X Ways to Die

by Stefan Ahnhem

  ‘Yes, you did, and I appreciate it. But I think of that more as a first instalment. A good one, absolutely. But considering what I’ve done for you, we’re still far from even-steven. It’s simple arithmetic. Plus and minus.’

  ‘Kim, I would love to help you, you know that.’ The little bugger was resisting. ‘But I went too far last night. And what you’re asking now would be unethical and disruptive to the culture of cooperation in Öresund our countries have managed to create over the years.’

  ‘Ingolf, let me lay it out for you. The least significant aspect of this mess is how you feel about the decision. I have my reasons and that should be more than enough for you. What is significant is that the Swedes completely disregarded the fact that they were denied access. That they just continued into sovereign Danish territory. That’s nothing short of a serious violation, and just as if it had been Russia or some other country, we have to lodge an official protest.’

  ‘Please, Kim, consider my situation. For one thing, we were the ones who acted inappropriately in the first place. Defending our actions now will only make it worse.’

  ‘Ingolf, this is not only far beyond your remit, it’s beyond your capabilities, too. I’ve already been in touch with Steinbacher at the Foreign Ministry, and he’s behind me one hundred per cent. The only thing they’re waiting for is an official incident report with your signature on it.’ There was a heavy sigh on the other end. It said clearly that Ingolf Bremer was finally on the verge of caving. ‘And as far as your situation goes, it seems to me I’m the one who has fully grasped its seriousness. Unless you don’t mind a certain video becoming public, of course.’

  ‘Kim, I’m begging you—’

  ‘Thirteen years. Too young even to have acne, and unless I’m mistaken, younger than your own youngest daughter. How are you going to explain that to— What’s her name again?’

  There was a knock on the door and a man popped his head in. ‘Oh, sorry, is this a bad time?’

  Sleizner sighed and closed his eyes. ‘What does it look like?’ Ingolf Bremer was down for the count. ‘I would recommend that you close that door right this second, crawl back into whatever hole you came from and pretend this never happened.’ Sleizner dismissed the man with a wave of his hand and put the phone back to his ear. ‘I’m sorry, where were we?’

  But instead of leaving, the man stepped through the door and closed it behind him. ‘Look, I don’t want to be a bother, but we had agreed to meet today. It’s already ten past and I have to—’

  ‘Ingolf, two seconds. I just need to deal with something. What meeting? I didn’t agree to a meeting.’

  ‘Yes, you did, it’s in your calendar. Why else would I be here?’ The man moved further into his office. ‘You should ask to call back in two hours and hang up. Unless you have another phone you can—’

  ‘Bloody fucking hell.’ Sleizner walked up to the man. ‘First of all: Who the hell are you? Second of all: What fucking meeting?’

  ‘My name is Mikael Rønning. I’ve worked in the IT department for the last seven years.’

  His name did ring a bell, but too faintly and remotely for Sleizner to remember where he’d heard it.

  ‘I am in charge of, among other things, the security updates on our mobile phones. We’ve been in touch via email and agreed to install the update this afternoon.’

  ‘Ingolf, I have to go. I’ll get back to you about this.’ He ended the call. ‘So you’re the one who has been mail-bombing me over the past week.’

  ‘I’m sorry if that’s what it’s felt like for you. I’m just trying to do my job.’

  ‘You’re not the only one, which is exactly why I’d like you to leave me alone.’

  ‘Believe me. I’d love to,’ Rønning replied. ‘But this is a fairly important update, not just for you but for the country’s national security. It closes a number of significant security gaps, which is why we don’t want to delay.’

  ‘Sure, I get that. But…’ Sleizner sighed. ‘How long did you say it’s going to take?’

  ‘Just over an hour, depending on how much memory you have.’

  ‘Fine, then I expect you back here no later than three.’ He handed over his phone.

  ‘No problem.’ Mikael Rønning nodded. ‘I just need the pin.’

  ‘Right, so you said.’ Sleizner smiled. ‘But that means you can look at all my private pictures and videos.’

  ‘That’s correct. Unless you’ve transferred them to your computer, like I suggested in one of my emails. But if it makes you feel any better, I have better things to do than to go through your holiday snaps. And you’re welcome to come with me and watch.’

  ‘That’s not happening. The pin is thirty-eight forty—’ Sleizner was interrupted by his phone lighting up and dinging. ‘Hold on, let me see that.’ He took his phone back, unlocked it and read the message from Stig Paulsen, president of TDC.

  Found your little Indian man in the archives. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look good. Call.

  So Paulsen had been able to identify the Indian man, which meant he, too, was connected to TDC somehow. Maybe that’s how they knew each other, him and the Chinese fatso. But what problem could be so serious Paulsen wanted him to call? He normally never wanted to do anything over the phone.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, but it looks like we’re going to have to take a rain check after all,’ he said to Rønning while he texted Paulsen back.

  What’s the problem?

  ‘Look, I thought I was being clear about why it’s so important to—’

  ‘You made yourself abundantly clear,’ Sleizner cut in. ‘But it can’t be helped. It’s not happening today. Come on, out you go.’ He ushered Rønning towards the door, and the moment he shut it behind him, the phone vibrated in his hand.

  Like I said: Call.

  43

  ‘WELL, WOULD YOU look at this.’ Molander spread his arms wide. ‘If it isn’t the prodigal son, finally gracing us with his presence.’

  Fabian nodded on his way into the conference room. ‘That’s right, in all my glory,’ he said, never letting the smile he’d practised in the lift mirror on the way up waver, and adding a wink as the cherry on top.

  ‘You actually look a bit worse for wear, despite probably having had more hours of beauty sleep than the rest of us put together,’ Molander went on. ‘Rough night?’

  Fabian turned to Molander, who was smiling at him with that tauntingly sarcastic expression he so often wore. Before, he’d interpreted it as an innocuous and at heart affable kind of charm. A way to lighten the mood when it risked becoming too heavy. His eyes looked the same, but when Fabian met his gaze now, he sensed a darkness behind it that wanted nothing more than to twist the knife a few extra times just for the sake of it.

  ‘Indeed, as you should know better than anyone,’ he said, and he saw Molander’s smile slip briefly before he fumblingly slapped it back on, his upper lip trembling slightly.

  ‘What do you mean? I’m not sure I follow?’

  ‘No?’ Fabian continued to stare Molander in the eyes and waited until the silence in the room was palpable. ‘From what I’m told, you’re the one who helped Sonja transport that piece of art back to our house after threatening to destroy it unless she retrieved it,’ he said finally. ‘But given her experiences with that particular piece, it shouldn’t come as a shock to you, or anyone else in this room for that matter, that seeing it again had a number of emotional repercussions that kept us awake for most of the night. So no, I wouldn’t say I’ve slept much.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I should have known.’ Molander nodded. ‘I can only blame my own sleep-deprived state.’

  Fabian didn’t respond. He was going to play along in Molander’s charade, but only as far as he had to, and he was going to make sure Molander knew that, or he would eat him alive the first chance he got.

  ‘All right, maybe we should get cracking while it’s still light out,’ Tuvesson said. ‘As you know, we’re already running behind schedule and
I have to be going soon.’ She turned to Fabian. ‘So you’re going to have to hold off on telling us what happened out on Öresund last night. From what I know, it’s still unclear whether Milwokh drowned or managed to swim to shore.’

  ‘That’s correct,’ Fabian said, nodding. ‘I would almost say most things point to—’

  ‘I promise I’ll let you know when I’m finished,’ Tuvesson cut in. ‘Hopefully, if he’s alive, he’ll want to lie low after the events of last night. But that doesn’t mean we have time to be lazy or sleep in. We’re behind on practically all of our cases, so let’s think of this as our chance to catch up.’ She turned around and gestured towards the whiteboard walls with both hands. ‘Interviews that should have been conducted a long time ago can’t wait any longer. Crime scenes need to be processed and forensic evidence collected.’

  Tuvesson was right, of course. They had a mountain of work to get through before the trail went cold. But none of that was even remotely important compared to finding Molander’s evidence hoard. Without it, nothing else they did would amount to anything.

  ‘Irene,’ Tuvesson continued. ‘I want you to talk to Milwokh’s adoptive parents.’

  Lilja nodded.

  ‘I know you were there just a few months ago. But that time it was about their daughter, and there’s an outside chance he’ll contact them now that he can’t go home. And Klippan. I’m sending you out to talk to the boat rental people.’

  ‘Sure. No problem.’

  ‘Can I ask a question?’ Fabian said.

  ‘If you make it quick. Like I said, we’re behind.’

  ‘How’s the forensic side of things coming along?’

  ‘Right.’ Tuvesson turned to Molander.

  ‘I’d have to say swimmingly.’ Molander smiled. ‘With the exception of the most recent murder, we can tie Milwokh to more or less everything. And I’m not worried about finding something to tie him to the bathtub murder, too.’

  ‘More or less everything?’ Fabian said. ‘Maybe it’s time to be a bit more specific.’

  ‘Look, everything’s under control. There’s no need to fret.’

  ‘Who said anything about fretting? I just think it’s high time for a proper run-through of what you have and what’s still missing. That way, we know what to prioritize. So I suggest we continue this meeting down in your lab, assuming that’s where you keep the evidence.’

  ‘Great, let’s go.’ Tuvesson checked her watch. ‘I’m heading that way anyhow.’

  ‘Hold on a minute.’ Molander held up his hands. ‘I apologize if I wasn’t clear. As it stands, we have forensic evidence tying him to every crime scene except the flat in Planteringen. That is, in other words, what I should be focusing on. Rather than giving all of you a lecture down in the lab. That’s going to have to wait.’

  ‘Okay, how does everyone else feel?’ Tuvesson said. ‘Do it later?’

  ‘Fine by me.’ Klippan shrugged.

  ‘Me too,’ Lilja agreed. ‘But I would like to know when you’re going to get around to his flat. That feels like it should be a priority.’

  ‘And the rubber dinghy, too,’ Klippan chimed in.

  ‘As soon as I can. I mean, listen to yourselves,’ Molander replied. ‘There’s a lot to do. So why don’t we wrap this up now so we can get to work instead?’

  ‘All right. It’s a deal,’ Fabian said, without taking his eyes off Molander.

  ‘Good. I think we can trust that Ingvar knows what’s in his freezer,’ Tuvesson said. She started to gather up her documents as Molander and the others got up to leave. ‘Oh, and Fabian. I want you to go talk to Hanna Brahe.’

  ‘Who’s she?’ he said, his thoughts racing back to Molander’s home and the basement with the built-in freezer.

  ‘Mattias Larsson’s girlfriend. She was the one who found him in the bath and called us. She wasn’t in a state to be interviewed last night. But she’s been in touch to say that she’s ready now.’

  How could he not have thought of that before? That must be where Molander kept the forensic evidence. That was what he’d seen when he was there.

  ‘Okay.’ He got up and followed the others towards the door. ‘Send me her contact details and I’ll get in touch with her today.’ He had to get over to Molander’s house as soon as possible. Molander could track him with his GPS chip as much as he pleased. It made no difference.

  ‘No, not today. Now, please.’

  Fabian nodded and left the room. That he’d agreed to meet Stubbs was unfortunate. But it was going to have to wait. Right now, everything else had to wait.

  44

  Where are you? Didn’t we say Preem on Södra Hunnetorpsvägen?

  Fabian turned into Molander’s driveway, killed the engine and replied to Stubbs’s text. They’d agreed to meet at a petrol station so it would look to Molander like he was filling up the tank. There was also a car wash there and a pizzeria, which should give them at least twenty minutes before it seemed too suspicious.

  Can’t make it.

  But there was no point now parking his car somewhere else and taking the bus or his bike instead. Molander would know exactly where he was anyway. And if he was right about the evidence, they’d be able to arrange for an arrest immediately.

  What happened? Can I call?

  He hurried around to the back of the house and stuck the white key with the pin code on it into the terrace door lock. Molander had apparently noted his latest visit to the house and must know there was a risk he’d break in again. And yet the key still both fitted and turned smoothly.

  No time to explain. Meet in 40 minutes at Skaragatan 12 instead.

  Maybe he hadn’t had time. Maybe Molander was working against the clock, too. He probably wasn’t as well prepared as he wanted to appear. The ambush last night could just as well have been a desperate attempt to put out the fire caused by Milwokh staging an attack at almost exactly the same time Molander was watching Mattias Larsson struggle in the bath.

  The notion that he’d planted clues on his nightstand to fuel Fabian’s suspicions had to be a frantic post hoc rationalization.

  The bugging of Fabian’s house, on the other hand, was a different story and likely long planned, as was the threat to destroy the forensic evidence against Milwokh, which was a clear sign he’d been aware for some time that the suspicions against him hadn’t died with Hugo Elvin.

  He did a quick sweep of the living room, which looked the same as last time he was in it. Granted, that was only twenty-four hours ago, so the real question was if Molander had even been home since.

  He continued down the basement steps, well aware of the risk that Molander might be watching every step he took on a screen somewhere. Hopefully, he was too busy to make it over here in time to intervene. When Fabian reached the basement, he pushed his finger through the small hole in the wall, opened the hatch and punched in the code, causing the metal door to slide open.

  Of course this was where he kept the evidence against Milwokh. The room with its many shelves and display cases filled with confiscated weapons and all kinds of evidence from older cases was virtually custom-built for it.

  He continued over to the built-in freezer at the back of the room and opened it.

  It wasn’t empty. Far from it. And yet, something wasn’t right. It looked the same as before, with a multitude of labelled plastic containers and jars of all shapes and sizes. Or maybe it didn’t? Suddenly feeling uncertain, Fabian picked up one of the containers.

  Gertrud’s liver pâté.

  He took off the lid, only to discover the container really was full of something that looked like home-made liver pâté. But there was no discernible smell. He gingerly touched the surface of the pâté. It was frozen. But when he pushed harder, his finger plunged easily all the way to the bottom.

  The pâté was, therefore, far from frozen solid. This could only mean that the containers he’d seen before, which had held evidence, had recently been swapped for Gertrud’s old leftovers from the frid
ge. He checked a few more containers; they were all the same. If it wasn’t Gertrud’s potatoes au gratin, it was Gertrud’s lasagne, and nothing was frozen through.

  The distant voice sounded like a girl passing by the house while talking on her phone. Or actually, no, it wasn’t just some girl. The voice sounded familiar. Too familiar. He turned around to try to locate it and realized it wasn’t coming from outside the room but, rather, from inside it – or, more specifically, from one of the many built-in shelves.

  ‘… are you here?’ he heard when he moved close enough.

  ‘Hello?’ he shouted at the shelf. ‘This is Fabian Risk. Is there someone in there?’

  ‘Please, answer me if you’re here.’

  It sounded almost like his own— But no, that couldn’t be right.

  ‘Greta, I know you’re here. Maybe you don’t want to talk without Esmaralda.’

  It was her. Unless he’d completely lost his mind, that was Matilda speaking. His own daughter.

  ‘But I’m begging you. Please answer me. I have to know.’

  He just couldn’t understand how or why.

  ‘Greta. If you’re here, please show yourself.’

  He started examining the shelf, moving a collection of hand axes and a set of little brown bottles full of various liquids out of the way. But he found nothing to explain the voice.

  ‘It won’t take long. I promise.’

  Not until he took a closer look at the edges around the shelf, which turned out not to be built-in at all.

  ‘Just give me a sign. Anything. It doesn’t matter what.’

  In addition to the fact that the right end of the shelf moved a millimetre or two when he jiggled it back and forth, he could also see a thin line between the shelf and the wall on either side.

  ‘I just have one question. Answer it and I promise I’ll leave you alone.’

  Without knowing how, he must have pushed the shelf the right way, because suddenly there was a click and the shelf swung open like a door in front of him.