‘That didn’t take too long.’ The clerk had reappeared and was unbuttoning his cardigan. ‘There’s nothing confidential in these reports. Here you are.’ He handed them to her.
She glanced through the main points and felt a surge of adrenalin. ‘Thanks very much indeed!’ she said, and hurried off towards the lifts.
Pp. 6–7
Evening Post – Stockholm Edition
Saturday, 5 June
POLICE SEARCH FOR ALEXANDER
• Search expanded
• Army called in
• Forest searched last night
By Patrik Nilsson
Evening Post (Södermanland). Efforts to find the missing four-year-old, Alexander Lindholm, are getting increasingly desperate.
‘We’re close to a breakthrough,’ a police source said.
It’s now a matter of hours rather than days.
The missing little boy has to be found on Saturday, or hope of finding him alive will start to fade.
In the middle of idyllic countryside, near a cottage called Björkbacken in the depths of the Södermanland forests, an intensive search is currently under way to locate Alexander. The trees whisper quietly, and only the cries of the search teams disturb the peace.
The police have confirmed that the boy has been here, close to the summer cottage used by Julia Lindholm, who is currently in custody, within the past few days.
‘This is probably based upon material gathered from bins,’ a well-placed source has told the Evening Post. ‘Milk cartons are always a valuable source of information in this sort of search, because all families with young children buy milk. Using the sell-by and best-before dates on the packaging, the police will have been able to confirm that the child was at this location. The bins are emptied fortnightly in the forests around Katrineholm, which will have made the work of the police easier.’
The police are also believed to have found small footprints in the mud outside the house, which means that a child has been at the cottage since the last downpour on Tuesday.
Officers in Södermanland have expanded the search to the surrounding district. A helicopter equipped with a heat-seeking camera joined the search yesterday.
‘That will only work if the boy is still alive,’ a source in the investigation said. ‘If he’s dead, his body would be the same temperature as the surroundings.’
Do you believe he is still alive?
‘The fact that we’re using an infra-red camera indicates that we believe he is alive, and simply missing.’
As of today, Saturday, the military will also be joining the search. Conscripts from the P4 Skaraborg Regiment in Skövde will be taking part.
There have been indications from the National Crime Unit that the evidence implicating Julia Lindholm is mounting. It is believed that she will be formally charged shortly. The hearing could take place this weekend, or on Monday at the latest.
Police analysis suggests that they are close to a breakthrough in the case.
‘Naturally, we are still hoping to find the boy alive.’
Any information regarding the disappearance of four-year-old Alexander Lindholm should be given to the National Crime Unit in Stockholm, or your nearest police station.
Saturday, 5 June
10
Nina was walking through the long glass corridor that constituted the official entrance to Police Headquarters on Kungsholmen. Even though she had been working for Stockholm Police for almost a decade, she had hardly ever used this entrance. The glass walls and the sloping glass roof made her feel both enclosed and exposed, and oddly guilty.
She quickened her pace.
The man in Reception made her wait almost a whole minute before deigning to notice her. She was dressed in plain clothes and realized he had taken her for an ordinary troublesome member of the public. ‘I’m here to see Julia Lindholm,’ she said, holding out her police badge.
The man’s eyes narrowed and his mouth set hard. There may have been 301 people in custody, but he knew exactly who Julia was. ‘Lindholm’s in isolation,’ he said. ‘There’s no question of her receiving any visitors.’
Nina raised her chin slightly and made sure her gaze was firm when she replied: ‘Obviously this isn’t an ordinary visit, it’s an informal interview. I was assuming it had been sanctioned.’
He looked at her sceptically, took her police badge and disappeared into an office.
She waited at the counter for ten long minutes.
I’m going. I can’t be bothered with this. Julia, I can’t help you …
‘Nina Hoffman?’ A female guard had appeared at the door that led further into the complex. ‘I must ask you to put all items like outdoor clothing and your mobile phone in a locker before I can let you enter the prison. This way.’
Nina put her pashmina, jacket and handbag in a locker to the left of Reception. She was given a badge that had to be visible at all times while she was in the prison, then was let through the gates.
She followed the guard down a corridor that ended in a lobby in front of some lifts, painted a gaudy blue. ‘Aren’t we going to one of the visitors’ rooms?’
‘My orders are to take you to Julia Lindholm’s cell in the women’s section,’ the guard said, rattling a ring of keys at the end of a long chain.
Nina didn’t reply. She had never been inside Kronoberg Prison before.
They got into the lift and the guard pressed a button. There was a short pause before the machinery began to work, and Nina glanced up at one of the cameras.
‘The lifts are kept under surveillance,’ the guard said. ‘All movement through the building, up or down, is controlled remotely.’
They stopped at the third floor. Nina made to leave the lift but the guard held her back. ‘This is where police jurisdiction ends,’ she said. ‘We need further authorization before we can go up into the actual prison.’
A few seconds later the lift juddered into action again.
They got out on the sixth floor and went through three locked doors before reaching one of the secure units.
‘If you wait here for a moment, the food trolley can get past,’ the guard said.
Nina looked down a long corridor, its grey linoleum running the length of the building and ending at a barred window. The sunlight outside and the neon tubes on the ceiling cast reflections on the floor. Green metal doors lined the walls, each with a small sign giving information about the cell’s occupant, restrictions, case number. Each door had a hatch so that the staff could look in, and substantial locks. She heard someone cough behind the nearest.
‘Are you full?’ Nina asked.
‘Are you kidding?’ the guard said.
Two men lumbered past them with a trolley full of trays.
The guard walked to the end of the corridor and unlocked one of the green doors with her jangling keys. ‘Julia Lindholm,’ she said. ‘You’ve got a visitor.’
Nina took a deep breath before walking into the cell. Her mouth had dried. The walls closed in on her.
This isn’t remotely humane! How can they treat you like this?
Julia was sitting on a desk that was fixed to the wall, looking out of the small window at the sky. She was wearing regulation green and grey prison clothing, clutching her knees and rocking back and forth. Her toes were moving frenetically inside thick socks. Her hair was tied in a blonde knot on top of her head. She didn’t seem to notice that someone had come into the cell.
‘Julia,’ Nina said quietly, so as not to startle her. ‘Julia, it’s me.’
The cell door closed behind Nina. There was no handle on the inside.
At first Julia didn’t react, just carried on staring out of the window.
Nina looked around the cell. The pine desk was connected to a bed that was also fixed to the wall. The wood was yellow from old varnish and covered with cigarette burns. There was a chair, two small shelves and a metal washbasin. The room smelt of stale smoke.
‘Julia,’ she repeated, taki
ng two steps to the desk and carefully putting a hand on her friend’s shoulder. ‘Julia, how are you?’
Julia turned to Nina and her face lit up in a smile. ‘Nina,’ she said, wrapping her arms round Nina’s neck, hugging her as she rocked. ‘How sweet of you to visit me! What are you doing here?’
Nina disentangled herself and looked at her intently. Julia’s eyes were bloodshot and the rash on her cheeks was worse, but she seemed alert. ‘I wanted to see how you are,’ Nina said. ‘How are you feeling?’
Julia shrugged and jumped down from the desk. She went over to the door and felt it with the palms of her hands.
‘What are you doing?’
Julia went back to the desk, sat down, then stood up again and went to sit on the bed.
‘Julia,’ Nina said. ‘I heard you resigned. Why?’
Julia looked up at her in surprise, then started biting one of her thumbnails. ‘I need to buy washing-up liquid,’ she said. ‘I’ve run out of powder. I’ve got those little cubes, but they never dissolve properly …’
Nina’s throat tightened.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked again. ‘Is there anything I can help you with?’
Julia got up and went to the door again, running her hands aimlessly over the green metal. ‘Nina,’ she said, sounding suddenly scared. ‘Do you really think we ought to apply to the Police Academy? Wouldn’t it be better to go into social work?’
Something’s seriously wrong here.
‘What are you talking about?’
Julia got up from the bed and stamped her feet impatiently, her gaze meandering out of the window to dart restlessly over the brown wall on the far side of the inner courtyard. ‘David hasn’t come home yet,’ she said. ‘He was supposed to pick up Alexander on the way, and the nursery’s been closed for several hours now.’ She looked at Nina hopefully. ‘Has he called you?’
Nina opened her mouth but couldn’t reply. Tears choked her. Eventually she controlled herself. ‘Come and sit down with me,’ she said, taking Julia’s hand. ‘Come on, we’ll just have a little talk …’
She sat Julia in front of her on the bunk and put her hands on Julia’s cheeks, looking her in the eyes. ‘Julia,’ she whispered, ‘where’s Alexander?’
Confusion flickered in Julia’s eyes for several long moments.
‘Don’t you remember what happened to David?’ Nina said. ‘In your bedroom? Do you remember the shot?’
Julia’s eyes darkened. She seemed to be looking at something just above Nina’s head. She gasped and her face contorted. ‘Get her out of here,’ she whispered.
‘Who?’
‘The other one. She’s evil.’
Nina turned and looked at the wall. A previous prisoner had carved her initials into it. ‘Do you mean the other woman? The one who took Alexander?’
Julia’s body jerked and she struggled to free herself, her forearm hitting Nina’s nose. Without a word she staggered to the door and banged on it, first with her fists, and then with her head. A whimpering sound was coming from deep in her throat.
Oh, no, what have I done?
With two long strides Nina was at the door, taking a firm grip on Julia from behind to calm her down, but her embrace had the opposite effect. Julia started screaming, an angry howl that was only muffled when she tried to bite Nina.
‘Julia, I’m going to lay you on the bunk, on your side,’ Nina said, twisting her friend’s arms up behind her back, then pushing her down with her head on the pillow.
The hatch opened and the female guard looked into the cell.
‘She needs a tranquillizer,’ Nina said.
Julia was crying hysterically, her whole body shaking. Nina kept a firm grip of her, trying to calm her with the weight and warmth of her body.
A moment later, the guard called, ‘The medics are on their way.’
Slowly the convulsions ebbed and Julia lay still. The screams turned into a wailing sob. Eventually she fell silent, panting for breath. ‘It was my fault,’ she whispered. ‘It was my fault.’
Nina called Detective Inspector Q the moment she emerged into the glass corridor outside Reception. ‘You can’t keep her locked up like that, not in a prison cell,’ she said abruptly, when he answered. ‘She’s verging on psychotic and needs proper psychiatric care.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘She’s seeing things – obviously suffering from delusions.’ Nina was walking quickly towards the exit, eager to escape the unpleasant glass tunnel.
‘So our informal interviewer’s been transformed into a psychiatric expert? Did you get anything out of her?’
Nina pushed the door open and stepped out into the gale on the street. ‘She talked incoherently about irrelevant things – said she’d forgotten to buy washing-up liquid, that she wasn’t sure about applying to the Police Academy. She seemed confused about time and space, and isn’t aware of what’s happened. She asked where David had gone with Alexander.’
‘Did she mention the other woman?’
‘She said she was evil and asked me to get rid of her. I think Julia should be sent for paragraph-seven investigation – immediately.’
‘So she didn’t say anything about whether or not she was guilty?’
Nina breathed in and out twice. ‘Maybe I haven’t made myself clear. Julia was so confused that she didn’t know where she was. When I tried to ask about the murder she became extremely agitated. A medic had to come and give her a tranquillizer. She’s sleeping now.’
Detective Inspector Q sighed loudly. ‘Well, I suppose it’s progress,’ he said. ‘She hasn’t spoken to us at all.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Not a sound.’
Nina stopped and looked up at the façade of Police Headquarters, trying to imagine the caged walkways on the roof where the prisoners got their fresh air for an hour each day.
‘So you were aware of how disturbed she is,’ she said, ‘but you didn’t tell me before you asked me to question her?’
‘Hey, now,’ Q said, ‘she was just refusing to talk. That’s hardly unusual.’
‘If you want to have anything like a sensible interview with Julia, she has to get some sort of treatment first,’ Nina said. ‘I don’t know the details, but people experience traumatic events every day and get psychiatric treatment.’
‘In an ideal world,’ Q said. ‘That’s going to be difficult in this case.’
She started walking towards the Underground. ‘Why wouldn’t the health service have the resources to deal with this case?’
‘I’m not talking about the health service, but whether there’s any desire to do it. Let me put it like this: there’s a certain resistance in the force to treating David’s murderer with kid gloves.’
Nina stopped mid-stride. ‘Kid gloves?’
‘If everything goes according to plan, Julia will be charged on Monday. Naturally, that’s just a formality, but I’d like you to be there. It’s possible there’ll be questions about her arrest that the court will need to clear up.’
Two teenage boys walked past Nina, giggling, but she didn’t bother to lower her voice: ‘Let’s get one thing absolutely clear,’ she said. ‘I did this for Julia’s sake, not yours. I’ve no intention of getting involved.’
‘Right now, this is about finding the boy.’
She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. ‘You haven’t got an easy job,’ she said. ‘Either you keep our colleagues happy or you solve these crimes. Good luck.’
She ended the call and went down into the Underground station on shaky legs.
Only when she was standing on the escalator did she realize what she’d said.
Crimes, plural.
I’m assuming that you killed Alexander as well.
She hurried towards the platform.
The children were parked in Berit’s living room, watching a Moomin cartoon on television. Annika put the breakfast things in the dishwasher, wiped the kitchen table and worktop, then too
k the copies of the misconduct reports against David Lindholm from her bag. She sat down beside the drop-leaf table and let her eyes wander out of the window towards the lake.
People treated each other so atrociously. Was there any hope for humanity, with so much evil everywhere?
She could hear Little My shouting something at Moominmamma and put her hands over her ears.
Berit had gone shopping for dinner ages ago.
Why do I get so upset at being on my own? Why am I so restless?
She grabbed the photocopies from the Police Board’s personnel committee and read through the reports again.
The first case concerned a young man called Tony Berglund. The complaint had been made by a doctor in A&E at Södermalm Hospital. The file describing the man’s injuries was three pages long and extremely detailed. In the doctor’s opinion, the injuries had been inflicted during a prolonged and vicious attack, leaving him with four fractures and extensive internal bleeding. The victim had said in the ambulance that ‘a cop’ had kicked him. In A&E he had described the policeman as well built, blond, with a prominent brow.
The description fitted David Lindholm very well.
Every time he was questioned, Tony Berglund stuck to exactly the same version of events on Luntmakargatan. He and two friends had been on their way to see a girl over on Frejgatan, up by St Stefan’s Church, when five youths wearing caps had jumped them at the corner of Rehnsgatan. Mostly it was just shouting and pushing, there hadn’t been any real violence. After a while, the rapid-response team of the Norrmalm Police had arrived, tyres screeching, from the direction of Norra Real School. Four cops had leaped out, and the big blond one had led the charge.
‘Are you Tony?’ he had asked, and when Tony said, ‘What the fuck’s it got to do with you?’ the attack had begun. Tony Berglund couldn’t say how long it had gone on: he had lost consciousness when his cheekbone was fractured, and he hadn’t woken up until he was in the ambulance. The description of the police officer had been made in writing because Tony’s jaw was immobile. The crumpled note was among the documentation.
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