“That you love me. But only if you mean it.”
“I love you,” he said, tired. “And I mean it. Do you want me to say sorry, too?”
“No, that’s not what I mean,” she said, reaching her hand toward him. “But sometimes it feels as if I don’t know you.”
“You know me better than anyone else.”
“Why did you lie about being at work?”
Philip met her gaze, leaned forward and squeezed her warm hand.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I really don’t know. It’s all just so damn exhausting.”
“What else have you lied about?”
* * *
Henrik Levin laid his hand on the cold door handle and let it rest there for a moment.
The house in Borg was red with white trim at the corners. All the windows were dark, and the drive was covered in gravel. There was a mailbox in a hole in the fence. It was filled with mail and advertisements.
“Someone has been here recently,” he said, pointing to the shoe prints visible in the flower bed under one of the windows.
“Who called it in?” Mia asked, looking at the tracks.
“A neighbor. She came here with a cat she saw rubbing around her house, which she knew belonged to the woman living here. That’s when she...well, discovered the victim.”
“So, these could be the neighbor’s footprints?”
“They look a bit too large to be a woman’s,” he said, pushing the door handle down. “But we’ll have to see what Anneli says.”
The door swung open, and they stepped in.
They heard voices in the house. Anneli Lindgren stood against a door, camera around her neck, talking with a colleague. Several thick winter coats hung in the hallway.
They walked into the kitchen, noting the flowers on the wallpaper, the long, narrow wooden table, the Windsor-style chairs and the braided rug.
The bedroom was surprisingly large. A double bed with a purple spread was on the left, and several closets with mirrored doors lined the wall on the right. The different flooring stood witness to two rooms that had been merged into one. One wall featured three windows in a row, all with the blinds closed, yet the room was as bright as a stage. Anneli had placed several floodlights on the floor and directed them toward the woman sitting on the chair.
“You were right,” Mia said to Henrik. “This is some fucking sight.”
“Yes...”
It looked like the blood had come from the woman’s face and head, then had run down over her shirt, over her pants and onto the floor. But it was difficult to make out what exactly had happened. Her head was bowed down to her chest, and her long, dark hair covered her face and large parts of the bloody gray shirt. Her arms and legs were tied to the chair with zip ties.
“It’s the same MO, the same perpetrator...” Henrik said.
“Henriksson?” Mia asked. “But isn’t he in jail?”
Henrik shook his head.
“It may not be Henriksson. Depends on how long she’s been sitting here.”
He pulled on his plastic gloves, feeling his pulse increase as he slowly approached the woman. He reached out his hand, put one finger to her forehead and carefully pushed her head up until her face was visible.
The victim hadn’t yet been identified, but he assumed it was the woman on record as owning the house—Katarina Vinston.
Her gaping mouth was just a dark hole. He turned his eyes away for a brief moment.
“What is it?” Mia asked.
“Her tongue has been cut out.”
“What the fuck did you say? Really?”
“Yes.”
Henrik looked around the scene as if expecting it to be chaotic, but he verified that everything seemed to be in its place. The perpetrator must have been in control and done the deed very methodically, he thought. But what had made him cut this woman’s tongue out?
“They say that those who lie get their tongue cut out,” he said aloud. “And those who have their hands cut off are thieves.”
“You’re thinking of Shirin?” Mia asked.
“Yes.”
“But what do Shirin and this woman have in common?”
“That’s just it...” he said. “I don’t know. But this is the same perpetrator, without a doubt. The MO, how the victim is placed, the chair, the zip ties...”
“Yes?”
“Someone is sending a message, trying to tell us something.”
* * *
It was warm in her office after the sunny morning. Jana pressed the send button on her new cell phone, letting all of her contacts know that she had a new number. She then pulled the SIM card out of her old phone and broke the phone in half. She would throw the battery and the rest of the phone into different garbage cans. The idea that Danilo used it to set up a meeting made her furious. How dumb can a person be? Or he didn’t care.
That he was now also forcing her to plant false evidence had given her a serious headache.
She sat at her desk in front of her computer and rubbed her temple with her fingertips to get the pain to subside.
It did sometimes happen that a perpetrator would place personal belongings, like a glove, receipt or wristwatch, in different locations to divert attention and buy time.
She needed to find a place where no one would raise an eyebrow at a dirty, strange man who didn’t identify himself. A homeless shelter, of course.
She googled shelters in Östergötland. She looked south in areas like Borensberg, Mjölby and Skänninge, but in the end decided on Motala.
It was completely possible that a person on the run would be able to hide at a shelter, and Motala had multiple shelters and transitional housing for the homeless and for migrants from within the EU.
The first shelter she clicked on had strict requirements that guests lock their doors and remain in their rooms between eleven o’clock at night and six in the morning. It didn’t sound like a place for a man on the run.
The second shelter was located in a school. But just a few weeks ago, the building had been ravaged by fire and the reconstruction was just starting.
The third alternative seemed just right. It was a shelter located in an old industrial area about a mile from downtown. A community college, museum and cultural center were nearby.
Jana scrolled through the pictures of the building, looking at the hallways, stairwell landings and doors as she considered the challenge she was just about to take on. And the freedom she hoped to gain afterward, when she had gotten rid of Danilo and gotten her possessions back.
This might work, she thought.
This has to work.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
MIA BOLANDER STEPPED into the conference room and closed the door behind her. Everyone except Anneli Lindgren was there: Gunnar Öhrn, Henrik Levin, Ola Söderström... Jana Berzelius was in charge.
Mia sank down onto a chair and avoided Jana’s gaze by examining the map of Norrköping hanging on one of the long walls of the rectangular room. Next to the map hung photos from the crime scene investigation in Eneby. In one of the photos, Shirin’s body was visible.
On the other long wall, there were photos of her daughters, Aida and Sara. And a photo of Ted Henriksson.
“It has just been confirmed that the woman in Borg is Katarina Vinston,” Henrik said, turning first to Jana. Then he turned to Ola.
“Can you...”
Ola pulled his computer toward him and enlarged the photo of the woman tied to the chair.
“Katarina Vinston, forty-four years old, born and raised in Eskilstuna,” Henrik said. “She was trained as a paramedic in Stockholm and worked for many years on an emergency medical helicopter before transferring to ambulance work in Norrköping. No intimate relationships as far as we know. Her parents still live in Eskilstuna. One s
ibling, a younger brother who lives in Lund.”
Everyone examined the photo.
“And as you see,” Henrik continued, “Katarina’s body is positioned in the same manner as Shirin. They were both tied to a chair using the same type of tie.”
“Yes,” Gunnar said, scratching his scalp hard several times. “Here the tongue was severed and with Shirin, the hands...”
“But aside from that gruesome detail,” Jana said, “what else do they have in common?”
The room fell silent while the photos of the two women were displayed.
“They’re both in their forties,” Mia said.
“They work in health care,” Ola volunteered.
“And Ted Henriksson?” Jana said. “Could he be the common denominator?”
Everyone turned their eyes to the wall where the picture of Henriksson’s face looked back at them. The glossy, black hair, the white teeth. And the look that made him seem pleasant.
“You and Jana both questioned him, Henrik,” Gunnar said. “What do you think?”
“Now everything has taken on a different order of magnitude,” Henrik said. “But I was already skeptical of the idea that he was the one who had cut Shirin’s hands off. He doesn’t quite fit...”
“Wait a minute, now,” Mia said, putting her hand in the air. “He does have a history of violence and is in the system. He’s said that he had a relationship with Shirin. And he has as much as admitted that he’d been rough with her.”
“Definitely,” Henrik said. “But still. Chopping off hands and cutting out tongues. That kind of mutilation is in a whole other league.”
Gunnar said, “Still, Mia has a point. Henriksson is our main lead at this point...”
“We could check dating sites,” Ola said. “Maybe that’s how he’s meeting these women...”
“Fuck,” Mia said. “Think there are any more single women out there that he’s done this to? That we don’t even know about yet?”
“Henriksson is at least still being held,” Jana said. “So if it is him, at least for the time being there won’t be any more victims.”
“But do we have any time line here?” Gunnar asked.
“This latest victim died approximately twenty-four hours before we found her,” Jana said.
“Yesterday morning. Since Henriksson wasn’t brought in until last evening, he could very well have been at her house,” Gunnar said.
“What size shoe does he wear, by the way?” Mia said. “We found clear footprints in the flower bed outside the house.”
“We’ll check on that,” Jana said.
“We also found a man’s wedding ring beside Katarina’s bed,” Mia said, “so she must have had some sort of relationship.”
“What did the ring look like?”
“It was a typical gold band, completely smooth. It’s inscribed with ‘An extraordinary Tuesday in the Archipelago 2012.’”
“Good,” Jana said. “And while we’re waiting for responses, let’s go through Henriksson’s background. What connection, if any, does he have to this victim? Have they met, dated, chatted online...you know.”
“We know,” Mia said.
“Apparently they both worked in the health-care industry...” Henrik said, looking at the papers he had in front of him. “I see that they both worked at Vrinnevi. Katarina Vinston as a paramedic and Shirin Norberg as a surgery nurse. That may factor in...”
“Possibly,” Gunnar said. “Maybe he has a weakness for women in health care. Check that, too.”
* * *
His eyelids were heavy, but he forced himself to stay awake. The pattern on the wallpaper appeared to move, the small white stripes pulled together and drew apart.
Philip Engström sat on the sofa in his living room as Sandra Gustafsson’s voice droned on and on from his cell phone. He had stopped listening long ago, couldn’t understand anything more after he heard her say that Katarina was found dead, tied to a chair, in her home.
He didn’t believe what she was telling him. Why should he, really? Sandra, who let him sleep in the ambulance. Who then threatened to report him to his superiors. Who nagged, nagged, nagged. Why should he believe her?
What sort of fucking joke was this? Katarina wasn’t dead. She was alive, of course she was alive; she had to be alive. He needed her in his life. She couldn’t be dead. It couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t be.
With trembling hands, he pushed two pills out onto the table.
“Are you there, Philip?” Sandra asked.
“Yes,” he finally said.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“That I’ve felt better.”
“Yes, it’s terrible,” she said. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No.”
Philip poked the round tablets on the table with his finger.
“I’ve talked with the boss. You and Katarina worked together for many years. We understand if you need to stay home tonight. Someone else can take your night shift.”
“No,” Philip said. “I’m coming in to work.”
“You’re not listening to what I’m saying.”
“Of course I am.”
“You’re in no condition to work.”
“I think I’m the one to decide that, not you. You’re not my boss.”
“But Eva asked me to call.”
“So you’ve talked to her about me?”
He could hear her irritation growing.
“Both she and I only want the best for you,” she said. “We understand that you feel bad about this, everyone understands that you feel bad about this.”
“I said that I’ve felt better, not that I feel bad.”
He heard her swallow. He raised his gaze and saw a pale light streaming in through the window that faced the street.
“I’m really getting angry now,” she said.
“Don’t get angry.”
“But what should I say to Eva?”
Philip tried to speak calmly but was having a hard time controlling himself.
“Tell it like it is,” he said. “That I’m coming to work.”
“I’m just concerned about you,” she said.
“You know you’re treating me like a child.”
“But you’re so...so...”
She swallowed hard before continuing.
“...so bullheaded.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“I’ll let Eva know, then,” she said quietly.
“Good,” he said, ending the call. The display went dark. The black screen reflected his face. He was completely white.
Was Katarina really dead?
The thought was impossible to grasp. He couldn’t comprehend the world, couldn’t comprehend anything right now.
Philip put down his phone and then, in a rage, swept the pills from the table, put his hands over his ears, pressed as hard as he could and screamed loudly.
* * *
She found a vacant space at the top of the parking ramp. Jana Berzelius parked and got out of the car. The stench of exhaust and dried urine hit her immediately.
She took the stairs down to the street level and looked at all of the silent people moving around in the bustling commerce of Drottninggatan. The chain boutiques attracted customers with sales, and the cafés tempted shoppers with coffee, sandwiches and baked goods. As she crossed the street, she heard a man playing guitar and a child crying.
A garbage can rattled as she tossed the last parts of her old cell phone into it.
She went into the Linden shopping mall, rode the escalator to the second floor and went into a clothing store. Throughout her short walk, she had felt a certain calm, but now as she entered the men’s department, she felt the tension return. Jana knew exactly how to sever a person’s jugular, but she had never bo
ught clothing for a man.
“May I help you?”
She turned her head and saw a man with slicked-back hair and a high forehead.
“Yes,” she said. “I need to buy an outfit for a man who is about six feet tall. Shirt and pants.”
“Okay...?” he said in surprise. “Any particular color you were thinking of?”
“No.”
“Should it be business or casual wear?”
“Casual.”
“Can I trouble you for the size?”
“What size are you?” she said.
“Small.”
“Medium, then.”
The salesman began looking through clothes on the shelves; Jana wished he would hurry up. Maybe she should have told him that she was in a rush, that she had to get to a meeting or had only a few minutes left on her parking meter.
“There we go,” he said, finally. “What do you think? Will these items work for your husband?”
Jana cast a quick glance at the dark blue long-sleeved sweater, and beige chinos.
“Yes, that’ll be fine,” she said, reaching into her pocket for cash.
“Jana?” came a familiar voice from behind her.
When she wheeled around, she was met by Per Åström’s smile.
No, she thought. Not Per, not now, not here.
“Doing some Saturday shopping?”
She bit her lip.
“For my father,” she said quickly, meeting the annoying gaze of the salesman. “He needs new clothes. He spills easily, as you might guess, and it’s hard to get the spots out, so...”
Per nodded slowly.
“You don’t need to explain,” he said. “I believe you...”
“That will be two hundred sixty-two even,” said the salesman.
Jana counted the bills and held them out.
“And what are you doing here?” she asked.
“Johan Klingsberg and I had lunch after tennis, and I thought I’d buy a new suit.”
She took her change and glanced quickly at her wristwatch.
“You seem stressed,” Per said.
“I have a meeting and have to go now,” she said.
“Do you want these clothes gift-wrapped?” the salesman asked.
“No,” she said. “Put everything in one bag.”
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