Klippan sighed so heavily she could smell the coffee he’d just drunk and the egg he’d probably had for breakfast. ‘Irene, I’m sure that’s all fine and good. But he’s not our only lead.’
‘As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what he is. Right now, he’s by far our most solid lead.’
‘Maybe. But that doesn’t mean he’s guilty.’
‘I’m sorry, who are you saying is guilty of both the carjacking and the attempted murder of Ralf Hjos?’
‘Okay, fine. But I was talking about—’
‘Secondly,’ Lilja cut him off. ‘His behaviour reeks of guilt. Consider his running away. If he’s so innocent, why take off at all?’
‘I don’t know.’ Klippan shrugged. ‘A lot of people do weird things when the police are around. Take my neighbours, for instance. If they’re chatting out on the street and I come out to get the paper or whatever, they—’
‘They what? They make a break for it and stab people up and steal their cars?’
‘No, but—’
‘Exactly. Thirdly, there’s his sickeningly smug smile.’
‘And since when do we equate a smug smile with a solid lead?’ Klippan looked over at Molander. ‘Ingvar, help me out here, will you?’
‘No thanks, you sort out whatever that is between yourselves,’ Molander said, his eyes glued to the screen.
‘I’m aware we can’t build our entire case on a smile,’ Lilja said. ‘But walking around grinning, given what had just happened…’ She shook her head.
‘Maybe he didn’t know what had happened.’
‘Klippan, come take a look at this,’ Molander said.
Klippan went over to Molander, giving Lilja a chance to press play and return to the sea of people on her screens. And almost immediately, the bottom left screen caught her attention. It was not unusual for her to spot something now and then that made her rewind and review the tape frame by frame. But this time, it felt different.
‘See that red Seat?’ Molander continued, pointing to the red car whose rear end was just visible at the left edge of his screen.
‘Yes, what about it?’
‘For one, it’s not parked within the lines, but look at this.’
Suddenly, the rear lights came on and then the car indicated and disappeared out of shot.
‘As you can see, it’s 8.20, which tallies with the time of the murder.’
‘Where’s the camera?’
‘It’s by a cashpoint on Norra Stationsgatan, just over fifty feet away.’
Lilja couldn’t see the man’s face, because he’d got off the train with his eyes lowered. And the camera was shooting from above. But the blindingly white trainers, the pulled-up jeans and the beige jacket were enough to make her sure.
‘Try backing up and see if you can zoom in on the plates,’ Klippan said.
‘No need,’ Molander said. ‘I already did.’
‘And?’
‘HUT 786. It’s a rental from Hertz on Gustav Adolfsgatan in Helsingborg.’
Klippan turned to Lilja. ‘I don’t know about you, but to my mind, this is exactly the kind of thing that’s worth looking into. I myself have a long list already, so if you wouldn’t mind handling this one, I’d be ever so grateful.’
‘Sure,’ Lilja replied. ‘But in case you’re interested, I’ve found him.’
‘You have?’ Klippan came over to her and leaned in closer to the screen where the picture was paused to show a man with blue jeans and a beige jacket from behind. ‘You can’t even see his face.’
‘It’s him, okay. I know it’s him. Just look at this.’ With a few quick commands, she clicked over to another clip on the next screen. ‘This is from the mall when I was chasing him.’ She dragged the clip’s time marker to 13.06.2012 11.42.53 and pressed play.
The sequence playing out in front of them showed the man she had chased yesterday running into the shot from the right and continuing straight into the street where he was hit by the orange Volvo, which slammed on its brakes and came to a stop as the man landed on the bonnet and then hit the windscreen before tumbling to the ground.
‘See? Exactly the same clothes.’
Klippan nodded while the driver, Ralf Hjos, climbed out of the car and bent down over the man who was lying motionless on the asphalt.
‘And the time fits perfectly. He arrives on the 7.33 train from Helsingborg and Moonif leaves his flat twenty-five minutes later.’
The stabbing happened so quickly it was easy to miss if you didn’t know it was coming. The prone man’s arm that suddenly jerked up and Ralf Hjos, who immediately collapsed as the other man got to his feet, wiped his small knife on his victim’s clothes, got into the car and drove away. Seconds later, Lilja could be seen rushing over to the bleeding man.
‘You’re right, it’s probably him,’ Klippan conceded at length. ‘And like you said, now we can request the CCTV footage from the train in question and see where he got on. But, as I said, that needn’t stop us from looking for other things as well.’
‘No, I hear you, and I promise to go over all the material again and see if I can find anything else.’
‘You will?’ Klippan looked genuinely surprised.
‘Yes, now that we’re on to him, I feel a lot calmer. Besides, I agree with you that it’s too early to close a lot of doors.’
Klippan exhaled, though the look he gave her was full of insecurity.
‘It’s fine. So long as we don’t abandon the other lead altogether.’
‘Maybe when you’re done you could drag yourselves over here and take a look at this instead?’ Molander said, waving them over.
The clip he played them was from the same petrol station in Åstorp that had caught the orange Volvo passing by. According to the time stamp, it was from the day before as well, but much later in the day, specifically, 15.54.43. This time, a dark blue Mercedes was visible in the shot, and it didn’t just drive by, it turned in to fill up.
Two men in dark jackets with pulled-up hoods and Palestinian keffiyehs concealing their faces climbed out of it. One inserted a credit card into the machine and punched in his code while the other got a jerry can out of the boot.
‘What does it say on their jackets?’ Lilja asked while the two men filled the can with petrol.
‘KMY,’ Molander replied.
‘Klippan’s Muslim Youth.’ Klippan shook his head. ‘Really smart wearing those particular jackets when you’re buying petrol to firebomb the Sweden Democrats in Bjuv.’
‘Maybe they wanted their allegiance known without revealing their identities.’
‘I wouldn’t put too much store in the jackets,’ Molander said. ‘The car’s registration number is far more interesting.’
‘I was just thinking that,’ Klippan said. ‘Did you look it up?’
Molander gave Klippan a withering look, but couldn’t even be bothered to add a sigh to it.
‘Fine, sorry.’
‘And here’s the owner.’ Molander clicked up a picture that filled the entire screen and turned to the others.
Even though Lilja recognized him and had met him only yesterday, it took her several seconds to realize she was staring at the local Sweden Democrats chairman, Sievert Landertz.
16
Sievert Landertz’s registered residence was Åkervägen 10 in Söndraby, just east of Klippan. It was an area that reminded Lilja so much of her own neighbourhood in Perstorp it immediately put her in a bad mood. Of course this was the kind of place a Sweden Democrat would live. It was as obvious as the fact that she and Hampus had to move as soon as it could be arranged. It didn’t matter where to, so long as it got her away from all the Scanian flags.
Not to mention all the trampolines. Practically every garden around here was home to a blue monstrosity. But there was no sign of bouncing children. They were probably tucked into their beds, having Mein Kampf read to them for story time.
‘Here it is.’ Klippan nodded to the house on the corner ahead of them and pulled o
ver, killed the engine and unbuckled.
While he did that, Lilja pulled out binoculars and studied the white wooden house built in the middle of the plot, which also had room for a trampoline. There were two flagpoles, flying the Scanian and Swedish flags respectively.
‘Irene? Are you coming?’
‘Slow your roll. It looks like the front door’s about to open.’
Indeed, moments later, two figures exited and walked towards the garage.
‘See who it is?’
‘The tall one is Landertz himself, in all his glory. I don’t recognize the other one, but my guess would be it’s his son.’
‘Okay. Then we might as well bring them in now, before it’s too late.’ Klippan opened the door on the driver’s side.
‘Or should we maybe follow them and see where they’re going?’
Klippan stopped and pondered that for a few seconds, then gritted his teeth, closed the door and buckled back up. He waited until the dark blue Mercedes had reversed out of the garage and turned east down Vedbyvägen before turning the key in the ignition and following. All without a word, which was highly unusual for him.
Lilja had no problem understanding if he was cross with her. She would likely have been, too, had the situation been reversed. But the truth was that she had no faith in him as a boss. As an officer of the law and a detective, yes. She knew no one more meticulous and determined than Klippan. But he wasn’t a leader, and everyone, with the possible exception of Klippan himself, knew as much. In an attempt to break the sullen silence, she turned on the radio.
‘Three dead and around twenty injured, of which several are women and children, makes the fire at a refugee reception facility outside Kvidinge one of the deadliest in Skåne in recent years,’ the news anchor was saying. ‘According to the Bjuv Police, there are several leads but at present no suspects. One of the theories is that this may be retaliation for the firebombing of the local Sweden Democrats’ offices. What follows is an excerpt from this afternoon’s interview with local party chairman Sievert Landertz.’
‘You have published the addresses of several refugee reception facilities on your Facebook page. Isn’t that aiding and abetting Nazis and xenophobic organizations, particularly in the light of the most recent fire?’
‘Absolutely not,’ Landertz replied. ‘That’s just typical headline-grabbing, left-wing nonsense.’
‘But the Kvidinge reception facility is one of the facilities whose addresses you published.’
‘All we’ve done is to inform citizens of what is going on. That’s what you’re supposed to do in a democracy. The municipalities, on the other hand, constantly circumvent their duty of providing information to local residents. And do you know why? So the local residents won’t have time to protest.’
‘But aren’t you even slightly worried about possible consequences?’
‘We condemn all forms of violence. And I can promise you that if someone has their mind set on committing violence against people or property, they would have no trouble finding the addresses for themselves. It’s not rocket science.’
‘No, this isn’t working any more,’ Klippan exclaimed, breaking his record-long silence and turning off the radio. ‘It’s getting dark. I have to move closer if we want to have a chance of seeing whether they turn west or east on road 21.’
‘Sure. You’re in charge.’
‘I know.’ Klippan sped up. ‘I just wanted to inform you and head off any unnecessary bickering at the pass.’
Lilja was about to ask who was bickering, but instead managed to squeeze out a smile and a nod just as Klippan came to a stop behind Landertz’s car, which was idling at the junction with road 21, waiting for a gap and indicating to turn left.
‘By the way, have you heard anything from Fabian?’ Klippan said after a while.
‘No. Have you?’
‘No.’
An awkward minute of silence later, the car in front of them turned out on to the motorway. Klippan followed it towards Perstorp, where it turned right on to the much smaller Gustavsborgsvägen. Having been surrounded by quite a bit of evening traffic, the Mercedes in front of them and their own car were now the only two vehicles in sight.
They were so deep into the countryside, they didn’t pass a single house in the five minutes before the brake lights in front of them came on.
‘What do you reckon?’ Klippan slowed down to watch the Mercedes, which had turned left and continued down a narrow, tree-lined road. ‘Doesn’t that road look awfully private?’
Lilja nodded. For the first time, she agreed with her colleague. The road unquestionably led to a private farm, and if they turned too, it would be obvious they were tailing the Mercedes.
Klippan slowed down further, apparently waiting for her to take charge. She was just about to tell him to carry on straight ahead when she noticed in the wing mirror the lights of two more cars indicating left.
‘Follow it.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘No, but apparently the two cars behind us and that one there are heading up there as well, so we don’t have a lot to lose.’ She nodded at a car coming towards them, indicating right.
Klippan turned on to the gravel road and continued down it a few hundred yards. It ended in a large area where around forty cars and motorcycles were already parked.
Sievert Landertz and his son were already walking towards a clutch of torches burning further off in the gloom.
‘All right. Now what?’ Klippan said as soon as he’d found a free spot.
‘Now we find out where we are.’ Lilja was already climbing out of the car. ‘But if you want, you can wait here.’ She closed the door before he could answer and set her course for the torches. Being alone was never a good idea. But right now, she preferred almost anything to being with Klippan.
Unfortunately, she heard a car door open and shortly after close again behind her, and seconds later she picked up the sound of panting as Klippan hurried across the grass.
‘What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?’
She stopped and turned to him with a sigh.
‘Fine, go on, sigh. But surely you don’t for a second think I would let you go on by yourself. What if something happened to you? How would that look, and how—’
‘Enough. I get it,’ she hissed. She watched two men in long leather coats getting out of a car together with a woman with blonde hair.
‘Good. And from now on, I want you to keep a low profile and let me do the talking.’ Klippan strode on ahead towards the flickering light by the entrance.
She was about to object, but it was too late. Klippan was already thirty feet ahead of her, walking towards the man standing by the entrance, who was so well-built it looked over the top even from a distance. Instead, she decided to do as she was told and slowed down to avoid drawing attention.
‘Good evening. So, what’s going on here?’ Klippan said to the bouncer.
‘And who are you?’
Klippan showed him his police ID. ‘Sverker Holm from the Helsingborg Police.’
The bouncer chuckled and shook his head. ‘Then you’ve got the wrong address. This is a private event.’
‘Pardon?’
‘I said that if I were you, I’d crawl back down whatever hole I came from as fast as I could.’
Klippan turned round to look for Lilja but couldn’t see her anywhere in the dark.
Meanwhile, the bouncer greeted another group and let them in, unaware that one of the two women didn’t belong.
17
The garden behind Fabian’s semi-detached house was really much too small to be called a garden. It was more of an outdoor area with a patio, a small patch of lawn, a few shrubs and a storage shed. And even though it was late, the whole scene was illuminated by a pale light. It was almost midsummer, and at this time of year the night was never truly dark.
On the other side of the double curtains covering the grimy basement window, Fabian pulled on a pair of powder
ed latex gloves and took out the framed black-and-white photograph of a young Hugo Elvin wearing a dress, helping his mother hang laundry. Then he carefully put the photograph down on the desk in the light of the desk lamp, picked up his squirrel-hair brush and applied a powder consisting of equal parts soot and potato starch.
The visit to Elvin’s flat with Stubbs that afternoon had given him reasons to be both more and less suspicious of Molander. It was unquestionably far-fetched to think he had staged an entire gender identity crisis. Not to mention the nearly impossible method that would have been required to make the hanging itself look self-inflicted. And yet not even Stubbs had been able to ignore all the things that pointed to something being amiss.
Like he had suspected, the powder refused to stick to the frame, the glass or the backing. So there were no fingerprints. That in itself was odd. The glass was one thing, but the frame and the backing? Why wipe those clean of prints unless you had something to hide?
He turned the frame over, bent up the four little metal points and lifted out the backing. The photograph had no marks and no stamps on the back; it was pure white, which made it hard to say whether the paper was new or not.
He went over to the printer in the bookcase, lifted the lid of the built-in scanner and placed the photograph face down on the glass. As soon as the printer cable was plugged into the laptop, some driver or other sprang into action, asking if he wanted to scan a document.
Surprised at how easy it was, he clicked yes, named the file Young Elvin in dress and chose the highest resolution. A few minutes later, the picture appeared on his screen.
This was his first time analysing a photograph, and he had imagined needing to use Photoshop and having to run the picture through various filters and contrast enhancers to get answers. But it only took a few commands, zooming in on Elvin’s head, to establish what he had been suspecting for the past few hours.
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