Fabian could still recall the way Claes had looked at him with pleading eyes, and how he had pretended to get soap in his eyes to avoid opening them. Then he heard the first blow. When he opened his eyes again, Claes was lying on the hard tile floor in fetal position, trying to shield himself from Glenn’s kicks, which were aimed at his genitals, and Jörgen’s blows to his head.
Fabian had been a coward and snuck out with the rest of the boys. Claes didn’t make even the tiniest sound. He didn’t cry out or say a word. He didn’t even ask them to stop. He just took the blows and the kicks in silence. It wasn’t until they turned the shower on as hot as it would go that he started screaming.
Now, more than thirty years later, the perpetrator had sawed off Jörgen’s hands and placed them in the very same shower room.
If anyone had a strong motive, it was Claes Mällvik.
*
THE OK GAS STATION consisted of one building. After doing a circuit around it, Fabian parked in one corner, next to a Dumpster, and stepped out of the car. He filled his lungs with the night air, which was still thick and warm. If this weather kept up, he would soon be reading about the warmest July in one hundred years in the papers.
He walked around for a moment and then realized that he hadn’t the slightest idea what he should be looking for, although he had a feeling there was a lead somewhere close by, something that he needed to discover sooner rather than later. As he searched the area around the gas station, the feeling grew stronger and stronger. He couldn’t be sure, but he felt increasingly confident that this was where the perpetrator had made contact with his victim.
How could the killer have planned for Jörgen Pålsson to fill up his tank at this gas station in particular? The only thing he could have counted on was that Jörgen had to stop somewhere on the drive home. He must have followed Jörgen in a car of his own, a car he would have been forced to leave behind. If he hadn’t already come back to get it there was a chance the vehicle was still here.
As Fabian made his way to the back of the gas station he tried to get a clearer mental picture of Claes Mällvik. He remembered him as incredibly shy and cautious, someone who had hardly dared to raise his hand in class to answer a question. Had he now gone so far as to take the life of his tormentor in a brutal and headline-grabbing way? Fabian didn’t quite know what to think. There was no limit to what violence and mental terrorism could do to a person: it was probably the very way to create a monster.
There were five cars parked behind the building, and none of them seemed to belong to customers inside the store. Three of them were in the staff parking spaces, but there were no signs in front of the other two. One of the cars was covered in a thick layer of dirt and dried leaves. Fabian walked over to the last car in the row, a Peugeot 206, and studied it. It had Swedish licence plates, and a thin layer of dust suggested it had been sitting there untouched for a few days — perhaps a week at most.
He ought to call Tuvesson, but there was a good chance she would be angry with him for acting on his own authority. Instead, he called Lilja.
“Hi, this is Fabian Risk, your new —”
“I know who you are.”
“I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Not at all. I’m still at the office, trying to help Klippan get hold of a list of students from your class, which seems to be absolutely impossible. It was 9C, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but with a little luck maybe we won’t need it. I’m in Denmark and I may have found the killer’s car.”
“What? How the hell did you manage that? Does Tuvesson know?”
“I’ll explain more later. This is still a bit of a long shot, and I might be wrong, but if you could look up the plate JOS 652, that would be —”
“I’ll call you back.”
Fabian took a deep breath, stuck his phone in his pocket, and walked toward the gas station’s twenty-four-hour store. If it turned out that Claes Mällvik was the owner of the Peugeot, Fabian’s suspicions would be realized and the investigation would enter its final phase: locating the suspect and making the arrest. That last phase could certainly take some time, but he would have done his job and then some, and he could return to his vacation with a clear conscience. He could take Theodor to Väla tomorrow morning to buy a snorkelling set, and after that he could take the whole family to the beach at Mölle, where they could sunbathe and snorkel by the cliffs. Then he would treat them all to a fancy dinner at Mölle’s very own Grand Hotel.
He walked into the store and carried a machine-made latte, a chocolate bar, and a bottle of Ramlösa water — or “Danish water,” as the Danes stubbornly insisted on calling it even though it was bottled in Helsingborg — over to the cash desk. There was a young female clerk behind the register. She didn’t look any older than twenty, and had a piercing in her lower lip. She was far too young to be working the night shift all by herself, Fabian thought as he set down his purchases.
“Is that your car?” she asked in Danish, pointing at the Peugeot.
“No, but do you know how long it’s been here?”
“About a week.”
“Was it here last Tuesday?”
“No idea.” She shrugged and started scanning his items. “I don’t work Tuesdays or Wednesdays. I saw it for the first time on Thursday. Your items will be seventy-eight kroner.”
Fabian handed over his credit card, realizing that the Peugeot could have very well been sitting here since the previous Tuesday.
He was leaving the store just as his phone rang.
“Fabian, it’s Irene Lilja. The car is registered to a Rune Schmeckel.”
“Sorry? What did you say?” Fabian stopped by the air pump, which was dripping and hissing. He’d been so certain she would say Claes Mällvik that he assumed he’d heard wrong.
“His name is Rune Schmeckel. Unfortunate last name, isn’t it?”
Fabian felt deflated. If only it had been a rental car or something, just to give them a clue to work from. He knew for certain that there hadn’t been a Rune Schmeckel in his 9C class.
“Has it been reported stolen?”
“No. That’s the first thing I thought of, too.”
Dammit, Fabian thought to himself. Maybe it wasn’t the perpetrator’s car after all. Or maybe he was completely on the wrong track. Could this case be about something other than a victim’s revenge?
“Fabian, are you still there?”
“Yes. You didn’t give me the answer I was expecting.”
“His home address is Adelgatan 5 in Lund. He works at the hospital there.”
“I have to go now. We’ll talk more later.”
Fabian ended the call. He had no desire to keep talking. He needed time to think — to reconsider everything.
10
IT WAS JUST PAST two in the morning, but the sky had already started to get lighter. Fabian decided that the view of Øresund had outdone itself as he crossed back over to Sweden. But this time he couldn’t take any real pleasure in the landscape. He didn’t even feel like listening to music. He couldn’t stop thinking about Claes Mällvik and everything the boy had been subjected to during their school years. More memories had come back to him, each worse than the last, and they helped bolster the possible motives. Yet there was no concrete evidence to point to Claes. All Fabian had were a few fuzzy memories from long ago.
Fabian slowed down as he came to the Lernacken toll booth. He handed his credit card to the man inside and thought about Sonja. He hoped she would be asleep when he got home. Otherwise the conversation about why Niva had called would keep them awake all night.
“May I ask you to back out and drive to that building over there,” the man in the booth said as he handed back Fabian’s credit card, pointing to a structure that looked like an army barracks.
“Is there a problem? I have another card, if there’s an issue with that one.”
The man shook his head. Fabian had absolutely no idea what was going on, not even when he saw the overweight woman c
oming toward him.
“Fabian Risk, you weren’t thinking of just sneaking past me, were you? You promised me a date the next time you came through,” she said.
Fabian stepped out of the car, shook her hand, and wished he were anywhere but there. The woman introduced herself as Kickan and dragged him into the barracks, where she emptied an old pot of coffee and started brewing a fresh one. Fabian counted the number of scoops she dumped into the filter and realized that he wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep. Though it wouldn’t make any difference if Sonja were awake when he got home.
“Why, you sure are handsome — even more handsome than I imagined!” said Kickan, filling two cups with black coffee. “Are you single or is that too much to hope for? I enjoy long walks and romantic dinners. Although, to be completely honest, I probably prefer the dinners.”
“Sorry, but I’m married,” Fabian managed, wondering what he had done to deserve this.
“That’s no reason to apologize. But good things come to those who ask.”
“The phrase ends with ‘wait’ not ‘ask.’”
“What?”
“Good things come to those who wait.”
“Exactly my point! Would you like a cookie?”
“No, thank you, I’m fine,” Fabian said, having forced down his coffee. “I have to get going, but it was nice to meet you, and thanks for the coffee.”
“It was nothing. I hope I didn’t frighten you with all of my babbling on the phone. It can get a little lonely in the booths, but people don’t think about what it’s like in our little boxes. Everyone is on their way somewhere else — everyone but us.”
“I can imagine it gets a bit lonesome. I hope you have a nice night.” Fabian turned toward the door.
“Listen, I thought of something related to the case you’re working on.”
“Oh?” Fabian failed to hold back a yawn.
“Let’s assume it was the perpetrator sitting in the passenger seat in the photo from the toll booth. And let’s say he’s Swedish. He would have also had to drive across the bridge on the way to Denmark, but in a different car, which means the car could have been left behind in Denmark, right?”
“That’s true, but unfortunately there are still far too many unanswered questions for that to lead to anything solid,” Fabian said in a tone that made quite clear that he had no more to add, even though deep down he was impressed by the woman’s powers of deduction.
“Just one more thing before you leave... If you believe that is what happened, wouldn’t the killer have passed through this toll booth around the same time as the victim?”
Fabian realized that he had completely missed the perfectly logical conclusion Kickan was laying out. “You know, that didn’t even occur to me, but you’re right. Is there any chance you can find pictures of the cars that passed through before and after him?”
Kickan smiled and held up a brown envelope. She opened it and spread the black-and-white surveillance pictures across the table. “At first I thought he would have passed through right after the victim, in the same line, but I don’t think it’s any of those vehicles. So I checked the cars in the other lines. And this one caught my eye... I could certainly be wrong. But what do you think?” She pulled out the last picture, which showed a Peugeot with the licence plate number JOS 652.
“Why did you pick this one in particular?”
“Can you see how he’s bending down here? That almost never happens. Normally people don’t register that they are being photographed, but this guy is fully conscious of it and he really doesn’t want to be captured on film. Not to mention, he paid in cash.”
Fabian studied the picture. The driver of the car was definitely hiding his face. Kickan was right; she had done a big part of his job for him. He thanked her, took the pictures, and promised not to forget to stop for some coffee next time he drove through.
“Coffee? Please. Next time is our second date, so I think we can progress a little further than that!” She gave him an exaggerated wink and laughed.
Unsure whether she was really joking, Fabian got into his car and drove back across the bridge to Denmark.
*
IT WAS TWO THIRTY in the morning, but Tuvesson answered her phone after just two rings.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were out on a solo tour of Denmark?”
“Sorry, but I didn’t want to wake you unnecessarily.”
“Unnecessarily?”
“Before I knew if we had any good leads.” He could hear how ridiculous this sounded. “Didn’t Lilja call you about the owner of the car? His name is Rune Schmeckel, and he lives in Lund.”
“Yes, she did. The Lund police have already been there, but there was nobody home.” He could hear her taking a drag of a cigarette.
“Did you call the hospital? Maybe he’s on duty.”
“He’s on vacation. Fabian, I want you to tell me where you are right now.”
“On my way home,” he lied. “What should we do with Rune’s car? It’s still at the gas station and should be examined. Have you told Molander about it yet?”
“We can’t do anything with the car until our Danish colleagues give us the go-ahead. In big cases like this one they usually like to let a few extra days go by to make us sweat. You know how it is when big brother asks little brother for a favour.”
“It might be too late by then.”
“He’s already left the car there for over a week. He probably won’t ever go pick it up.”
“What about Schmeckel’s house? When can we get in to look around?”
“It’s the middle of the summer, but I’ll put some pressure on the Danes.”
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Listen, Fabian, like I said before... I’m very grateful that you’re willing to help even though you’re on vacation. But, dammit, don’t forget that we’re a team!”
Fabian didn’t have time to answer before he heard the click of her hanging up.
Forty minutes later, he turned off at the OK station in Lellinge again, and drove around it once to make sure that nobody else was there — no one other than the girl with the piercings in the store. He had thought through his plan and weighed the pros and cons, fully conscious of the fact that it went against every rule he could think of. Fabian knew he could get into serious trouble, yet he felt certain that this was the right thing to do.
He parked right next to the Peugeot, took the jack from the trunk of his car, placed it under the other vehicle, and cranked it until the back tire was off the ground. Using the four-way wrench, he loosened the four lug nuts and took off the tire.
The girl behind the counter looked up from a magazine when he entered the store.
“Hello again. My name is Fabian Risk and I’m with the Helsingborg police.” He showed her his identification.
“Okay...?” Her eyes immediately looked curious, and worried.
It didn’t matter what the circumstances, as long as his visit was unexpected, all Fabian had to do was introduce himself to be met with the same “what have I done now?” gaze.
“It’s about the Peugeot out there with the Swedish plates. We’re going to have to bring it in for a technical investigation in a Swedish murder case, as soon as all the paperwork is in order between our two countries.”
“That’s no problem,” the girl said in Danish. She shrugged with a stiff smile.
“But until then, I need your help,” Fabian continued, watching as her smile disappeared and her anxious look returned. “He’s probably left the car here indefinitely, and I don’t expect him to come retrieve it, but if he does I would like you to contact me right away. Is that clear?” He wrote his name and number down on a slip of paper.
The girl looked at the paper and sucked the piercing in her lip. “How will I know it’s him? What if he just takes off?”
“That won’t happen because you’ll have the back tire.” Fabian went outside and brought in the tire. The girl reluctantly took it, and rolled it
behind the counter.
“I’m going to have to call my boss.”
“No problem. He can give me a call if he wants to.”
Fabian stuck a note he had written in Danish into a plastic sleeve and secured it under the Peugeot’s windshield wiper. Then he got in his car to go home.
THIS VEHICLE IS ON PRIVATE PROPERTY
PLEASE CONTACT PERSONNEL
August 20
I hate school. I hate it! Everyone can see what’s happening, but no one does anything. Or they laugh and look away. I wanted to stay in at recess today but the teacher wouldn’t let me. She said that everyone has to go out and get fresh air. I told her they were stupid. She said it takes two to tango. No it doesn’t. I hid in the bathroom and heard them looking for me and yelling that I was gay if I didn’t come out. I stayed there anyway because I know I’m not gay. I like girls. Even though I haven’t been with one I’m totally sure. Almost everyone who comes out as gay says that they knew they were gay since they were little, so I would know by now. I definitely can’t be gay.
On the way home they were standing in the playground. Hampus always said you shouldn’t run because that’s what they want you to do. I wanted to run but I walked normally. They blocked my way. I tried to go around them but they just kept stopping me. I told them to move but they said I was too ugly, and that I stank, and that I had to carry their bags. I stood up for myself and said I didn’t stink. Then they punched me in the stomach and said it was my fault because I was acting too cocky.
I promise:
1. I will never be cocky again.
2. I will never say anything to anyone at school.
3. Ever again.
P. S. Laban hasn’t even used his wheel once. Stupid fucking hamster.
11
THE HELPLESS, PATHETIC SCREAMS echoed through the warehouse that was more than a hundred metres long. The screams managed to find their way in among the tall shelves, even though he had chosen a spot at the other end of the building. It sounded like a goddamn stuck pig.
Victim Without a Face Page 6