He strolled to the kitchenette to fix himself another espresso. On the way back to his office it occurred to him how much he was looking forward to things finally returning to normal. He had been counting the days; Sanna’s leave was finally over and she would turn up any moment now.
Just as he was conjecturing about Sanna’s imminent arrival she appeared in the corridor, strolling towards him with an easy, relaxed stride.
Blom hurried over to greet her. “Hi Sanna! Back from holiday already?” he asked with a muted smile.
“You mean my leave of absence,” replied Sanna who was puzzled and more than a little sceptical about his friendliness.
Blom laughed with characteristic gusto. “Yes, yes, you’re right about that.”
She studied him. He hadn’t changed. He was an average looking person of stocky build who moved like an old man and appeared much older than his forty years.
Sanna smiled to herself. Blom was just being his normal ironic self. She relaxed.
“Time goes quickly when you’re having fun,” she continued jocularly.
He was about to respond when he saw Kalle Karlsson walking towards them with a wide grin on his face.
“Welcome back Sanna,” said Kalle looking her up and down. “You look great!”
Sanna’s suntan and relaxed demeanour was visible proof that she had enjoyed herself. She was still basking in the memory of her holiday, which had only ended a few days ago.
She smiled contentedly.
It had been an unusually hot summer in Turkey and despite spending most of her time at the beach under a parasol, she had developed a nice tan. She had taken advantage of the secluded environment and immersed herself in a book that had nothing at all to do with murder. From time to time she had dozed off or just lain there listening to the waves. It was her first trip abroad since Malin’s illness. When Malin was alive she had always planned her holidays around her sister’s needs. But now she was free. A freedom that at first had felt like a burden but after six months she was finally ready to move on with her life and focus on the future.
“How have you been?” she asked.
“You two will have to catch up later, we’ve got a lot to do,” interrupted Blom, waving a blue paper folder. “I’ll see you in the conference room – the morning meeting starts in five minutes.”
Sanna and Kalle chatted as they walked towards the conference room together. He had changed. There was a sadness in his eyes. His partner Mia had chronic health problems and he had sole responsibility for taking care of the children when they were sick, which was quite often. If it wasn’t Liza who was unwell, it was Pontus.
“Welcome back!” said a man in passing.
Sanna smiled. She looked around her. Everything was so familiar, yet different nonetheless. She had been away from work too long. A couple of officers looked at her curiously before breaking into welcoming smiles.
Sanna swung around at the sound of a familiar laugh and saw Cecile Thorén and Javier Mendez walking through the open plan office towards her. She couldn’t help noticing how different they were. Thorén was a cheerful and outspoken Scanian, tall with an almost athletic build and confident stride, looking every bit the self-assured woman that she was. Javier, on the other hand, was of average build and, at hundred and seventy centimetres, at least ten centimetres shorter. Despite his Latin blood he was placid and rather reserved. They were both experienced and competent detectives who had been a huge asset while working in Sanna’s team on the Svenson case.
“Welcome back Sanna!” said Thorén with a broad smile, giving her a hug.
“Long time no see,” said Javier, holding her elbow affectionately as they shook hands.
Sanna smiled to herself. Nothing had changed. It was good to be back.
BLOM STRODE INTO THE ROOM and surveyed the assembled group. Sanna Johansson, Kalle Karlsson, Cecile Thorén and Javier Mendez followed behind him. Sanna gazed slowly around the room and smiled at each of her colleagues before sitting down.
Blom cleared his throat and began the meeting with information about a potential new murder case. The local Värmdö police had found a body in an abandoned summer cottage on the island of Ingarö.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why we’re taking this on when we’re already up to our necks with other investigations but our colleagues at Värmdö think it might be something for us. Let’s take a look and decide whether to proceed further.” He looked at Sanna.
“I’ll take Kalle, Thorén and Javier,” she said stiffly.
Blom considered her request for a moment and then nodded.
The door opened and Allan Jonsson appeared. He closed the door and walked over to the far end of the table and pulled out a chair and sat down.
Everyone turned to look at him.
Allan Jonsson had joined The National Bureau of Investigation from Karlstad one year ago. To begin with he had trouble adjusting to his new post. His superiors insisted he make an effort to familiarize himself with the local protocol and one of the first lessons he had learnt was not to openly discuss cases during breaks.
However, there was another reason Allan Jonsson was arousing so much interest that particular day. The man entering the room was almost unrecognizable. He sported a crew cut and instead of the customary blue shirt he was wearing a tight black T-shirt that accentuated his well-trained muscles and revealed a tattoo on his right arm.
Silence.
Blom cleared his throat. “Jonsson you’ll work with Sanna!”
Sanna glared at Blom but resisted the impulse to argue. She knew that sooner or later the team would be short staffed so she may as well get used to the newcomer.
CHAPTER 3
The crime scene
SOON AFTER TEN O’CLOCK Sanna Johansson and her team arrived at the crime scene. It was a tranquil neighbourhood, surrounded by mature pine trees and overgrown bushes. Several police vehicles and an ambulance were randomly parked along the roadside. The gravel path was still damp following yesterday’s rain and a gentle scent of earth, bark and trampled grass filled the air.
A uniformed policewoman was attempting to bring some sort of order to the crowd of inquisitive onlookers, which had congregated on the other side of the blue and white barrier tape fencing off the crime scene.
“Stand on the other side of the tape!” she yelled at a young man who was eager to see what was going on. “Let’s not upset the forensic technicians by trampling on their evidence!”
A spokesman for the local police stood just inside the barrier talking to reporters. As Sanna slipped through the crowd, careful not to bump into anybody, she spotted a familiar face –Lorena Pascalini from The Evening Post.
Pascalini was a stubborn and persistent journalist in her early thirties. She was almost always the first to write exposés revealing sensitive details about investigations that the police were keen to keep under wraps and away from the media. Sanna didn’t like her but she had to concede that Pascalini had all the right qualities for a good journalist.
Sanna wondered whether somebody from inside was feeding Pascalini information. That woman never missed an opportunity!
She made her way up to the cottage, where the team had gathered outside the entrance. Sanna regarded her squad briefly. She liked to surround herself with colleagues who were experienced and independent. She had personally selected each member and moulded the group into the best investigation team she had ever worked with. She wanted to keep this particular assemblage intact for many years to come. However, against her wishes Henrik Blom had decided to incorporate one more person into the team – a recently qualified investigator named Allan Jonsson. As yet it was far from clear whether or not he was the type of person who would fit in.
“Okay, let’s see why this case has been handed to us,” said Sanna.
Kalle nodded. He was the longest serving member of the team and the one in whom she had the greatest confidence. They had met ten years ago when he was thirty-five years old, and since then t
hey had worked together on so many murder investigations that she couldn’t imagine the job without him. Unfortunately, Kalle’s problems at home dealing with Mia’s illness were negatively affecting his performance at work and it wasn’t yet clear how the situation would unfold in the future.
“It’s there in the bedroom. Not a pretty sight,” said a uniformed police officer, moving aside to let her pass.
Sanna glanced at him and continued through the door, slipping on a pair of latex gloves and shoe covers as she walked. Half way across the threshold the stench hit her. She froze. Nothing could be more uninviting that the smell of a corpse that has been cooped up inside for several days. As she groped in her pocket for a handkerchief she used her other hand to cover her mouth and suppress her gagging reflex.
Kalle and Javier followed her in.
Javier Mendez grunted a few inaudible words and Sanna looked at him questioningly.
“Nothing… I was thinking out loud,” he said with an unconvincing smile. Javier was thirty-nine years old and hailed from Skåne. His parents had moved to Sweden from Spain in the 1960s. From an early age he had dreamed of becoming a policeman and as soon as he completed compulsory military service he moved to Stockholm and applied to the Police Academy. Despite his idiosyncratic temperament and manner he was highly competent. Sanna met him three years ago when the Gothenburg Police had requested her expert assistance in a human trafficking case involving six men who were accused of luring eleven unsuspecting Rumanian women to Sweden.
As far as Sanna was concerned, Kalle and Javier were unquestionably the best crime scene investigators in the country. Although Javier was the kind of person who preferred to work alone and without interference, Sanna was satisfied with his efforts and had complete confidence in his ability to carry out his assignments in a professional manner. She had also noticed that Cecile Thorén with her charm and sunny personality had managed to break through Javier’s defences. Since Thorén had joined the group a year ago Javier had become a much happier and more communicative person. There was hope.
“Have you finished?” asked Sanna as two white-robed forensic technicians from NFC, the Swedish National Forensic Centre passed her on their way out.
“No, Söderman’s still in there,” replied one of the technicians, opening a case and removing a facemask, which she passed to Sanna. “Use this.”
Sanna muttered something inaudible under her breath as she placed it over her nose and mouth.
Allan Jonsson, who had been watching them, approached and stretched out his hand with a smile.
The female technician glanced at Sanna as she passed Allan a facemask. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what you said.”
“Is Falk still here?” repeated Sanna.
“No, but he’ll be here any minute now. Don’t touch anything until he comes. We’ve taken all the samples we need, but you know Falk,” replied the woman.
The technicians from NFC would now begin the task of preparing a detailed report, which in this particular case would include analysis of fingerprints, DNA, footprints and other so called biological traces collected at the crime scene. The information would be used to create a DNA profile of the perpetrator.
A few minutes later Cecile Thorén arrived. Before entering the house she pulled out a facemask from her jacket pocket and placed it over her mouth.
“’Where did you get that?” asked Javier.
“I have more… wait a minute.” She removed another couple of masks from her jacket pocket and passed them to Javier and Kalle.
Sanna noted how Thorén was always so well prepared. She had moved to Stockholm from Ystad a couple of years ago when her partner had decided to return to his old job at Solna Police. Thorén was in her forties. She was popular and forthright and capable of spicing up the daily routine with her vivacious personality. In addition, she was a competent investigator. Her ability to bury herself in details and find connections in complicated cases that others had missed was one of the characteristics Sanna most admired in her.
Sanna surveyed each member of her team.
“Do we know the name of the victim?”
“No,” replied Kalle. “Apparently he had no id on him… Oh yes, one more thing – it doesn’t look like anybody’s living here, the property’s basically empty.”
Sanna raised her eyebrows and turned to Javier.
“Talk to the guys out there and make sure the crowd doesn’t disperse. I want photos of everyone, including those who came later.”
She looked around.
“Where’s Steward?”
“I guess he’s almost here, I think I can hear his motorbike,” replied Javier.
“Good! Ask him to periodically take photos of everyone outside. Later we’ll find out who the busybodies are.”
“I’ll go out and talk to potential witnesses before they leave,” said Javier, eager to get some fresh air.
“I’ll go too, there’s a bloke out there who might be able to tell us who the owner is,” said Kalle, scurrying out after him.
“Allan, you go with them,” said Sanna. His face was as white as a sheet and he looked decidedly unwell. He probably hadn’t seen too many murder victims during his career.
Allan Jonsson hesitated for a moment but eventually obeyed her instructions.
Sanna watched him leave. He hadn’t been at NBI long enough for her to build up an impression of him yet. All she knew was that he had recently turned fifty, hailed originally from Karlstad and had moved to Stockholm eight months ago.
Allan had a reputation for impertinence as well as being a bit of a loud mouth and he had got off to a rocky start in his new role as a detective. However, shortly after joining Sanna’s team, just as the Börge Svenson investigation was gathering momentum, his attitude changed and he became a lot more reserved. Furthermore, his new tough guy look became something of a taking point. His tightly cropped haircut and recently acquired prominent tattoo on his sun tanned muscular forearm helped bolster this impression. Sanna hadn’t yet managed to work out whether he had the competence necessary to be an asset to the investigation.
As Sanna watched Allan and Thorén leave she noticed a look pass between them. She also couldn’t help admiring Cecile Thorén’s elegant, self-confident stride.
She surveyed the living room, which was the first room you came to when entering the property. It was a traditional cottage in reasonable state of repair, and, apart from the pervasive stench of rotting flesh, it had the typical, slightly musty smell of an old building. She made a visual recording of the scene in her memory. The décor was simple with IKEA style pine furniture. Along the left side of the room was a small table surrounded by four grey fabric armchairs and a white sofa. The matching grey curtains swayed gently in the breeze wafting in through two open windows looking out onto the street.
Sanna continued into the bedroom and paused on the threshold before entering. It certainly didn’t resemble a crime scene. Apart from the corpse lying rigid on the bed, the powerful, metallic smell of blood and the pervasive odour of human excrement, the room was in perfect order.
The colour scheme was similar to the living room and there were two open windows overlooking a dense forest.
Sanna adjusted her facemask and approached the victim. The scene reminded her of the three-year-old murder investigation in Gothenburg. She took out her tablet computer and began to write:
“Striking similarities with the Gothenburg case, not in the victim’s appearance but in the way he is positioned on the bed, curled up in the foetal position. The bed is neatly made, almost as if the victim was placed there after the murder. He is naked and his feet are bound together and his hands are tied behind his back with a black leather strap.”
She couldn’t get the old murder case out of her head. A murder investigation that had ended up among the archived unsolved cases due to a lack of technical evidence. She continued to write:
“Also similar to the Gothenburg victim, the man’s torso is facing the do
or, his face turned upwards. His eyes are open and his face is frozen in a distorted, terrified expression.”
Sanna bent over the corpse.
“His hair is glued to his scalp. Everything indicates a struggle.”
She looked at the man’s penis. No difference here except for size. It was lacerated with dry blood-filled blisters. Sanna drew a sharp intake of breath and paced back and forth around the bed. Next to the victim’s anus was a mess of blood and excrement. As she walked over to the window to escape the repugnant smell she tripped over an armchair. Flustered, she quickly returned the stool to its original position and, as she did so, noticed a similar armchair in another corner of the room. It was positioned so that a person sitting on it could watch what was happening on the bed. She frowned.
Outside the cottage the crowd of curious onlookers had begun to disperse, probably to avoid Kalle and Javier’s questioning. Allan Jonsson was talking animatedly to a woman and Sanna couldn’t help wondering whether he was asking questions about the case or chatting her up.
She turned and looked at the bed. Remarkably, it too was similar to the one in Gothenburg with its old-fashioned white metal frame and headboard consisting of two solid railings with three narrow bars inside. It reminded Sanna of a bed she had seen at one of her grandmother’s friend’s houses when she was a child. She remembered imagining it was a gate. The bed was covered with a white bedspread and there were three cushions and two white pillows neatly arranged against the headboard.
Cecile Thorén, who all this time had been silently staring at the body, too nauseous to speak, walked out of the room towards the kitchen.
Soon afterwards, Javier and Jonsson entered the bedroom with the photographer in tow.
“Holy shit!” exclaimed Javier.
Sanna looked up from her tablet computer and nodded. “Another one…” she whispered.
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