There was a knock at the door. One of the rookies, hair shorn close and his thick neck stuffed into the collar of his uniform, stood in the doorway and cleared his throat.
“Something came up. Am I interrupting?”
That depends, Bertil thought. Do you want to ask how to get paid overtime? Whether it’s okay to show autopsy photos to your girlfriend, or sell them to the evening papers? Because that would be interrupting.
“Does it have to do with Katrin?”
The rookie nodded eagerly. He ran his hand over his scalp and stepped in.
“So, Stig Ahlin…” The rookie cleared his throat.
I can’t handle this. Bertil failed to muffle a sigh. If you’re coming by to get a gold star, I’ll toss you out. Bertil sneaked a look at Petra. She had raised her head from his desk and was looking intently at the young man. It looked like she was smiling. And I’ve forgotten your name. But I can’t help it. You all look the same.
“I asked, umm, our colleague,” Bertil began. Might as well speed this story up. “I asked him to check around and see if Ahlin’s name popped up anywhere.”
The recruit nodded and waved a few documents. Bertil quashed a sigh. He knew how terribly long it usually took new recruits to give a report on their findings, however insignificant and meaningless they might be.
“Our colleagues at City had heard of Ahlin,” Bertil said. “Apparently he’s an early bird. Stig Ahlin is one of those who likes to stop by Jungfrugatan around six-thirty in the morning. On his way to work.”
Petra tore her eyes from the trainee cop and turned to Bertil.
“Why hadn’t I been informed of this?”
“Don’t get excited for no reason, Gren,” Bertil sighed. If you came to our daily briefings you would already know. “It’s old news. Didn’t lead anywhere. This Stig seems to be a certain type of doctor. And we’ll continue to check up on him. But I can’t devote resources to investigating his relationships with hookers. It’s not illegal to buy whores.”
“Yet,” Petra snapped. “Soon. Soon things will be different in that arena.”
“Quite possibly,” Bertil said curtly. As if anything would change in practice. He turned to the rookie. “What were you going to say?”
“I got another hit on him this morning,” he smiled.
“This morning? What do you mean, this morning?” Bertil rose. The rookie took a half step back. His smile froze. “It’s past three o’clock. Have you been farting around under a barbell in the gym all day or something?”
“Uh…,” the recruit attempted. “Stig Ahlin is the subject of another investigation.”
“Did he try to rape and beat another demure schoolgirl to death?” Bertil walked toward the rookie to take the documents from him. “Because if you’re about to say Stig Ahlin has repeatedly been nabbed doing thirty in a twenty zone, I’m sending you to the customs force. You can start strip-searching tourists coming in on direct flights from Schiphol.”
The rookie put out his hand. Before Bertil could react, Petra had taken the document from him. As she read, the young man cleared his throat.
“His ex-wife has accused him of sexually abusing their daughter,” he said. “They were brought in for questioning last week. I read the material, the interrogation of his wife, and well, I don’t know, I don’t think it’s exactly something we can use. But the guy sure seems sexually disturbed…, couldn’t that, couldn’t that suggest, doesn’t that make him pretty interesting for us?”
Bertil tore the paper from Petra’s hand. He glanced through the text. When he was done, he looked up at Petra, and she gazed back. All they could hear was the buzz of the coffee machine in the hallway. The double-paned windows didn’t let in a sound from the busy street outside.
Bertil noticed that the blotches on Petra’s neck were returning. They were an even angrier color now.
The young man’s gaze flicked back and forth.
Simon, that’s his name, Bertil thought. Simon, of course. How could I forget?
“And, I mean, I wasn’t able to find out…,” Simon began tentatively. “The mother reported Stig Ahlin just a few weeks ago, a month, maybe, and I found out yesterday, last night, no, this morning. And, well, I mean, I was looking for you, Bertil, before, earlier, I tried to find you this morning, but you weren’t here and I didn’t want to just leave a note, and I had —”
“Let’s calm down here,” Bertil interrupted. He had raised both arms. He, too, spoke in a low tone. Almost to himself.
Bertil closed the door to the hallway and placed one hand on the rookie’s shoulder. Simon looked down at Bertil. He must have been four or five inches taller than his boss.
“This thing,” Bertil said, “it might not, it doesn’t necessarily…it doesn’t have to mean anything at all. We have to keep a cool head.”
Petra Gren waved her hand dismissively. She seemed to have something caught in her throat.
Suddenly Bertil wanted to laugh. His blood rushed through his body, warm with confidence.
“But that’s good, Simon. Really great. Finally something’s happening.” He nodded at him. “Well done! Nice. Now we have to make sure we do things in the right order. Get involved in this incest investigation. Every last detail. Stig Ahlin. I want to know everything about him. What kind of doctor is he? What are our prostitute contacts? Talk to the hookers. And talk to a psychologist, one of those profilers. Does Stig fit the mold? They may be able to tell us something about our murderer we don’t already know.”
At last Petra Gren opened her mouth.
“Don’t bring him in yet.” Her legs were perfectly still now, and her skin had cooled. “Don’t let him suspect anything. But concentrate on him. Start with the wife.”
6
Sophia was sitting in a two-person booth, trying to lean against a poorly designed backrest. She had a view of the whole restaurant. It was full. They’d had to wait ten minutes for a table, and that was about fifteen minutes too long. She and Anna were both about to faint with hunger. In addition, it was far too warm in here. The radiator beside their table sputtered and hot, dry air settled over the restaurant. Sophia could feel the sweat trickling down her back. Her blouse stuck to her skin. At least she had finished her Christmas shopping. Everything fit in a bag she’d left in the coat check along with her outerwear.
Anna hadn’t checked her belongings. Her shopping bags were crammed into the booth next to Sophia, and the four or five that didn’t fit were spread across the floor. Anna would keep going after lunch. And no doubt every free moment all the way up to Christmas.
“Stig Ahlin. No way.”
Anna picked up the menu and shook it, possibly to find out if the small sheet would suddenly list more than just organic corn-fed chicken, farmed cod, fair-trade bulgur, locally grown vegetables, and carrot soup that hadn’t been heated beyond 107 degrees and could thus be marked with a special carrot symbol that, according to the key in the margin, stood for “raw food.”
“Is there anything to suggest the conviction was improper?”
“Yes.” Sophia tugged at her blouse, trying to air herself out. The underwires of her bra were chafing. “Or Hans Segerstad thinks so, anyway. He has objections to just about every part of the ruling.”
“But you’re not convinced?”
“I honestly don’t know. There are parts I think should…So far I haven’t had time to read much, but there’s almost always a reason to question the accuracy of a case based on circumstantial evidence.”
“So, you think it’s weak.” Anna wrestled out of her coat and tossed it on the mountain of bags beside Sophia.
“Yes. I guess I do. Weaker than I remember. And there are a few things that feel…I don’t know, but I don’t quite buy that this well-bred young girl got together with Stig Ahlin. Or, more accurately, that he got together with her. The more I think about it, the stranger it g
ets. You remember, don’t you?”
Anna nodded angrily. “Hard to forget.”
“Liked prostitutes,” Sophia said, almost to herself. “Some sort of sadistic sexual tendencies. And that part about the daughter. I know he testified that he slept with Katrin, but there should be something more there, something no one has noticed. Even if it’s only that Katrin was outwardly sexually mature. His daughter was only a few years old. How does that fit? Although he was never charged with the incest, of course. And he had been married to a perfectly adult woman. But still. No, this isn’t for me. I’m going to turn it down. Why would I spend a lot of time on such a pointless case? I’m sure you’re aware too, how tiny the chances are of getting a life-sentence conviction overturned?”
Anna nodded. There was a deep crease on her forehead.
“Stig Ahlin has a better chance of winning the lottery,” she said. “Hopefully there’s no reason for me to worry, that pig is staying behind bars.”
“What do you mean, ‘hopefully’?” asked Sophia.
“Isn’t it obvious what I mean? Excuse me, but Earth to Sophia, can you hear me? It sounds like you’re thinking of accepting the case. Why else would we be talking about it? We don’t usually talk about stuff you don’t care about. And I’m sorry, Sophia, but I honestly don’t get it. Stig Ahlin is Professor Death. He is.”
Anna shoved the bags on the floor out of the way to make more room for her feet. A few guests on their way out stepped pointedly over them, lifting their knees high. Anna didn’t notice.
“Why would you take him on just because you think the indictment was weak? And what was wrong with Katrin? Why are you talking about her? I don’t get it — are you blaming her? She was fifteen years old and he killed her. Probably because he thought she was starting to turn into an old lady. He prefers them without pubic hair, doesn’t he?”
“I’m not going to blame Katrin.” Sophia rolled her eyes. “How stupid do you think I am? But it’s still important to know how she lived her life. There’s hardly anything about her in the investigation. That’s sloppy. It’s my job to notice stuff like that. And what do you mean, Professor Death? How do you know? Have you even read the decision?”
“I don’t have to read it to know that Stig Ahlin is a pig.”
Anna put the menu back down and turned around, her hand in the air. There were no servers nearby. She kept waving, her index finger pointing at the ceiling.
“I know he was never found guilty for the part about his daughter. I’m sure whatever she said wasn’t enough, that poor kid. People always tell them they have to speak up, but when they do they find out it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t help, because who would believe a four-year-old? But a man who…Jesus, Sophia, do you even remember that murder? It seems like you’ve forgotten.”
“I haven’t forgotten. But there’s a big difference between what was in the papers and what the preliminary investigation showed. And they closed the incest investigation before he was charged with homicide.”
“I know. That’s not what I’m saying. But I also remember…Did you look at the interrogation with the daughter?”
Sophia nodded. She no longer had the energy to protest. They had to eat before this conversation went off the rails.
“You should let that police officer you like, you should let him look at the transcript with the daughter,” Anna said. “He’s a specialist, you can say that’s why. I’m sure he can tell you what sort of guy that Stig is. And how children feel when they’ve been subjected to the kind of stuff Stig Ahlin gets off on. He could explain to you why you shouldn’t be thinking about mistakes in Stig Ahlin’s conviction but should stay far, far away from that whole case. If you’re really, really nice to him. Because you should be. Really, really nice to Adam.”
Sophia shook her head. Was there really no one working at this place? Someone who could give them something to nibble on, a raw turnip, a bunch of warm dandelion leaves, anything? Anna’s energy was undiminished as she spoke.
“God, you’re so irritating, Sophia. Don’t give me that look. You know exactly what I mean. Forget about Adam, then. It might make you happy to be with someone you like. And we can’t have that.” Anna took a breath. “Shit, I’m hungry. I have to eat.”
Anna got up. Hardly a minute later, she returned with a young server in tow. He was carrying a basket with at least four different kinds of bread. When they were done ordering and had each spread a piece of bread with butter, Anna went on. She chewed as she spoke.
“What was I saying? Why do I think you should let him rot in his way too big and far too comfortable cell?” She swallowed. “Because Stig Ahlin makes me believe in the death penalty. People like him shouldn’t be allowed to live. And if some mistake was made in the formalities, I hope to God you don’t get him out on a technicality. Because of some legal mumbo jumbo that has nothing to do with truth and justice. Because if you do, I don’t know if you can be the godmother of my children anymore.”
Anna spread a thick layer of butter on another piece of bread and shoved it into her mouth.
“Anna,” said Sophia. “Calm down. He was never convicted of what his wife said he did. How many times do I have to say it? He wasn’t even charged.”
“It doesn’t matter. Katrin was a child too.”
“The fact that he slept with Katrin doesn’t make him a pedophile.”
“Are you serious?” Anna sprayed a cloud of crumbs from her mouth. “How can you say that? A fifteen-year-old is a child. Jesus, she was only, like, two years older than Emil when she died. Do you think Emil is an adult? He still builds forts and wants to run away from home when I ask him to make his bed.”
“The courts say so too.” Sophia wiped her cheek. Most of Anna’s half-chewed bread had landed there. “Our legal system says so. Katrin had reached the age of consent and she was sexually active.”
“Doesn’t matter. She was fifteen; he was the age we are now. That equals a pedophile. Even if you can’t go to jail for it.” Anna took a piece of knäckebröd and broke it in two, stacked the pieces, and put them in her mouth. “And everyone who’s normal thinks so, Sophia. Stig Ahlin visited prostitutes. He liked little girls. And when he could no longer use his own daughter more than every other weekend, he slept with Katrin. Whom he murdered.”
Anna took the last piece of bread from the basket. The butter was gone. She played with the bread for a moment before decisively starting to chew on it, slower this time.
“If you want to convince me, or anyone else for that matter, that he’s not guilty, first you’ll have to convince me that he never abused his daughter.” Anna took a large sip of water and looked Sophia in the eye.
“But I can’t appeal or request a new trial for something he wasn’t even charged for.”
“I’m not talking about a retrial here.”
Sophia nodded. It was all she could do. There was no point in trying to have a discussion with Anna when she was like this.
“You may be right.”
“I’m always right.”
Sure, Sophia thought. And you’re not self-absorbed in the least.
“If I take this client on,” Sophia said, “it will be because I think it’s so important I can’t help myself. And in that case I will do my job. No matter what Grandpa thinks. Defend the interests of my client. Because that’s what I do. Especially when no one else believes him.”
“So, he’s your client now?” Anna sounded tired. She leaned back. She suddenly looked sad.
“I didn’t say that. I don’t know. I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
The server arrived with the food. Anna listlessly picked up her fork and poked at her meat.
She’s stuffed, Sophia thought.
“And when it comes to Adam, you need to understand something. I have no desire to have an affair with a married man. You may think that’s not very romantic, but I th
ink it’s…Why would he leave his wife and kids after one night with me? Why would I want to subject myself to the humiliation of being satisfied with whatever’s left over?”
Sophia chewed slowly. It was a struggle not to raise her voice.
“But I want you to know,” said Sophia, “that there’s a big difference between what Stig Ahlin’s daughter said to the police and what was reported later in the newspapers. What the papers printed was what Stig Ahlin’s ex-wife told the journalists. She was behind all the sordid details.”
“Sordid? Sordid!?”
Anna put down her silverware. She looked at Sophia in silence; it must have lasted three seconds.
“Sometimes I just can’t wrap my mind around you, Sophia. What is so sordid about saying that you’ve been the victim of a crime? About turning to the media if you think it might help? Her daughter was sexually abused by her own father. She had a child with a man she loved, and he…Do you have any idea what Stig Ahlin’s wife must have gone through? I don’t think —”
Don’t say it, Sophia thought. Just don’t say it.
“— I’m sorry, but if you had kids you would understand. It’s the worst thing that could happen to a mother. In that situation, you would do anything to keep it from happening again. Anything.”
Ida
1998
The hallway of Vitsippan Day Care smelled like wet socks. With all the children and harried parents gone, it seemed shabby. Marianne was sitting on a very low wooden bench under the row of coat hooks. She didn’t want to arrive too early. She touched the picture of a kitten that marked her daughter Ida’s cubby. The photo was peeling at the edges, and someone had colored the kitten’s tongue green with a marker. Ida’s rain gear was on the floor. When Marianne hung it up again, dried mud rained down. There were lone socks everywhere. Ida’s winter hat had been left behind on the shelf.
It was twenty past seven. Marianne quashed the impulse to call and make sure Stig had given her a bath. Ida needed her routines. She had to go to bed soon or else she would be impossible to wake up in the morning. But he knew that. She’d told him at least a thousand times.
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