Leona

by Jenny Rogneby

  Månsson shook his head. The automatic sliding doors at the entrance meant that the girl hadn’t needed to touch the door with her hands. Not that we had any fingerprints to identify her with anyway, as she was too young to be in the print register, but once we found her it would’ve been nice to be able to make sure it was the right girl.

  It seemed extraordinary that both the forensics team and the dog handlers had no decent leads.

  “What about shoeprints?”

  “It’s not clear what she had on her feet. There are no small shoeprints in the usual sense, but we have found traces of a different type of sole in a small size. We’ll get back to you about that.”

  “As soon as possible, I’m assuming.”

  Despite the intense media scrutiny on the robbery, I knew that it wouldn’t be a priority for Forensics. There had been several homicides and other serious crimes lately, and they were swamped. No one had died here. There hadn’t even been any physical injuries reported, except for the wounds on the girl, which hadn’t occurred at the crime scene. Still, I wanted to reassure myself that the investigation wouldn’t drag on, to avoid any unexpected surprises cropping up weeks after the crime had taken place.

  I ignored Månsson’s snort in response. Instead, I walked around the bank. It was unusually large. After the banks had moved the major part of their operations online, the offices had been shrinking in both size and number every year. But this branch was spacious, with high ceilings and windows all the way along the front wall, facing Nybrogatan. From inside you could see out clearly, but the gray-tinted window film on the panes reflected the light from outside, which meant that during the day it was hard to see in. The five teller desks were placed in a semicircle at the back of the lobby. I counted the surveillance cameras that were mounted on the walls.

  “An unusually large number of cameras. Have the recordings been secured?”

  “They’re working on that now. As you said, there are a lot of cameras, so we should have views from different angles. Someone wanted to make a show of this.”

  “I want all the surveillance recordings from the past two weeks. Someone may have been here to case the place in advance. The videos from yesterday and earlier can be sent to the Image and Audio Analysis team. I want today’s footage on my desk tomorrow morning.”

  On my way to the exit I saw Antonsson through the window. He was wrestling with a young man with a camera around his neck who had sneaked through the barricade and was heading toward the entrance. I turned to Gunnar Månsson.

  “Listen, be careful with the reporters who are sneaking around here. I don’t want to see pictures of a blood-covered seven-year-old on the front page tomorrow.”

  Månsson nodded.

  “It would be good if you could have a chat with the bank manager,” he said. “He’s stressing out about us being here, because he wants to reopen the bank.”

  I nodded and continued toward the exit. I had nothing against politely but firmly explaining to a suit that this was a police investigation and that he could go home and play with his kids until the forensics team was done. It would liven up the boring drive back to the office.

  FOUR

  The team that Claes had put together was waiting for me in the conference room when I came back from the crime scene. I was supposed to inform them about the case, but I didn’t intend to hold a long, detailed run-through. They didn’t all need to know everything. The most important thing was that everyone had enough information to carry out their part of the work. Normally I would have switched to autopilot. Now I had to think a few steps ahead.

  I was being watched.

  By Claes. By his superiors.

  By the media.

  “For those of you who haven’t met me before, my name is Leona Lindberg. I’m in VCD and I’m handling the robbery that took place this morning, which was committed by a little girl. I’ve called you here to quickly brief everyone on what we should be focusing on right now. I also wanted us all to meet face-to-face.”

  I didn’t particularly care about seeing people’s faces, but anyone who has ever worked within the Police Department knows the importance of personal relationships. Every employee had their own little black book of names of colleagues who were good to work with. Not everyone was. Good to work with, that is.

  I straightened two pens that were lying on the table in front of me. Didn’t like having sharp objects pointing in my direction. Besides, they were at an angle. As I picked up the pens I noticed that the nail tip on my thumb wasn’t properly glued down. My nails had just been done by Madeleine on the corner. She usually did a good job. This time she’d been sloppy.

  “First and foremost, I assume that the massive media coverage hasn’t escaped you,” I said. “There’s already wild speculation about the case. As usual, you are not to make statements to the media — just mention that preliminary investigations are confidential, or refer them to our public relations officer. If they aren’t satisfied with that, then refer them to me. Has anyone already been contacted by the media?”

  Three people nodded.

  “Of course I don’t need to mention that there should be no information leaks. None.”

  It didn’t matter how often and how clearly you said it, the agency was like a sieve. Individual officers were more than likely paid to give out secret information.

  “Without being menacing, I want to remind you that anyone who violates this can expect repercussions.”

  No one said anything.

  A brief vibration made me put my hand in my pocket and pull out my phone. I noted the English words in the text message on the screen. For a moment I was lost in thought, but I snapped back. I would have to wait to answer until the meeting was over.

  “Report whatever you come up with directly to me. Always in writing, of course, but call or email me if there’s something important. I will also — in exceptional cases — accept a fax, but only if you’re sure your information is completely unimportant, and you’d better have a damn good reason for sending it by fax.”

  A few people smiled. I took that as a good sign. They were with me.

  “We’re going to be using a scaled-down version of the PMI. Are you all familiar with that approach?”

  Some people nodded, but others didn’t. Claes had brought in people from other divisions. Even though most were experienced investigators, I knew the importance of establishing a solid framework for the investigation. I hated seeing stressed-out investigators running hysterically up and down the corridors because they had missed important details. Or investigative measures that weren’t done at all, or were done at the wrong time. Typical structural problems that shouldn’t exist. I wanted to clarify my role in the investigation with extreme precision. I didn’t want to be questioned about it later.

  “We’ll follow the guidelines in the PMI, which stands for Police Methodology for the Investigation of Violent Crimes. It’s a refined version of the old homicide bible that I’m sure you all remember. I’m responsible for the case. I will run the investigation, acting as the coordinator, and I’ll also conduct some of the interviews.”

  This was unusual. The person who coordinated the PMI cases seldom conducted interviews personally, usually delegating them to others. That’s how I would have run any other investigation.

  But not this one.

  This one was special.

  I picked up the black marker and wrote “Who is the girl?” on the whiteboard.

  “Lars, do you have any theories?”

  Lars lit up. He was always on the ball, and in contrast to some of the others, he seemed to really enjoy his work in the Criminal Intelligence Service. For a guy who had two school-age kids and a newborn, he looked almost shamelessly alert and well rested.

  “Hi everyone, Lars Nyman at CIS. Unfortunately we don’t have much to work with at the moment. According to witnesses, the girl’s appearance was hard to describe due to all the wounds, bruises, and blood she reportedly had on her body…”
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  He was interrupted by a light knock. The door opened.

  “Excuse me, is this the bank robbery at Östermalmstorg?”

  “Nina!” I said. “It is. Come in!”

  So she was the one assigned to lead the preliminary investigation. Nina was a very sharp prosecutor from the city prosecutor’s office, notorious amongst the police. Claes described her as very meticulous, but investigators were more likely to call her zealous as hell. She didn’t give in until you had turned over every stone five times in an investigation.

  She stepped in and took off her black trench coat. Her dark hair was freshly cut into an asymmetric bob. Her oval face, pale skin, and stylish glasses, along with her tight, knee-length skirt, blouse, and jacket, made her look like she had stepped right out of the pages of a business magazine.

  “Nina Wallin, district prosecutor. I’m the preliminary investigation leader in this case, as of now.”

  “Have a seat,” I said. “We’ve just started. Lars Nyman from CIS is telling us what we know about the girl.”

  Nina sat down in an empty chair as Lars continued.

  “The girl didn’t say a word during the robbery, so we don’t know what nationality she is. No Swedish girl with that description has been reported missing. She could be a trafficking victim from abroad, perhaps from a Baltic country. I’ve asked Europol to look into that further.”

  “According to the first witness statements she appeared to be approximately seven years old,” I said. “What does that tell you, Lars?”

  “That I have to get better at disciplining my own kids. I can hardly even get them to make their beds.”

  I tried not to laugh. That wouldn’t be good form. The others looked at each other and at me. No one dared to laugh.

  “Yes, I wonder how you get a seven-year-old to do something like this,” I said, even though I knew. If in other parts of the world you could turn children into soldiers and get them to murder their own family members, then naturally, with some manipulation, you could get a child to commit a robbery.

  “Thanks, Lars. Report to me as soon as you find out anything else. Johan, have you managed to get hold of the surveillance material?”

  Johan looked at the others around the table.

  “Johan Östberg, Image and Audio Analysis Group. We’re in the process of going through all the visual material, which is quite extensive. There is surveillance video from two weeks back. From subways, escalators, stores in the vicinity, ATMs, and inside the bank. I’ll get back to you when I know more.”

  “Thanks, Johan. Robbie, what happened with the dogs?”

  “Robert Granlund, dog squad. We didn’t manage to find any traces. The handler who was first on the scene called me because his dog was behaving strangely. I got there twenty minutes later and couldn’t get a response from my dog either. It was odd, because witnesses said the girl was covered in blood. I suspect that —”

  “The two of us can talk more about that later, Robbie. Let’s continue.”

  It was better if I discussed people’s personal theories with them separately. I did not want them to race off on wild tangents this early in the investigation.

  “We’ll need the shoeprints analyzed as soon as possible. Gunnar?”

  I looked at the technician, Gunnar Månsson. He seemed to have a hard time keeping his eyes open. His bushy eyebrows were sticking out and his eyelids were almost closed. He cleared his throat.

  “Umm…Månsson here. The girl didn’t touch anything, so we don’t have any fingerprints. But we do have some small shoeprints we’re analyzing. I’ll get back to you on that. There’s no other forensic evidence. We took some DNA samples, but it’s unlikely they’ll tell us anything. It’s fascinating, I must say…”

  “Thanks, Gunnar. A naked and bloody girl with a heavy backpack can’t have gone far. The door-to-door effort hasn’t produced anything yet, but we’ll keep at it. Once we know what the girl had on her feet you’ll need to check where the shoes, or whatever she was wearing, can be obtained. When they were bought and by whom.”

  I continued writing on the board: “Teddy bear?”

  “She had a teddy bear with her in the bank. I want you to ask all the witnesses that you interview to describe the teddy bear as a follow-up. If we’re lucky it might be an unusual one. We can’t let the interviews drag on, so get going with them immediately and make sure to have the witnesses read and sign their statements on the spot. All memos for this case should be printed out. Nothing handwritten.”

  Some officers, especially those working in the field, had a fondness for jotting things down on any scrap of paper they could get hold of. Advertising flyers, napkins — I had even seen pieces of toilet paper with notes scribbled on them. These days it wasn’t as common for people to bring in handwritten notes, but instead of writing things down for the case files they just called headquarters and rattled off a whole lot of things on the phone. Some investigators thought documenting their findings was tedious, and they hoped that the officer on the other end of the line would do it for them.

  “The girl set a tape recorder down on the floor and played a message. We don’t have the audio recording yet, but, Johan, you’ll need to be prepared, as presumably we’ll get it for analysis later.”

  Johan lit up. He had fought hard for his department, which was formerly only called the Image Analysis Group, to also be able to analyze audio recordings. As more and more people used smart phones to film events with both sound and image, not to mention the large quantity of audio recordings that secret wiretapping generated, the agency had recognized the need. Johan was proud of his team’s achievements, and would be taking over the position as group manager of the Image and Audio Analysis Group at the end of the year.

  “I’ll take care of it as soon as it comes in,” he said.

  “All the witnesses will need to be interviewed thoroughly about what was said on the tape. Perhaps there are some leads there about the perpetrator or perpetrators. How did the voice that was speaking sound? Age? Dialect? What can be heard in the background? You get the idea.”

  I wrote “Audio recording” on the board, and then below it “Weapons.”

  “There doesn’t appear to have been a weapon involved,” I said. “Bank customers and personnel did as they were told out of fear that the girl would be injured. But the question must still be asked of all the witnesses.”

  The last words I wrote down were “Backpack” and “Escape route.”

  “She was carrying the money in a backpack. Ask questions about it — color, size, brand, old or new, and so on. Obviously the witnesses will also need to be interviewed about the girl’s escape route. Someone must have seen where she went. What cars were in the area? Did someone pick her up in a car, and so on. All we know is that she left the bank on foot and went north on Nybrogatan. Any questions about that?”

  No one said anything. I looked at Nina, who was sitting quietly taking notes.

  “Nina, do you have any other instructions?”

  She shook her head. “You seem to have the situation under control. Start that way, and we’ll stay in touch.”

  “I’ll call you when I need decisions to be made, otherwise we’ll just keep on working.”

  I watched her reaction to my words carefully. She nodded. I took it to mean that I would work on the investigation without her involvement until I needed decisions about house searches, arrests, or the like. I hoped my interpretation was correct.

  Nina looked around the table.

  “You can reach me directly if it’s urgent, but preferably go through Leona, so we can avoid any misunderstandings.”

  “You’ll have a hard time getting hold of Nina even if you try,” I said, smiling.

  “However much I want to be available, unfortunately that’s true,” said Nina. “I apologize in advance if I sound abrupt on the phone — my only excuse is the unbelievable workload we prosecutors are handling at the moment. The best way to reach me is by email.”

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sp; “Call me instead,” I said.

  Maybe I jumped in a little too quickly, but I didn’t like people going around me and speaking to the prosecutor without my knowledge. That couldn’t happen here.

  “I’ll have a meeting with the investigators every day at three o’clock to go over what we’ve found during the day,” I said. “The rest of you should let me know immediately when you’ve discovered something. It’s great to be working with you all. Now let’s see about solving this case.”

  Everyone got up. I turned to Nina.

  “Do you have a moment?”

  Nina nodded and remained seated. She looked at me.

  “How’s everything going, Leona? Stressful?”

  Few people noticed the changes in my mood the way Nina did. She knew me well, although there was also a lot she didn’t know. I wondered what she was referring to. Did I seem distracted? I had a lot to think about, though nothing I could, or would, reveal to her. Maybe she just thought I looked tired. I decided to go with that and sighed, perhaps a little too deeply, shaking my head.

  “It’s Benjamin. He’s not sleeping.”

  It was true. Nothing I couldn’t handle, of course, but it did wear me out.

  “Poor little guy.”

  “We hoped that the last operation would help, when they removed another part of his intestine that was inflamed. But now the same thing is happening again. I don’t know what to do. It doesn’t seem right to pump a three-year-old full of painkillers, but he can’t sleep without them now.”

  Life had been so much easier before the children. Not completely without worries, but simpler. It was simpler not to feel. When Beatrice was born I realized for the first time that I actually had the capacity to feel deep emotions.

  It frightened me.

  Love. An abstract concept that previously lacked meaning for me suddenly had substance when the children were born.

  “What do you think about the robbery?”

  I changed the topic. I wanted to know what kind of theories Nina had.

  “It’s pretty spectacular, and would have required a lot of planning. Getting a child to carry out something like that would take a lot of preparation. I don’t believe the trafficking theory that Lars brought up. The perpetrator knows the girl too well. Knows how she reacts and what she can handle. It’s probably someone close to her. A family member or a relative, perhaps.”