Block 46

by Bragelonne

  Skrea beach, Falkenberg

  Wednesday, 22 January 2014, 06.00

  EMILY UNBUTTONED HER ANORAK, slipped a hand into her inside pocket and took hold of the small black box. She opened it, gazed at its contents for a moment then put it back where she had found it and began her run, listening all the while to the discreet churn of the waves and the squashy sound of her trainers tramping into the snow-covered sand. The torch she was holding lit the beach with every step she took.

  The serial killer spoke to her with every act he committed, but she still couldn’t interpret his language properly, and the portrait she was forming of him was still maddeningly incomplete. Frustration was eating away at her. The only way to fight it was to find open space, nature. She had to regain her focus. Be disciplined. She had to bring her thoughts on track; like the straight beam of her torch, they had to concentrate on the case and the case alone, not get sidetracked. Which is why, the previous evening, she had fled Bergström’s house, where there were too many distractions, too much frivolity.

  Back at the hotel, she had come across an interview with Pearce on the BBC. He was telling the journalist that the investigation was making progress, and kept on repeating, as if they were new revelations, the few facts that were already known to the media. No one had yet made a connection between the murders in Sweden of Linnéa and Tomas Nilsson, and those of the small boys in London. Hopefully this would continue.

  The glacial cold slammed against her face. Emily quickened her pace until her lungs felt as if they were on fire. The pain coursed through her body, making the whole exercise unbearable. She concentrated on her breathing, which was loud and regular, as she inhaled the heady odour of iodine and expelled cloudlets of warm air through her mouth and nose. Another few minutes and all the questions she was struggling with would loosen their grip on her. They would begin to float freely across her mind, waiting for her to hopefully arrange them into some form of order.

  At eight o’clock on the dot, after showering at the hotel, she pushed open the door to the police station. She came across Bergström in the corridor, holding a mug in his hands.

  ‘Hej, Emily. The files are in the conference room. And coffee,’ he added, beaming broadly at her before moving back to his own office.

  The profiler was grateful to him that he hadn’t remarked on her behaviour the previous evening. She installed herself in the conference room and set to work.

  She was on her second cup of coffee when Bergström rushed into the room, a triumphant look in his eyes.

  ‘I’ve just received the list of the “padlock” evening’s participants. You’ll never guess who was there with Linnéa!’

  Falkenberg police station

  Wednesday, 22 January 2014, 11.00

  BERGSTRÖM, EMILY, ALEXIS and Olofsson stood on one side of the one-way mirror looking into the interview room. With a nod of the head, the Kommissionar indicated to Emily that she should go in.

  Olofsson looked towards his superior, his jaw drooping and his eyes wide open in protest, looking more like a silly clown than a policeman.

  Bergström concealed his ire, gritting his teeth. ‘För helvete, Olofsson! You’ve been in the force twenty years and I still have to explain things to you? Don’t you understand it’s better for this particular interview to be conducted by a woman? Which you don’t happen to be, last time I looked. Or am I wrong?’

  Olofsson lowered his eyes and made himself smaller, like a dog reprimanded by his owner.

  In the interview room, Anna Gunnarson gazed at Emily, looking particularly anxious. The profiler sat down facing her, setting a small black bag on the table.

  ‘You don’t mind if we speak in English, Anna, do you? Or would you prefer to talk to a Swede?’

  ‘No, it’ll be fine.’

  ‘You were with Linnéa on the eve of her death.’

  Anna closed her eyes briefly.

  ‘I presume,’ Emily continued, ‘that you didn’t inform the police of the fact because you had no wish to end up in the headlines. Which would have presented something of a problem when you own a shop right in the centre of town.’

  Avoiding Emily’s gaze, Anna did not answer.

  Emily opened the bag she had placed on the table and took two pairs of trousers, two T-shirts and a pullover from it. Alexis recognised them as clothes they had found in the wardrobe in Linnéa’s room.

  ‘These are yours, aren’t they?’

  Anna nodded slowly.

  ‘Were you Linnéa’s lover?’

  ‘No, no, not at all!’ Anna cried out.

  Emily leaned forward and crossed her hands on the table. ‘So, explain some things to me, Anna. Explain to me why we found your clothes in Linnéa’s wardrobe, and not in the drawers in the guest room. Explain your presence at the Ljus club “padlock” evening to me. I know you were both there together.’

  ‘OK, OK…’ Anna whispered, rubbing her forehead with the tip of her fingers.

  She exhaled a heavy sigh before continuing.

  ‘When I separated from my husband, Linnéa suggested I come and stay at her place while she was away. I only went there occasionally, when I wanted a bit of privacy. Linnéa slept in the small room; she enjoyed the view of the lighthouse. Her room didn’t have a proper wardrobe, so she left her stuff in the room I used. As to the “padlock” evening…’ A feeble laugh escaped her lips. ‘Her friend, Richard Anselme, was passing through Gothenburg. He’d invited Linnéa out to celebrate the launch of his new collection. I’d had a quite difficult week, so she suggested I come along to the party to cheer myself up.’

  ‘All three of you went to the Ljus club together?’

  ‘No, I was already in Gothenburg. I joined her at the club.’

  ‘At what time?’

  ‘Ten p.m.; I was at dinner before that.’

  ‘So Linnéa had already been there for some time before you joined her?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘She was with Richard Anselme?’

  ‘No. I never met Richard Anselme,’ Anna answered quickly, her eyes lowered. ‘When I found Linnéa, she was at the bar and it took us a whole half-hour to puzzle out what the evening was all about.’

  Emily frowned.

  ‘You hadn’t realised the kind if party you were both at?’

  ‘No, not at all. Richard had just told Linnéa that it was to be a rather exclusive evening.’

  ‘How did Linnéa react when she realised?’

  A smile dawned across Anna’s sad face. ‘It made her laugh.’

  ‘She wasn’t angry at Richard Anselme?’

  ‘No, not at all. She found the situation rather funny.’

  ‘Did you stay there for the rest of the evening?’

  ‘Yes. We just parked ourselves at the bar and watched the crowd.’ Anna’s face darkened. ‘Then we went outside to smoke. Well, I was the one who wanted to smoke; Linnéa just tagged along. That’s when I recognised the husband of a friend of mine entering the club. I called out to him, and while the bastard was begging me not to say anything to his wife, I lost sight of Linnéa. I never did…’ Anna’s jaw was trembling. Silent tears ran down her cheeks. ‘I went back down into the club again. I thought she’d gone back in and might be waiting for me downstairs … but she wasn’t at the bar and I couldn’t find her anywhere.’

  ‘Didn’t you try to call her?’

  ‘Mobile phones didn’t work downstairs in the club, so I waited for ten minutes, thinking she might be with her friend Richard, then I walked out again and called her, but all I got was her answerphone. I wasn’t particularly surprised not to reach her, though; she rarely used her mobile when she was in Sweden. It was part of “detoxifying” herself, as she put it,’ Anna added, miming invisible inverted commas. ‘I’m not even sure she had it with her.’ Anna swallowed hard. ‘So, after that, I just got hold of my coat and left.’

  ‘For Falkenberg?’

  Anna nodded. ‘I went straight to Linnéa’s, but she wasn’t home.
So I stayed with Lotta, my sister. I did try to reach Linnéa several times, but I never got past her answerphone.’

  On the other side of the one-way mirror, tears were clouding Alexis’ vision.

  Emily briefly touched Anna’s arm with her hand. ‘Anna, I would like you to retrace, as precisely as you can manage, those final few minutes you spent with Linnéa.’

  The gap between Anna’s eyes tightened. ‘But … I’ve just told you what happened.’

  ‘There is a strong possibility that your mind has stored information about the evening that you are subconsciously ignoring. And there could be something there that could give us a clue as to Linnéa’s killer. That’s why I want to try and retrieve that information. Would you be willing for us to revisit, and re-examine that part of the evening together?’

  Her face sombre, Anna agreed.

  ‘Thank you, Anna. Make yourself as comfortable as you can in the chair. Let your hands drop, palms upwards, against the top of your thighs, and relax your shoulders.’

  Anna did as she was instructed. Her body lost its stiffness and now gave the appearance of a disarticulated puppet.

  ‘Perfect. Now, close your eyes. Breathe through your nose, deeply, slowly, then exhale again through your mouth. That’s it, perfect. Breathe again. Exhale. Once again. There we are.’

  Emily’s words slowed; her voice now a whisper.

  ‘Let’s return to the moment when you decided you needed to smoke. The club is below ground; you walk up the stairs…’

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘Where is Linnéa?’

  ‘She’s behind me.’

  ‘What colour are the steps?’

  ‘They’re wooden. The wood is painted black.’

  ‘And the walls?’

  ‘The walls are dark red, covered with a damask material.’

  ‘Are the stairs busy?’

  ‘Hmm … two or three people walking down.’

  ‘Can you see their faces?’

  ‘No … I just feel them pass me … The only light comes from the spotlights to the sides of the steps. I have to keep an eye on my feet to avoid stumbling.’

  ‘Do the stairs smell of anything in particular?’

  ‘The inside of the club smells of melted wax. But there’s another smell – a sugary fragrance. It’s from a woman walking down the stairs.’

  ‘You reach the lobby. What do you do?’

  ‘We pick up our coats before we go outside.’

  ‘What is Linnéa saying to you?’

  ‘I … I don’t know … I can see her smile as she slips her coat on.’

  ‘Describe her coat to me, the way she’s done her hair.’

  ‘Her hair is loose. She’s wearing it down … And her coat … I’m not sure any more…’

  In the next room, Olofsson turned to Alexis and Bergström. ‘What is the profiler hoping to achieve? That the flower seller might remember how many pieces of damned chewing gum were stuck to the pavement?’

  Alexis answered before Bergström even had the opportunity to open his mouth. ‘It’s a cognitive interview, Kristian. Emily is trying to unlock Anna’s memories. It’s a technique that often works very well with eye witnesses.’

  Annoyed at being lectured, the detective crossed his arms across his broad chest and widened the angle between his legs in a vain attempt to assert his masculinity, his eyes still fixed on the one-way mirror.

  Anna was rubbing her forehead. All of a sudden, she raised her eyebrows and opened her eyes wide. ‘The coat; Linnéa’s coat was blue … a sort of electric blue.’

  ‘Very good, Anna … So Linnéa slips on her electric-blue coat. She smiles at you. What makes her smile?’

  Anna closed her eyes again and sighed deeply. ‘I … I don’t know … I can’t hear what she’s saying…’

  ‘Do you pick up your own coat?’

  ‘Yes, I take my own coat. Linnéa already has hers and she’s standing by the wall waiting for me.’

  ‘Is anybody else in the lobby with the two of you?’

  ‘It’s crowded … I do remember seeing a man holding an umbrella on his way out.’

  ‘What does he look like?’

  ‘Quite short, blond…’

  ‘Why do you notice him in particular?’

  ‘For a brief moment, I thought … it was my ex-husband…’

  ‘But it isn’t him…?’

  ‘No, it isn’t him.’

  ‘So, what do you do now?’

  ‘We go outside … Linnéa first…’

  ‘Is it cold?’

  ‘Very … As we walk out, Linnéa yelps, complains about how harsh Swedish winters are.’

  ‘What are you doing now?’

  ‘I’m lighting a cigarette while Linnéa speaks … She’s talking about the renovations at her house in Falkenberg … She’s telling me about the flooring…’

  ‘Where exactly are you standing?’

  ‘On the right, outside the club’s door. On the pavement.’

  ‘Is it busy?’

  ‘There are … twenty or so people around us…’

  ‘Is the street well lit?’

  ‘Yes, it is, there are street lights.’

  ‘You’re busy smoking…’

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘Where is Linnéa?’

  ‘Facing me.’

  ‘Where is she standing in relation to the road and the club’s door?’

  ‘We’re looking sideways at the club. It’s on her left. She’s facing north on Avenyn.’

  ‘Is the street busy?’

  ‘Some passers-by…’

  ‘What is Linnéa doing?’

  ‘She’s rubbing her hands together – she’s not wearing gloves. She’s talking to me … I’m not sure about what exactly. I’ve just noticed Per – Per Patriksson, my friend’s husband. He’s with a young woman who can’t even be twenty … He fathered three children; his wife is busy back home taking care of them, while he’s off playing with girls the age of his own eldest daughter…’

  Anna opened her eyes again.

  ‘Do you want a glass of water, Anna?’

  She shook her head from side to side, passed her tongue over her dry lips and closed her eyes again.

  Emily waited a minute or so for Anna’s breath to slow down and for her to relax again.

  ‘So Per is standing behind Linnéa…’ the profiler continued.

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘You step towards him…’

  Anna nodded once more.

  ‘Does Linnéa come with you?’

  ‘No … I’m just so shocked to have surprised Per here that I move away from her without saying a word.’

  ‘Does she call out to you? Say something?’

  ‘I … I don’t know…’

  ‘What are you saying to Per?’

  ‘I ask him where Marlene, his wife, is. He stares back at me and begs me not to say anything, that it was all a mistake to have come to this party, and that he is about to leave, anyway.’

  ‘How do you respond?’

  ‘I tell him to stop bullshitting me. He pleads that it’s difficult for a man to recognise the woman he has married once she’s become the mother of his children. The young girl with him tries to interrupt him, then pulls him by the arm towards the entrance to the club.’

  ‘You can see the club’s entrance clearly?’

  ‘Yes, behind Per.’

  ‘So you have your back to the road?’

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘Describe to me what you can see behind Per.’

  ‘I … the bouncer … He’s opening the door … People are walking in…’

  ‘What’s happening now?’

  “Per goes off. He leaves the girl just standing there.’

  ‘What does the girl say?’

  ‘She shouts an insult after him and walks into the club.’

  ‘What direction does Per take?’

  ‘Towards the bottom of Avenyn, on the right. He crosses the road.’


  ‘Do you watch him all the way?’

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘What can you see on the right? On the pavement by the club?’

  ‘On my right there’s a group of people busy talking…’

  ‘What do you see?’

  ‘Couples…’

  ‘They’re all in pairs?’

  ‘I’m not sure … it’s all a blur … no, I don’t think so. Definitely the two standing a bit further away … the woman – or is it the man? – raising an arm … The woman, I think. Yes, the woman is moving her arm through the air.’

  ‘Can you distinguish their faces?’

  ‘The woman has her back to me, partly concealing the man. I can only see his black outfit … and his hood.’

  ‘Does the woman have short hair? Long hair?’

  ‘Short … blonde…’

  ‘Are they close to any of the street lights?’

  ‘They’re partly in the light…’

  ‘What colours do you see?’

  ‘Black … blue, too.’

  ‘Blue.’

  ‘Yes, it’s the coat of the woman waving her arms…’

  Anna stopped and instantly opened her eyes, as if waking from a nightmare. She had just come to realise what she had witnessed. The blonde woman didn’t have short hair: it was buried inside the folds of her coat. And she was wearing a blue coat. Electric blue.

  Anna had actually seen Linnéa and her killer.

  Falkenberg

  February 1971

  ERICH PULLED THE BODY out of the tub, thinking how much life would change now that he would soon have a partner of his own. He positioned the diminutive, flayed little being on the drying table, and gave it a long, critical look. The result was almost perfect. He could move on to the final stage. He smiled. A smile that lit up his whole soul. That was exactly what he had needed. This specific type of flesh. Young. Lesion-free.

  It had all come together thanks to Agneta. He had come to understand this the very day she had announced she was pregnant. He’d immediately turned on his heels. She’d run after him in tears, but he was much faster than she was. He had walked all the way to the beach, wondering how he had failed to read the girl so badly. Had failed to understand her language. How he could have allowed himself to be driven down a road that was just not suited to him. He’d sat down in the sand, his eyes fixed on the shining crests of the waves as they basked in the sun. He’d watched them caress the shore then ebb back towards the horizon, crashing against the rocks. Something Doktor Fleischer once said came to mind: only children are granted access to eternity. Only children. And then he had swiftly realised the profound meaning of this coming birth. His initial reaction had been too hurried. This child would not be a burden – it would be the arrow in his bow. This was the child who would allow him access to posterity. To eternity.