by Anna Jansson
“The wallet had more than a thousand kronor in it. In other words, this is not a robbery. The hanging has the same exhibitionist element as the murder of Linn Bogren,” said Maria, who’d sat in silence for a while, listening. “The corpse has not been hidden, instead it’s exhibited in a provocative way in the home of a police officer. Like when a cat drags a rat in with its head bitten off and leaves it in the hall like a hunting trophy. Who is this show for? Where is the audience? Is it a message that’s supposed to scare someone? Or just the work of someone who hates the police and wants to demonstrate his superiority?”
“Someone who gets a kick out of the newspapers reporting that there are no clues about the identity of the killer.” Hartman remembered a frightening case many years before. It was about power. A human piece of scum who’d swung between feelings of divinity and absolute worthlessness. To earn respect one had to be dangerous.
“The person we’re looking for could be highly intelligent in one respect and at the same time emotionally stunted, a victim of his own thinking about the evil of human beings and the importance of punishing them. Perhaps someone who has or used to have contact with the psychiatric profession.”
“So the victims may be picked at random, you mean?” Once again Maria’s thoughts returned to the assault, in which she and the thirteen-year-old boy were subjected to an intense, yet also apparently random, violence.
“Maybe. It’s possible. The anger is there. It has to find an outlet. The perpetrator is only waiting for a victim.” Hartman noticed Erika’s irritation and stopped himself.
Erika Lund glanced at her papers and then at the clock. “I’ve collated the tests I ran at Linn Bogren’s with the finds I secured in Harry Molin’s home. As things stand now it is absolutely conceivable that we are dealing with the same murderer in both cases. It may be so, but we can’t take it for granted. The materials I found in Bogren’s home which do not directly come from her husband or her girlfriend are primarily the dog hairs, which can be traced back to the neighbor’s dog.”
“Which need not necessarily mean anything more than that he visited her as a neighbor.” Hartman let this information sink in. Later it might come in handy.
“The most interesting thing is some fairly viscous phlegm coughed into a piece of toilet paper left in the waste paper basket in Linn’s place. Disgusting, but valuable. There are traces of wood dust in the phlegm, possibly dust from polishing the wood flooring. The perpetrator is unknown to us, he doesn’t figure in any register. But we can probably assume he’s either a floor layer or an amateur who recently polished his own wood floor.”
“How do we know it was left by the murderer?” asked Ek.
“We don’t, but I found something else. A pathetically small dark snus stain on one of the strips of torn sheets used to decorate the Tempelkullen. They match. In other words, we have the DNA of someone who was both at the murder scene in Linn’s home and on Tempelkullen where the body was found. If we find the same DNA on the cigarette found by Harry’s mailbox we’ve come quite a long way.” Erika looked round at them, waiting for their approval.
“I would say it’s a breakthrough,” Hartman concluded.
“Does it match the DNA that was taken under my fingernails after the assault?” asked Maria.
“Unfortunately not.” Erika had been hoping for that.
“I’ll ask Claes Bogren to make a list of people among his acquaintances who use snus, smoke, and are renovating their homes. We also found a pair of 8 ½ men’s size Rieker shoes in Harry’s house which matched the footprints at Linn’s. The question is, what was he doing there?” Hartman couldn’t let go of the thought that maybe Harry was Linn’s murderer after all.
“The DNA we found at Linn’s isn’t a positive match with Harry’s,” Erika told him.
“Thanks. We should also check stores that rent out floor polishing machines and other DIY equipment.” Hartman gave Erika a nod as she stood up to leave the conference room. “I asked a guy from the IT Group to check Per Arvidsson’s computer. It felt a bit strange, since it would usually be Per who took care of that job.” Hartman distributed copies of the material. “On the evening of June fifteenth at 22:25, Linn Bogren went over to Arvidsson and asked if she could borrow his computer. At 22:30 she sent herself an e-mail, like a sort of back-up on Hotmail. Its contents are a study on plant steroids.”
Ek tipped his chair while he tried to interpret the figures. “Maria?”
“I’m not very experienced at reading medical research reports, either. To transfer the material to Arvidsson’s computer she must have brought something like a USB memory stick or a CD with her, right?”
“I haven’t found any memory sticks in her house and no CDs either.” Erika sighed loudly. “I’ve asked an intern to look through the mail. At least he’s university-educated; you have to take what you get.”
“Her computer, or rather the clinic’s, was not in the house. Her husband assumed she was keeping it in the pharmaceuticals section. She rarely brought it home.” Hartman turned to Maria – she was the last person who’d spoken to Claes Bogren.
“She’d been borrowing the laptop for the past year so she could work on the study.” Maria outlined the meeting she’d had earlier in the week with the staff at the section where Linn worked. They’d spoken about a range of things, but no one had mentioned anything about a medical study. Linn had been working on it with the clinic manager; no one else had been involved.
“What reason could there be for transferring the material to Arvidsson’s computer, other than a fear that someone was going to destroy it? Let’s bring in her boss for questioning.” Hartman picked up the telephone to inform his colleagues on patrol. “His name is Sam Wettergren.”
“I’m going to check his bank accounts and then I’ll go and see him there, at work. Surprise him. We’ve already met, we’ve established contact. And I won’t announce myself at reception.” Maria didn’t wait for an answer. She was already on her way.
Hartman indicated with a gesture that the run-through was over. Now he needed to get hold of Arvidsson.
Per Arvidsson sat slumped in his chair, his long legs splayed on the floor – he was talking on the telephone. Hartman remained in the doorway waiting for him to finish.
Per waved apologetically at him. He was speaking to a retired colleague who’d been in service at the time of the lawn mower murder.
“I found a newspaper article online. From ten years ago. About a forty-five-year-old man who’d been killed with a lawn mower blade. In your district. I’m waiting to get all the information you have on the case.”
The elderly colleague from Stockholm didn’t have a lot to say for himself. Per was clearly getting impatient with him for speaking and thinking so slowly.
“Believe me. When you contacted me the first time I tried to find the documents and refresh my memory. I was in charge of the investigation and I remember that summary execution very well. We found the murder weapon but after that we ran straight into a wall. There was nothing to go on, no witnesses. And now all the documents are gone! They’re not in the archive, not in paper format or even in our computer records.”
“What do you mean? They couldn’t just disappear, could they? Have the documents been lent to someone?”
“We’re looking into this, but for the moment there are no documents.”
“For Christ’s sake! What can you remember about it?” Arvidsson chewed his thumbnail frenetically. He had to catch the bastard who beat up Maria, it might even be the only way of getting her back.
“It was never cleared up. No one had heard or seen anything. The man was found in a ditch torn to pieces. I never saw anything like it, not in all my years as a policeman. Why are you asking?”
“Because there’s a rumor among the cons that the guy who did it was someone called Roy. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Roy? No, nothing. I had this case scratched into my retina for three years. There was no Roy in the investi
gation. In fact, there was no suspect at all. No witnesses. Nothing!”
“Would you be kind enough to write down everything you can remember? What the man’s name was, who his friends were, his family. Everything.” Per described the lethal assault in Visby and Maria’s predicament. “We believe this could be the work of the same man.”
“I read about that attack in the newspaper. It touched me. How’s Maria Wern doing?”
“The newspaper didn’t go into much detail on certain points. The pig stabbed her with a blood-filled syringe; she’s just trying to hold it all together now, waiting to hear what her fate is. We’ve asked the health service for a list of everyone on the island with some form of blood infection, but no one fits. The police have the right to examine this type of information but still we always come up against the same administrative hassle. No one has the guts to grab hold of it.”
“Oh shit, it gets worse and worse.”
“Get back to me!” Per Arvidsson threw down the phone and swore. Then turned his eyes to Hartman. “Anything new come up?” The others had sat through the meeting without him; he hadn’t been allowed any further contact with the investigation until Maria had checked out his alibi.
“Harry Molin was murdered.” Hartman took two steps into the room and sat opposite Arvidsson, at his desk.
“What the hell are you saying? I thought he hanged himself at my place because he knew he’d be found there.”
Hartman summarized things briefly. “Two murders in your block. People are calling like crazy, the phone lines are jammed. The public demands a beefed-up police presence downtown during nights and evenings. There’s a rumor that Linus’s father is organizing a vigilante group.”
“Nothing odd about that.” Per wasn’t sure what he would have done if the same thing had happened to his own son. “How’s Maria? It’s all fucked up, this. She knows I was at Rebecka’s place and she won’t see me again.”
Hartman shook his head ruefully. He felt for them both. “Maria just left to interview Sam Wettergren, Chief Physician at Linn Bogren’s workplace. There’s no coordination, she’s running her own race. She seems more angry than upset, if that’s any consolation to you.”
“Did she go by herself?”
“Ek tagged along.”
CHAPTER 27
MARIA WERN WAS ALMOST RUNNING down the hospital corridor and Ek had to motor along to keep up with her. The smell of fresh-brewed coffee hit them, mixed with other odors from the rinsing room. The door to Sam Wettergren’s office was closed. The red lamp was turned on, but Maria walked straight in without knocking. Sam bounced out of his chair, caught red-handed scrutinizing skimpily dressed ladies on a homepage that had apparently been approved by the county council’s ratings system. Ek had a hard time keeping a straight face. The physician looked like a bashful boy. It didn’t even occur to him to protest about this intrusion. With a click of his keyboard he switched to another site – Stock Market notations.
“Maria Wern, police.” She shook his hand, slightly disgusted at the thought of not quite knowing where the physician’s hand had been, then pushed away the unpleasant thought and sat down opposite Wettergren. Ek took a seat on the examination table alongside, its disposable paper cover rustling loudly in the silent room. Wettergren’s embarrassment soon turned into irritation. He could hardly tell them he was busy without giving rise to hilarity. Under no circumstances did he want them there, but at the same time he didn’t dare tell them to go to hell. All these emotions played themselves out on his face over the course of a few seconds, while Maria got out pen and paper.
“What do you want?” he finally said.
“A word with you.” Maria leaned forward and turned off the monitor of his computer so that she’d have his undivided attention. They said doctors spent at most twenty-five percent of their time seeing patients. For Sam Wettergren the statistics must have looked even worse. He worked at home at least one day a week according to the clinic nurse, and what he got up to there was impossible for anyone to say. It was probably a hidden perk.
“I’ve told you everything I know. You’ve already been here and I have nothing to add.” He spoke slowly and clearly, offering a strained smile, though his eyes behind his black spectacle frames were icy gray.
“Let’s take it from the beginning. Where were you on the evening of June fifteenth?”
“I’ve already answered that. I was lecturing on allergies at Congress Hall. I went directly there from work. After the lecture I had a beer with a few colleagues. I went home just before midnight, more or less quarter to twelve, which my wife can confirm as can my friends. I don’t understand what the problem is. Why don’t you just check my information?”
“We have. Your wife says she was asleep. She can’t remember when you came home, and your friends give varying accounts of when you may have left.” Maria leaned forward. “Are you in any way involved in the murder of Linn Bogren?”
“What the hell are you saying? No, for God’s sake, no! We were colleagues, we worked well together.…” Sam Wettergren could no longer sit still. He pushed his chair back, the wheels scraping against the floor. His eyes darting in all directions, he stood up and went to the window where he stood with his back to them.
“At 22:01 you had a telephone call from Linn. Just after midnight she was dead. What did you talk about?” Maria saw Sam Wettergren shielding his body behind his crossed arms.
“None of your business, I have to respect confidentiality, I’m responsible for the staff, you know.…”
“We both know it’s not like that. We’re dealing with murder here. In which case your confidentiality no longer applies. What was your conversation about?”
“She was having a relationship with a patient.” Sam stopped.
“Sara Wentzel,” Ek filled in.
“So you know. She wanted to come out and be open about it. She wanted me to be the first to know, so I could prepare myself for any problems arising. Very considerate. That’s how she was, Linn. A fine human being and an excellent nurse. We always worked very well together.”
“You recently completed a study together. What was this about?”
“Linn was always interested in alternative medicine. It may seem a little odd. Those of us who work in orthodox medicine should keep to science, people think, and that is precisely what I do. I want to examine alternative medical treatments in a clinical way, then adopt or reject these attempts to develop new and better ways in which to treat patients. We decided to study whether plant steroids have an effect. If so, they could be used as an aid to existing treatments or even an alternative when patients have unacceptable side effects from cortisone.”
“Did you finish the study?”
“I presented it at the annual medical conference this year and it stirred up a lot of interest. In Germany and Holland there’s much more openness to unconventional methods, there’s a big market for products of this kind. Patients are no longer satisfied that the doctor knows best. They want to decide themselves from a smorgasbord of available treatments, with the doctor as an advisor but not God Almighty.”
“What does this success mean for you?” Maria saw how he relaxed and grew less guarded.
“Nothing. I’m doing it to help improve the quality of life of sick people.”
“Did you go to Linn’s house on the night she died?” Maria dropped her question into their conversation in a relaxed, normal tone of voice.
“I walked past her place on the way back from the bar and was intending to say a few words to her. I thought she might be awake. The gate in the fence was open and the front door wasn’t locked. I called her name but she didn’t answer.”
“For what reason? There must be a reason for going to the home of a woman who’s there by herself in the middle of the night. Were you jealous?” Ek leaned back on the examination table and watched Sam’s face with a rigid stare.
“I love my wife. I have never had anything but a professional relationship with Linn Bo
gren. I actually came to pick up the computer which is a work computer, I needed it for my work the following day. My laptop had broken and she had all the material on hers.”
Ek gave a whistle. “And did you find it?”
“No, I knocked and when she didn’t answer I carried on walking. I thought maybe she’d left the computer at work. Which was correct. It was in her room by reception.”
“Which you have access to?” asked Maria.
“There’s a master key,” said Sam, looking bothered.
“Could you open the study and we’ll have a look at it together. I think it sounds very interesting.” Maria gave him one of her sunniest smiles and Sam Wettergren melted. He opened the study and patiently explained its bar graphs and diagrams.
“Why did you have to get a hold of Linn’s computer in the middle of the night? Couldn’t you have picked it up the following day or asked her to bring it to work if she had it at home?” Maria leaned forward and focused on his face. He wasn’t going to wriggle out of this one.
Ek stood up and blocked the door when Sam took a quick step in that direction. “Why?”
“Yes, why the heck?” Sam sank back into his chair. “I suppose I was drunk. I’d had an argument with a few colleagues in the pub about the study, in fact, and I wanted to talk to someone. My wife doesn’t understand this, but Linn did.”
“What was the dispute about?” asked Maria.
“Jealousy, of course, there’s no jealousy worse than the academic kind.”
“How were they attacking you?” Maria was registering a growing intensity of emotion in the physician. Which was good, maybe he’d be less defensive.