Unseen ak-1

by Mari Jungstedt

  Johan gave a start. “A dead dog? Can you tell us more about that?”

  “Yes, apparently there was a dog that was killed. The head had been cut off, and it was quite horrible,” she lamented, shaking her head.

  Johan and Peter exchanged glances. This was something new.

  “Did the dog belong to the woman?” asked Johan.

  “Yes, apparently she went everywhere with that dog. That’s what the police said when they were here.”

  Half an hour later Johan and Peter left the farm. By then they had Svea Johansson’s account on videotape.

  Emma Winarve was hot and sweaty. She had a disgusting taste in her mouth and a knot of fear in her stomach. The nightmare still had a grip on her. She and Helena were walking on the beach together, as they had done so many times before. Helena walked on a short distance ahead. Emma called to her to wait but received no reply. Then she picked up her pace and called Helena again. Her friend still did not turn around. Emma tried to run but made no headway. Her feet lifted off the ground in slow motion, and even though she tried as hard as she could, she didn’t get any closer. She never caught up with Helena, and she woke up with a shout.

  Angrily she kicked off Olle’s blanket, which had slipped onto her side of the bed on top of her own, making her much too hot. She felt like crying, but she shook off the feeling and instead got out of bed. Sunlight was filtering through the thin cotton curtains, and it lit up the big, airy bedroom.

  She had stayed home from work even though there were only two days left until the end of the school year and she had a lot to do. She didn’t want to leave her pupils in the lurch, but she just couldn’t bear to see them at the moment. From home she would try to take care of all the last-minute preparations before school closed for the summer. The principal understood. The shock. The grief. Emma and Helena. Helena and Emma. They had been the best of friends.

  Mechanically she went through her usual morning routine. The shower water sprayed against her warm body, but it didn’t feel refreshing. Her skin was a thick shell, far away from all that was inside her. The contact between her exterior and interior had been broken.

  Olle had taken the children to school before he went to work. He offered to stay home, but Emma had firmly declined this suggestion; she wanted to be alone. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater and went out to the kitchen in her bare feet. She frequently went barefoot in the house, even in winter. After a cup of strong coffee and a couple of pieces of toast, she began feeling a little better, but the sense of unreality swirled inside her. How could this have happened? Her best friend murdered on the beach, where they had played in the sand with buckets and shovels; where they had held horse races when they were horse-crazy twelve-year-olds; where they had walked as teenagers, discussing their problems; and where they had ridden motorbikes and gotten drunk for the first time. She had even lost her virginity on that beach.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. It was Detective Superintendent Knutas.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, but it would be good if we could have a little talk as soon as possible. I also wanted to tell you that Per Bergdal was arrested this morning. Would it be all right if I come out to see you after lunch?”

  Emma felt chilled. Per, arrested? That couldn’t be possible. The police must know everything about the fight, she thought.

  “Why was he arrested?”

  “There are several reasons, which I can tell you about when we meet.”

  Shocked and confused as she was, she didn’t want any police officer in the middle of her private hell. It would be better to meet on neutral ground.

  “Could we meet at the police station? Around two o’clock?”

  “That would be fine. As I said, I’m sorry I have to disturb you, but it’s important,” Knutas repeated.

  “That’s okay,” she said in a toneless voice.

  Knutas took a gulp of coffee from the china mug decorated with the emblem of the local AIK soccer team, a present from his brother. It infuriated his colleague Erik Sohlman, who had been a fan of the archrival Djurgarden team since birth.

  He glanced at the clock on the wall. Quarter to twelve. His stomach growled. He hadn’t gotten enough sleep, and he always had to compensate for that by eating. Soon it would finally be time for lunch.

  The investigative team had gathered to go over what had been uncovered so far. The prosecuting attorney was also present.

  The room was hot and stuffy. Wittberg opened the window facing the police station parking lot. Rays of sunlight played tag among the light green foliage of the trees. The Swedish flag flapped and fluttered in the wind. A truck filled with bellowing high school graduates wearing white student caps drove past over on Birkagatan. It was the end of the school year and a national holiday, and here they sat indoors, talking about what was probably the worst murder ever to occur on Gotland.

  “We’re here to sum up the situation,” Knutas began. “Helena Hillerstrom was murdered sometime between 8:30 A.M. and 12:30 P.M. yesterday. The shoe tracks, the blood, and the dragging marks down from the beach indicate that the murder was committed near Gustavs, the Baptist summer camp. Which means that the body was not transported there from somewhere else. The preliminary report from the medical examiner says that she died from extensive trauma to the head. The nature of the head wounds indicates that they’re the result of blows from a sharp-edged weapon, presumably an axe. The body was also subjected to numerous blows from the axe. In addition, the perpetrator stuffed her panties into her mouth. Helena Hillerstrom was found naked. We don’t know yet whether she was raped or not. There are no outward signs of sexual assault, nofr were any of the blows directed at her sexual organs. The body is being taken to the forensic medicine lab in Solna. It will take a few days before we have a preliminary autopsy report. The panties were sent to SCL for analysis. No trace of semen was found on the body or the panties, at least not any that the techs could discover. We’ll have to wait and see what the results of the analysis are. Her other clothing has not been found.”

  “What about the murder weapon?” asked Wittberg.

  “That’s gone, too,” interjected Sohlman. “We’ve searched the area where the body was found. Nothing special turned up except for a few cigarette butts that have also been sent to SCL. We’ve interviewed witnesses in the vicinity, but no one saw anything, no one heard anything. The only real clues we have so far are the shoe prints. The same prints show up both on the beach and in the forest grove. A running shoe of unknown manufacture, size 11?. They had to belong to the perpetrator.”

  Sohlman stood up. With some difficulty he unrolled a map and fastened it to the wall. It was a map of the beach at Gustavs and the surrounding area. Sohlman wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief and pointed out the scene of the crime.

  “This is where the body was found. The tracks show that the victim walked in this direction along the shore. Then she must have turned around and walked back the same way. At the other end of the beach, meaning where she started out, the grass has been trampled down. It looks as if that’s where he stood waiting for her. He may have known which way she would walk and then intercepted her before she could reach the road. There are no tire tracks, so the killer must have been on foot. He most likely murdered her there. The bloodstains on the ground indicate as much. Then he dragged the body over to the grove.”

  “What about the dog?” asked Karin Jacobsson.

  “It must have been disposed of first. According to the boyfriend, it was an alert and excellent watchdog, who always kept close to Helena, ready to protect her. The dog was struck on the head and the neck with an axe. The head was practically severed. One paw was also chopped off. We can only wonder why.”

  The others stirred uneasily. Jacobsson grimaced.

  “How many people knew she was here on the island?” asked Norrby.

  “About thirty or so, if I’ve counted correctly,” said Jacobsson as she leafed through her notes
. “Her family, her work colleagues and a couple of friends in Stockholm, her friend Emma Winarve, the closest neighbors, and the people who were at the party, of course.”

  “What leads you to believe that it could be the boyfriend?” Wittberg asked, turning to the prosecuting attorney.

  “A fight erupted between him and Helena at the party, and it ended with him slapping her,” replied Smittenberg. “He was jealous. She was apparently dancing with an old school friend, Kristian Nordstrom. In Bergdal’s view, Kristian was groping Helena, and she let him do it. He pulled Helena outside, they started fighting, and he slapped her. He in turn was scratched and bitten by Helena. The fight lasted only a couple of minutes. Then Nordstrom came out to talk to Bergdal, and he got punched, too. The other friends intervened, so it never turned into a real fistfight. They say that everything was calm when they left the house. Bergdal was asleep, and Helena had also gone to bed and was even lying next to him. The most serious strikes against him are that he was the last one to see her alive and the fact that they had a fight on the night preceding the murder. I view that as sufficient grounds for arrest, as things now stand. On the other hand, in order to charge him with a crime, I need something more. If you don’t come up with any new evidence, such as some sort of forensic proof, we’ll have to let him go. You’ve got two days.”

  “What do we know about Helena?” asked Jacobsson. “What was her life like?”

  Knutas glanced down at his notebook. “Helena seems to have led an ordinary life. She was born on July 5, 1966, so she was thirty-four years old. She would have been thirty-five next month. Born and raised on Gotland. Her whole family moved to Stockholm in 1986, when Helena was twenty. They kept the summer cabin near Frojel, and they came to stay here several times a year. They used to spend every summer here. She was educated in computer science at Stockholm University, and she has worked for a computer company for the past three years. She had lots of friends. Before Bergdal, she seems not to have had any long-term love relationships. Never married or engaged. According to Bergdal, she once had something going with this Kristian who was at the party. That might also be complete nonsense. The boyfriend suffers from jealousy, as you know. None of the friends has been able to confirm that the story was true, and surely at least one of them ought to know something about it. We haven’t been able to interview Nordstrom yet because he flew to Copenhagen the day after the party. That’s where his parents live. I’ve talked to him on the phone, and he’s flying back here tomorrow.”

  “Does Helena Hillerstrom have any kind of record?” asked Wittberg.

  “No. The question now is how we should proceed. We’ll conduct more interviews with the people who were at the party. Above all, I want to talk to Kristian Nordstrom. Someone needs to go over to Stockholm and interview Helena’s family, colleagues, friends, and other people she knew. We should do that as soon as possible. We need to keep working with an open mind. It’s not at all certain that Bergdal is the killer. If he’s not the one, then we don’t know whether the murderer is on the island or whether he followed her here from the mainland. Or whether it’s someone she didn’t even know, someone she met by chance.”

  “I’d be happy to go to Stockholm,” said Jacobsson. “We need to talk to the people she knew as quickly as possible. I can leave this afternoon.”

  “Take someone with you. There’s a lot to be done in Stockholm, and plenty of people to interview. I’m sure you’ll have the assistance of the National Criminal Police over there, but I think two of you should go.”

  “I’ll go,” said Wittberg.

  Jacobsson gave him a grateful smile. “All right, that’s decided, then. By the way, we’re waiting to hear back from SCL. In the meantime, we need to map out Helena’s circle of acquaintances here on the island. Who did she spend time with when she was here? Aside from her best friend. We need to do another round of interviews with the neighbors. I’ll conduct a more intensive interview with Emma Winarve. What did Helena do on the days preceding the murder? Conversations on her cell phone? E-mail messages? The boyfriend says that they switched off their cell phones as soon as they got off the ferry. How do we go about searching for her clothes? We need to expand the area around the crime scene, both in terms of searching the area and talking to the neighbors. Those are what I see as the most pressing matters right now. Any comments?” Knutas concluded.

  No one had any objections, and so the tasks were divided up.

  After a late lunch, Johan and Peter went to the police station to do a supplemental interview with the superintendent. They wanted to have the new information about the dog confirmed before the story for the evening news was edited.

  Pulling open the glass door to the criminal department, Johan collided with a woman. She had shoulder-length sand-colored hair and dark eyes that glared at them. She said a curt hello and then walked away down the corridor with her bag over her shoulder-tall and attractive, wearing washed-out jeans and cowboy boots.

  “Who was that?” asked Johan even before greeting Knutas.

  “A friend of the murder victim,” replied the inspector briefly. “Come in.”

  Knutas sat down heavily behind his desk and said wearily, “So, what is it you want now? I’m very busy.”

  Johan dropped into one of the visitors’ chairs. He chose to get right to the point.

  “Why haven’t you said anything about the dog?”

  Knutas’s expression didn’t change. “What dog?”

  “The killer chopped off the head of the girl’s dog. It was found right near the body.”

  Red patches appeared on Knutas’s neck. “I can’t confirm that.”

  “What conclusions have you come to, based on this information?”

  “Since I can neither confirm nor deny what you’ve said, I can’t offer any conclusions, either.”

  “We’ve now heard from two different sources that she was killed with an axe. That part has already come out, and it’s in all the newspapers. Wouldn’t it be just as well for you to confirm it?”

  “It doesn’t matter how many sources you have, I’m not saying anything regarding the investigation. You’ll just have to accept that,” said Knutas, controlling his impatience.

  “In any case, I need to do another interview.”

  “Sure, but I’m not going to say any more than I already have. As far as the police are concerned, we’re not ready to divulge anything else at the moment. So far, the suspect has not been charged, and the prosecuting attorney has not submitted a request for indictment to the district court. For that reason, with regard to the investigation, we cannot confirm what you’ve said about the dog. It’s possible that the murderer is still on the loose, and if so, it’s important that sensitive information does not get out. I hope that you’ll show enough sense not to report anything about this but to wait until we know more,” said Knutas, giving them a stern look.

  After the interview, which had been quite tiresome for both parties, Johan and Peter hurried back to the office. They worked for a couple of hours, putting together three evening stories that differed enough from each other to satisfy the various editors at TV headquarters. Heaven forbid the news programs were too much alike.

  After consulting with Grenfors, they decided to report on the dead dog and include the interview with Svea Johansson. The information was considered relevant because it revealed something about the personality of the murderer. It was also deemed to be of interest for the viewers to hear what the sister of the man who found the body had to say.

  Grenfors was happy that they had managed to get an interview with the sister, who without hesitation had granted permission for the story to be broadcast on TV. When Johan warned her about the widespread impact of television, she merely said that this was how it happened, and there was no reason why people shouldn’t know what had taken place. The old woman should have been a journalist, thought Johan.

  When they were ready in the newsroom, he called Knutas and explained that they were going
to air the interview with Svea Johansson and that she had told them about the dog. He knew how important it was not to get on the wrong side of the police. That would make it more difficult for him to obtain any information in the future. Knutas did not get angry; he just seemed resigned. As compensation, Johan promised to say in his report that the police would be grateful to receive any tips from the public.

  They walked home in the mild early summer evening. Peter suggested taking a walk and having a bite to eat at an outdoor cafe instead of going straight back to the hotel.

  Johan knew Gotland well. He had spent numerous summers on the island, mostly on bicycle vacations when that was a big fad back in the eighties and practically everybody had to go bicycling on Gotland in the summertime-families, school classes, teenagers, and couples newly in love. He wondered why it wasn’t popular anymore. The island was still just as well suited to bike riding, with its flat terrain, the flower-filled roadsides, and the long sandy shores along the roads.

  They walked down to Strandgatan and continued through an opening in the wall and out to Almedalen, a big open square with park benches, fountains, grassy spaces, and a stage that had been constructed for the politicians who usually gave speeches there during the week traditionally devoted to politics in July. In the summertime the park was filled with sunbathing tourists and families with children.

  Right now it was deserted. Johan and Peter walked through the park and then made a circuit of the harbor, where the wind was blowing in from the sea. The harbor was almost empty of boats. Most of the outdoor cafes and restaurants were still closed. In two or three weeks they would be nearly full every evening.

  The town took on quite a different look when it wasn’t overflowing with hordes of tourists. Johan and Peter climbed up Kyrktrappan to see the picturesque buildings on Klinten. Visby was spread out before them, with a maze of houses, old ruins, and narrow lanes all compressed inside the ring wall, and the sea in the background.