid. There was a list of the contents on the top. When he glanced at it, Irene saw his expression change from anticipation to surprise.
“Is this a joke?” he exclaimed.
Irene moved closer and peered into the box. The first thing she saw was an enormous dildo. Underneath it was a black leather jockstrap, adorned with metal studs. Needless to say there was also a whip, and a lingerie set in see-through red nylon. At the bottom lay an inflatable doll and several DVDs. Judging by the covers they all involved sex with animals.
“Almost nine thousand kronor!” Krister said through gritted teeth.
Irene took the piece of paper and read it carefully. “The order was placed on the day your wallet went missing. The payment has been made from your account, and it matches the amount that had been withdrawn. It’s the thief who ordered all this,” she said, trying to reassure him.
Krister was still glaring at the contents of the box. “What do we do now?”
“Well, if there’s nothing you want to keep, we send it back,” Irene said with a teasing smile.
At first Krister looked furious, but then he smiled. “Maybe you’d like to hang on to the giant cock?” he said.
“Absolutely not! That has nothing to do with pleasure. Sixteen inches long and as thick as a rolling pin—it’s an instrument of torture!”
“In that case I don’t suppose I can tempt you with the whip . . .”
Krister took it out and swished it experimentally through the air. Both of them burst out laughing, and once they had started, they couldn’t stop. Laughter was exactly the outlet they needed to shake off the unpleasant feeling evoked by the contents of the box. It was a while before they had regained their composure and were able to continue their conversation.
“We’ll send it back, but I think we should photograph the box and the contents, and add the information to the report you put in about your wallet being stolen,” Irene said, wiping the tears from her eyes.
“Okay, you’re the cop,” Krister said as he went to fetch his camera.
•••
Later that evening Jenny called from Amsterdam. She definitely wasn’t in the mood for small talk.
“Guess what? I’m calling from a landline! Some idiot blocked my cell phone number.” She was so angry that her voice was breaking.
Irene tried to calm her down. “Why would someone block your number?”
“I don’t know, but that’s what they’ve done!”
“It must be a misunderstanding. It’s not easy to block someone else’s cell phone number. The police can do it, but . . .”
“I called the operator. According to them, the request seems perfectly in order, but now I need someone to certify that I’m who I say I am, and that I don’t want the number blocked.”
“I’ll fix it, honey,” Irene said.
It was a long time since she had heard her daughter sound so upset. As far as Jenny was concerned, it was an absolute disaster if she didn’t have full access to her phone 24/7, particularly as she was in a different country. Her entire social life would cease to function. Irene was well aware of this, and could understand Jenny’s frustration. After a while she managed to convince Jenny that she would contact the operator and sort it out.
When the call was over, Irene was left with a feeling of anxiety. Krister had a terrible memory for numbers, and always kept a piece of paper with their daughters’ cell phone numbers on it, in case he needed to reach them when he didn’t have his own cell. Whoever had stolen Krister’s wallet would be able to trace the girls’ addresses through their cell phone numbers.
Krister had received a parcel containing lewd sex toys, and on the same day Jenny’s number had been blocked. Added to the incidents of the garden seat in the rose bed, the footprints in the soil, the uprooted asters and the dead cat, a pattern was beginning to emerge.
Someone was trying to make life difficult for the Huss family. The only person who had been spared so far was Katarina.
Irene called her daughter. Felipe answered; he was in a very good mood and happy to talk. It was obvious that he was really enjoying his course at Chalmers. The fact that there was a high level of unemployment among architects didn’t seem to bother him at all; he was convinced that he would get a job when he qualified. Irene felt pretty sure that if there was anyone in his class who would find work, it was Felipe. She asked him to pass her over to Katarina, and after some small talk Irene told her about what had been going on recently.
“Are you sure it’s all connected? You could just be having a run of bad luck,” Katarina said.
“Sure, it’s possible that there’s no connection, but at the same time I can’t help wondering why we’re having a run of bad luck, as you put it.”
“Shit happens!” Katarina said with a carefree laugh.
Maybe she was right, but why was everything happening at the same time? Something wasn’t right. The first few incidents were annoying, but could be put down to kids playing around. The theft of the wallet, ordering the sex toys and blocking Jenny’s number were of a completely different caliber, and not something a kid could reasonably be expected to achieve. And whoever it was had even managed to get to Jenny in Amsterdam.
Irene decided to discuss the latest developments with her colleagues the following day.
13.
“What makes you think we’re dealing with a stalker?” Efva Thylvist asked.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about it. The idea struck me when we found out both homicide victims had received a photograph and a flower. The photos were taken through the women’s windows, which means whoever took them was standing in the darkness outside, as if he were spying on them. That Bible quotation was a message to his victims. He expects them to understand what he means, but neither Ingela Svensson nor Elisabeth Lindberg knew what he was talking about. That’s when I began to wonder if we could be looking at a stalker,” Sara said.
The whole team was gathered in the conference room, and had just finished running through the progress made over the past few days in the hunt for the Package Killer. The obligatory mugs were in place, and Irene noticed that Sara was the only one who had tea in hers. She couldn’t recall there ever having been anyone else in the Unit who had drunk only tea, although Superintendent Andersson had had some kind of gastritis toward the end of the ’90s, and she seemed to remember he had stuck to tea for a while. Those had been particularly difficult weeks for his colleagues.
“Go on,” Thylqvist said.
Sara took out a few sheets of paper that she had slipped into her A4 pad. Without actually looking at the document she began to speak:
“In this case we could be dealing with a delusional stalker, by which I mean someone who believes he has a connection with his victim. Or victims. He or she usually has several targets on the go at the same time, which fits in with our killer. The point is that the victims may not even know they are being stalked, or who the stalker is. The perp usually sees his victims only at a distance, or possibly in a picture. But that’s enough. He or she begins to imagine some kind of relationship with the victim, usually a romance.”
“But is this kind of stalker actually dangerous?” Thylqvist asked.
“To me it sounds like a harmless idiot living in a world of their own,” Jonny chipped in.
“The stalker can become a danger if the oblivious victim does something that the stalker perceives as a threat to their relationship,” Sara explained with a sideways glance at Jonny.
“Like what?” Thylqvist again.
“Like getting married. Moving in with a partner. Having a baby. Anything that jeopardizes the relationship he imagines he has with the victim.”
“Since when did you become a profiler?” Jonny said with a snigger.
Everything fell into place as Irene listened to Sara. So many things would fit if they really were dealing with a stalker. And could a stalker be behind the worrying incidents that had affected her recently? When the time was right she would mention it to her colleagues, but right now they had to focus on the killer.
“I think Sara is on the right track,” she said.
“Me, too,” Tommy agreed.
Irene noticed that Tommy was sitting at the other end of the table, opposite Efva Thylqvist. They were as far away from each other as possible. Plus they hadn’t arrived at the meeting together, which was unusual. Trouble in paradise? Irene thought, hiding a little smile.
“What makes you say that?” the superintendent asked.
Irene thought for a moment before she spoke. “Sara said the stalker can become a danger if the victim does something he perceives as a threat to their relationship. Marie Carlsson admitted that whoever was standing in her garden could have seen the foreplay between her and her girlfriend. If we think about the photographs the homicide victims receive, they look quite innocent—but if the stalker believed he had a relationship with Ingela and Elisabeth, then that changes things completely.”
Irene got up, went over to the computer and found the photographs. An enlargement appeared on the whiteboard: First Ingela Svensson, sitting facing the window, the candlelight reflected in her sparkling eyes. She was smiling and holding a glass of wine, raised in a toast to the man sitting with his back to the photographer.
The second photo was similar: Elisabeth Lindberg was smiling down at her son, Tobias, who was sitting on the sofa waiting for her to fill up his coffee cup.
“The picture of Ingela cannot be misinterpreted. She’s clearly in love with this man, and they are alone in the room. If the stalker thought that he and Ingela had a relationship, he would be furious.”
“But what about the other photograph—the guy is Elisabeth’s son!” Jonny objected.
“What if the stalker didn’t know that? What if he’d seen Tobias there on only a couple of occasions? Tobias didn’t live there, remember. He was staying with a friend. Maybe the killer thought Elisabeth had gotten herself a young lover,” Irene replied.
“Sounds plausible,” Tommy said.
There was a brief silence as everyone absorbed what they had just heard. A delusional stalker wasn’t part of the victim’s circle of acquaintances; he was a peripheral figure who wouldn’t be easy to find.
“I’ve never been stalked,” Jonny said.
“Thank God you’re so ugly,” Irene responded with a smile.
At first Jonny looked annoyed, but then he couldn’t help smiling back. He and Irene had been colleagues for almost twenty years, and he could take a dig from her. Although of course she knew he would have his revenge. He always did, sooner or later.
“The victim is normally someone the stalker comes into contact with by pure chance. There are also many cases where the stalker has found out his victim’s name by standing behind the victim in line at the bank, or something like that,” Sara said.
“But surely it’s not that easy to find out someone’s address when you only have the name?” Tommy said.
“You can follow them, see where they live,” Jonny pointed out.
“Anyone heard of eniro.se or hitta.se? There are a couple of other websites that do the same job,” Sara said.
“Of course. You can see a little film clip of the house and the area where the person you’re looking for lives. And it tells you when they were born. Talk about a total lack of integrity,” Tommy said with a sigh.
14.
Marie Carlsson had just put Hanko on the leash when she opened the door. She tucked a few black plastic bags in the pocket of her jeans with her spare hand.
“Hi—do you mind if we take Hanko for a walk? He’s got a few tummy problems today,” she said.
“No problem,” Irene replied.
She had called an hour earlier to ask if it was okay for her to come over and ask a few more questions. Marie was free every other Friday, and luckily this was one of her days off.
It was perfect weather for a walk. A feeling of summer still lingered in the air, and Irene had left her jacket in the car. Marie was wearing a pink short-sleeved polo shirt with a thin white scarf. She’ll be able to wear high-necked sweaters in the winter, Irene thought. As if that was any consolation.
Hanko was delighted to see Irene. They knew each other now, and he liked her. They set off, with Hanko making frequent stops to investigate interesting smells. Irene felt a pang of longing; she really did miss taking a dog for walks.
They came to a fork and chose the narrower path leading to a clump of birch trees that, with a little imagination, could be described as a copse. Thickets of hazel bushes grew at the base of the trees. A light wind was blowing through the tops of the birches, reinforcing the feeling of summer. There was hardly a cloud in the sky.
Hanko spent a long time investigating one particular patch, then he raised his big head and stared attentively at the nearest group of bushes. He pricked up his ears, concentrating hard.
“Has he seen something?” Irene asked.
“It looks that way. Or maybe he heard something.”
They both stopped, and suddenly the crack of a gunshot split the air. Irene’s heart did a somersault.
“Get down! Get down on the ground!” she yelled.
Marie tightened her grasp on Hanko’s leash and dropped to her knees. As she was about to lie down, she looked at the dog.
“Hanko,” she said quietly.
The dog was still staring at the bushes. Slowly he began to wag his tail. They heard another shot, but Hanko didn’t move.
This time Irene paid more attention to the sound, and realized the shot hadn’t come from a large-caliber firearm. She raised her head and yelled, “Hey! Who’s shooting? We’ve got a dog here who’s scared of gunfire!”
There was total silence. Irene got to her feet and looked in the direction from which the shots had come. After a moment she heard strange noises, as if someone was trying to suppress a fit of the giggles. Suddenly paroxysms of laughter exploded from the bushes.
“It’s not Hanko who’s scared. It’s you guys!” howled a boyish falsetto.
“Oh, it’s Jonathan,” Marie said.
Hanko was wagging his tail as hard as he could, and he barked joyfully at the three boys who came crawling out of the bushes. They were holding toy guns that looked horribly real. The boy called Jonathan had a small rifle in one hand.
“You were terrified!” he shouted triumphantly.
Jonathan interrupted her. “This is a real gun!”
He aimed the rifle at her, and his two pals started waving their pistols around.
“I wonder what Katrin would say if I told her you were going around frightening people and animals,” Marie said. “I think she might take away your gun.” She wagged her finger at Jonathan, her expression half-joking, half-serious.
“Ha—in that case I’ll tell my dad what you were doing yesterday!”
Once again the boy’s face was suffused with triumph. Power. He obviously had a taste for it. The signs are there from an early age in some people, Irene thought. When she glanced at Marie, she was shocked. All the color had drained from her face, and she looked as if she was about to faint.
“I was just . . . joking,” she mumbled.
Marie started tugging at Hanko’s leash, keen to get away. The dog seemed surprised, but after a brief hesitation he trotted along obediently.
Irene followed a little more slowly. She turned and gazed back at the boys. Jonathan’s two friends didn’t seem quite sure what to do, but their leader answered their unspoken question by raising the rifle to his shoulder, taking careful aim at Marie, then firing off another shot.
As they walked through the clump of trees, Irene said, “Jonathan saw something going on between you and his mom yesterday. Something tells me Katrin is your girlfriend. The one who’s married with kids. The one who saw someone in your garden.”
Marie didn’t reply; her shoulders were hunched, eyes fixed on a point straight ahead. She started walking faster, as if she was trying to get away from Irene. She had no chance. After a while Marie was puffing and panting. She may go to the gym, but her lung capacity isn’t up to much, Irene thought with a certain amount of satisfaction. Her own pulse rate hadn’t even increased.
Marie stopped so abruptly that Irene carried on for a short distance without her. Hanko had decided it was high time his mistress made use of one of the black plastic bags she had brought with her, and he crouched down at the edge of the path. Irene noticed that Marie’s shoulders were shaking, and realized she was crying.
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