‘Did any of you see the press conference?’ He walked up to the Nespresso machine.
Hesk, Richter and Dunja all shook their heads.
‘Don’t ask me how, but I managed to convince everyone that we know what the hell we’re dealing with, so now it’s up to you all to ensure that I haven’t promised too much.’ He pushed in the coffee cartridge and left the rest to the machine.
And he never paid for it, Dunja noted, even though he was the first person to complain when there was no money left in the coffee fund. She never used the machine herself, not just to avoid Sleizner’s sermons, but mostly because she didn’t think it tasted as great as everyone else did. It was a mystery to her how more or less the entire Western world subscribed to the idea that you had to buy your coffee at an exclusive store and pay three times more than you needed to. She couldn’t even bear to think about the environmental impact of it all.
‘Okay, let’s hear what you have. What scenario are you working from?’
Hesk cleared his throat and stood up. ‘As I said, we’re still in the first phase of the investigation and have tons of unanswered questions. But based on the leads that Kjeld and his men have found, it’s now absolutely clear that a third person was involved.’
Hesk insisted on standing up whenever Sleizner was in the room and Dunja could never understand why. If there was anyone who despised Sleizner and everything he stood for, it was Jan Hesk. However, he was probably just smart and did what was required to give his career an extra push.
The more she thought about it, the more Hesk’s constant fawning over those who were a few ladder rungs above him irritated her. If Sleizner pulled down his fly, Hesk surely wouldn’t hesitate if it would mean some personal gain.
‘She’s been distracted the whole day.’
It took several seconds before Dunja realized that Hesk was referring to her.
‘Sorry, but what are you—’
‘So is that how you see it too?’ asked Sleizner, turning to look at her.
‘The scenario,’ Richter clarified. ‘You know. Neuman comes home from his TV show, finds his wife in bed with Mr Big, and runs amok with the axe.’
‘Excuse me if I seem a little absent. But…’ Dunja had no idea how to proceed without stepping on Hesk’s toes.
‘But what?’ said Hesk.
‘I don’t know. However you slice it, I have a hard time imagining that Aksel Neuman would do something even remotely close to this.’ She picked up one of the pictures that showed Karen Neuman’s violated body and looked at it.
‘I’ve been in contact with the staff at Karriere Bar, and evidently a number of gin and tonics were consumed,’ said Hesk.
‘Besides, it’s happened more than once that he’s knocked down people at the bar,’ said Richter.
‘Yes. But still.’ Dunja fumbled for a continuation. ‘It might sound trite, but Aksel and Karen were actually one of those couples who after all the years seemed to be genuinely in love.’
‘Dunja, we’re police officers investigating a crime, not scriptwriters for a new soap opera,’ said Hesk, rolling his eyes.
‘But that’s a good idea,’ said Richter, picking up his ringing cell phone. ‘There are plenty of plot twists here. Yes, this is Richter.’ He stood up and left the room.
‘All I can say is that I don’t think it’s him,’ said Dunja.
‘Is anyone interested in what you think?’ said Hesk. ‘And if he’s as innocent as you maintain, why has he disappeared?’
‘I don’t know. Hopefully he’ll have a good answer when we find him. But if he came home earlier than planned, perhaps the perpetrator was still in the house and he took up chase. That would be more like him, especially if he was drunk.’
‘Exactly. That’s along the lines of what Kjeld was getting at,’ said Sleizner, nodding in agreement.
‘And then there’s one more thing I’ve wondered—’
‘Perhaps we can discuss that at the coffee break afterwards?’ Hesk interrupted. ‘If we’re going to catch him before he gets too far we have to—’
‘Please, let her finish talking.’ Sleizner indicated that Hesk should sit down.
Dunja could sense that Hesk was about to implode, but she had no choice other than to continue. ‘Jan, I don’t understand why you’re so angry at me.’
‘No?’
‘The only thing I’m trying to do is to move the investigation forward. And sure, I may be completely wrong, but it feels as if there’s something that doesn’t add up. Just take the murder weapon, which according to Pedersen is probably a big axe. From what I could see, there was no wood or fireplace in the house, which suggests there wouldn’t be an axe there. Where did it come from? Did Aksel have it with him in the car in case he needed to murder someone?’
Hesk thought about it and shrugged.
‘So what are you really saying?’ said Sleizner without looking in Hesk’s direction.
Dunja held up one of the pictures, which showed Karen Neuman on the bloody bed. ‘Just look at how much blood there is here. Yet there wasn’t a single trace of blood on the floor or in the hall, which suggests that the perpetrator was well prepared and had rolled out plastic, or something along those lines.’ She dropped the picture down on top of the pile. ‘Whoever did this has killed before.’
‘That, undeniably, does sound more logical,’ said Sleizner, just as Richter came back.
‘The analysis of the third tyre track is complete,’ he said, sitting down at his place. ‘And there is a rather interesting detail.’ He made a dramatic pause that was too brief for anyone to notice. ‘Everything indicates that we’re looking for a sports car with studded tyres.’
‘Studded tyres?’ said Dunja. ‘Who drives around with studded tyres these days?’
‘That’s just what I’m wondering, too.’
‘Swedes. They’re crazy about studded tyres,’ said Hesk. ‘When we drive up to Småland to celebrate Christmas every Emil is driving around with studded tyres on his Volvo.’
‘So we’re dealing with a Swedish perpetrator,’ said Sleizner. ‘This just keeps getting better and better.’
‘I’m still leaning toward Aksel Neuman, but at the same time I don’t want to close any doors. For that reason, I think we should put out a search for him while we follow up with the Swedish lead,’ said Hesk.
Dunja nodded, relieved that Hesk was starting to regain his normal facial colour. ‘We can ask Scandlines if they had a sports car with Swedish plates on board last night. If it is a Swedish perp, it’s conceivable he took the ferry over to Helsingborg.’
‘Well thought out, Dunja.’ Sleizner stood up. ‘From here on, you will all report to Dunja, who as of now is responsible for the investigation and will report directly to me. Questions about that?’
No one said anything and Sleizner immediately left the room.
The anxiety descended like a thick, sticky fog. Dunja felt the lump in her throat growing bigger and bigger, making it hard to breathe. Besides, her nausea was about to turn the little she’d managed to eat at lunch inside out. She didn’t know where to look or what to say. She desperately wanted a sinkhole to open up beneath her.
But all she could do was stay seated while her thoughts raced: was this her fault? Had she crossed the line and taken up too much space, pressing too hard for her own opinions? Or had it been Sleizner’s plan from the very start? Was that why he’d called her and not Hesk out at the murder scene? And in that case, why? What was he really after, because there had to be something? Of that she was certain.
‘Okay,’ said Richter in an exhalation, breaking the silence. ‘Is there anyone who gets what all that was about?’
‘I have no idea. I don’t understand a thing,’ Dunja said, turning towards Hesk, only now noticing that he was shaking with fury. He could get angry, she knew that. He had told her how he’d thrown things on the floor and kicked holes in the wall during the worst years with small children but she’d never seen him this angry.
Hesk interrupted her with a snort and fixed his gaze on hers. ‘You don’t need to sit here and try to—’
‘I’m not trying anything. I’m just saying that it—’
‘Shut up, you fucking cunt!’ He stood up so that the chair overturned behind him. ‘Do you think I don’t get what you’re up to? Huh?’
Dunja wanted to stand up and show him that she had nothing to be ashamed of. She wanted to let her chair overturn, hold up a threatening finger and tell him to go to hell if he didn’t want to listen to her. But her legs would never hold, and for some reason the force of gravity felt extra strong right where she was sitting. ‘I understand that you’re upset. But can’t we try to talk about this like adults? If we’re going to work together we’ll have to be able to put this behind us, and—’
‘Behind us?’ Hesk laughed and went around the table. ‘And how the hell is that going to happen?’ He placed himself right in front of her and looked down at her. ‘You clearly haven’t understood a thing. You strut around here like an absent-minded fucking whore, but I can tell you one thing: this is just the very beginning of your little hell. So go ahead and enjoy it because you’re never going to feel as good as you feel right now ever again.’ Hesk left the room.
And Dunja sat there, still unable to stand up.
17
ALTHOUGH THE BUILDING AT the corner of Östgötagatan and Blekingegatan was in the heart of one of Stockholm’s most popular areas, it had been abandoned midway through the renovation. Torn pieces of protective netting swayed in the scaffolding where joined iron pipes creaked and screeched in ominous complaint. There was no problem passing along the sidewalk, yet the majority of pedestrians chose to take the detour out on to the street. It was a telling reminder of the aftermath of the financial crisis.
Fabian and Malin searched the area around the building, but didn’t find the minister’s secret cell phone. Now they were at the entry to Östgötagatan 46. As expected, it was locked, but with the help of an iron rod from the scaffolding Fabian broke one of the six windows in the door, reached his arm in and turned the lock from inside. The entrance was filled with construction waste and dust. Dried flakes of paint were hanging from walls and ceiling. A dozen old toilets were lined up along one wall, with bathtubs and refrigerators along the other.
‘That’s pretty much how it looks at our house,’ said Malin, walking up to the row of toilets, while something dark and four-legged disappeared up the stairs. ‘On closer inspection, this is probably a trifle cleaner.’
‘It’s perfect if you want to be left alone,’ said Fabian, following the footsteps in the dust up to the elevator.
‘Okay, how should we proceed? We could search here for days or even years. Are you sure you got all the numbers right? All it takes is one wrong digit for us to end up in Haparanda or Kuala Lumpur.’
‘I’m sure. However, just because the digits add up doesn’t mean the cell phone is still here. After all, if you had just kidnapped the minister of justice, you might have the sense to get rid of his cell phone pretty damn quickly.’ Fabian opened the elevator door and looked in.
‘There is no way I am setting foot in there.’
‘But the footprints lead in that direction.’
‘Not mine.’ Malin started walking up the staircase where the construction dust created a thick carpet across the stone floor. There were no shoeprints. However, the tracks of rat feet exploded in all directions.
As soon as humans turn their backs, nature takes over, thought Fabian, following Malin up, floor by floor. They didn’t find human footprints until they reached the fifth floor. There were clear tracks from heavy boots that passed between the elevator and an apartment door at the far right. The construction dust outside the other doors was untouched.
Malin took out her cell phone and took a few close-up shots of the shoeprints, while Fabian went up to the unmarked apartment door. He put one hand over the peephole and carefully opened the mail slot with the other.
It was too dark for him to see in and he couldn’t hear a sound. He signalled to Malin to come over and keep her hand over the peephole while he shone a light into the mail slot with his phone. There was a worn doormat in front of the door and a roll of plastic protective film propped up against the wall.
‘Shouldn’t we call the special response team and let them go in first?’
‘It’s not possible, as long as SePo is officially leading the investigation.’ Fabian carefully closed the mail slot and felt the door handle; it was locked. He went over to the neighbouring apartment door, which turned out to be unlocked. ‘Wait here.’
‘Am I just supposed to stand here and—’ She interrupted herself with a sigh.
*
IT WAS DIRTY AND run down and looked exactly how you would expect a condemned apartment to be. In some places the floor was broken up and bare electrical wires were hanging from the ceiling. There was no furniture, besides a mattress that seemed to have been used a lot. Fabian went up to the only window in the room, opened it and climbed out on to the scaffolding.
It would be an exaggeration to say he suffered from vertigo, but he’d never liked heights, and he still hadn’t used the balloon ride he’d got from his associates as a fortieth birthday present. For the first two years they’d asked if he ever intended to redeem his gift card; he always gave vague responses until he realized that the only way to get them to stop asking was to lie about what an amazingly powerful experience it had been. He told them he had taken his camera with him, but was so captivated by the view that he completely forgot to take pictures.
Now he had no choice other than to hope that the icy scaffolding would hold. Looking down would be no help, and it was better to direct his gaze forward and focus on firmly holding on to something with at least one hand so that he didn’t slip.
Three windows later he was outside the locked apartment: Östgötagatan 46. The blinds were pulled down so it wasn’t possible to see in. He looked around for something to help him get in, but when he couldn’t find anything, he decided to try kicking in the window, which was considerably firmer than he’d expected. If anyone was inside the apartment they would have plenty of time to prepare themselves, he thought, as he wriggled through the broken window frame.
Once on the floor he looked around and could see that the room was about twenty square metres. In contrast to the first apartment, the floor was swept more or less clean. There was a pantry with a hot plate, a sink and a refrigerator along one wall. A porcelain doll with long curly hair and wearing a dress and matching hat, looked down at him from on top of the fridge.
He continued into the adjacent room, which was so dark that his eyes struggled to adjust to his surroundings. He groped along the wall and finally found the light switch. The light was so bright that he was forced to look away.
After a few moments, he gradually turned his gaze back towards a plastic-covered table with a hole in the middle and some loose straps hanging down the sides.
18
IT HAD NOW BEEN almost half an hour since Kjeld Richter wished Dunja luck and left her alone in the conference room. But she was still sitting there, trying to gather enough energy to walk out into the department with her head held high.
The nausea had finally passed, only to be replaced by a piercing headache. If she didn’t get some fluid in her soon her head would burst. And if that wasn’t enough, she also badly needed to use the bathroom.
She’d thought through the possibilities and realized that she was completely alone – besides Sleizner, whom she didn’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole. Hesk was too good a police officer to leave the investigation to chance, but she had no doubt he would do everything he could to thwart her.
Richter was the only real question mark. She hadn’t been able to read his ‘good luck’ as either obvious sarcasm or consideration. He probably had no id
ea where he stood either, but if Dunja understood him correctly, he would choose the path that created the fewest problems at the coffee maker.
Clearly, this would be an uphill battle. No one expected her to be able to manage this by herself, presumably not even Sleizner. But simply giving up was not an option. There was no easy escape route. Her only alternative was to shoulder the responsibility, finish the investigation, arrest the guilty party and show everyone that she was a force to be reckoned with. Though, unfortunately, she didn’t even believe that herself.
She took a little red cloth from the bottom of the fruit bowl and wiped the sweat off her forehead. Then she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths before she put her hands on the table and carefully stood up.
Both her legs and hands were shaking, and her heart was pounding through her chest. She needed to get used to it. Hesk was almost certainly right – this was just the beginning of her little hell.
19
AFTER UNLOCKING THE DOOR and letting Malin into the condemned apartment, Fabian returned to the rectangular table in the middle of the larger of the two rooms. It was screwed down into the floor with angle iron and clad in transparent plastic, which had been attached on the underside with a staple gun. There was a funnel under the hole with a thick hose leading down into a can. But the can was empty and the funnel appeared to be clean, just like the plastic and the dangling straps. Fabian could see no traces of either blood or excrement.
In contrast to the rest of the room, the table looked new and immaculate. The screw heads holding the straps in place were shiny, and there wasn’t even a speck of dust on the lamp hanging down from the ceiling. Either someone had cleaned up extremely carefully or the table had not yet been used.
He went over to the windows, which were carefully covered in plasterboard. It kept out all the light and prevented anyone from seeing in. There was another roll of protective plastic film in one corner and a power screwdriver and a circular saw with a long extension cord in a pile on the floor.
The Ninth Grave Page 9