X Ways to Die

by Stefan Ahnhem

  Before he could even start processing what that meant, his phone lit up again. This time, it was a call.

  ‘Hello, is that you, Fabian?’ Tuvesson said on the other end. ‘It’s Astrid. Hello?’

  ‘Yes, it’s me,’ he said.

  ‘Where are you? We’re all waiting for you to give us a report on the events out on Öresund last night.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I overslept,’ he heard himself say. ‘It was a late night last night and I—’

  ‘Fine, sure, I get it,’ Tuvesson broke in. ‘So long as you get yourself in here asap. We have a lot to get on with and above all, a couple of things to explain.’

  ‘I’m on my way,’ he said. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  ‘Good. And by the way, I set Theodor up with a lawyer. Jadwiga Komorovski. According to Högsell, she’s an expert on the Danish judicial process, and from what I’m told, she’s already in Helsingør.’

  ‘That’s great. Thank you. Thank you so much.’ Fabian could feel one of many loads being lightened, but he barely had time to end the call before his phone vibrated again.

  There now, that went really well, don’t you think? But you might want to sterilize that wound so it doesn’t get infected. And put a big plaster over it, in case it starts to bleed. And don’t worry. It’s just a little GPS tracker, so I can keep an eye on you.

  Had that bastard actually been in his house, installing his damn cameras? Had he… Fabian did a quick scan of the bathroom, which at first glance at least looked the same as ever. Actually, hold on. He was suddenly unsure. Didn’t the potpourri usually sit two shelves lower? And that painting. Had it always been there?

  He had no idea. He’d been so absent lately that Sonja could have repainted half the house and he wouldn’t be sure what was different.

  Molander could simply be assuming he’d found and started to dig around the wound between his shoulder blades, of course. If not, he’d somehow installed a hidden camera in their bathroom. A camera that should be placed somewhere high up behind him.

  He looked up at the saucer-like ceiling light. Like the one in the bedroom, it had been there when they moved into the house, and he’d never given it much thought. Now, he was struck by how beautiful it was with its elegant glass facets and the brass knob in the middle, holding it in place.

  Maybe it was just dust or dead insects, but something was blocking the light at the bottom of the glass bowl. He stepped up on the toilet lid, unscrewed the brass knob and carefully unhooked the glass.

  A layer of dust covered the bottom. But he couldn’t see a hidden camera. Or cables, or a microphone. What he did find was a folded piece of yellowed paper, which he picked up and unfolded. A small rusty key fell out of it and landed somewhere on the floor below. But instead of climbing down to look for it, he read the handwritten message.

  Father has gone underground

  Working on something profound

  In no time some things will be missed

  In a room that does not exist

  A question: when will it be found?

  A poem. Or was it a limerick in the form of a riddle? And who’d written it? Matilda? No, it wasn’t her handwriting. On the other hand, she’d changed a lot since the accident, so why not her handwriting, too? It might be her friend Esmaralda. Some kind of game they were playing, perhaps? But the paper was old and yellow and had been buried under a layer of dust.

  The first two lines about a father going underground to work could absolutely be referring to him. Over the past month, he’d practically been living in the basement on and off. And sure, he’d been fighting the clock. He still was. But what was that about a room that didn’t exist? Was that his improvised basement study or something else entirely?

  His thoughts were pulling in a direction he wanted nothing to do with. But he was powerless to stop them, and they made him dizzy; and for the second time that morning, he had to lean on something to keep his balance – this time, the wall. That was when he spotted it. In the potpourri, just as he’d first thought.

  The hidden miniature camera and its transmitter.

  40

  HILLEVI STUBBS WAS already waiting in the interview room when Conny Öhman was shown in by a guard and sat down across from her. He hadn’t wanted to speak to her and had sent word that everything he had to say was in the interview transcript. But she happened to know the senior officer at Fosie Prison outside Malmö well enough to have a meeting set up whether Conny Öhman wanted one or not.

  ‘Hi, Conny. My name is Hillevi Stubbs,’ she said with a smile, noting that he had both grown a beard and put on weight since his arrest in the spring.

  ‘What do you want?’ Conny leaned forward over the table with his chin tucked into his chest and started ruffling his unkempt mop of ginger hair.

  ‘I want you to tell me what you did to your wife, Kerstin Öhman, on the night of the fifth of April this year,’ she said, watching dandruff drift down onto the tabletop.

  ‘And why would I?’ Conny said, continuing to scratch his scalp. ‘I already answered all those questions.’

  ‘But maybe you wouldn’t mind doing it again? I would certainly consider giving you a gold star if you cooperate. And if you keep up the good behaviour, you might even be released early.’

  ‘Why would I want to get out? I have everything I need in here. A gym, a tattooist, porn mags. Even the nosh is better than the old bat’s.’ Conny let out a chuckle.

  ‘From what I’m told, you’re being moved to Tidaholm Prison and that’s maximum security, which I promise you is much less fun.’

  Conny said nothing, just started pushing the dandruff into a small pile on the table.

  ‘Did you rape your wife that night?’ she asked.

  ‘It looks that way.’

  ‘And why did you do that?’

  ‘What do you mean, why?’ Conny wet his fingertip with saliva. ‘What the hell kind of a question is that?’ Then he pressed his finger into the pile of dandruff and stuck it in his mouth.

  ‘Were you angry with her? Or had something happened?’

  ‘Not that I recall. I was drunk and in a foul mood. A fairly potent combo if you ask me.’

  ‘Should I take that to mean it wasn’t the first time you raped her?’

  Conny burst out laughing and nodded. ‘Sure, why not?’

  ‘But this was the first time you raped her to death. Why?’

  Conny shrugged and started cleaning his nails. ‘I guess she got what she deserved. Or maybe I was in a particularly bad mood.’

  ‘You also supposedly assaulted and tortured her. Was that also common practice for you?’

  ‘I bet you’re one of those bloody feminists,’ he said, looking at her for the first time. ‘The kind that eats pussy the first chance they get.’

  ‘I would appreciate it if you would stick to answering my questions.’

  ‘If you answer mine first.’

  ‘Yes, I’m a lesbian.’

  ‘Well, you’ve never tasted mine.’ He shot her a smile and started to brush the dirt from his fingernails into a small pile.

  ‘Your turn,’ she said, her face expressionless.

  Conny sighed. ‘Sure, I suppose I slapped her about a bit on occasion, if she’d behaved badly. Women are like children, they need to be put in their place from time to time, or they get ideas and start talking back.’

  ‘And what ideas had Kerstin had that night?’

  ‘Who knows. She got all kinds of things into her head.’ Conny shrugged and wet his index finger once more. ‘Like I said, I was hammered, so my memory’s not razor sharp.’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t remember? I mean, shouldn’t she have been talking back more than usual, given that you actually beat her to death?’

  ‘You’d think, wouldn’t you?’ Conny pushed his finger into the dirt from his nails and stuck it in his mouth. ‘I’m sure she must have.’

  ‘But you don’t remember.’

  Conny shook his head. ‘Nope.�
�

  ‘No images flickering through your head when you think about it?’

  Conny shook his head again.

  ‘Don’t you find that a bit odd? There’s a big difference between slapping someone about and burning them with a red-hot fire iron.’

  Conny lowered his eyes and rubbed at a stain on the table.

  ‘According to the case file, you also shoved the poker into her vagina. She must have been talking back something awful to deserve that, wouldn’t you say?’

  Conny said nothing, just scratched his fingernail back and forth across the stain.

  ‘And if that wasn’t bad enough, you—’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Conny said, cutting her off.

  ‘You don’t know what?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Know or remember?’

  Conny banged his fist on the table. ‘I can’t answer all these bloody questions! I was drunk, okay? Wasted! So I know, or remember, or whatever the fuck you want to call it, nothing from that goddam night!’

  ‘So what you’re saying is, anything could have happened?’

  ‘Yes, and apparently, it did.’

  ‘There might even have been a third person there?’

  ‘What do you mean, a third person?’ Conny looked up from the table again. ‘What the fuck are you talking about? Who would that be?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe someone who did all those things to your wife while you were out cold on the sofa.’

  Conny studied her. ‘What the fuck do you want from me?’

  ‘Just the truth. That’s all.’

  ‘I confessed to everything. What more do you bloody want? I’ve already been sentenced to life.’

  ‘That’s true.’ She leaned in closer. ‘And I’m fully aware you’re a terrible person who thoroughly deserves to rot in here, regardless of what happened that night. But as things stand, there’s a possibility you’re serving someone else’s time.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re up to. But you don’t fool me.’ He stood up. ‘You don’t fucking fool me. This conversation’s over.’

  ‘This man.’ Stubbs placed a picture of Molander on the table. ‘Ring any bells?’

  Conny stopped and studied the picture for a long time before shaking his head.

  ‘Are you really sure? I want you to take a good look.’

  Conny ignored her and kept moving towards the door. But just as he was about to push the intercom to call a guard, he changed his mind and turned back.

  41

  FABIAN PUT THE glass jars filled with different kinds of pasta back in the pantry, stepped off the stool and looked around. He’d already checked the cookbooks on the shelf and the ceiling lights. He’d even taken apart and cleaned the kitchen fan without finding anything.

  But the hidden camera in the bathroom couldn’t be the only one. Something told him they must be everywhere in the house. And yet he hadn’t managed to find a single one.

  Maybe Molander had only had time to do the bathroom. Maybe he’d figured it was the only place he needed one. Knowing that Fabian was going to stand in front of the mirror and dig around his back. Or maybe he was just looking in the wrong places.

  ‘Hi, sweetheart. You’re still here.’

  Fabian turned to Sonja, who was coming in from the hallway.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ she went on. ‘You look terrible. I tried to—’

  ‘I’m fine.’ He cut her off and tried to compose himself. ‘I overslept and was just on my way out.’ There were so many things he should tell her, he didn’t know where to start.

  ‘Fabian.’ She walked up to him and took his face in her hands. ‘I understand if you have a lot of questions and are wondering what I’m up to. And I promise, I will tell you. But first, I want to know what’s going on.’

  ‘Not now, Sonja. I can’t. I have to—’

  ‘Fabian,’ Sonja broke in. ‘The only thing we have to do is talk to each other.’

  ‘I know. But it’s going to have to wait until I—’

  ‘Until you what? Get back? If you ever do. You were out all night. I know it’s just work. That’s not the issue. When I saw you this morning with deep gashes in your thigh and back, I obviously knew something had happened and I’m worried. Really worried. I tried to wake you, but I couldn’t. It was like you were drugged. And now,’ – she took a step back and looked him up and down – ‘you look like you’re about to collapse.’

  ‘Sonja, I can’t do this right now. Not now. It’ll have to wait. Okay?’

  ‘Is it Theodor? Did he call, does he want us to—’

  ‘No. All I know is that he has a good lawyer now, who will be with him when they interview him while they wait for the trial to resume.’

  ‘I think about him every second.’

  ‘Me too. But all we can do right now is wait and hope for the best. Anyway, we’ll have to talk more later, sweetheart.’ He kissed her on the forehead and started to walk towards the front door.

  ‘I’ve decided to exhibit my work again.’

  He stopped and turned to look at her.

  Sonja sighed. ‘I know. It’s not what I’ve been saying these past few weeks. But Dunkers called yesterday to ask if I wanted to take part in an exhibition. The thing is, it opens on Thursday. Apparently one of the artists pulled out.’

  ‘Thursday this week? Tomorrow?’

  Sonja nodded. ‘I’m not sure how I’m going to make it. But I have an idea, at least.’

  ‘That’s great.’ He tried to squeeze out a smile. ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘I’m not sure it’s all that great. But I believe it’s the only way for me to – how do I put it? – process and come to terms with everything that has happened. But who knows?’ She shrugged. ‘I might die attempting it.’

  Fabian walked over and put his arms around her. But though he’d only intended to give her a quick hug of support, she held on to him as though she were in fact supporting him.

  He didn’t know whether it was the hug or the fact that the last of the drugs had finally left his system. Either way, balance had been restored and for the first time in a long time, he felt firm ground under his feet. Maybe they’d both fallen so far it was finally time to hit rock bottom.

  ‘I actually declined at first,’ she said over his shoulder. ‘But they didn’t need a final answer until today. That’s why I brought the box home, to see how I felt about it, and when I woke up this morning, all my doubts were gone. I’m supposed to say hi from Ingvar, by the way.’

  ‘Molander?’ He let go of her. ‘Was he the one who helped you get the box up the stairs?’

  ‘Yes, why? Someone had to help me and you obviously weren’t—’

  He cut her off. ‘How long was he here for?’

  ‘First, I want you to tell me what you’re—’

  ‘Sonja, how long? Are we talking minutes or hours?’

  ‘I don’t know what you think happened. But I promise. You have nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Were you with him the whole time? Or did you let him wander about on his own?’

  ‘Fabian, this is Ingvar Molander we’re talking about. Your colleague. What do you think—’

  ‘Please, just answer the question.’

  Sonja heaved a sigh. ‘I don’t know exactly how long he was here for. And no, I wasn’t with him the whole time. He helped me get the box upstairs and then he needed to use the bathroom. I don’t know if he had stomach problems or what. He was in there a long time, and in the end, I had to get going.’

  ‘What, so you left him alone in our house?’ Only now did it occur to him, and as it did, the ground disappeared from under him once more.

  ‘Yes. He just had to put the extra keys in the letter box when he was done.’

  The basement. He’d obviously been down in the basement and seen all his ideas and clues. Granted, he’d handed most of it over to Stubbs, but…

  ‘Fabian, why aren’t you picking up?’

  �
��What?’

  ‘Your phone. Can’t you hear it ringing?’

  He pulled out the Nokia, declined the call from Stubbs and fired off a text.

  Can’t talk now.

  ‘Why didn’t you pick up? And why are you using your old phone?’

  Stubbs texted back:

  Ok. When and where can we meet?

  ‘Sweetheart, I don’t have time to explain.’

  Just finished with Öhman, who has agreed to testify against M, which means we have enough to make an arrest.

  42

  ‘KIM.’ THE VOICE on the other end sighed and Sleizner could already tell where the conversation was headed. ‘I hear you. But I’m sorry, I can’t do that.’

  ‘Why not?’ Sleizner got up from his office chair. ‘What’s the problem?’ He always projected more force and gravitas when he was standing up and walking around. ‘All you have to do is print the document attached to the email you just received and sign it. I’ll take care of the rest.’ He went over to the window and looked down at a group of people hurrying across the police station courtyard; the breathing on the other end of the line revealed that his interlocutor was hesitating.

  ‘Kim, I’m sorry, but I just can’t.’

  You’re not sorry, you little cunt. It took effort not to let out the sigh that would reveal more about his mood than he wanted known. ‘Ingolf Bremer… I must admit you disappoint me.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but it can’t be helped. After all, I’m in charge of the Naval Operative Command. Not you.’

  Well now, playing the big man, was he? ‘Of course, Ingolf. You’re in charge. And I’ve never said otherwise. But it would behove you to slow down and listen to what I have to say.’ He paused briefly to show how calm and collected he was. ‘Because unless I misremember, you actually owe me a small… Well, what should we call it? Favour?’ He was met by silence, a clear sign the battle was almost won. ‘I don’t care either way, so long as I’m not kept waiting too long.’

  ‘But Kim, I already helped you out last night. You’d have to say I did, right?’ He was nervous now. It was obvious. He could almost hear the sweat trickling down his forehead. ‘When I agreed to deny the Swedish coastguard access to Danish waters, I broke every rule in the book. But I did it anyway. For you.’