Victim Without a Face

by Stefan Ahnhem

  A few minutes later, Lilja broke the silence. “Did you and your family move to Helsingborg for a change or were you running away from Stockholm?”

  Fabian had to finish chewing the bite of Skåne roe deer he had just put in his mouth before he could respond. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

  “You and your wife.”

  “Sonja. Her name is Sonja.”

  “Are things okay between you and Sonja? Or are you like most couples?”

  Fabian had no doubt about the answer to that question, but it was hard to figure out what to tell her.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to touch a raw nerve.”

  “No, it’s okay, you just took me by surprise. We moved to Helsingborg for a change, but like most people, Sonja and I have our ups and downs. What about you? How long have you been living in your office?”

  “Since last week. It’s been completely nuts. He refuses to move out, even though it’s actually my apartment.”

  “Maybe he’s hoping you’ll come back.”

  Lilja snorted. “He can forget about that. You have no idea what a fucking asshole he is. It’s over this time, dammit, even if I have to sleep in my office for the rest of the summer.” She resumed eating in silence and then looked at him across the table. “Wasn’t it your colleagues who were involved in the incident at the Israeli embassy last winter?”

  Fabian had been waiting for this question. He nodded mutely.

  “What happened?”

  “You tell me. I really don’t have any idea.”

  “I suppose it’s still under investigation, but isn’t it weird how little the newspapers have reported on it? I mean, two police officers died. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

  “I don’t know,” Fabian said, shrugging. “By the way, I tried to get hold of Glenn Granqvist —”

  “Doesn’t it almost feel like the whole thing has been covered up?”

  “Like I said, I have no idea.”

  “Sorry. What do I know? Maybe you’re not even allowed to talk about it. Forget it... Coffee?”

  Fabian nodded and Lilja left to go to the counter. He could certainly understand why she was curious. He probably would have been wondering about the very same questions if he were in her position, only he wouldn’t have voiced them. But Lilja wanted answers, and she wasn’t above asking for them. She was on him like a furious wasp — and he liked her.

  “You were trying to get hold of Granqvist.” Lilja set down two cups of coffee.

  “I called but he didn’t answer his phone, so I was planning to stop by his house.”

  “I was planning on contacting the national registration office to see what they have on Schmeckel,” Lilja said, downing her coffee in a single gulp.

  “We should take a look at Schmeckel’s house as soon as possible.”

  “Agreed. Tuvesson has promised to do what she can, but vacation season is throwing a wrench into the investigation. Worse comes to worst, it might not be possible until late next week.”

  “Let’s hope we can get in there earlier.”

  “What do you mean, hope?” Lilja said, standing up.

  *

  A POLICE OFFICER DOESN’T hope. A police officer takes action and works methodically until the perpetrator is caught, making sure there is enough evidence for a conviction. Going around full of hope is the job of family members, not the police. Yet here he was, having just expressed himself as having hope. He pondered Lilja’s question, started the car, and pulled out onto Drottninggatan.

  Had he already given up, thinking that the battle was lost? Did he feel absolutely powerless to change the outcome, believing the only ace he had left was the small hope that everything would probably work out in the end, as if this were a Sunday night movie? In truth, he had no idea how this would end. All he knew for sure was that for the first time in a long while, something about this case frightened him. He was scared this was far from over and scared of what the consequences would be if he failed again.

  Fabian hit the gas pedal to make the very best of the wave of green lights that had followed him all the way from Hälsobacken. He passed police headquarters going 145 kilometres per hour. Tuvesson called as he was driving through Väla.

  “I just spoke to Sten Hammar regarding a search warrant for Schmeckel’s house.”

  “And?”

  “Unfortunately, he does not consider there to be sufficient grounds. I’m not surprised. All we have is a car that crossed the Øresund Bridge at the same time as our victim and is now parked at a gas station in Denmark, which is not enough. We need something more concrete.”

  Tuvesson was right. The problem was that something more concrete would likely not be found in Schmeckel’s house.

  He put Radiohead’s Hail to the Thief into the CD player and turned up the volume. He turned off at Ödåkra as the last few bars of “2 + 2 = 5” petered out. Soon, he was slowing down on Jupitergäten outside Glenn Granqvist’s house. He stepped out of the car and scanned the area with his eyes. The neighbourhood seemed as deserted as it might be after a nuclear accident.

  Granqvist’s house looked just like the others on the block: two storeys, a white plaster facade, a pitched roof, and a separate garage. The house sat at the very front of the lot.

  Fabian walked up to the front door and noticed that the outdoor lights were on, even though the sun was still high in the sky. The same went for the ceiling light in the living room. Was this a sign that he had come too late? Had Glenn already received his punishment? Or would the whole bully idea turn out to be a dead end?

  He rang the bell, holding down the button for a long time. He looked at his watch and followed the second hand with his eyes. He decided to wait for sixty seconds.

  Although he hoped that Glenn would come to the door and prove himself perfectly healthy, he couldn’t ignore the little part of him that was crossing his fingers for the opposite result, because then all his doubt about the motive would vanish.

  The door remained closed.

  He rang the bell again, and held it for even longer this time.

  A woman walked by with a stroller, casting a look of suspicion. He responded with a smile.

  “Hi! Listen, the guy who lives here, Glenn Granqvist... You don’t happen to know if he’s home, do you?”

  The woman shook her head.

  “The lights are on. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him here in the past few days?”

  She shook her head again and hurried on.

  “Well, fine then.” He took out his phone and dialled Glenn’s home number, which he had found in Lilja’s notes. He could hear it ringing as clear as day from inside the house.

  “You talking to me?”

  This time, Fabian left a message introducing himself and asking Glenn to give him a call as soon as possible. Then he called Glenn’s cell phone and left the very same message as he walked around to the back of the house.

  The yard consisted of a large lawn surrounded by a hedge that hadn’t yet grown taller than a metre. An open field began where the hedge ended, perfect for anyone who wanted to pay a surprise visit. But that wasn’t what caught his attention — it was the barbed wire.

  Fabian didn’t understand. Why in the world would anyone lay barbed wire all over his backyard? He crouched down and cautiously touched the sharp wire, which twisted here and there across the lawn in long spirals. He heard a distant clucking noise and turned around, but wasn’t able to locate the source of the sound before it stopped. He grabbed the barbed wire between his index finger and thumb and yanked at it. Once more he heard the clucking — this time loud enough for him to figure out that it was coming from one of the slightly open windows on the second floor. He stood up, taking a few steps toward the house so that he could get a better look, and walked straight into a piece of fishing line that was strung between the barbed wire and what turned out to be a wind chime made of bamboo, hanging inside the window.

  So Glenn had come to the same conclusion as Fabian: now
that Jörgen had been taken care of, it was his turn next. But Glenn clearly had no intention of being as ill prepared. Was Glenn’s paranoia justified? And if so, was he able to defend himself?

  Fabian was jolted out of his thoughts by his ringing phone. He took it out and looked at the screen: 0765-261110. He repeated the number to himself before realizing that it was the very same number he had just called.

  “This is Fabian Risk.” He tried to sound as composed and neutral as he could, but there was no response on the other end. Instead, there was an expectant silence. He could only just hear the sound of someone breathing.

  “Hello? Who is this?”

  “You were trying to reach me.”

  “Is this Glenn Granqvist?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know if you remember me, but we were in the same class at school.”

  “Fabbe? Is that you?”

  “Yes, that’s right. How are you?”

  “I can’t complain. How about you? I heard you became a cop and moved to Stockholm.”

  “Yeah, I did. But I’ve actually moved back home now and I’m working for the police here in Helsingborg.”

  “Well, how about that! Guess I better behave myself.”

  Fabian laughed and decided to guide the conversation toward the topic at hand. “I assume you know why I was trying to get hold of you.”

  “Jögge.”

  “Right.”

  “It’s just awful. I read about it in the paper and... damn. Do you have any idea who’s behind it?”

  “We’re working on... a number of parallel leads.” Fabian had been about to answer more fully, but he’d stopped himself. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but for some reason he felt uncertain and on guard.

  “Am I one of them or something?”

  “In a manner of speaking. You were best friends after all, at least as far as I can recall from school. Were you two still in contact?”

  “Jögge was my very best friend.”

  “I’m sorry, you must feel terrible. But I was thinking, could we meet? I have a number of questions you might be able to help me out with.”

  “Of course we can meet, but now is not a good time. Not unless you want to come down here.”

  “And where is down here?”

  “Sunny Beach, Bulgaria. It’s pretty fucking sweet. I’ve never seen so many horny chicks on one beach.”

  This damn vacation season was making it impossible to work. He might as well take a vacation himself, as planned, and hold off on solving the case until August 16, when most people would be back at work. On the other hand, maybe this trip to Sunny Beach was what had saved Glenn’s life.

  “When did you leave?”

  “Just yesterday — July first. I’m staying for two weeks, until the fifteenth.”

  They had only gone to the newspapers with the murder yesterday. If Glenn read about it down there, as he’d claimed, he wouldn’t have had enough time to string barbed wire all over his lawn.

  “When did you first hear about the murder?”

  “Lina called to tell me about it a couple days ago. Why?”

  “Did you feel threatened when you heard about the murder? Was that why you left?”

  “Why would I feel threatened?”

  Either Glenn was lying or Fabian was speaking to someone else on the phone, he decided. “I thought the nature of the murder and the choice of location might make you feel a bit nervous.” He had revealed more than he should have, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to provoke a reaction, to force whoever it was on the other end of the line to show his true colours.

  “Excuse my French, but what the fuck are you talking about?”

  Fabian decided to put the screws on.

  “Why else would you have laid out barbed wire behind your house and connected it to the wind chime on the second floor?”

  There was an uncertain silence, long enough for all of Fabian’s doubts to scatter. The call ended.

  October 18

  I didn’t listen to what the teacher said today, just saw her mouth moving. Jonas sits behind me and he tapped me on the shoulder. At first I wasn’t going to turn around and I wanted to pretend like nothing was going on, but then I did anyway because I know he’s usually one of the nice ones. He spit in my face and said it was from “you know who.” I could see in his eyes he didn’t really want to do it. I would have done the same thing if I were him.

  Today Mom asked why I had bruises. I said I fell down in gym. I think she believed me.

  But they did it again today at recess. They said I told on them even though I didn’t. I got a bloody nose, then they took my hat and peed on it and made me put it on again. When I got home I showered and washed my hat and dried it with Mom’s hair dryer. I don’t think she noticed. At least I hope she didn’t.

  I should fight back but I’m scared. There are two of them and one of me. Plus they hit with their fists even though it’s not allowed. It works in the movies, but not when it’s for real.

  About me:

  1. A wuss.

  2. Useless.

  3. Weak.

  4. Ugly.

  P. S. If I were in my own class I would tease me, too. I’m the lowest of the low. I’m a fucking monster. I hate myself so goddamn much.

  15

  FABIAN WAS SUPPOSED TO have run home to pick up Sonja and the kids to go to Molander’s barbecue more than half an hour ago. But he couldn’t go home yet; there was no time to lose. He called Tuvesson and left her a short message about his conversation with the killer. She was probably busy fighting the Danes so they could go pick up the Peugeot from the gas station. There was no way for her to know that the information he now had would make her job much easier.

  As Fabian waited for Tuvesson to return his call, he entered Glenn’s house through the back door and searched it, but didn’t find anything of interest.

  Even though he didn’t find any leads in the house, Fabian was absolutely certain that the motive he had suggested earlier concerning Claes was accurate. Glenn Granqvist wasn’t on a sunny beach in Bulgaria; Glenn Granqvist was dead. Fabian was equally certain that the man he had spoken with was the perpetrator. Both he and Fabian had played their roles well, even if there could be no doubt that both had understood exactly what was really going on.

  Fabian parked outside the police station and hurried in. The lobby was empty and he had to use his access card for the first time. He was surprised to find he remembered the code, and he used the time in the elevator to call home.

  “Hi, Dad. Mom says you should have been here more than half an hour ago.”

  “Yes, doll, Mom’s absolutely right.” He stepped out of the elevator. “A few things have come up at work and Dad has to take care of them.”

  “That’s exactly what she said, too. And when the phone rang, she said it was you calling and that we probably wouldn’t be going to any barbecue tonight.”

  “Did she? How could she know all of that?”

  “I don’t know. But you and that lady who isn’t allowed to call are the only ones who have our new number. If you really wanted to talk to Mom, you would have called her cell phone. By calling home, you hoped that me or Theo would answer instead.”

  She would make a good police officer, Fabian thought, and he asked his daughter to report that the barbecue would surely be cancelled, since Molander would also be tied up with things to do all night at the police station.

  Fabian walked into the department offices, which were also empty. Where was everyone? He understood it was Friday, but they were in the midst of an investigation that might very well develop into one of the Helsingborg police’s worst cases ever. He opened the door to Tuvesson’s office, which was just as empty and desolate as the rest of the department. He walked over to the panorama window and took out his phone to call her again. Instead, it started ringing in his hand. It was Molander.

  “Hello there. Where are you?”

  “Huh? I’m at the statio
n.”

  “What the hell are you doing there?”

  “A number of things have come to light in the investigation, so I think we’re going to have to cancel tonight and —”

  “What do you mean, cancel? The barbecue is lit. There’s no sign of a cancellation on our end,” said Molander, without even a shred of interest in what might have come up.

  “I’m sorry, Ingvar, but I’m afraid I have to work. We’ll have to come over another time. By the way, do you happen to know where Tuvesson is?”

  “Here. Where else would she be?”

  Fabian pulled the phone away from his ear, and started at it as if it had come from another planet.

  *

  “WELL, HELLO AND WELCOME! You must be the new people,” exclaimed a woman who seemed mighty proud of her extreme tan. “You’re the only ones we’re still waiting for. My name is Gertrud Molander. Come in! What would you like to drink?”

  Sonja and the children followed Gertrud into the house and Fabian felt an immediate sense of relief. The car ride had only taken fifteen minutes, but it had been painfully silent, almost unbearably so. He’d asked about the Louisiana Museum and whether it was as beautiful as everyone claimed, and if they would like to visit again.

  Sonja hadn’t bothered to answer a single one of his questions. But now they were here, and he could tell already that she was in a better mood. Apparently someone like Gertrud was just what she needed.

  As they walked through the house, Fabian observed that Ingvar Molander was married to a true collector. One of the largest plate collections he’d ever seen hung on one wall of the living room, and a lighted display cabinet contained crystal owls of all imaginable shapes, sizes, and colours.

  “Aren’t they beautiful?” Gertrud exclaimed, moving toward him.

  Fabian nodded, although he had never understood the fascination with crystal decorations. “Are you the one who collects them?”

  “No, but I started buying them when I was on my first trip around Europe.”

  “So they’re Ingvar’s?”

  “Ingvar? You think he could stand collecting crystal?” she said, as if this were the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. “To be completely honest there isn’t one person behind it, but most of my friends have contributed to it. Now and then a new little owl just shows up.”