by Lars Kepler
Perhaps it was a coincidence, but maybe he did not want to run into her.
Björn had hurried in, met the child sitting on the stairs with no time to speak to her, explaining he just had to pick something up, and had only stayed a few minutes.
Perhaps Björn did pick up something, just as he told the little girl. Perhaps he’d forgotten the key to the boat or something else that fit in a pocket.
Perhaps he left something behind instead. Perhaps he only had to take a look at something or make sure of a piece of information or write down a telephone number.
Joona walks into the kitchen and looks around.
“Have you checked the fridge?” he asks.
A young man with a goatee looks up, surprised, at Joona.
“Are you hungry?” he asks in a strong Dalarna accent.
“It’s a good place to hide something,” Joona replies drily.
“We haven’t gotten to it yet,” the investigator says.
Joona returns to the living room. He notes that Saga is still off in a corner of the room talking on her cell. Tommy Kofoed is placing a strip of tape with picked-up fibers onto OH film. He looks up.
“Finding anything unexpected?” Joona asks.
“Besides a shoe print on the wall?”
“Nothing else?”
“The important stuff is at the lab in Linköping.”
“Can we get their results in a week?”
“If we give them enough hell, sure,” Tommy says, shrugging. “Right now I’m going to look at the cut from the knife blade and make a mold of the edge.”
“Don’t bother,” Joona says.
“So you were able to see the blade? Was it carbon steel?”
“No, the blade was a lighter color. Perhaps sintered tungsten carbide. Some people prefer it. But, actually, nothing’s going to really help.”
“What won’t help?”
“This entire crime scene investigation,” Joona says. “We won’t find DNA or fingerprints. Nothing will lead to the suspect.”
“So what should we do?”
“I believe the killer came for something here. And I believe he was interrupted before he could find it.”
“So maybe it’s still here?”
“Entirely possible,” Joona replies.
“But you have no idea what it could be.”
“It fits inside a book.”
Joona’s granite eyes meet Kofoed’s brown ones. Göran Stone from Säpo is photographing the bathroom door, the edges of the door, the frame, and the hinges. Then he sits down on the floor to photograph the bathroom’s white ceiling. Joona reaches to open the living-room door, about to ask Göran to take a photo of the magazines in the living room, when the flash goes off. The brightness startles him. Things go black for a second. Four white points prick the darkness and then a light blue iridescent palm print emerges. Then they’re gone. Joona looks around, unable to determine where they’d been.
“Göran!” Joona calls loudly, his voice penetrating through the thick glass door. “Take another picture right there!”
Everyone freezes in the apartment. The man by the outer door shoots Joona a curious look. The tech guy with a Dalarna accent sticks his head into the hallway from the kitchen. Tommy Kofoed takes off his face mask and scratches his neck. Göran Stone is still sitting on the floor, now looking very interested.
“Like you did just now,” Joona says. “Take a photo of the ceiling.”
Göran shrugs and lifts his camera to take another photo of the bathroom ceiling. There’s a flash, and Joona’s pupils shrink in protest. Tears come to his eyes. He closes them and still sees a black triangle. He realizes that it is a glass pane in the door transformed into a negative image.
The middle of the square shows four white spots and next to them floats a light blue palm print.
He knew that’s what he’d seen.
Joona blinks and walks close to the door. The remains of four pieces of tape form a square, and right next to it is the palm print.
Tommy Kofoed steps up next to him.
“A handprint,” he says.
“Can you lift it?” Joona asks.
“Göran,” Kofoed says. “We need a picture of this.”
Göran gets up and is humming as he stands by the door, camera ready. He peers at the handprint.
“Yes, somebody was here and wasn’t too clean either,” he says contentedly as he takes four pictures.
Then Göran moves aside and waits as Tommy Kofoed treats the palm print with cyanoacrylate to bind the salt and moisture. Then he uses Basic Yellow 40.
Göran waits a moment and then takes two more pictures.
“Now we got you!” Kofoed whispers to the print as he carefully lifts it with a stiff sheet of plastic.
“Can you check it out right away?” Joona asks.
Tommy Kofoed carries the print to the kitchen. Joona remains behind to inspect the pieces of tape left on the glass pane. Caught under one is the torn corner of a piece of paper. Whoever left the palm print had no time to be careful but just ripped the paper free.
Joona takes a closer look at the ripped corner. It’s not normal paper, he realizes immediately. It’s shiny paper—the kind photographs are printed on.
A special photograph had been taped up here to be looked at over and over. Then someone was in such a hurry, they couldn’t take the time to be careful but just ran up to the door, leaned on the glass with one hand, and ripped the photo off with the other.
“Björn,” Joona says.
Björn came here to get this photograph. He wasn’t holding his stomach because he had a stomachache but because he was hiding a photograph underneath his jacket.
Joona turns his head to the side so he can study the palm print in the reflection. He can barely make out the thin lines of the palm.
The papillary lines of a human’s palm or fingers will never change or grow old and are totally individual. Compared to DNA, even the fingerprints of identical twins differ.
Quick steps come stamping up behind him.
“Stop whatever you’re doing right now, damn it!” Saga Bauer snarls. “This is my investigation! You’re not even fucking supposed to be here!”
“I only want to—”
“Shut the fuck up, Joona Linna!” she shouts. “I was on the phone with Petter Näslund! There’s nothing for you to do here and you don’t even have permission to be here!”
“I know. I’ll leave soon,” he says soothingly as he turns his gaze back to the glass pane.
“Damn it, Joona!” she says, but curiosity has taken over a bit and her voice is calmer. “You can’t just come in here and start messing with pieces of tape!”
“There was a photograph taped to the glass,” he answers, unperturbed. “Someone has pulled it off. Leaned over to steady himself with his hand while he pulled off this photograph.”
She still looks at him with irritation, and Joona notices a white scar that cuts straight through her left eyebrow.
“I am perfectly capable of running this investigation,” she reiterates with clenched teeth.
“Chances are the print came from Björn Almskog,” Joona replies as he starts toward the kitchen.
“Wrong direction, Joona.”
He ignores her and walks right in.
“This is my investigation!” she yells futilely at his back.
The technicians have set up a work station in the middle of the room. Two chairs, a table with a computer on it, a scanner, and a printer. Tommy Kofoed is standing behind Göran Stone, who is connecting his camera to the computer. They’ve entered the palm print and are doing the initial fingerprint comparison.
Saga comes in right behind Joona.
“What do you see?” Joona asks them, not paying attention to Saga.
“Don’t you speak to him!” Saga says quickly.
Tommy Kofoed looks up. “Don’t be ridiculous, Saga,” he says. “Sorry, this isn’t our guy. This is from the boyfriend, Almskog.”
“Lucky he’s already in the suspect register,” Göran Stone says.
“What do you have on him?” Joona asks.
“Rioting and harming an officer,” Göran replies.
“The worst kind of criminal,” Tommy jokes. “He probably took part in a demonstration.”
“You think that’s funny,” Göran growls. “Not everyone on the force finds left-wing shenanigans and sabotage amusing.”
“Speak for yourself,” Kofoed replies.
“The search-and-rescue effort speaks for itself,” Göran says with a grin.
“What’s that all about?” Joona asks. “I haven’t been able to follow the operation—what’s happened?”
27
the extremists
When Joona Linna slams open the office door, Carlos Eliasson, head of CID, jumps and dumps too much fish food into the aquarium.
“Why is there no ground search?” Joona demands harshly. “There are two lives at stake and we don’t have any boats out looking?”
“The maritime police make their own decisions, as you well know,” Carlos replies coolly. “They’ve covered the area by helicopter and have decided that the two are either dead or they don’t want to be found … neither of which demands an all-out rush to search further.”
“They have something the killer wants to get his hands on and I actually believe—”
“It’s useless to guess, Joona. We don’t know what happened. Säpo happens to believe these two young people have gone underground and by now could be on a train to Amsterdam—”
“Cut it out,” Joona says forcefully. “You can’t listen to Säpo when—”
“It’s their case.”
“Why? Why is it their case? Björn Almskog has no criminal record at all unless it’s become a felony to disturb the peace! These accusations mean absolutely nothing! Nothing at all!”
“I was talking to Verner Zandén and he’s already told me that Fernandez has some connections to left-wing extremist groups.”
“That may be so, but I’m absolutely certain there’s more going on here. This murder is about something else entirely.”
“Of course! Of course you’re absolutely certain!” Carlos yells back.
“I can’t put my finger on it yet, but the killer I met in Penelope’s apartment was a real pro and not some kind of—”
“Säpo believes that Penelope and Björn were planning some kind of sabotage.”
“You’re telling me that Penelope is a terrorist?” Joona asks, incredulous. “Have you read what she’s written? She’s a complete pacifist.”
“Yesterday a member of the Brigade was caught by Säpo as he was making his way to Penelope’s apartment.”
“I have no idea what kind of organization the Brigade is supposed to be.”
“It’s a militant movement on the left, loosely connected to the Antifascist Faction and the Revolutionary Front, but it’s freewheeling. They’re close to the ideology of the Red Army Faction and want to be as operative as Mossad.”
“Though you know that’s not true,” Joona says.
“Maybe you don’t want it to be true, but so what?” Carlos says. “Meanwhile, we will search further for those two. We’re going to chart the currents and determine the direction the boat was drifting so we can start dragging the water or maybe send some divers down.”
“Well, good,” Joona mutters.
“All that’s left is to decide if or why they were killed, or else why they went into hiding.”
Joona opens the door to the hallway. He stops and turns toward Carlos again. “What happened to that man from the Brigade?”
“He was released,” Carlos answers.
“Did they find out why he was there?” Joona asks.
“He was just dropping by.”
“Dropping by.” Joona sighs. “That’s all Säpo found out?”
“You are not going to start investigating the Brigade,” Carlos says with new worry in his voice. “I hope you understand me?”
Joona leaves and pulls out his cell as he strides down the hallway. Behind him, he can hear Carlos yelling “That’s an order!” and “Don’t tread on Säpo’s toes!” Joona keeps going. He finds Nathan Pollock’s number.
Nathan picks up.
“What do you know about the Brigade?” asks Joona as the elevator doors open.
“Säpo has been trying to infiltrate and keep an eye on all the militant left-wing groups in Stockholm, Gothenburg, and Malmö for the past few years. I don’t think the Brigade is all that dangerous, but Säpo seems to believe they have weapons and explosives. At any rate, most of their members have been to reform school and have been convicted of violent crimes.”
The elevator is rushing down.
“From what I understand, Säpo hauled someone in for trying to enter Penelope Fernandez’s apartment. Someone with a direct connection to the Brigade.”
“His name is Daniel Marklund,” Nathan replies. “He belongs to the inner circle.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Not much,” Nathan answers. “He has a suspended sentence for vandalism and hacking.”
“Why Penelope’s place?”
The elevator stops and the doors open.
“Don’t know. He had no weapon,” Nathan tells him. “Demanded a lawyer when we started asking questions. He answered nothing and was let go later the same day.”
“So we know nothing.”
“Nothing.”
“Where can I find him?” Joona asks.
“He has no home address. According to Säpo, he lives with other members of the inner circle at the Brigade’s main headquarters near Zinkensdamm.”
28
the brigade
While Joona Linna walks purposefully to the garage underneath Rådhus Park, he thinks about Disa, and desire for her wells up from deep within him. He wants to touch her slender arms, smell her soft hair. He finds a strange kind of peace listening to her talk about her archaeological discoveries: shards of bone not connected to any crime and the remains of humans who finished their lives many centuries ago.
Joona decides to call her. He’s been much too busy lately. He continues down into the garage and between the parked cars. There’s a flicker of movement behind one of the concrete pillars. Someone is waiting beside his Volvo. The figure is partially hidden by a garbage truck—he can almost make it out. Nothing can be heard over the loud racket from the large fans.
“That was fast!” Joona yells.
“Teleporting,” replies Nathan Pollock.
Joona stops, closes his eyes, and presses his fingers against his temples.
“Headache?”
“I haven’t been sleeping much.”
They get into the car and close the doors. Joona turns the ignition key and a tango by Astor Piazzolla comes from the speakers. Pollock turns the volume up a bit: it sounds like two violins echoing each other.
“You didn’t get this from me, you know,” Nathan says.
“Right.”
“I’ve just heard from Säpo that they are going to use Marklund’s attempt to break into Penelope’s apartment as an excuse for conducting a raid of the Brigade’s headquarters.”
“I’ve got to get to Marklund before that happens.”
“Then you’d better hurry.”
Joona backs out, turns, and drives up the ramp.
“How much of a hurry?” He turns left onto Kungsholmsgatan.
“They’re on their way now.”
“Show me the entrance to the Brigade’s headquarters and then you can head back to the station and pretend you don’t know anything,” Joona says.
“What’s your plan?”
“Plan?”
Nathan laughs.
“Well, the plan is to find out why Marklund went to Penelope’s apartment,” Joona explains. “Maybe he knows something about what’s going on.”
“But—”
“It’s no coincidence the Brigade tried to break into her ap
artment just now. That’s what I believe. Säpo thinks that the extreme left is planning some kind of attack, but—”
“They always think that. It’s their job,” Pollock says, smiling.
“Anyway, I’m going to talk to Daniel Marklund before I drop this case.”
“Even if you get there before Säpo’s boys, do you think the Brigade wants to talk to you?”
29
waiting for the swat team
Saga Bauer presses thirteen bullets into the magazine and then shoves it into her large black Glock 21. Säpo is about to storm the Brigade’s headquarters.
Saga is in a minivan parked at Hornsgatan, just outside the Folk Opera. She’s with three colleagues; all are dressed in civilian clothes. In fifteen minutes they’ll head over to Nagham Fast Food and wait for the SWAT team.
For the past month, rumors have come back to Säpo that left-wing extremists are on the move. Perhaps it’s more than rumors, but Säpo’s best strategists have now decided many of these groups have joined forces to plan something really big, perhaps some explosive sabotage. Given the recent theft of explosives from a military facility on Vaxholm Island, they believe it’s a real possibility.
The strategists have also connected the murder of Viola Fernandez and the attempt to blow up Penelope Fernandez’s apartment to this planned attack.
Säpo believes the Brigade to be the most militant and violent of the left-wing fringe groups. Daniel Marklund belongs to their innermost circle, and Säpo’s logic follows that since he tried to break into Penelope Fernandez’s apartment, he might be the assailant who attacked Detective Inspector Joona Linna and his technician.
Göran Stone is smiling as he puts on his heavy protective vest.
“Let’s go get those fucking cowards!”
Anders Westlund laughs but can’t hide his nervousness. He says, “Shit, I hope they resist. I really want to take out one of those communists!”
Saga Bauer is replaying the memory of Daniel Marklund being caught outside Penelope Fernandez’s apartment. Verner Zandén had assigned Göran Stone to the interrogation. Stone had come on strong to startle something out of Marklund, but that strategy had backfired. Marklund had requested legal representation and then clammed up.