‘Are you saying it was a full fifteen minutes before he…’ Klippan faltered and seemed to disappear into himself.
‘Okay. But did he find anything of interest?’ Molander said eventually. ‘Such as signs of sexual violence?’
‘Not that I know. But you know how tight-lipped Flätan is before he’s completely done. So paedophilia could absolutely be a motive. It’s kind of odd we haven’t thought of it until now.’
‘Do you have a suspect?’ Lilja asked.
‘I do, this bloke.’ Klippan started up the overhead projector and connected his laptop, displaying a picture on the wall of a pear-shaped man with slicked-back hair, a moustache and glasses. ‘I found these pictures on his Facebook page.’
‘Cool cat. Who is he?’
‘Björn Richter. You know, the one I told you about on the phone. The one who lives on the second floor in the same building and works as a nursery nurse at the Sunflower Nursery.’
‘Right. The one you thought was creepy but you couldn’t say why.’
‘Are you seriously telling us he works in a nursery?’ Tuvesson exclaimed.
‘There’s always a shortage of male teachers. I assume people like him can get a job anywhere,’ Lilja said.
‘Well, we shouldn’t judge people on appearance alone,’ Tuvesson said. ‘But I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with my children being in his care.’
‘You haven’t seen the worst of it.’ Klippan clicked to the next picture.
It showed the man in what appeared to be his living room, sitting on a plastic-covered sofa, surrounded by hundreds of china dolls. He was posing with a lot of dolls in the next picture as well, but in that one he was in his bedroom, under the pink duvet of his king-sized bed.
14
The smell of stagnant air hit Fabian when he opened the door to Hugo Elvin’s flat, switched on the much-too-dim ceiling light and let Hillevi Stubbs in.
It was one day short of a month since he’d been there with Molander and found Elvin dead, hanging from a swag hook in full drag. There hadn’t really been a proper investigation because Flätan, the coroner, had concluded that nothing suggested it being anything other than suicide.
This was the first time he’d set foot in the flat since then; to make sure no one could get in and contaminate the scene, he had made sure the locks were changed and paid the rent out of his own pocket through to August.
‘I can see why he might have been depressed.’ Stubbs looked around the dreary hallway with its beige string wallpaper and framed pictures of Elvin’s home town, Simrishamn. And just as Fabian had the first time he visited the flat, she stopped in front of one of the black-and-white photographs, in which a boy in a dress was helping his mother hang laundry. ‘I would be too, if I had to live like this.’
The only thing he’d told her was that she should have a look around as an experienced crime scene technician and see if anything jumped out at her. Nothing about Molander being a suspect and not a word about them flying completely under the radar.
After some coaxing, she had agreed to come, but only after making it very clear that she was taking a half-day off work to visit a friend in Harlösa and that she therefore had no more than half an hour to give him.
‘But to be honest, I still don’t understand what you think I could add when Molander’s already been over this place,’ she continued as she walked through the hallway. ‘Say what you will about that man, but he’s undoubtedly one of Sweden’s best.’
‘As I said on the phone, this hasn’t been a priority.’ Fabian closed the front door behind him and followed her inside.
‘No, sure, if no crime’s suspected, that’s just how it goes.’
‘I would say it had more to do with the other investigation we were busy with at the time. It was complex enough to use up all the oxygen. And surely even the best can miss things?’
‘I said one of the best.’ Stubbs turned her back on Fabian, walked into the living room and looked around in silence. At the blue decorative plates hanging in a row above the door lintel and continuing down on either side. At the String shelf with all its little knick-knacks, the plush sofa facing the old television set and the coffee table with its dark green tiles and a lace tablecloth.
‘So it wasn’t in here,’ he said, but got no reaction. ‘He was hanging in the other room. If you follow me, I could—’
‘Please, shut up, will you?’
Fabian knew Stubbs far too well to be offended. Her brusque manner was simply a sign of her being focused. Become one with the scene, as she had said to him once in Stockholm.
A few minutes later, she turned to him and nodded, and he showed her further down the hallway, into the bedroom, where the bed was as neatly made as the last time he’d been there. The laptop was still sitting on the little desk by the window that looked out at Hälsovägen, which despite its healthful name was Helsingborg’s most carcinogenic street.
‘Here’s some of the clothes I told you about.’ Fabian opened one of the wardrobes, which was filled with women’s underwear, wigs, dresses and pumps. ‘And over by the window you’ll find his computer with the search history. Do you want me to start it up?’
‘No.’ Stubbs continued in past the heavy maroon drapery, which had been pushed aside.
Fabian followed her into the innermost room, where a divan stood in a corner, facing a wall of books. Other than Elvin no longer hanging from the ceiling, it looked the same as when he and Molander had last been there.
He studied Stubbs as she walked around, absorbing the atmosphere. Sometimes with open eyes, studying some small detail, but just as often with her eyes closed. This time, he wasn’t going to break the silence; he walked over to the bookshelf and squatted down in front of the row of photo albums on the lowest shelf.
He had already flipped through the albums once without finding anything of interest. Even so, he was drawn to them.
The albums had years written on them. He pulled out the first, which had ’62–’68 written on its spine. Just as he remembered, page after page was filled with photographs from Elvin’s childhood. Most showed him as a seven-year-old, doing everything from using a bow and arrow, playing football and fishing to dressing up as a cowboy and playing with Meccano.
In some of the photos he was with his parents and in others his sister, who now lived in Switzerland. If Molander was to be believed, Elvin had fallen out with her over conducting the estate inventory for their parents, and since she hadn’t even bothered to come for his funeral, there may well be some truth in that.
There was a photo missing on one of the pages, and another on a different page. He remembered from his own parents’ old albums that the photos tended to come unstuck and lie around loose here and there. But there were no loose photos here, not in the album and not at the back of the shelf. Suddenly, he realized what he was really looking for.
‘Right, so what is it you want me to say?’ Stubbs asked. He decided his search would have to wait until they were done and put the album back on the shelf.
‘Anything,’ he said, standing back up. ‘Whatever jumps out at you.’
‘Fabian, if you’re expecting me to find something that points to it being either suicide or murder, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you.’ She looked at her watch. ‘And besides, time’s almost up.’
‘But surely there’s something here that gives you pause—’
‘I’m not blind,’ Stubbs broke in. ‘I see any number of things. But nothing that would help you launch a big investigation. Which is what this is about, isn’t it?’
‘Or not.’ Fabian walked up to her. ‘Let’s just for a few minutes entertain the notion that this wasn’t suicide.’
Stubbs sighed and checked her watch again. ‘Fine… But make it quick. We can start with the pictures of him you emailed over. As far as I can tell, he looked like he weighed well over 15 stone. Straight away, you have a problem. Just lifting him would have been difficult, not to say impossible. And
then you have to string him up from the swag hook to boot. Add to that that he would likely put up a fair bit of resistance and fight for his life, unless he was unconscious. Speaking of which, was there an autopsy?’
Fabian nodded.
‘Any cranial damage indicating violence?’
‘No.’
‘And the toxicology report?’
‘Nothing out of the ordinary.’
‘So he was neither drugged nor knocked senseless. Come on, you can hear what it sounds like, can’t you?’
‘The only thing we know for sure is that he wasn’t drugged at the time of his death,’ Fabian said. ‘But that doesn’t necessarily mean he couldn’t have been drugged when he was winched up, only to be kept alive until he—’
‘Hold on, what do you mean, winched?’
‘Well, or hoisted up using some kind of pulley system, assuming we’re dealing with a lone perpetrator.’
Stubbs laughed and shook her head. ‘This is starting to sound like some kind of bloody science fiction fantasy.’
‘But certainly possible, right?’
‘I suppose everything’s possible these days. But that’s not the same as saying it’s likely.’
‘Granted, but how about this for a scenario. First he’s drugged and his arms are tied behind his back. Then he’s hoisted up. Maybe in some kind of harness, to make sure he doesn’t suffocate straight away. Then the killer could take his time with the noose while waiting for him to wake up.’
‘Right, and then what? Once he wakes up?’
‘Well, then he just lets him dangle there, potentially giving him water to drink until the tranquillizer has passed out of his system. Once it has, he cuts the ropes to the harness and leaves it to gravity.’
Stubbs shrugged. ‘It still sounds like a bad three a.m. film to me. But all right, I can play along. Sure, it’s possible. About as possible as winning the lottery.’
‘And yet, someone does win every week.’
‘Sure, but that’s not my point.’
‘I get that, and I hear what you’re saying. But just to follow it through to the end. You said you can see any number of things – I would love to hear what they are. Besides, I actually still have six minutes before you have to go.’
‘Were you always this stubborn?’ Stubbs heaved a sigh but did scan the room again. ‘All right, fine, take the books on the shelf. Why are all the titles in alphabetical order except Man Alive, Redefining Realness and Beyond Magenta?’
‘What? You mean—’
‘I don’t mean anything. But wouldn’t it make more sense to have all your trans literature on one shelf, or, alternatively, placed alphabetically with the other books and not scattered randomly like this? It doesn’t prove anything one way or another. I just find it peculiar. And since we’re on the subject. Those dresses in the wardrobe out there. They’re at least four or five sizes too small, if the idea was for Elvin to wear them.’
‘You’re thinking they didn’t belong to him. That someone else put them there.’
‘That would be the conspiracy theory. Another explanation could be that they did belong to Elvin, and that he was planning to lose weight before potentially having surgery, though I have a hard time picturing that. And there’s one more thing. Come look at this.’
Fabian followed Stubbs, who walked over to the divan at the far end of the room, squatted down and used a small flashlight to illuminate the floor.
‘See the marks?’ She aimed the light at one of the marks on the floor.
‘Sure, I would guess it’s from a sofa or something.’
‘Exactly. Over the years, it’s what happens. Especially if there’s nothing to prevent it.’
Fabian nodded, though he had no idea where she was going with it.
‘But strangely enough, there are neither marks nor pads under the divan.’ She carefully lifted it up to demonstrate.
‘Maybe he got new furniture just before he killed himself so the place would look extra nice for when we came.’
‘Sure, maybe he did. The problem is that the marks on the floor don’t match the divan or any other piece of furniture in this flat. Which would indicate that he relatively recently replaced a different piece of furniture with this one to add to the trans look. Which might not be what I would spend energy on if I were about to kill myself.’ Stubbs and Fabian both stood back up. ‘So yeah, there’s some strange things here. I hardly think, though, that they would be enough to start a whole investigation. Besides, you’re missing the most crucial component: the motive.’ She spread her hands. ‘Also, I think your watch is slow, because according to mine, I’m two minutes late and really do have to go.’
If there was one thing he did have, it was a motive. But he couldn’t tell her about it. At least not yet. Instead, he walked Stubbs to the front door, thanked her for her input and promised to visit and bring pastries the next time he was in Malmö.
As soon as he was alone again, he went back into the hallway to look at the framed photograph of that boy in a dress helping his mother hang laundry. And of course it was Elvin as a boy, and his mother. He even recognized the dress from the pictures of his sister.
And yet he was convinced that was far from the whole truth when he took the picture off its hook, fetched the album with the two missing photos and left the flat.
15
Lilja was sitting by one of the illuminated islands in Molander’s lab in the basement, eyes glued to the four screens on which harassed-looking passengers were scurrying up and down the platform of Bjuv Station.
Four CCTV tapes running simultaneously, showing that even a small town like Bjuv had a rush hour full of backs and faces, prams and rollators struggling to alight or board before the doors shut again and the trains pulled out.
Staying focused watching one tape was challenge enough. Watching all four at once without missing anything important was virtually impossible, but it would take too long to scrutinize each one in turn.
At least she knew what she was looking for.
Because somewhere in the crowd of passengers, she should be able to spot the man in the beige Sweden Democrats jacket. If not on this particular train, then on the next one or the one after that.
He had managed to slip away in a stolen orange Volvo 240 right in front of her. Eleven minutes later, which was to say at 11.46, that same orange car had been caught on CCTV by a camera belonging to an OKQ8 petrol station in Åstorp, just north of Bjuv, which in turn had led to the assumption that the perpetrator wasn’t a Bjuv local but had either arrived in his own car, which for obvious reasons he’d been forced to leave behind, or by train.
They had been able to rule out the car alternative with the help of one of Molander’s assistants, who had still been at the scene. He had been tasked with walking around, noting down the licence plates of all the cars parked in the vicinity. Then Molander had found the address of each and every owner, who had all, without exception, turned out to be registered in Bjuv and to look nothing like the smiling man in the composite sketch.
The door was opened and Klippan entered. ‘I’ve talked to the Sunflower Nursery and they confirm Björn Richter was at work at seven in the morning the day Moonif died.’
‘Is that the neighbour with the dolls?’ Molander asked.
‘Exactly. I’ve also been in touch with some of the parents, and they all say he was there when they dropped off. They are also unanimous in the opinion that he is the best thing to have happened to the Sunflower in years. According to them, no one has a better way with the children than Björn.’
‘Does that mean we’re dismissing the paedophilia theory?’ Molander said.
‘At least for now. And how are you getting on?’
Lilja was hoping Molander would answer, so she could carry on undisturbed. But he said nothing, and Klippan came over to stand behind her like an old schoolmaster making sure her handwriting was correct. Granted, on paper he was temporarily in charge of the investigation while Tuvesson was away
. But the way he’d been trying to boss her around all morning was nothing short of pathetic.
‘Irene? Hello? I asked you a question.’
Was he actually tapping her shoulder right now, or was she imagining it? Jesus, he really was. What was next? Patting her on the head and asking her to fetch him coffee? It took some effort to suppress the urge to turn around and slap him.
‘Don’t you worry,’ she said instead, without looking away from the screen, even though there was nothing much to see just then. ‘I promise I’ll let you know if I find him.’
It was best not to care, to just shrug it off and keep her head down. Whatever he said and no matter how much he relished playing the big man, she wasn’t going to give up until she’d found the man with the taunting smile.
She had just finished with the 7.16 train from Åstorp and was now focusing on the passengers disembarking from the 7.33 from Helsingborg.
‘Because it’s getting late.’
‘Yes, I know how to tell the time, in case you were wondering.’ Clearly, he wasn’t going to go away.
‘There’s no need to be so prickly. Whether you like it or not, I’m in charge. And I think it’s time for you to start focusing on some other things, too.’
‘What do you mean, other things?’ Damn it, now she actually had to hit pause and turn to him. ‘I happen to be looking for him and not “some other things”. Why don’t you do that yourself?’
‘What do you think I’m doing? And Ingvar.’ Klippan nodded to Molander, who was also watching a screen showing CCTV footage. ‘But given how much video there is, I need you to help out too.’
Tuvesson had only been gone a few hours, and she already missed her. And Fabian, why couldn’t he be here? At least that would have given Klippan someone else to pick on. ‘Klippan,’ she said, feeling frustration undermining her attempt at a smile. ‘I’m going to help you as soon as I’ve found him, found the train he arrived on, requested the CCTV footage from that particular train, established where he got on, found out what the surveillance situation is at that station and, if it all works out, homed in on him sufficiently to make an arrest. When that’s done, I promise I’ll help you look for “some other things”.’
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