Motive X

by Stefan Ahnhem

  ‘I’m afraid not. But hopefully it won’t take long. Am I right in thinking you were the ones who installed the high-speed broadband on Stuvaregatan down in the North Harbour last autumn?’

  ‘Probably. We’re hooking up most of north-western Skåne at the moment. But hey, let me make a suggestion. How about you come with me in the car, and we can talk on the way? And in case I don’t have time to drive you back here, which I likely won’t, the taxi’s on me. Win, win, I reckon. What do you say?’

  ‘All right.’ Fabian climbed into the passenger seat of the van and didn’t even have time to buckle his seat belt before Jacobsén started reversing out of the driveway.

  ‘First stop, Husensjö, which should give us about fifteen minutes.’ He shifted into first and roared off down the street. ‘Where were we?’

  ‘Stuvaregatan.’

  ‘Right.’ Without easing off the accelerator, he connected his phone to a hands-free and dialled a number. After just one ring, a woman answered.

  ‘Hi Eric. What can I—’

  ‘Stuvaregatan down in the North Harbour,’ Jacobsén broke in. ‘Would you mind checking if that’s something we’d have on our conscience?’

  ‘Of course. As soon as I finish the PowerPoint for the board—’

  ‘No, Lina, right now, please.’

  Someone outside called out, ‘Hey! Eric! Wait!’, which made Jacobsén slam on the brakes so hard the tyres screeched. He rolled down his window.

  ‘Hello there,’ he said to the man hurrying up to the van, dressed in gym clothes and a baseball cap. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Absolutely. No complaints. I just wanted to check with you if Wilhelm could go home with Rutger after football practice on Wednesday. I have to pop over to Brussels and won’t be back until Thursday afternoon, and Emilie has Pilates, or whatever it was she said.’

  ‘No problem. I’ll take him, too. Emilie can come and pick him up after dinner, or maybe she wants to come over and eat with us. Either way is fine by me, so long as you’re back for the pool party on Saturday.’

  ‘Of course. I wouldn’t miss the event of the year.’ The man turned to Fabian and stuck his hand in to introduce himself. ‘Hi. Axel Stjärnström, Eric’s neighbour.’

  ‘Just mind what you say to him.’ Jacobsén raised a warning finger. ‘He’s a police officer. Hey, by the way, this isn’t an interrogation, is it?’

  ‘That depends.’ Fabian smiled as he shook Axel Stjärnström’s hand. ‘Hi, Fabian Risk.’

  ‘Blimey, I’d better watch myself,’ Jacobsén said.

  ‘It’s fine, I’ll vouch for him and be his character witness if necessary,’ his neighbour chuckled. ‘To be honest, I can’t imagine a better neighbour than Eric, that’s for sure. Without him, this street wouldn’t have been what it is today. And hey, speaking of which—’

  ‘Hello, I’m back,’ the assistant said over the speakers.

  ‘And did you find anything?’ Jacobsén let the clutch out and the car started moving at a crawl. ‘Axel, we’ll talk more when you’re back from Brussels.’

  His neighbour gave him a thumbs up as Jacobsén rolled up his window and sped away.

  ‘Yes, we were there.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Two and a half years ago, in October of 2009.’

  ‘Well, what do you know. That’s more than I remember.’ Jacobsén turned to Fabian. ‘Happy with that answer?’

  Fabian nodded, even though it took him a while to remember what he’d actually asked, what with all the neighbours and assistants.

  ‘Thank you, Lina. As always, a rock. And, right, if you could make me an avocado sandwich and a soft-boiled egg before my meeting this afternoon, I would be eternally grateful.’

  ‘Just don’t promise too much.’

  ‘Kisses.’ Jacobsén ended the call while turning south on road 111 and flooring it. ‘Just so you know, I’m counting on not getting fined while you’re in the car.’ He chuckled and pulled out into the overtaking lane.

  Fabian left his comment unanswered. He knew Jacobsén’s type all too well. Successful and brash. No obstacle was so great it couldn’t be overcome by a smile, a firm handshake and a gung-ho spirit. If it works, it works.

  ‘I don’t want to leave clients waiting too long and risk them taking their business elsewhere. You know, right now, the fibre-optic market is so overheated, there’s a line of companies waiting to take our place.’ He was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘That’s why we have to make sure we’re always the best, the cheapest and the fastest.’

  A lorry was pulling into the passing lane ahead of them, but gave up when Jacobsén accelerated and flashed his high beams.

  ‘You know, I started the company in 2001. Everyone thought I’d lost my mind. How could I quit my job at Sydsec Security? But I was so damn fed up with having an incompetent manager making all the important decisions. I swear, a dart-throwing monkey could’ve done a better job. It was seven years before it took off, but then it really did take off. Suddenly, one computer in each home wasn’t enough, everyone needed their own, and since then we’ve gone from strength to strength. Completely insane.’

  ‘Who does the actual installations?’ Fabian asked, noting that their speed was already way above the permitted limit.

  ‘At first, it was just me, like I said. Now we have fifteen guys out running cable seven to four, five days a week, sometimes seven, and by the end of the year I reckon there’ll be twenty of them. It’s amazing, obviously, though these days my job consists mainly of standing around being the face of the company, wearing a suit and a beaming smile. But enough about me. What is this all about? Really. I mean, what do you want from me?’

  ‘We’re in the middle of a murder investigation, and I’m hoping you might be able to help solve some of the mysteries.’

  ‘Is it that murder at ICA Maxi in Hyllinge? Lennart, or whatever his name was. I was actually there with my son, the day before it happened.’

  ‘No, this is a different case. The victim’s name was Molly Wessman and she lived on Stuvaregatan. Does that ring any bells?’

  ‘No, can’t say that it does.’ Jacobsén pulled back into the inside lane to let another car pass. ‘So I’m not sure how I can be of service.’

  ‘I need to find out who installed the broadband in her flat.’

  ‘Then you don’t want to talk to me, you want Lina, who was just on the blower.’ He took out his phone again and dialled the number while he pulled back into the overtaking lane to make room for a car merging from the slip road.

  ‘Hi Eric, what can I—’

  ‘Sorry, I know you have a thousand things on your plate. But you know that job on Stuvaregatan?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Would you be able to find out which of the guys did that?’

  ‘Absolutely. Lucky I still have the file out.’

  ‘Right.’ He shot Fabian a wink.

  ‘Stuvaregatan, was it? What number?’

  ‘Seven.’

  ‘All right, looks like there were two of them. Jocke Olsson, and then that—’

  ‘It’s a specific flat, and what I’m wondering is whether our records from two and a half years ago are that detailed.’

  ‘I can assure you they have been for as long as I’ve been around.’

  ‘Didn’t I tell you she’s a rock?’ Jacobsén turned to Fabian. ‘With Lina on your team, you’d solve every case, I promise you.’

  Fabian nodded, busy trying to figure out if he’d actually mentioned anything about it being number seven.

  ‘Which flat is it?’ Lina asked.

  ‘A certain Molly Wessman.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. It was that bloke whose name I can never remember. Christofer Comorowski.’

  ‘Great, then we know. Thanks for that. And, right, don’t forget about the avocado sandwich.’ He ended the call and indicated right to turn off the motorway.

  ‘This Christofer. Is he one of your employees?’

&nb
sp; ‘No, he’s just a guy we call in when we get too busy.’ Jacobsén turned down Filbornavägen and continued to Sockengatan, where he made a left. ‘Can I ask what he’s suspected of? Not murder, I hope.’

  ‘No one said he’s under any kind of suspicion. I just need to get in touch with him. Do you have his information – phone number, personal identity number and address – or should I be talking to Lina?’

  ‘Normally, she’d be the one to talk to, but unfortunately not in this case. When it comes to Christofer, we only know that he’s from Poland or Ukraine. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure Christofer’s his real name.’

  ‘No? How come?’

  Jacobsén turned on his hazard lights, slowed down and stopped at a bus stop, staring blindly into space. ‘You know, the moment you mentioned Stuvaregatan, I had a hunch we’d end up here. The truth is, I paid him under the table. I know, it’s wrong, but I had no choice.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Fabian said as disappointment washed over him. ‘I’m not after tax dodgers. The only thing I’m interested in is getting hold of—’

  ‘I just want to be clear that it wasn’t about dodging taxes. I contribute plenty, that’s for sure. I’ve also offered him permanent employment several times, but apparently job security isn’t something this man craves.’

  ‘Eric, just tell me how to get in touch with him. You can discuss the other aspects with your accountant.’

  Jacobsén heaved a sigh and turned to Fabian.

  ‘The problem is, he’s the one who gets in touch with me.’

  Fabian thought about whether he had any other questions to ask, but decided all that was left to do was to unbuckle his seat belt, climb out of the car and hope it wouldn’t take too long to get a taxi.

  57

  Fabian put the frozen block of mince in the pan; it began to sizzle and sputter in the hot olive oil. He’d assumed Sonja would already have started dinner when he got home. Instead, he’d found a kitchen in which bread crusts, open jars of marmalade and sweaty cheeses jostled for space with dirty plates, half-melted butter and glasses filled with juice residue, eggshells and old teabags.

  He’d found Sonja asleep in their bedroom, as though she hadn’t been up since he’d left her that morning. He’d woken her up gently and asked how she was feeling. But she had just shaken her head and asked to be left alone, so after twenty minutes of cleaning up, he was now scraping layer after layer off the frozen lump of mince in an attempt to make something edible.

  Even though he was in the middle of a murder investigation, he had decided to try to come home for dinner so the family could come together at least once a day. And this particular evening, it hadn’t been much of a challenge since every lead they found invariably led them straight to one dead end after another.

  He pushed the chopped onion off the cutting board, crushed the garlic cloves, which were really too dried up, and seasoned with paprika, chilli and a stock cube.

  Someone had kept Molly Wessman’s home under surveillance. And this person now had a name. A name that was unusual enough that it shouldn’t be too difficult to locate him. But a search for Christofer Comorowski hadn’t generated so much as one hit in any of their databases. The same thing was true of Wessman’s concealed tattoo, which had supposedly been put there by some mythical sex athlete who called himself Columbus.

  He gave up his search for tinned tomatoes and instead filled the pan with water, tomato puree, what was left in a jar of sundried tomatoes, five tired carrots he peeled and grated, and an expired can of kidney beans.

  Then it hit him. As he was tasting his improvised sauce, which needed another stock cube and a few dashes of cayenne, he suddenly saw a possible connection between the two leads.

  Christofer Comorowski and Columbus.

  Was that the link they needed to move forward?

  Christofer Columbus.

  Was that how the two things fitted together? Were the two of them in fact the same person?

  It was only when the toaster snapped up behind him that he noticed Theodor was in the kitchen, about to spread Nutella on his freshly toasted bread.

  ‘Hi, Theo. It’s nice to see you. I didn’t hear you come in.’

  ‘Okay,’ Theodor said, meticulously spreading a thick layer of Nutella on one of the slices of toast.

  ‘Just so you know, dinner will be ready in fifteen, twenty minutes.’

  ‘But I’m hungry now, so it’s cool.’

  Cool? He wanted to reply that it was anything but cool. That they were in a nosedive and risked crashing any second if they didn’t make some changes soon. That he was going to sit down for dinner with his family whether he wanted to or not. That all that sugar was going to give him diabetes if he didn’t watch himself. But he didn’t say any of that. Instead, he just stood there, paralysed.

  ‘I don’t know if you’ve heard on the news,’ he finally managed, even though he’d promised himself not to bring it up while Sonja wasn’t on his side. ‘The trial in Helsingør is underway now.’

  ‘Right. What do you know.’ Theodor started building a small mountain of orange marmalade on the other slice of toast.

  ‘Like I feared, they’re blaming each other in their first statements. The only thing they’re all certain of is that they themselves did practically nothing.’

  ‘Right, that’s what you said. Good for you.’ Without so much as a glance in his direction, Theodor put his toast on an empty plate and poured himself a big glass of milk.

  Fabian felt something break inside him. ‘Is that all you’ve got? An ironic comment whose only purpose is to put me down?’ A small crack that grew until the whole dam burst. ‘Do you really think this is funny? That it’s ha, ha, ha.’ But he mustn’t let his feelings take over. Not now. ‘Do you realize what this means? Do you have even the slightest inkling of what this will lead to?’

  Theodor dumped spoonful after spoonful of chocolate powder into his milk.

  ‘They’re going to be acquitted. Do you understand that? Unless you, who knows who’s who and who did what, choose to come forward, justice won’t stand a chance. Even after they took turns jumping on that homeless man’s chest until every rib was broken, they’re going to be acquitted and walking these streets again in just a few months. Despite forcing another homeless man into a shopping trolley, chaining him to it and pushing it out on to the E4 motorway during rush hour. Despite all that, all you can do is shrug and make sarcastic quips.’

  Without knowing how it had happened, he was suddenly standing behind Theodor, watching himself grab his shoulders and turn him around.

  ‘Look at me when I’m talking to you,’ he said, much too loudly. ‘I said, look at me!’

  But Theodor’s empty eyes were as evasive as a magnet of the same polarity as his own.

  ‘This is real, don’t you understand that?’ he continued, shaking Theodor in an attempt to provoke a reaction. Anything, any response at all. ‘Or do you think this is some bloody video game where you can just start over if you run out of lives? Huh? Answer me!’

  Theodor finally met his eyes. Finally, a reaction and some kind of contact.

  ‘Are you done?’

  The question hit him like a slap so hard his cheek was still stinging as he watched Theodor walk towards the stairs with his plate in one hand and his glass of chocolate milk in the other. As long as Sonja was on his side, there was apparently no limit to how badly he could behave.

  The soft xylophone jingle sounded familiar, but he was unable to place it until he realized it was his own doorbell. True, they’d been in Helsingborg for almost three years, but people rarely rang the door.

  The girl with the blonde plaits out on the porch looked to be over twenty; he had to remind himself she was classmates with Matilda and only thirteen years old. Part of it could be blamed on her colourful 1960s’ dress and the worn leather waistcoat. But the main reason was her calm gaze.

  He hadn’t seen her since that fateful night when Matilda was shot. They’d been in
the basement, playing with her Ouija board, when the perpetrator had burst in on them and forced them up to the living room with Sonja.

  ‘Hi, Esmaralda,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Much better now I know Matilda’s all right and going to recover.’

  ‘I thought you knew that all along. Can’t you just ask your ghosts? Greta, or whatever her name is.’ Fabian chuckled in an attempt to rescue his inappropriate attempt at a joke. But it fell painfully flat. ‘I suppose you’re here to see Matilda,’ he continued, trying to ignore the fact that Esmaralda somehow managed to look down on him, even though she was significantly shorter.

  ‘Hi Esma! Come in.’

  Fabian turned to Matilda, who was standing behind him.

  ‘Fabian, would you mind moving out of the way so she can get in?’

  ‘Of course. I’m sorry.’ Fabian backed into the hallway. ‘But just so you know, dinner will be ready in twenty minutes, so she’ll have to go home.’ He wanted to bite his tongue. But it was too late. His frustration at Theodor and the whole situation had seeped out.

  ‘If we’re done,’ Matilda said as Esmaralda stepped inside. ‘And if we’re not, I’m sure there’s enough for her, too.’

  He wanted to shout out no there goddamn isn’t. She was barely a teenager and he was getting awfully close to fifty. No one was going to tell him about his dinner that he had cooked. And it wasn’t fucking okay to just hole up in your room and gobble down sugar either. It wasn’t about whether or not there was enough food. Esmaralda was going home, and she could take her bloody Ouija board with her.

  But this time, he managed to rein in his feelings. ‘Of course there’s enough,’ he said in as calm and sympathetic a tone as he could muster. ‘But I think Esmaralda understands that we need it to be just family, considering everything that’s happened.’

  The ding from the phone in his hand was so quiet he almost didn’t hear it. Even so, Matilda seized the opportunity to pull Esmaralda upstairs and was gone before Fabian had time to react. If the text he’d just received hadn’t been from Gertrud Molander, he would have run after Matilda and made it clear to her that he was serious.