The Ninth Grave

by Stefan Ahnhem

  ‘Out of the question.’ The therapist shook his head. ‘Haven’t you done enough damage? Ossian has served his time and deserves a life in peace. I can’t think of any of my clients who have worked as hard on themselves as he has. Then you come in and turn his whole life upside down.’

  ‘What are you so worried about?’ said Fabian. ‘That you won’t get your rent?’

  The therapist turned towards Fabian with a shrug. ‘I have the association’s permission for that and I report the amount for tax purposes if that’s what you’re referring to. There’s nothing at all illegal about—’

  ‘Who said anything about illegal? I’m thinking more about professional ethics that say you shouldn’t cross the line and get too personally involved with your clients.’

  ‘Have you?’ said Malin.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Crossed the line.’

  ‘Not really.’ The therapist adjusted his small eyeglasses with a shaking hand. ‘On the other hand, I’m back to square one where his rehabilitation is concerned. And that’s nobody’s fault but yours.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but you’re forgetting one small detail.’ Malin showed some of the pictures of Carl-Eric Grimås and his empty eye sockets.

  ‘He didn’t do that – it’s impossible.’ The therapist handed back the pictures with a snort, pushing some of his grey curls behind one ear.

  ‘And why is it so unlikely?’

  ‘Don’t you think I can tell what you think about my work? That it’s just an expensive pastime for people who feel sorry for themselves and don’t know what to do with their money. Or, in Ossian’s case, the taxpayers’ money. I can assure you that it’s a science, a rather exact one. Ossian and I managed to work all the way down to his innermost core and establish the root cause of his illness.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  ‘You lack the right tools to even come close to understanding. Ossian is aware of the consequences of his actions. And along with the medication he is on now, I’m completely convinced of his innocence.’ He crossed his arms in front of him.

  ‘And what would happen if he says he’s taken his medication, but in reality hasn’t done so for several months?’ asked Fabian.

  ‘That’s a hypothetical question. Ossian would never lie to me.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Look at these.’ Malin got up from the chair and showed him the images of the victims from the sixteen-year-old investigation. ‘Do you see similarities?’

  The therapist reluctantly looked down.

  ‘We suspect that he has two more victims hidden somewhere,’ said Fabian. ‘The trust-fund playboy Adam Fischer, whom you’ve surely heard about on the news, and then this woman.’ He showed one of the photos of the woman with the poked-out eyes on the bus.

  ‘Oh, good lord.’ The therapist covered his mouth.

  ‘Do you recognize her?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, but this is exactly what he did when he was sick. He couldn’t stop it. At its worst, he could empty every single page in the newspaper of eyes.’ The therapist sat down on a chair and his face suddenly looked very pale.

  ‘Shall I get you a glass of water?’ said Malin.

  The therapist nodded and put his head in his hands.

  44

  THE MAN WAS LYING on the table in front of him, naked and strapped down. He’d been tube-fed for ten days to allow enough time for the toxins to leave his body. His body was clean, shaved and disinfected, and two empty bloody holes gaped where eyes should have been. The anaesthetic had worked the way it was supposed to, and the man only gasped and moaned a little while he was pulling out the eyeballs, which he then dropped into the viscous fluid. Now his breathing was back to normal again.

  The man was ready to contribute his body to satisfy his desire. But he would keep him alive and draw it out for as long as possible. Only when it was time for his inner organs to be prepared would he finally be terminated and the major parts cut away and put in the pan.

  Until then, he would confine himself to little bite-size pieces from various parts of the body. It was like combining the appetizer with foreplay, something he had recently started to appreciate more. He could now drag it out for days. Just letting the newly sharpened knife penetrate into the flesh all the way down to the bone made him shiver with pleasure and he’d even ejaculated before he’d had a taste on occasion.

  Normally, he would cut loose bite-size pieces with the small knife, but he had taken it a step further and had his teeth sharpened to a point. It was painful, and he had to go all the way to Poland to find a dentist willing to perform the procedure, but he still thought it was worth it many times over.

  He took out both his upper and lower dentures and felt the razor-sharp row of teeth with his fingers while he circled the man on the table. After two rounds, he settled on the left thigh. He leaned over, opened his mouth, and let his teeth slowly work their way into the flesh. The warm blood streamed out immediately, filling his mouth and overflowing down his chin.

  He chewed the raw meat, swallowed, and leaned over for yet another bite. All of a sudden, the man’s hand came out of nowhere and hit him in the face. How could that happen? The man was tied down and was staring right at him, even though his red eye sockets were empty. The man mumbled something. He leaned forward to hear better.

  ‘He’s waking up now.’

  Ossian Kremph looked around and realized that there were another three people in the room. He’d seen two of them only briefly, but the third – the man with the small round eyeglasses and curly grey hair – he recognized all too well.

  Several seconds later it occurred to him that he’d been dreaming. In reality he was at Stockholm South General Hospital where he was the person shackled to the bed. Just to be safe, he glided his tongue along his teeth and could tell that they were definitely not sharp. Part of him let out a sigh of relief, but another part of him, somewhere deep inside, was disappointed.

  ‘Ossian,’ said the grey-haired man. ‘There are some people here who want to have a few words with you.’

  ‘Not now… I don’t want to… Can’t… You have to leave.’ He tried to get away from the man who always smelled of too much cologne, but the handcuffs held him tightly in the bed.

  ‘The best thing you can do is answer their questions.’

  And why should he do that? He didn’t want to. ‘Leave!’

  ‘This is exactly what I mean,’ his number-one object of hatred said to the others.

  ‘Is it possible to give him something so that he calms down?’ the pregnant woman said.

  ‘Then he’ll fall asleep right away.’

  The other man leaned forward. ‘Hi, Ossian. My name is Fabian Risk. I only have three questions for you.’ He held up three fingers in front of his face. ‘Three simple little questions, then we promise to leave you alone again.’

  ‘I haven’t done anything. You’re the ones who are intruding, not me.’ He didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all. ‘Tell them to go now!’ he screamed. ‘Get out!’

  ‘We will as soon as you’ve answered my questions. One: what have you done with Adam Fischer?’

  Ossian shook his head, and tried to hold his hands in front of his eyes, but the chains of the handcuffs were much too short.

  ‘Ossian, answer now,’ said the one who claimed to be his friend. ‘Where did you hide him?’

  ‘I already told you that you can’t be here. I want you to leave now.’

  ‘Okay, then we’ll skip to the next question for now,’ the policeman continued. ‘Do you have any other victims? What about this woman, for example?’ He showed him a picture of a woman with poked-out eyes on a bus.

  Like hungry vultures they were hacking at him with their questions.

  ‘Fischer.’

  But he couldn’t answer.

  ‘More victims?’

  He wanted to speak, but he couldn’t get the words out.

  ‘And finally: where are you keeping them hi
dden?’

  He closed his eyes and shook his head as hard as he could to get them to disappear, but they refused. Instead they just came closer with their hacking beaks.

  ‘Ossian, I’m not here to harm you,’ the policeman lied. ‘I just want to understand how this all fits together.’

  ‘Understand?’ He couldn’t help but laugh. ‘That’s good – really good. Who doesn’t want that? I do anyway.’

  ‘Sorry, but what do you mean?’

  ‘Mean? How should I know? I don’t know anything. I don’t even get to have a radio, even though I haven’t done anything. They just say no, no, no.’

  ‘Ossian, try to listen to the police now.’

  ‘How can I listen to the sea report without a radio? Huh? It’s impossible. Now it’s time to leave. Visits are no good.’

  ‘Fabian, can I talk to you outside?’ the fat one said. In the corner of his eye he saw them pass a cleaning woman as they left.

  Finally.

  *

  ‘THERE’S NO POINT,’ SAID Malin, starting to massage her hips.

  ‘So we should just give up?’ Fabian took a thermos of coffee from the food cart and filled a cup.

  ‘He’s been diagnosed with severe dissociative identity disorder, so there is actually a risk that he doesn’t remember anything that he’s done.’

  Fabian nodded. Malin was presumably right, but waiting for him to get healthy was not an option. They would have to take a different route.

  ‘Do you believe me now?’ The therapist closed the door to the examination room behind him.

  ‘Of course. We have this whole time,’ said Malin.

  ‘I hope you’re aware how much this will negatively affect his confidence in me. This relationship took me years to develop and it just went up in smoke.’

  ‘We appreciate that and we’re very sorry,’ said Malin. ‘But as I’m sure you’ll understand, we have no other choice than to try all possible—’

  ‘We need to show him the crime scene,’ Fabian interrupted, turning towards the therapist. ‘Preferably as soon as possible.’

  ‘Sorry, but… I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘We need to bring him to one of the crime scenes and see if that activates his memory.’

  The therapist gave Fabian a quizzical look. ‘Were we just in the same room? Can’t you see how badly he’s doing?’

  ‘Yes, but presumably that’s nothing compared to how badly his victims are doing right now. You’ll have to excuse me if my sympathies aren’t with you or your patient.’

  ‘I couldn’t care less where your sympathies lie. Any visit to a crime scene is out of the question.’

  ‘I think you should lower your voice a bit,’ said Malin, standing in front of Fabian. ‘Regardless of what happens, Kremph is certainly going to be convicted. We are just trying to do everything in our power to save the lives of any further victims, and clear up a number of question marks in the investigation. You can think about it anyway.’

  The therapist nodded, but didn’t say anything. Then he turned around and went back into Kremph’s room.

  45

  THE SMELL REMINDED DUNJA of her grandfather’s old auto repair shop in Kolding. They used to go four times a year when her parents were still married, but after the divorce it increased to as often as one weekend a month. Every time they visited, she would sneak down into the garage after hours, lie down amongthe tools on the dirty concrete floor, close her eyes and enjoy that special smell. It was one of her favourite things, and even today she still caught herself taking an extra deep breath as soon as she was in a garage or gas station.

  But she wasn’t in Kolding today, she was in Helsingborg, trying to locate and arrest a serial killer. She looked around and noted that the Helsingborg police lab for technical forensic investigation looked quite different from Kjeld Richter’s office in Copenhagen – it was the exact opposite of a white and clinical set-up. The floor and walls were concrete and fluorescent light fixtures hung from the ceiling, illuminating a number of different workstations.

  She took out her phone and saw that it was five to five. Benny Willumsen, presumably with Katja Skov tied up in his car, had now had over a four-and-a-half-hour head start, an eternity in her mind. He would have no problem hiding far outside their range, assuming he kept his pace up. If, on the other hand, he was convinced that the police were busy searching his apartment for non-existent evidence, there was a good chance he would slow down, meaning his time advantage could just as well be rounded down to zero.

  She turned to Klippan. ‘Should we get going? I think it’s—’

  Klippan shushed her. ‘He doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s this focused,’ he whispered, closing the door as quietly as possible behind her.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. This is going to hell anyway,’ a voice said from inside the room.

  Only now did she realize that there was a man in a white coat sitting inside the room staring at a large computer. The man turned towards them, putting his chin to his chest to look over his reading glasses.

  ‘This is Dunja Hougaard. The person I told you about,’ said Klippan, continuing into the room. ‘From the Copenhagen police.’

  ‘Yes, I don’t have Alzheimer’s,’ said the man, turning back to face his computer screen, which was filled with long columns of letters and digits in various combinations.

  ‘At any rate, this is our forensic technician Ingvar Molander. I can attest that he’s normally in a considerably better mood.’

  ‘Are you having problems?’ asked Dunja, walking towards Molander.

  ‘If you define a problem as a perpetrator who’s disappeared into thin air then the answer is without a doubt yes.’ Molander started playing a surveillance video of Aksel Neuman’s BMW with the tinted windows driving off the ferry. ‘As you see, he got off the ferry in Helsingborg at 12:22 p.m. today. He should have appeared on one of the speed cameras outside the city, but over four hours have passed and he still hasn’t been seen on a single one in all of Skåne.’

  ‘But what if he wasn’t driving fast?’

  Molander exchanged a look with Klippan.

  ‘I don’t know how far you’ve got with this technology in Denmark, but Malmö is test-driving ANPR here. Tuvesson managed to get the okay for us to make use of their data just for this case – don’t ask me how,’ Klippan said.

  ‘They were just as shattered as we were when Willumsen was released,’ said Molander.

  ‘She must have pulled a few strings that went pretty far up because it’s fairly controversial.’

  ‘What’s ANPR?’

  ‘Automatic Number Plate Recognition,’ said Molander. ‘Speed cameras are directly connected to a server that registers all the cars that pass in real time, regardless of what speed they’re driving.’

  ‘Are you really allowed to do that in Sweden?’

  ‘Not yet. They don’t count on all the clauses being in place for another two years. So it’s not something we can make use of as evidence,’ said Klippan.

  ‘It doesn’t matter anyway because we’re not getting any hits,’ said Molander with a sigh.

  ‘Maybe there’s a bug in the system?’ suggested Klippan.

  ‘No, it’s more likely that he has deliberately chosen side roads where there aren’t any cameras. I’m in the process of gathering more data from all monitored garages and gas stations. With a little luck—’

  ‘Or else he just changed a letter or number on the licence plate,’ said Dunja, setting aside her winter coat and scarf on an empty chair.

  ‘That’s not a dumb idea, actually,’ said Klippan, nodding insistently. ‘In principle, a little black electrical tape is probably enough. What do you think?’ He turned toward Molander, but the question lingered in the air unanswered because Molander was already busy searching alternate registration numbers.

  In the meantime, Dunja caught sight of a folder with the title ‘The Ven Case: August 2007’. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘That�
��s what I was telling you about on the phone. It’s the whole reason that Willumsen is still free. I didn’t include it in the email to you because I’m sure he’s not the perpetrator. But Ingvar insisted that you should be able to make your own assessment,’ said Klippan.

  ‘Of course, I believe it was him,’ said Molander with a sigh. ‘Who else could it be?’

  ‘That’s a good question. In any case, I believe it’s not Willumsen. His alibi was watertight. But there’s no reason to continue debating it now,’ said Klippan, turning towards Dunja. ‘As you can tell, we’re not quite in agreement.’

  ‘What was his alibi?’

  ‘He was at a gym in central Malmö where he’d been working out for almost eight whole hours.’

  ‘Eight hours?’

  ‘Yes, evidently he’s a real exercise addict and strong as… I don’t know what. He’s not someone you want to meet alone in a dark alley.’

  Dunja opened the folder and skimmed through the two-and-a-half-year-old investigation. There were photos of a naked woman on all fours attached to a freight pallet that had floated to the shore near Sankt Ibb on the north side of Ven.

  ‘Is she fastened to it?’

  ‘Yes, she was screwed down with ten-gauge self-drilling screws.’ Klippan illustrated the length of the screws with his hands. ‘It must have been terrifying. Ingvar knew her.’

  ‘That might be an overstatement. Depends on how you define “know”,’ said Molander from in front of the computer.

  ‘Well, they lived on the same block. By the way, how’s her husband doing? Is he still living there?’

  ‘No, he sold the house a year and a half ago.’

  ‘Didn’t he start drinking and gamble away all his money on Internet poker?’

  ‘Yes, but if I’m going to have any chance at all to be done with this before the holidays, you’ll have to keep your—’

  ‘Absolutely. I’m sorry, we’ll leave you alone.’ Klippan turned to Dunja. ‘He’s always this touchy when there’s something exciting going on.’

  ‘Can you tell me more about this case?’

  Klippan nodded and led Dunja away from Molander. ‘It’s a frightful story. Her name was Inga Dahlberg and she was out jogging in Ramlösa Park when she was attacked and abducted from the scene. Unfortunately, there were no witnesses, but we secured traces of blood from the jogging trail. As you can see here, she was struck in the face by something hard.’ He browsed ahead in the investigation file to some photographs that showed the victim’s battered face. ‘It was probably a spade or something similar. We secured more evidence from an out-of-the-way place among the trees by the river.’