Who Watcheth

by Helene Tursten

  Irene and Jonny stood up and thanked him for the coffee and his help. They couldn’t help feeling a certain amount of expectation as they headed for Daniel Börjesson’s apartment block. Several things that Theo had said seemed to fit with the profile of the Package Killer.

  Daniel lived on the fourth floor. The name plate on the door said s. börjesson, so he obviously hadn’t bothered to change it. It was just after five when they slipped in through the main door behind a female resident. Irene and Jonny wanted to take a look at both Daniel and the apartment, so it was important that they arrive unannounced.

  Jonny had to ring the bell twice before they heard footsteps approaching. The door opened and Irene found herself looking straight into those cod eyes, which were so familiar by now. She should have been prepared for the total lack of expression or emotion, but she still reacted with an intuitive feeling of unease.

  Jonny seemed completely unmoved, and merely said: “Daniel Börjesson?”

  The man in the doorway was powerfully built and stocky, but almost as tall as Irene. His shaven head appeared to be sitting directly on his shoulders, with no neck in between. The large hand resting on the door handle had short, strong fingers with dirty, flaking nails. His grey T-shirt strained across his broad chest. The short sleeves exposed impressive biceps and meaty forearms. His jeans were baggy and grubby, as were the scruffy socks that had presumably been white in a former life. Irene took a deep breath. Daniel exuded a noticeable smell of sweat, but it wasn’t suffocating. There was something else hovering around him that she vaguely recognized, but couldn’t quite place. Some kind of soap? Shower gel? No, something else. But what?

  When the man didn’t reply, Jonny repeated his question. This time it elicited a faint nod of the head. Jonny introduced himself and Irene with full names and titles, then said firmly that they needed to speak to Daniel on a police matter. He stared at them blankly and didn’t move. Eventually Jonny pushed him to one side and walked in, with Irene right behind him. She didn’t take her eyes off Daniel Börjesson. Everything about him was giving her bad vibes. She couldn’t pin it down. Maybe it was her gut instinct as a cop.

  The hallway was cramped, and led into a dark passageway. The walls were covered in grey-ish brown well-worn textured wallpaper, and there was a dirty blue and white rug on the linoleum floor.

  “Could we sit down somewhere? We’d like to ask you a few questions,” Jonny said.

  Börjesson shrugged and set off along the passageway. As they passed the half-open door of the bathroom, Irene picked up that same smell again. Soap? Close, but not quite.

  The living room lay at the end of the passage. On the way Irene saw an untidy kitchen and a bedroom that appeared to be in darkness; she had a fleeting impression of closed blinds and an unmade bed. There was a closed door opposite, presumably another bedroom or a study. The whole apartment smelled dirty, and the floor felt gritty beneath her feet. She couldn’t see any signs of drug use, and there was no trace of cigarette smoke, just a general stuffiness and a lack of fresh air.

  The living room was sparsely furnished. There should have been plenty of light flooding in through the big window leading out onto the balcony, but the effect was somewhat spoiled by the thick layer of dirt on the outside. The moss-green patterned wallpaper absorbed any light that did manage to find its way in. The armchairs and sofa were upholstered in a brown woolen fabric, and the same shade of brown was echoed in the threadbare rug. The bookcase contained a few copies of abridged novels from Reader’s Digest, plus some attractive leather-bound volumes and several Bibles and hymnbooks. In the middle was a space for the TV. Daniel had an old model, and no video player. Irene couldn’t see a computer or CD player either. Daniel obviously wasn’t into computers or electronic gadgetry, unless of course they were behind the closed door. She planned to try to take a look in that room before they left.

  Irene was particularly surprised that there were no pictures on the walls. She could see paler rectangles here and there where pictures had obviously been; she could even see the marks left by the hooks.

  Jonny and Irene went over to the sofa and sat down. Daniel remained standing until Jonny told him to sit. He plodded over to the armchair and flopped down. The expression in those empty eyes hadn’t changed, and he still hadn’t said a word.

  “The thing is, Daniel, a witness saw a man near the scene of a crime. We’re talking about the so-called Package Killer. I’m sure you’ve seen the facial composite in the papers; that was based on the description provided by the witness. Two different people have contacted us to say that they think you look like the picture we put out, so of course we wanted to come and see you, and to ask if you were anywhere near the scene of the crime. You might have seen something that could help us in our inquiries. Needless to say we’re very interested in any witnesses we can find,” Jonny concluded.

  Daniel stared at him for a long time without blinking.

  “Where?” he asked eventually.

  “What?” Jonny said.

  “Where?” Daniel repeated.

  Jonny was lost, but Irene realized what Daniel meant.

  “In the western churchyard,” she said.

  Without looking at her Daniel said tonelessly, “When?”

  There was no time to think; Irene had to improvise.

  “We’re not at liberty to say at the moment.”

  “Who?”

  Jonny’s expression was grim as he contemplated the weird guy who was staring at him with those colorless eyes. “We’re asking the questions,” he said in an attempt to reclaim the initiative.

  “I have a right to know.”

  Daniel’s voice sounded hoarse and scratchy, as if he had a cold. Or as if he wasn’t in the habit of using it. He spoke slowly and without intonation. Perhaps he had hearing difficulties. That would explain his reluctance to talk. Then again, he had definitely heard their questions. Irene couldn’t figure him out.

  “We never reveal the identity of our witnesses. Their anonymity is guaranteed,” she said.

  “In that case I can’t answer.”

  Daniel was still staring at Jonny. He was responding to what Irene said, but he refused to look at her. He really was strange, just as Theo Papadopoulos had said.

  “Why not?” Jonny demanded.

  “I must know those who slander me,” Daniel replied implacably.

  That’s an odd way of putting it, Irene thought. Old-fashioned. She became aware of a strong odor of sweaty feet.

  Daniel was sitting with his legs stretched out under the cracked glass coffee table, and Irene could see his dirty toes through the gaping holes in his socks. The nails were long and filthy. He’s dirty and unwashed, Irene thought, but I wouldn’t describe it as an overwhelming stench.

  “Daniel, if you don’t answer our questions, we will have to ask you to accompany us to the station,” Jonny said. “Although I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

  Jonny had once again adopted the paternal tone of voice that he occasionally used. Most of the time it worked, but Daniel seemed to be immune.

  “I’m just going to the bathroom to blow my nose,” Irene said, getting to her feet.

  She had left the room before Daniel had time to protest. She pushed down the handle of the closed door, and it swung open to reveal a bedroom. A narrow single bed was covered in a white crocheted bedspread with a matching pillow. The white curtains were also crocheted. They had gone slightly yellow from the sunlight, but looked as if they were starched. On the floor was a green and white rug. A small dressing table painted green and a plain wooden chair completed the furnishings. There were no pictures in this room either—just a big black crucifix above the headboard.

  The room was clinically clean. Irene was aware of the same smell that hovered around Daniel, and she suddenly realized what it was: Yes-brand liquid soap. She had used it herself for many years.
Why did Daniel smell of dish soap? And why was this room pervaded by the same aroma?

  She quickly stepped back into the hallway and closed the door.

  “Sorry, my mistake,” she called in the direction of the living room.

  The first thing she saw when she switched on the bathroom light was a big bottle of Yes on the side of the bath. There had been traces of some kind of soap on both Ingela Svensson’s and Elisabeth Lindberg’s bodies. Could it be Yes? There was every reason to bring Daniel in for questioning.

  When she got back to the living room, Jonny was on his feet.

  “We’ll be in touch. Perhaps you’d like to think about whether you’ve been in either of the churchyards I mentioned,” he said to Daniel, who stared back blankly.

  “I have.”

  Jonny stiffened. “Which one?”

  “Both.”

  Daniel’s calm demeanor was extraordinary. His expression hadn’t change a bit.

  “When?”

  Irene could hear the tension in Jonny’s voice. He had picked up the scent, and he had no intention of letting go.

  Daniel shrugged. “Now and again.”

  “Now and again? What the hell . . .”

  Irene jumped in before Jonny lost his temper. “Do you visit different churchyards?”

  “Yes.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Work.”

  “So you’ve worked in different churchyards?”

  “Yes. They call. When they need me.”

  He was described as a “park operative,” so presumably the church administrators brought him in from time to time. Irene and Jonny informed their colleagues that they would be bringing in a person of interest for questioning that evening. Hannu and Jonny would conduct the interview, thank goodness. Irene was exhausted.

  By the time Irene and Egon got home, there was a light drizzle in the air, and it was starting to feel chilly. Krister had promised homemade tomato soup and cheesecake for dinner. Just the thought of the soup made her feel warm inside. Before she had time to put Egon on the leash, he leapt out of the car and trotted purposefully up the path. Did he already regard their house as his new home? Irene smiled in the darkness. Egon was waiting at the door, barking to make his point. Through the window Irene could see Krister stirring a steaming pan. When he heard the dog, he immediately came to the door. He bent down, and Egon leapt joyfully into his open arms. Irene joined them, and her husband’s welcoming kiss was mixed with sloppy doggy kisses. It wasn’t exactly hygienic, but when she saw the contented looks on Krister’s and Egon’s faces, she couldn’t help laughing.

  Krister put the dog on the floor, and he scampered off to his food bowl in the kitchen. He quickly demolished the contents, had a big drink of water from his other bowl, then trotted off up the stairs. They could hear him belching on his way up, then there was silence.

  “Guess who’s sleeping on our bed?” Irene said.

  “Shall we chase him off?” Krister asked with a smile.

  “Oh, let’s eat first.”

  She inhaled the wonderful aroma of tomatoes, garlic and fresh basil. She could see the cheesecake browning nicely in the oven.

  The soup was every bit as delicious as she had imagined it would be. The warmth and the spices spread through her body. When Krister served the cheesecake with freshly made blackberry compote, life seemed almost perfect. Irene reached out across the table and Krister took her hand.

  At that moment the kitchen window exploded in a shower of broken glass, the fragments raining down on Irene and Krister. One of the empty cast-iron flower urns landed on the table with a dull thud, before rolling onto the floor. Irene had left the attractive urns on the steps even though the asters had been uprooted since she had been planning to plant them with a variety of heathers later in the season.

  Her first thought was to close the kitchen door so that Egon couldn’t come in and get splinters of glass in his paws. Then she looked at Krister, who was bleeding from several scratches on his face. Cautiously she touched her own face; it hurt. The palm of her hand was spotted with blood. The sight of the blood enabled her to overcome the paralysis in her brain, and she quickly looked out of the broken window. There was no one in sight, but she heard the hinges of the gate squeak. Was there any point in giving chase? Then she noticed the back of Krister’s hand. A large shard of glass was sticking up like the blade of a knife. It was the hand he had placed over hers.

  “Oh my God! Don’t touch the glass, honey! I’ll call . . . where’s my cell phone?”

  She rushed into the hallway and scrambled through her pockets with shaking hands. She couldn’t find her cell, so she grabbed the house phone on the wall and dialed emergency services. She forced herself to speak calmly and clearly as she gave her name and title. The operator promised to send a patrol car right away. As she was speaking, Irene caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She flinched when she saw her face, streaked with blood, but at least her eyes were unaffected. Most of the damage was to the right side of her face, the side that had been toward the window. Would she need any stitches? She heard the sound of little paws padding down the stairs.

  “Go back to bed, there’s a good boy.”

  The dog stopped and whimpered, then obediently turned and went back upstairs. She followed him and closed the bedroom door. She called to Krister and told him to come up, too, then she went into the bathroom to take a closer look at her injuries. In the bright light she could see two places where there were fragments of glass in the wound; she picked at them carefully with her nails and managed to remove them. None of the cuts seemed to be particularly deep. She ran a cotton wool pad under the cold tap and dabbed away the blood. She rummaged in the cabinet and managed to find a box of assorted bandages, but unfortunately there were none of the small ones left. All she could do was to stick a great big bandage over her cheekbone. Krister came in, and managed a faint smile at the sight of her, but he didn’t say anything. Irene gently washed the blood off his face. A cut on his temple wouldn’t stop bleeding, even though it didn’t look particularly deep. To be on the safe side she rolled a piece of toilet tissue into a hard ball, pressed it against the cut and fixed it in place with a Band-Aid. She wasn’t worried about any of his other injuries, apart from his hand. The piece of glass had penetrated a long way, and they didn’t dare touch it.

  “It hurts,” Krister said with a grimace.

  “We need to get you to the ER,” Irene said.

  They heard the sound of approaching sirens. Irene went back downstairs and into the kitchen; she could see the patrol car pulling up at their gate, with a second car close behind. The relief was much more overwhelming than she had expected, and to her surprise she found herself on the verge of tears. She tried to pull herself together as she went to open the door.

  “Wow—I’m honored,” she said, forcing a smile.

  “I had to come out when I heard it was you,” Detective Inspector Lars Holmberg said.

  All at once Irene felt completely safe. She explained what had happened, and she also ran through the previous incidents in the garden, the theft of Krister’s wallet, and the other problems the family had had recently. Meanwhile the second patrol car drove Krister to the ER at Sahlgrenska Hospital. Irene made sure he took his cell phone so that they could keep in touch.

  Holmberg’s expression had grown more and more concerned during Irene’s account. When she had finished he said:

  “You can’t stay here tonight. Two of our guys will stay until the glazier arrives; we’ve already got two cars patrolling the area looking for suspicious persons. We’ll drive you to a hotel, and Krister can join you. Go and pack what you need.”

  Irene’s first instinct was to protest, but then she realized there was no point. It wasn’t an offer; it was an order. Her colleagues needed to be able to work in peace. She was well aware that it was regarded a
s extremely serious when a police officer or anyone else working within the justice system was attacked in their own home. She had no choice but to pack what they needed for the night and the next day.

  She got out a small suitcase and went up to the bedroom. In vain she tried to think of what ordinary people took with them for an overnight stay. She realized she was in shock and tried to gather her thoughts. Her brain remained empty. What clothes would they need tomorrow? Breathe, Irene, breathe, she told herself at regular intervals. It helped a little, but her hands were still shaking, and her heart gave an extra beat now and again. Her throat felt thick with unshed tears. This couldn’t be happening to her. In her own home! Someone out there in the darkness was watching them, wanting to do them harm. It was like a bad dream, but the worst thing was that she knew she wasn’t going to wake up from this dream. Before she had finished packing, Lars Holmberg appeared with something in his hand.

  “This was in the urn,” he said gravely.

  He was wearing latex gloves and holding the very edge of a piece of paper, which on closer inspection looked more like a torn-off scrap from a cardboard box; it was stiff and pale brown. Holmberg turned it so that Irene could read the scrawled words:

  You think you’re going to get away with it but you are going to suffer, too! You are going to die! My vengance is coming!

  Irene read the message several times. This wasn’t possible. Her life and her family’s lives were being threatened.

  “Katarina!” she said, looking at Holmberg.

  “Who?”

  “My daughter. My other daughter, Jenny, lives in Amsterdam—she’s the one whose cell phone was blocked after Krister’s wallet was stolen—but nothing has happened to Katarina yet. We need to contact her, tell her what’s happened. She thinks we’re just having a run of bad luck. She doesn’t realize . . .”

  Irene knew she was rambling, but right now she couldn’t help it. Anxiety about her daughter took over, and she went over to the phone on the bedside table. She called Katarina; it took a while before her daughter picked up, mumbling her name and sounding half-asleep. As gently as possible Irene explained what had happened. Katarina was wide awake in a second, wanting to know all about her parents’ injuries, but Irene reassured her as best she could before telling her about the note in the urn.