Impact Epub

by Lourdes Daza-Gillman

  “Good! Right now it looks like he’s the only survivor, so surely it’s in his interest that we find out who’s hell bent on revenge against them.”

  Kalle nodded.

  “Doesn’t Cederberg know what Pettersson was doing in Stockholm?” asked Thorén.

  Sanna shook her head. “Nope.”

  “Of course he knows,” muttered Kalle.

  “Yes, you’re right. There are no witnesses to the fight, which means that it must have taken place inside the house. I need to get there before Cederberg, so that he doesn’t deliberately destroy or remove any evidence.”

  As they filed out of the investigation room Sanna’s iPhone rang.

  “One more thing!” she added. “I don’t want a media circus or read stuff Lorena Pascalini has made up, not to mention have her attack us.”

  She answered the call. “Johansson! What, now? Make sure they keep him until we get there – the bastard was supposed to come here tomorrow.”

  She hung up and walked briskly down the corridor.

  “Kalle, wait! Guess what, Aron Alvik was at the airport attempting to leave the country.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Ante Knutsson was on a police errand at Arlanda when he spotted Alvik in the departure hall. They held him at passport control while he checked with us. Do you have time to fetch him?”

  Sanna’s iPhone rang again.

  “Listen, since I’m already here, isn’t it easiest if I bring him in myself?” said Ante Knutsson before Sanna had a chance to say anything.

  “Yes, actually that’s a big help. Thanks.”

  “Okay, we’ll be there in an hour or so,” said Knutsson.

  Great.” She hung up and informed Kalle.

  “Good,” said Kalle. “My mother’s with the kids, but I promised to be home on time today.”

  Sanna nodded sympathetically.

  KIM LAY ON THE SOFA with her injured leg resting on the sofa table. She looked pale and harrowed. She didn’t even have the energy to get something nourishing inside her. It was over – her fingerprints were all over the crime scene and any moment now, the police would be on her trail. Although she was no longer particularly interested in following the investigation she still needed to know how close they were to discovering her secret.

  Oxen’s body had been found and, judging by the amount of blood on his clothes, it was only a matter of time.

  Kim had also found out that Cederberg was in Stockholm. His presence worried her. That damn man had painted himself into a corner, but at least he was retiring soon and would probably end up escaping prosecution for the illegal activities he was involved in with Pettersson.

  IT WAS EIGHT O’CLOCK in the evening and Sanna Johansson, Cecile Thorén and Javier Mendez were sitting in a car on their way to Täby.

  “Did he say anything else?” asked Sanna.

  “No, just that he didn’t want his son to be involved in any investigation,” said Thorén. “Apparently, he was the one who called the police when the kids found the body. He admitted he had been reluctant initially to tell us that he recognized Åke Pettersson, but quickly came to his senses. To make a long story short, he ran into Pettersson and his friends at his local pub. Apparently they were a loud bunch that you couldn’t avoid noticing. Over time he got more and more curious, and then one evening he decided to follow them and find out where they lived.”

  “Here it is!” said Javier, who was sitting at the wheel.

  Sanna and Thorén jumped out of the car and hurried towards the bungalow while Javier looked for a parking spot.

  A few metres away there was a screeching sound as another car braked suddenly. Several people climbed out and ran off in the same direction as the detectives.

  Javier pulled over and hurried to catch up with them.

  “Hello!” he said.

  Raino Cederberg glanced at him and continued walking.

  Sanna was standing outside the house. Thorén had gone around the side of the building to check whether any of the doors were unlocked.

  Ignoring Sanna completely, Cederberg strode past her and kicked open the front door.

  Sanna glowered and charged past him into the hall.

  “Stop,” she shouted, putting out her hand to block his way. “Not another step! Everybody out! I don’t want the crime scene contaminated!”

  Cederberg reluctantly retreated, scowling at her on his way out.

  “The forensics team is on its way, so are the local police. They’ll be here any minute to seal off the area,” said Javier, stuffing his phone into his pocket.

  Sanna lingered in the hallway and surveyed the crime scene from a distance – a large open plan living room and kitchen combined, full of light, with large windows on three sides and a fireplace. There was a black sofa and armchairs, low sofa table and flat screen TV.

  The room was in complete disarray.

  Objects lay scattered on the floor in tangled mess. There were books and knickknacks, shattered pots, soil and broken plants. By the doorway to what Sanna assumed was the bedroom was an overturned stereo player and on the kitchen counter was a broken chair. It had clearly been the scene of a violent confrontation where the adversaries had grabbed hold of anything they could get their hands on to use as weapons. Apart from a few bloodstains here and there, mainly on the floor, there was more damage to property than evidence of human injury.

  Sanna remembered Pettersson’s clothes. There were no open wounds on his body yet his clothes were covered in blood.

  “The killer’s blood,” she muttered.

  “What?” asked Cederberg.

  Sanna frowned at him. “How did you get here? And, for that matter, WHY are you here?”

  “This is important to me,” replied Cederberg gingerly, avoiding her eyes.

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” she said, looking at him angrily. “You’re not authorized to be here. I won’t tolerate this type of overreach! When I asked you what Pettersson was doing in Täby, you steadfastly refused to cooperate.”

  Cederberg hung his head in shame like a schoolboy who had just been reprimanded by his teacher.

  “Sorry about that,” he conceded.

  “Sorry won’t cut it. Once I’m done with this investigation, that’ll be the least of your worries.”

  Sanna was distracted by the sound of engines and car doors opening and closing as several uniformed police officers and people in white overalls arrived.

  Sanna greeted them and exchanged a few words with one of the forensic pathologists from The National Forensic Centre then approached one of her uniformed colleagues.

  “I want you to stand guard round the clock. Nobody is allowed inside the house without my permission. Do you understand? Nobody enters the crime scene unless I authorize it!” She handed the police officer her visit card. “Call me if you have any problems!” She stared pointedly at Cederberg.

  THE SAME NIGHT AS Sanna Johansson and her team stormed Åke Pettersson’s bungalow, Anders Segelström took the opportunity to carry out his own investigation. He expected to find Sanna’s Taser inside her locker.

  Nothing.

  He had a good technical understanding of how a Taser worked and his plan was to manipulate her weapon and engineer a defect similar to the gun used against the victims.

  Unable to find the gun in her locker, he decided to take the audacious step of searching her office. It was three o’clock in the morning and Sanna probably wouldn’t be returning to work. She never did after an evening call out.

  Segelström entered the room, closed the door behind him and crept over to the desk. He paused and listened.

  Silence.

  He sat down at Sanna Johansson’s desk and searched through the drawers, digging through all the papers and reports. He noted that she was a very organized person and, in the same instant, appreciated that he would have to be very systematic and ensure that everything was replaced exactly how he had found it.

  The bottom drawer was
locked. He fished out a skeleton key from his jacket pocket and with the aid of the weak light of his iPhone torch, bent down and began to force the lock.

  All of a sudden he froze.

  The door opened and there was Sanna Johansson standing in the doorway with a guard.

  ARON ALVIK FELT UNEASY. The atmosphere in the crowded interview room was tense. Kalle Karlsson leaned across the table, picked up the jug and poured himself a cup of water, which he then gulped down. Alvik stared at the jug.

  “Help yourself,” said Kalle. The interview had begun at eight o’clock that morning and after being interrogated for a whole hour Aron Alvik was still refusing to admit why he was so convinced he was next on the list.

  Sanna Johansson burst through the door.

  “How’s it going here?” she asked, taking a seat beside Kalle.

  Kalle sighed and shook his head.

  She looked intently at Alvik. “You look tired.”

  Aron Alvik looked up at her briefly.

  “We need to find the killer before he finds you,” said Sanna “Do you understand that?”

  Aron Alvik was starting to buckle under the pressure. His eyes glistened.

  Sanna’s iPhone rang. “I can’t talk now!”

  “This can’t wait,” insisted Javier who was standing outside the door of the interview room. “We know who the killer is. Her name is Annelie Kyra Fernström and she’s a cop. A police team is waiting outside. We’re going to arrest her now. Are you coming?”

  THE STORMING OF THE APARTMENT in Sundbyberg was a straightforward procedure. Sanna Johansson and Javier Mendez arrived on site and looked on while the swat team, equipped with advanced sniper rifles, invaded the stairwell and entered the auxiliary building.

  The police paused and waited for the signal to go ahead before breaking the door down and charging into Annelie Kyra Fernström’s apartment.

  After a few minutes one of the police officers reappeared, speaking into his two-way radio.

  “It’s empty!”

  Javier acknowledged the information and signalled to Sanna.

  “Let’s go in,” she said.

  It didn’t take long to scan the thirty-six square metre apartment with the naked eye. The apartment had been unoccupied for some time. Sanna entered the kitchenette and brushed the sink with her finger.

  “It’s dusty in here too.”

  She opened the wardrobe. It was empty. So was the chest of drawers, which was positioned against the wall.

  “Bloody hell! I thought we had her!” she exclaimed, standing in the middle of the room.

  “Same here. What if she’s skipped the country?” added Javier.

  “Let’s hope not – my guess is she has another address somewhere.”

  The detectives made their way out of the apartment and returned downstairs.

  “What’s happening?” asked a woman standing at the foot of the stairs.

  None of the team responded.

  “Annelie must be away. I haven’t seen her for months,” continued the woman.

  Javier stopped and looked at her.

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “Hmm… hard to say, but she hasn’t been at home much since she moved in. All I know is that she’s a cop.”

  Javier thanked her and continued out of the house.

  Sanna looked at him gloomily. “This has got to be the most bizarre murder investigation I’ve ever been involved in. Not only is the killer a seasoned murderer and a woman but now we learn that she’s also a police officer.”

  “Yes, hardly surprising that she was able to follow the investigation at such close quarters and avoid being caught,” added Javier.

  “Let’s contact her parents. They must know where she is,” continued Sanna.

  THREE DAYS AFTER THE POLICE had stormed her place in Sundbyberg, Annelie Kyra Fernström was finally packed and ready to leave. It was seven o’clock in the morning and her large rucksack stood in the hallway beside the front door of her apartment in Södermalm.

  It wasn’t only the lack of supplies that had galvanized Annelie into action. She was also anxious to leave before the police found out her new address.

  A daily newspaper was lying on the kitchen table. Its front-page headline blared:

  “The police have put out a nationwide search and published an image of a 25 year old woman suspected of committing a series of murders over an extended period of time. The woman is potentially extremely dangerous and the general public is advised not to attempt to make contact with her…”

  The article went on to describe how the woman used wigs of different colours and types showing photos of her in different guises.

  Kim glanced at the newspaper. It didn’t matter how many photos they put out. The police would never catch her.

  Nobody could stop her now; nothing would be allowed to stand in her way.

  The idea of leaving it all behind her should have been reassuring, but the reality was different and the expression on her face said it all. This was no pleasure trip. She would look like a backpacker on her way to a new adventure and board a train or bus and improvise a plan as she went along. Free herself from obligations. She had been talking to her mother as much as possible over the last few days. She didn’t know when or if she would ever see her again. She was an only child and her father had passed away five years ago. The prospect of leaving her mother alone pricked her conscience but she had no choice.

  Kim walked slowly to the window overlooking the inner courtyard. Her head was spinning. She needed fresh air. She opened the window and gazed out at a tree with a few yellow leaves still clinging stubbornly to its branches. The sun was beating down and the snow on the ground had begun to melt, exposing long buried vegetation. High up sat a grey dove. Perhaps this tree was its home. Everyone needs a home, a place to feel welcome. A place where you belong.

  Despite it all she had never stopped dreaming that one day in the future she would find a new home. “A home,” she said, and the word sounded almost like a profanity.

  The four years since being raped had been a battle for survival. Six men had stolen the only part of herself that was hers and hers alone – her soul – and to make matters worse she had also lost her home, the one place where she had always felt secure.

  Home was now the place where she had painstakingly prepared her anguished plan.

  Kim closed the window, turned around and sat down at the desk, on top of which lay a black folder and a photograph. She picked up the photograph, an old picture from her teenage years. Her parents looked so young. She held the photo to her breast, kissed it tenderly and carefully placed it back onto the table.

  There was an eerie calm to her movements. She had finally weathered her internal struggles and forgiven herself. Nevertheless, despite all the careful planning she had ultimately failed to complete the assignment. One of her attackers was still alive.

  Kim looked dejectedly at the black folder before opening it and removing a sheet of paper.

  She read through what she had written. It was her confession.

  The folder also contained comprehensive and detailed descriptions about each man, including allegations about their participation in sex orgies as well as collated information about their activities in the underworld.

  She was tired and ambivalent about her future, yet regretted nothing.

  She placed the pile of papers on the table then closed her eyes and settled into her thoughts.

  All of a sudden she jumped up and began to pace the room, intermittently stopping to glance at the bed before shaking her head and continuing to walk back and forth in a state of indecisiveness.

  There was no turning back. She picked up the gun, which was lying on the bed – the gun she had taken possession of following her father’s death because her mother refused to have a weapon in her home.

  She checked whether the barrel was loaded.

  The phone rang.

  It was her mother.

 
She hesitated.

  She couldn’t bear hearing her mother’s voice, not just now, but if she didn’t answer her mother would only worry and keep on calling.

  Kim took a deep breath and composed herself.

  “Hi Mum!”

  “Hi sweetheart,” replied the familiar affectionate voice.

  Her eyes filled with tears. She wanted to tell her mother everything; tell her that that they wouldn’t be able to meet for a while, perhaps never. But she couldn’t. She mustn’t let anything dissuade her. Whatever she decided to do must be her decision alone.

  “Is everything okay?” asked her mother. “The police were here but, as you know, I’ve been out of town.”

  “Oh. Must be a misunderstanding. It’s probably nothing to worry about. I’m in the shower. I’ll call you back in a few minutes. Everything’s fine. I love you Mum!” There was a lump in her throat as she replaced the receiver and returned to the bedroom.

  At the sound of gunshot, the birds in the courtyard flew off in all directions, and a woman on her way out of the building recoiled in terror and stared anxiously up at the police woman’s apartment.

  Epilogue

  One month later

  SANNA COLLECTED a pile of papers and placed them into a file. It was the autopsy report from The National Forensic Centre.

  The forensic report consisted of one hundred and thirty pages. In fifty-nine points the pathologist had listed approximately thirty different injuries on Annelie Kyra Fernströms body.

  Sanna got up and grabbed her black leather jacket, small leather rucksack and helmet. She turned off the light and locked the door behind her.

  “Going home already?” asked Javier as she passed his room.

  “Yup,” she replied.

  “Have you heard the latest?” he asked.

  Sanna shook her head.

  “Segelström’s been fired… They’ve taken his badge.”

  Sanna looked at him but said nothing.

  “You don’t seem surprised. Do you know why?”

  Sanna shook her head again.

  “See you on Monday,” she waved and disappeared through the exit door.

  She went down to the garage, climbed onto her Harley-Davidson and drove out into the cold winter night. The white snow brightened up the city. It was half past five on Friday evening and it appeared that everyone had decided to go home at the same time. Sanna weaved her way through the thick traffic and headed out of the city.