by Karin Nordin
Björk pursed his lips. It was clear from the ridges in his forehead that he was trying to decide how to answer. But the rest of his expression was difficult to read. Kjeld knew he was hedging. He was hiding something, but Kjeld couldn’t tell what.
‘I don’t know anything about your daughter. And those murders don’t have anything to do with us. Yes, Jonny was recently a member of ours. And, yes, he was trying to recruit Louisa. She attended a few meetings. Sweet girl. But their deaths had nothing to do with Second Life. It’s tragic, really. Perhaps if they’d both been here they never would have been murdered. That’s what we offer here, after all. A sanctuary from the outside world.’
‘You said you never saw Louisa.’
‘I couldn’t tell you the truth without potentially exposing what else we were doing here. And I knew we weren’t involved. I didn’t think it would hurt to tell a little white lie.’
‘And Andrea?’
‘Ah, Andrea. What can I say? We had an off-again, on-again business relationship. She wasn’t exactly the most reliable employee, if you know what I mean. Never hire an addict to do a sober man’s job.’ Björk shrugged. ‘But her death was as much a surprise to me as the others.’
‘And I’m supposed to believe that bullshit? You can spin that story to your followers, but not to me.’
‘It doesn’t matter to me what you believe, Detective. But neither Jonny’s death nor Louisa’s had anything to do with what’s going on at Second Life. And whoever killed Andrea didn’t come to us for demands. If it was supposed to be a message about my side business, as you call it, then they failed to properly address it. You’re looking in the wrong direction.’
Kjeld’s hopes dwindled by the second. He didn’t know what he’d expected to find in the commune. Perhaps he thought he’d barrel through the front door and find Tove there waiting for him. No, he’d just hoped there’d be something. Some sign that the murderer was connected to this place. Some sign of who they were and where they’d taken Tove. But despite Björk’s vexing sneer and unbelievable story that the commune wasn’t involved in any of the deaths, Kjeld had nothing to go on. And, if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t get the impression that Björk was lying.
Kjeld stood up from the chair, caught his balance, and made his way to the desk. Björk eyed him cautiously as he picked up his identification card. He was about to reach for his gun when he saw the framed photo on Björk’s desk and hesitated.
A rush of confusion filled his thoughts, scrambling to make sense of it.
The photo was of a teenage girl standing in front of a white cabin. She was smiling in a white summer dress, a Midsommar crown of flowers atop her head. Kjeld stared at it in disbelief. She had blonde hair, the same shade as Björk’s. And the same small eyes. But it wasn’t those qualities that made her familiar to Kjeld. He’d seen her face before. He’d seen her in his memories and his nightmares.
Emma Hassan.
Chapter 66
Kjeld reached for his weapon on the desk, but Brother Björk grabbed it quicker. Then he slid off the desk and took a step towards the centre of the room. He didn’t raise the gun at Kjeld, but he had the upper hand between them. Kjeld cursed himself for not picking it up earlier when he had the chance.
His eyes darted from the photograph of Emma Hassan to the man standing in front of him. The similarities were uncanny and now he understood why he felt an odd familiarity when he first spoke to the man. Björk was cleanshaven now and he was older, but it should have been obvious to Kjeld from the beginning who he was.
‘Jan-Erik …’
Emma’s father.
Björk’s hand gripped the handle of the gun. He shifted his weight, his mouth drawn in a tense frown. Kjeld suspected Björk was trying to determine what to do next. He couldn’t very well shoot him without attracting the attention of Olsen’s team. Sure, they were a few kilometres away, but a gunshot in the middle of the forest was difficult to muffle when your location was under surveillance.
‘Think about what you’re doing.’
‘Why the hell did you have to come here? Why couldn’t you just stay on the perimeter like your colleagues? Why did you have to show up and unbury old memories?’ Björk clenched his teeth. A vein bulged on the side of his head.
‘You recognised me? From before?’
‘Of course I recognised you!’ He shook the gun at Kjeld. ‘How could I not recognise you?’
Kjeld took a slow step away from the desk. ‘Okay, let’s take a breath and talk about this. Whatever you’ve got going on – whatever it is that those officers outside your property are interested in – I don’t care about it. All I care about is getting justice for Louisa, Andrea, Jonny, and the others this killer has gone after. All I want is to find my daughter.’
‘I told you I had nothing to do with that.’
‘What about someone else here at the commune? Could anyone else be involved?’
Björk’s brows pinched near the centre of his forehead. Then he shook his head. ‘No, that’s not possible.’
‘You’re certain?’
‘Yes, I’m certain. I would know. This is a tight-knit community. And bringing about pain is not what we’re about. Quite the opposite, in fact.’
‘I thought all that healing bullshit was just a front for the drugs?’
‘It didn’t start that way. And the healing part is still true. Most people are here for help. And we do help people. But I still owe debts. And you know what they say about bad habits.’
‘Tell me,’ Kjeld said. He took another step closer to Björk. The man was shaking, his face contorted in the agony of memory. For the loss of his daughter. When Kjeld was within arm’s reach he held out his hand. ‘Give me the gun and tell me what you’re really trying to achieve here. Explain to me why I’m looking in the wrong place.’
Björk hesitated. Then the tension in his arm loosened and he placed the weapon in Kjeld’s hand. He wiped a panicked tear from his eye and made his way back to the desk. ‘I wasn’t a good father. I was the worst. I didn’t give a shit about my family. Not in the way I should have. But after Emma’s death I was overwrought. I couldn’t get over my grief. It was my fault, you see. If I had been a better father none of this would have happened. And then when my wife – when Maja drove off that bridge – I couldn’t go on anymore as I had been. I didn’t want to live as the man I was.’
‘So you became Brother Björk.’ Kjeld holstered his weapon.
Björk nodded. ‘That’s what it was supposed to be. A chance to start a new life. An opportunity to be the person you couldn’t be with your past clinging to you. Björk was a free spirit, no longer bound by the tragedies of his past. And I wanted to bring that new beginning to others. People like Jonny who’d lost everything. Or like Louisa who didn’t know how to move beyond the trauma of her captivity. And all of it was in honour of Emma. She showed me who I should have been all along. But eventually some people from my past caught up with me.’
‘Sandu?’
‘He was still out for blood for what went down between Hermansson and Hedebrant. He wanted to be repaid his losses. And a place like this isn’t cheap. No matter how many vegetables we grow, the commune doesn’t pay for itself. The money from the drugs goes right back to the people who come to us for help.’
‘We found evidence that Maja had been at two of the crime scenes.’
The look on Björk’s face was pure shock. ‘That’s not possible. Maja is dead.’
‘They never found her body. Either she lived or someone is making it look like she did. Someone who, perhaps, would like to see you implicated in these deaths?’
The furrows in Björk’s brow deepened. He looked like a man straining to lift a heavy weight. But in the end, he merely lifted his shoulders in an exhausted shrug. ‘I don’t know what to tell you. But whatever it is you’re looking for, you’re not going to find it here. I never saw Maja again. And while there are people who may still have animosities towards me becaus
e of my former life, there’s nothing any of them could do to hurt me. The guilt I have for my family’s death is more painful than anything anyone else could ever threaten me with.’
Kjeld believed him. There was an honesty in Björk’s voice that couldn’t be faked. More than that, there was a look in his eyes. The shame. The guilt. It was a look he sometimes saw in himself when he stood in front of a mirror. This man might have been culpable in many things, but not in the deaths Kjeld was investigating.
Dammit. He was back to square one.
What if he was already too late? What if Tove was already dead?
Kjeld would never be able to live with himself if he failed to bring her back to Bengt alive.
He ran his fingers back through his hair. He had to think. What was he missing? What didn’t he see?
Kjeld glanced back to the photograph of Emma.
‘You look like a man who could also use a second chance,’ Björk said. ‘I don’t blame you for what happened to my daughter. I know it was an accident. And I can see in your face that you’ve also had to live with the pain of her death. Maybe other things, too.’
Kjeld picked up the framed photo. There was something else about the picture, apart from Emma, that caused the hair to stand up on the back of his neck. What was it?
‘If you ever wanted to leave your old life behind you and start anew, you would be welcome here.’
And then it struck Kjeld. He’d seen this photo before. No, not the photo itself. But another one similar to it.
He glanced up at Björk, his heart racing. ‘Is this your cabin?’
‘It was my father’s. I sold it shortly after Maja’s death. There didn’t seem to be a point in keeping it anymore. I used some of the money to open the respite.’ Björk paused. ‘Why?’
But Kjeld had already dropped the photo back on the desk and was rushing out the door. It was clear to him now that there was only one place Tove could be. One place for Maja to take her final revenge for her daughter’s death.
The motorway.
Chapter 67
Esme downed an entire glass of water and set it on the desk. Then she turned her back to the incident room whiteboard and focused on her team. ‘What have we got?’
Axel twirled a pen between his fingers as he spoke. ‘Preliminary results from the analysts in fingerprinting say that the prints on the doorknob to the studio match the one lifted from the knife at Daniel Santelmann’s house. They’re still going through the lot, but they said it’s a high probability that they match Maja Hassan.’
‘Any witnesses?’
Axel coughed, clearing his throat. ‘No one in the neighbourhood saw a woman or a little girl leave the building, but it’s not a high traffic area. I’ve been in contact with the dispatched technicians who are searching for nearby CCTV on the roads, hoping they might catch sight of them entering a vehicle, but so far no word back. Photos of Tove have been issued to all local law enforcement and we’ve issued an AMBER Alert, but as you know the National Police Authority just joined the European missing children network this past week so we’re not certain how effective it’s going to be. The system still has kinks that need working out. We’ve sent her photo to local media stations as well, just in case.’
‘What about a photo of Maja Hassan?’ Esme asked.
‘We’re having trouble tracking one down. She’s only mentioned by name in her daughter’s case file.’
Esme mentally cursed herself for not being more adamant about looking into the possible connections Kjeld might have to this elusive killer. She’d ignored her gut because she was afraid of making a mistake. She’d been so worried about proving to the team and the chief that she could lead an investigation that she’d failed to follow her instincts. This killer clearly had a more intimate connection to Kjeld than they’d realised. And if she hadn’t been worrying about her career or the distractions in her personal life she might have discovered that connection earlier. And now Tove was missing. Or worse.
Esme had joined the Gothenburg police as Kjeld’s partner just as his relationship with Bengt was beginning to crumble. She’d helped Kjeld out by watching Tove on numerous occasions while he tried to repair what remained of his marriage. It was one of the reasons their relationship improved as quickly as it had. Because Kjeld hadn’t liked her in the beginning. And, truth be told, the feeling had been mutual. They’d clashed on everything. It took a long time for them to find a method of communication that worked for them. Tove had inadvertently assisted in bringing them together as colleagues. Esme quickly grew close to the girl. Loved her, even. And the thought that something horrible could happen to her made Esme sick with guilt and rage.
‘What about the explosives used on Kjeld’s car?’
Axel shuffled through his paperwork. ‘The technicians are still combing through the mess, but they said it looked like a match to a string of homemade car bombs used by some gang members fifteen years ago. Apparently, there’d been a rash of them in Biskopsgården for a while. Police put it down to turf disputes due to the influx of immigrants in the area.’
‘Were those disputes drug-related?’ Esme asked.
‘I’m not sure. Most of the victims didn’t report it to the police.’ Axel spread the papers over his desk. ‘Hold up. There was a vehicle that was destroyed. The owner filed an official report. Let me pull it up on the system.’
Axel logged into the records system on the computer and typed in the file number. When it loaded on screen, his face flushed. ‘Shit.’
‘What is it?’ Esme leaned around the desk to get a look.
‘Tobias Hedebrant. Two months before his murder his car exploded in the street outside his house. He claimed Emil Hermansson was behind it.’
‘The man who shot him? With the bullet that matches the one that killed Andrea Nicolescu?’
Axel nodded. ‘And we received secondary confirmation from ballistics. The gun in the Hedebrant file is the same make and model as the one used to kill him and Andrea, but it’s definitely not the gun from either murder. As far as they can tell it hasn’t been fired recently. But they also insist that the original evidence bag and documentation hasn’t been tampered with.’
‘What are you saying?’ Esme asked.
‘The chain of custody is intact. It’s the same gun that Kjeld retrieved from Emma Hassan when they picked her up.’
‘So, she never had the actual gun from Hedebrant’s murder? Then who did?’
Axel shrugged. ‘Her mother? Assuming, of course, that she’s the one who murdered Andrea.’
‘No, it doesn’t make sense.’ Esme twisted a thick lock of her hair between her fingers. ‘The gun would have been tested by forensics and matched to the bullet that killed Tobias Hedebrant. That means it couldn’t be the same gun. Hermansson went to prison on the evidence of that firearm. The case had to be airtight for that to happen. Someone must have switched it out afterwards. Someone who was capable of forging the documents to make it look like the file hadn’t been looked at in years.’
Esme turned her attention back to the whiteboard. She looked at the list of names. Louisa. Andrea. Jonny. Daniel. Tove. And in between them Kjeld’s name, circled with a question mark, and an arrow leading to Maja Hassan and her daughter, Emma. Drug trafficking, serial murders, and the accidental death of a young girl. There was only one thing this could be. Revenge. But how did that help them find Maja?
The door to the incident room opened and Rhodin stepped inside, his face pale and sweaty. ‘I just got off the phone with the hospital. Sixten woke up. You’re not going to believe who he says stabbed him.’
Chapter 68
Kjeld climbed over the construction posts set up to prevent motorists from driving onto the closed-off section of the ramp. He’d already removed his service pistol and held it pointed low as he jogged around the curve of tarmac. The road was broken up in places where the construction crews had yet to finish paving the overhang exchange, but Kjeld kept to the edge near the rumble strip to
avoid the uneven terrain. It was still raining, but the bitter chill in the air told him snow was on its way. A brisk wind pushed against him and he thought he felt a few snowflakes dampen his cheeks. He hoped he was wrong. He hoped he wouldn’t find Tove up there near the guardrail. Or worse, discover that he was too late and his daughter had already met a fate similar to Emma.
When Kjeld came around the curve in the road, he caught a glimpse of two figures. One upright and tall. The other small and shivering, the pink cast on her arm drooping, the weight of which had been made heavier by the earlier rain. He raised his weapon and slowed his pace on approach. There was no way to hide from view. They both saw him coming. But that made no difference. As soon as Kjeld saw them he knew he was expected.
‘Daddy!’ Tove yelled. She tried to rush forward but a hand caught her shoulder from behind, pulling her backwards.
‘I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it.’
Kjeld aimed his weapon at the woman who held back his daughter. She, too, had a gun raised, pointed directly at Tove’s rain-matted head.
Kjeld’s heart skipped a beat. The muscles in his forearms tensed. And he found himself having to forcibly hold back his quick-tempered rage.
‘Alice,’ he said, his tone steadier than his hand.
Alice laughed. ‘You don’t sound surprised.’
‘Would you prefer I call you Maja?’
Alice shuddered, her face stricken with hate at the sound of that name. ‘Maja Hassan is dead.’
‘Is she? Because from where I’m standing, she just appears to have changed her appearance some.’
Alice laughed. ‘How did you know it was me?’
‘Your husband.’
‘Jan-Erik? That dim-witted fool? How did he put it together?’
‘He didn’t. But he had a photograph of Emma at the commune. In the photo she’s standing in front of the Hassan family summer cabin.’ Kjeld cast a quick sidelong glance to Tove before refocusing on Alice. Despite the cold, a bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. ‘The same cabin you have a photo of in your office.’