High Risk

by Simona Ahrnstedt

  “I believe you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re an incredibly smart woman. I just wish you could see it yourself.” Elsa took Ambra’s hand and squeezed it. Ambra squeezed back. Elsa’s hand was so thin. God, the woman was ninety-two; she could be dying. Wasn’t everyone, by definition, dying by the time they approached one hundred?

  “What are you going to do now?” Elsa asked.

  Ambra looked out the hospital window. All she had were a few blurry pictures taken by Elsa and a half confirmation from Lotta the social worker that the girls were foster children. There wasn’t really much she could do with so little information.

  But she remembered how many times she had been sent to Esaias’s basement, how desperate she was. How she cried and hoped someone would save her, though she should have given up any hope long before. All those times she prayed intensely to her mom and dad, whispered that if they existed, if they were thinking of her up there in heaven, they should give her a sign. No sign ever came. Not a single person on earth cared whether she lived or died. But those two girls would be saved. She would save them. Anyone who tried to stop her could go to hell.

  She gave Elsa a serious look. “I’m going to go over there. Talk to Esaias. I have to.”

  “I think you do have to. But be careful, promise me that.”

  Ambra nodded. “I promise.”

  She got up from her seat, full of a new, angry energy. She would do this. Everything was falling into place.

  She turned to Elsa. “Can you promise me something too?”

  Elsa turned her pale, wrinkled face to her. When she smiled, the expression formed a web of lines and furrows. “Anything, my dear.”

  “Promise not to die before I come back.”

  Elsa nodded solemnly. “I’ll try.”

  Chapter 58

  Tom studied the picture of their last troll. It was an image of a man he had more than one reason to dislike.

  Oliver Holm, the reporter from Aftonbladet.

  “Have you met him before?” Mattias asked as he hauled the bag up onto the table.

  “Nope,” Tom replied.

  Though it felt like he had.

  After he and Mattias had parted ways the day before, Tom went home, showered, and got a few hours’ sleep. He went into work for a while after that, and then spent the rest of the day going through the information they had on Oliver Holm. It wasn’t exactly an uplifting read. Oliver currently worked the same shift pattern as Ambra, had the same free days as her, and shared some of the same bosses (though there were a lot of different-level bosses at the paper, Tom noted). Oliver and Ambra were almost the same age and had been working at Aftonbladet for almost the same length of time.

  But there, the similarities ended.

  Oliver portrayed himself as a hard-nosed journalist, with edgy pieces on motorcycle gangs, expensive cars, and portraits of primarily male sports stars on his merit list. He lived alone in an expensive condo at Liljeholmsstranden—a new and flashy area—and was seen as a star on the rise. On the surface, in other words, Oliver Holm was a successful journalist. According to his Instagram account, he worked out five times a week, and the same source also claimed he drank champagne and expensive cocktails in Stockholm’s coolest spots. He was a member of a number of Facebook groups where music, films, and electronic gadgets were discussed in a raw, manly fashion. The jokes he shared were almost exclusively sexist, and he made the occasional comment about “militant feminists,” but otherwise there was nothing remarkable about him. He had a son who lived with him every other week. On the surface, he was a perfectly average guy.

  But beneath the surface, a completely different person emerged. Tom leafed through the documents. Extracts from police reports, copies of lists of IP addresses, printouts of SMS conversations, messages from closed groups on Facebook, decoded posts on Flashback. Things Oliver had probably thought were impossible to trace but that were now in a neat pile in front of Tom.

  “Filippa’s good,” Tom remarked as he scanned through a fraction of the messages Oliver had sent to Ambra under a pseudonym.

  I’ll shove a chainsaw up your disgusting feminist pussy.

  You traitorous bitch. You think you’re something. Why don’t you just give up and throw yourself under a train?

  There were a huge number of similar messages. To Ambra and other women. What a fucking scumbag.

  “My whole team’s great,” Mattias said. “Best in Sweden, and definitely top class internationally. The elite of the elite. And nice, too. You’d fit in.”

  Tom didn’t reply to that. What he and Mattias were doing, it was a one-off; he had no intention of carrying out illegal threats on a permanent basis. Lodestar was where he belonged. But that didn’t mean this wasn’t important. Because if you looked behind the neat facade, Oliver Holm was a real pig. Under various usernames, he moved between a number of different sites like a predator. He was good at making young girls feel appreciated, at winning their trust. Time and time again, he managed to make defenseless and often vulnerable girls gradually expose themselves to him, both psychologically and physically. Little by little, until they were caught in his web. He made them show their breasts, send nude pictures, pose for the web camera, and then he made them do worse and worse things by threatening to publish the material. His accounts had been reported several times, but every single investigation had been dropped.

  It was a depressing illustration of the way the legal system failed to safeguard the very youngest online. But degrading and breaking teenage girls wasn’t the only thing Oliver got up to on the Internet. As Filippa dug deeper, she found more and more evidence of serious crimes. Tom had seen the very worst sides of humanity. He knew what people were capable of doing to one another, had seen cruelties that, thankfully, the majority couldn’t even imagine. There were those who argued that hate against women was stronger in other cultures, but Tom didn’t agree with that at all. This everyday misogyny of Oliver and his peers was no different; it was just a question of degree. Bad men doing whatever they could get away with. A guy like Oliver would continue his attacks, threats, and disgusting behavior as long as he felt he would get away with it. Just like those who tortured their fellow citizens, raped women, or acted like animals during war.

  “Everyone has a choice whether to be a pig or not,” said Tom.

  “And Oliver has chosen to be,” Mattias replied. “It’s not just Ambra and those young girls that he harassed. He’s one of Jill’s haters too. That’s how I found him.”

  “Figures,” Tom said, feeling his dislike of Oliver grow.

  “We’ll have to try hard not to kill him.”

  “Guess so. Shame.”

  “Real shame. You got everything?” Mattias asked.

  Tom nodded. It was time again.

  * * *

  They drove out to Liljeholmen in concentrated silence. There were two men already waiting for them out there. They had decided to try to get to Oliver during the daytime. He lived in a residential area where very few people were around during the day. They had studied the plans to his apartment. It was a sturdy, new-build condo, and if he started to scream no one would hear them.

  “Is he home?” Tom asked after they met the others.

  “Since last night. Alone.”

  The two guys waited outside, guarding the car and the building, while Tom and Mattias made it in through the front door without any trouble. They pulled on their balaclavas, rang the buzzer, and heard a faint murmur from inside before Oliver Holm unlocked and opened the door. A ruffled head appeared. “Yeah?” he said grumpily.

  Without a word, they forced their way into the apartment. Tom placed a hand over Oliver’s mouth, Mattias closed and locked the door, and they had him taped and on the floor in three seconds.

  Mattias went in to secure the apartment while Tom kept an eye on their prisoner. Oliver fought back. He was unexpectedly strong, no doubt a combination of all the working out and a serious adrenaline rush.
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  His arms and legs kicked out, and he managed to strike Tom just above the eyebrow.

  “Motherfucker,” Tom swore as the blood started to pour, temporarily clouding his field of vision. In that same moment, the idiot managed to pull the tape from his mouth and took a deep breath to yell.

  Tom, who wasn’t exactly in a good mood now that he was bleeding heavily, swung at the side of Oliver’s head, making him lose his breath. He managed to retape his mouth.

  “The place is empty. What do we do now?” Mattias asked when he returned.

  “He’s going to hurt himself if he keeps on like this. Calm down, for fuck’s sake!” Tom barked, shaking Oliver.

  Oliver shouted something that was stifled by the tape. It sounded like: “I’m a journalist. You can’t do this.”

  They dragged him into the living room, where Mattias had pulled out a heavy leather seat. They fastened Oliver’s wrists with cable ties at the back of the chair. He pulled and tore at them so hard that he almost tipped it over. But eventually, they had him secure and sitting still, breathless, sweating, and furious behind the silver tape.

  Tom went out into the kitchen, found paper towels, and shoved them beneath his balaclava, pressed against the cut on his brow. They would have to make sure to clean up any blood. They couldn’t leave behind anything that could be tested for DNA.

  Mattias studied Oliver. “We just want to talk to you. If you keep your mouth shut, I’ll take the tape off. But if you shout, my friend here will make you regret it.”

  Tom didn’t even need to exert himself to look threatening. Just the thought that this man had tormented Ambra made his blood boil.

  Mattias pulled away the silver tape.

  “What do you want? I don’t have any money here,” Oliver insisted.

  “We’re here because of things you wrote.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Not in the paper,” Mattias explained.

  Oliver seemed confused, as if he genuinely had no idea what Mattias was talking about.

  “Online,” Mattias said patiently.

  Oliver snorted. “You’re insane. You actually care? Are you from TV or what? There are real criminals out there. Let me go. I haven’t done shit.”

  “Tell that to the girls whose lives you ruined.”

  Oliver made another snorting sound. “Those sluts. They only have themselves to blame if they’re that stupid.”

  The fact that Oliver placed the blame with his victims didn’t make Tom any more favorable toward him. He forced himself to take a step back. If he got too close, there was a risk he would end up wringing the asshole’s neck.

  Mattias started to go through some of the worst things Filippa had found, and gratifyingly, the mocking look on Oliver’s face was replaced by fear when Mattias read out quotes of his posts to Flashback.

  When Tom eventually started the electric saw, Oliver bounced back and they had to tape his mouth again, because he started to yell.

  After they scared him with the saw and the nail gun, they moved on to threatening him in different ways. It didn’t take long for his arrogance to disappear, and he started crying like a baby. Since Tom had seen pictures of the girls he’d harassed, the youngest of them twelve, Oliver’s tears didn’t wake an ounce of compassion.

  Mattias cast a glance at Tom, who nodded in reply. It was time to finish up.

  “We’ll be back if we suspect you’re even thinking of reoffending.”

  Oliver had sweated and cried so much that the tape had come loose from his mouth. “It’s not illegal to think,” he whined.

  Tom, who had definitely had enough of Oliver Holm and his crappy opinions, hit him in the face. “In your case it is,” was all he said.

  They packed up their things while Oliver sank into silence.

  “Are you from that firm I wrote about? Lodestar?” he asked after a while, studying them through swollen eyes.

  They ignored him, but Oliver continued.

  “Are you Tom Lexington?” He nodded toward Tom, who was the taller of the two. “Ambra protected you, God knows why. You’re just a thug. She’ll probably lose the job she wanted because of you.” He laughed. “Typical Ambra, she’s always been a loser.”

  It was as if someone had drawn a dark veil before Tom’s eyes. All he could see was black. His fist flew through the air like an unstoppable projectile, and it landed on Oliver’s jaw with such force that both he and the chair tipped backward. Oliver roared.

  “What the hell.” Mattias gave Tom an irritated look.

  Tom forced himself to calm down. Mattias was right, of course. There was no point losing it like that. Tom shook his head. He could feel the punch in his knuckles. Good. He waited until Oliver stopped whimpering. “You’re going to write to every single journalist you’ve harassed and apologize, understand?”

  “You’re crazy.”

  Tom brought his face close to Oliver’s, and Oliver jumped. “You’re going to apologize and you’re going to grovel. Otherwise I’ll come back and throw you off the balcony. Consider that a promise.”

  Oliver’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He looked away. But he also nodded.

  “We’re leaving now,” Mattias said. “You go first, I’ll follow you.”

  Tom grabbed the bag and stomped out of the apartment.

  Damn it. Oliver was an idiot and an asshole, but his drivel only confirmed what Tom already knew. That Ambra hadn’t lied. That Oliver and her boss had gone over her head. She hadn’t betrayed him. He clutched the handle of the bag. But that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was that it had cost Ambra what she wanted most of all: the investigative job. She would lose the one thing he knew she held most dear, and it was all his fault. She’d told the truth and he’d punished her for it.

  “I’ll drive,” he said, catching the keys Mattias threw to him.

  They pulled the door closed behind them and hurried down the stairs.

  “How long before he gets loose?” Tom asked.

  Mattias threw the bag into the trunk. “Thirty minutes maybe? I loosened the ties, so he should be able to get free. If he sacrifices a little skin. What happened up there?”

  Tom didn’t reply; he just started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. They nodded to their colleagues, who left just as discreetly, taking the highway south, while Tom drove toward the center of Stockholm.

  He had treated Ambra badly, and he knew what he had to do.

  “It went well anyway,” Mattias said after they sat in silence all the way into Stockholm.

  “I’ve really blown things.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Not work. That was fun, and I think we did good. But with Ambra.”

  “So she’s the one you want?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you fix it?”

  “I really don’t know.” He struggled to say the words, but he had to be realistic.

  “Women.” Mattias sighed.

  “Yeah.”

  They drove on in silence.

  “You going to work?”

  “Yeah. But now that we’re on the subject. I think I like Jill,” said Mattias.

  “Like? Are you twelve, or what?”

  “You’re in no position to act superior when it comes to women. Didn’t you just ruin two relationships?”

  “Guess so. Tell me about Jill.”

  “I’ve never felt like this before. Intellectually I know she’s wrong for me, but she feels so right.”

  Tom listened to Mattias’s torment with one ear. He was deep in his own anguished thoughts about Ambra. He had been wrong, done wrong, reacted wrong. He had to try to straighten things out.

  “Are you even listening?”

  Tom stopped the car suddenly. “I’ll drop you off here. I need to go home.”

  “But . . .”

  “We can talk more later,” he said, pulling the door closed the minute Mattias was out. He had an important call to make.

  Chapter 59


  When Ambra left Elsa and the hospital, she noticed that the battery on her cell phone was already empty. Her brand-new, technically advanced smartphone didn’t stand a chance against the bitter Norrland chill. It went from fully charged to empty in just a few short hours.

  “Weakling,” she muttered.

  She swung by the hotel to quickly charge it in her room. While she waited for the battery to fill up, she lay down on the bed and breathed calmly. Her phone buzzed, as though it wanted to assure her it was working away. She closed her eyes and tried to picture how the next few hours would play out. She had no idea. And she had no one to talk it over with. She missed Tom. And Jill. She sniffed but refused to start crying, not now. She had to be strong and focused. She had a job to do.

  People must have been trying to call her while her phone was dead, because now that it was charging it was pinging away angrily. She was so tired. Couldn’t bring herself to check it. She would lie here for ten minutes and wait. Be mindful and calm. But only a minute later, she got up; she couldn’t be mindful even if lives were at stake. Her phone was charged to nineteen percent, and she had two missed calls.

  Both were from Tom.

  At first, she thought it was a mistake. Old messages popping up when her phone restarted. But he had called. And recently.

  Her mouth was so dry she couldn’t swallow. Her first impulse was to call him back, immediately. But then she hesitated. Why was he calling her? She wasn’t sure she had the strength to talk to him right now. One harsh word from Tom and she would fall to pieces. She couldn’t afford that. She would wait and see. She had some pride left after all.

  Once her cell phone was fully charged, she dropped it into her pocket, brushed all thoughts of Tom to one side, closed the door to her room, and walked toward the church in the icy air. She glanced up at the red building, opened the door, and slipped into one of the pews at the very back. She would have to mentally charge herself for what she had come to do. The sermon was about to begin.