by Viveca Sten
Mina allowed herself to relax. The house was immaculate; the food was all prepared. There was nothing that could possibly annoy Andreis when he got home.
She was sitting in the living room with Lukas on her lap, giving him his bottle. He was sucking away with enthusiasm, rosebud lips clamped around the nipple. They would have a nice evening, Mina promised herself. Andreis would be in a good mood when he saw how clean and tidy the house was, and what an excellent dinner she’d cooked. He would look at her with the same adoration as when they first met, when they were so much in love that they could hardly keep their hands off each other. They would sit at the table chatting, just like any normal family. After they’d eaten, Andreis would play with Lukas while she cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. When Lukas fell asleep, maybe they could settle down with a cup of freshly brewed coffee or a last glass of wine and watch a movie.
She was just about to lift Lukas up to burp him when she heard the front door open. Her stomach automatically contracted, but she pushed aside the bad thoughts and forced herself to take long, slow breaths. There was no reason to fear the worst. Everything was going to be fine. She had to believe that.
Then her blood turned to ice.
The vacuum cleaner was still in the middle of the kitchen floor. Lukas had started crying just as she was about to put it away, and she’d hurried into the living room. How could she have been so stupid?
She listened for footsteps. Could she make it to the kitchen and put it away before Andreis got there?
She didn’t dare move. Her head was spinning. Maybe he’d go upstairs first? Sometimes he liked to take a shower as soon as he got home from work. That would give her the chance to correct her mistake before he noticed anything.
Her heart pounded as she waited for the sound of footsteps.
Tuesday
CHAPTER 4
Nora Linde opened the conference room door with her elbow, then put down a pile of documents on the long table. The weekly meeting of the Second Chamber of the Swedish Financial Crimes Authority was due to begin in a few minutes. She really needed to focus, but she had slept badly and was stressed about all the cases she was dealing with at the moment.
Chief Prosecutor Jonathan Sandelin joined her. He must have been in a hurry this morning; he had a bandage on his chin, presumably from a mishap while shaving.
“Morning,” he said, pulling out a chair. “Good Easter?”
The question was rhetorical. Nora gave a slight nod as more colleagues arrived. Someone who’d been in bright and early had drawn a flower on the whiteboard and written: Welcome back!
Leila Kacim, the detective inspector with whom Nora often worked, came in and sat down on the opposite side of the table.
Jonathan spent a few minutes updating everyone on current issues and relevant points arising from the leadership team meeting before he went through the list of new cases that were allocated to the different chambers within the authority. Over Easter an extreme right-wing member of Parliament had been caught embezzling local party funds, and a construction company had engaged various subcontractors who hadn’t paid their taxes.
When he’d finished, he went around the table asking everyone to report briefly on the status of ongoing investigations.
It was Nora’s turn.
“How’s it going with the tax fraud and the drugs gang?” Jonathan asked. “Are we any closer to bringing charges?”
Nora opened the file in front of her.
The Narcotics Division had been watching Andreis Kovač for a long time. They knew he was heavily involved in dealing, but there hadn’t been enough concrete evidence to charge him with drug-related offenses. Then the revenue office had received an anonymous tip-off with supporting material that would enable the Economic Crimes Authority to charge Kovač with serious tax fraud instead. The investigation into his business affairs had taken up the majority of Nora and Leila’s time during the spring.
She was close to “doing an Al Capone”—sending a representative of the organized crime fraternity down for financial irregularities, because he couldn’t be charged with criminal activity.
“The preliminary investigation into Andreis Kovač is almost done,” she began. “I’m going to interview him one last time this week, but I’m confident of a conviction.”
The final statement was unnecessary. Everyone in the room knew that a case could only be brought to court if the prosecutor could be sure of a conviction on objective grounds. Anything else would be regarded as professional misconduct.
“Is he still on remand?”
Nora did her best to remain impassive, even though Jonathan’s question struck home. She had done her best to convince the court that Kovač should remain in custody until the trial, but the court had refused and chosen to release him.
One point to Kovač and his defense team, unfortunately.
“I’m afraid not. The court released him after a few weeks. No doubt his poor wife would have felt much better if they’d kept him behind bars.”
“Has something happened?”
“She was taken into the Southern District Hospital yesterday.”
Nora had received the information just before the meeting; it had been a real blow. She took out her tablet and found the message.
“Mina Kovač was admitted last night with two broken ribs, plus a split lip and eyebrow.”
“And is it certain that her husband was behind this?”
“More than likely,” Nora said. “It’s not the first time she’s ended up in the hospital.” Nora had requested a record of Mina’s previous hospital visits; there was a clear pattern.
“Do they have children who are forced to witness the abuse?” Jonathan asked.
“A son. He’s only three months old.”
“And how old is the wife?”
“Just turned twenty-five. They’ve been together for four years. Unlike Andreis, whose family fled from the war in Bosnia, Mina comes from an ordinary middle-class Swedish background. She graduated from high school but didn’t continue her studies. She hasn’t had any kind of paid employment over the past few years. Her parents, Stefan and Katrin Talevski, live in Skuru in the district of Nacka. Her father is an accountant and her mother works in a preschool.”
“When are you hoping to go to trial?”
Nora was going for serious tax evasion and accountancy fraud, possibly money laundering. Could she add assault? “I’d like to get a court date before the summer vacation,” she replied.
“What sentence are you going for?”
The maximum jail term for tax evasion was six years, but the courts rarely imposed it. It was no secret that sentences for economic crimes were often at the lower end of the range, although the situation was improving.
“Three to four years—maybe a little more, depending on the amount of money involved.”
“Is he cooperating?” Jonathan asked.
Nora allowed herself a wry smile. “No chance. Kovač has appointed Ulrika Grönstedt to represent him, and you know what she’s like.”
Leila caught Nora’s eye and gave her an understanding look.
Ulrika Grönstedt had a reputation for being tough. Nora wasn’t sure why Ulrika felt the need to fulfill all the clichés about hard-boiled defense attorneys, but she was ice cold and difficult to deal with. She made a point of arguing about everything, including purely procedural issues, as if every detail was a potential battleground.
“Who’s leading the domestic abuse investigation?” one of the other prosecutors wondered.
Nora sighed. “I’m not sure if Kovač will be charged. Mina insists that she tripped over the vacuum cleaner, which she’d left in the middle of the kitchen floor. Her husband wasn’t even home when it happened. Or so she says.”
“No surprise there,” Leila said, crumpling a piece of paper into a tight ball and throwing it into the garbage can with impressive accuracy.
“She’s never reported him in the past,” Nora went on. “The po
lice arrested him last night, but I suspect he’ll be out in no time.”
Without Mina’s cooperation it would be almost impossible to bring charges against her husband, even if she was black and blue. Medical reports meant very little if the victim refused to talk.
“I’m thinking she could be useful to us,” Jonathan said. “Have you questioned her?”
“Very briefly. She denied all knowledge of her husband’s financial affairs.”
Jonathan fingered the bandage on his chin. “She might change her mind if we suggest combining the two cases. Have a chat with her, see how the land lies.”
Nora made a note. “I was actually planning to call on her tomorrow,” she said.
Bosnia, February 1992
When Andreis walked into the living room, his parents were watching TV, even though it was the middle of the day. His father had a cigarette in his mouth; the column of ash was so long that it was in danger of dropping off at any second. His mother’s cup of coffee was untouched.
Andreis tugged at her arm to get her attention. “Can I go and play outside?”
“Not now, sweetheart.”
“Please?”
“Later.”
His mother shook off his hand without taking her eyes from the television. Andreis had no idea what they were watching. It was just a lot of guys in suits sitting in a great big room with rows and rows of seats. Their expressions were serious, and they were all talking over the top of one another.
An older guy stood up and went over to a lectern. His white hair was still thick, but he had noticeable bags under his eyes.
“We have lived in a multicultural society for many years,” he began. “Croats, Serbs, and Bosnians, side by side. We must do all we can to keep the peace in this country so that we can continue to live together in unity and harmony. We do not want war.”
He paused, his hands gripping the sides of the lectern.
“The only way to achieve this is through independence.” A pleading note crept into his voice. “We have to hold a referendum on the future of Bosnia. We must declare independence and preserve our open society; otherwise we will be torn apart.”
He was interrupted by others shouting objections and insults. Andreis had never heard such language. Under normal circumstances his mother would have chased him away, but right now she didn’t seem to be aware that he was still there.
“The international community is on our side,” the white-haired speaker said in conclusion, although he could barely be heard above the racket.
He went back to his seat, and another man stepped forward. He came from the most vocal group. His face was scarred, his eyes burning with passion beneath bushy brows.
“He’s a Serb,” Andreis’s father explained. “You can see how his party despises the other members of Parliament. The Serbs aren’t interested in peace.”
His mother stroked her big belly and altered her position on the sofa. Andreis knew there was a baby in there; it was going to come out very soon.
The man on the screen slammed his hand down on the lectern, demanding silence. “There will be war if you hold a referendum,” he shouted, raising his clenched fist in a threatening gesture.
Now everyone was yelling.
“Mom, I want to go outside,” Andreis whined.
His father shushed him and turned up the volume.
The man with the scarred face raised both fists in the air. “The Bosnians will be trampled to death like a little ant between Serbia and Croatia if you vote for self-government! War will be unavoidable!”
CHAPTER 5
Nora was embarrassed at the state of her desk when she returned to her office. It was covered with piles of paper and folders; it was always the same toward the end of an investigation. She was a tidy person by nature, but right now she would have liked an extra desk for all the paperwork.
She needed to speak to the police about the investigation into the assault on Mina. The easiest thing would be to call Thomas. There were official routes, but this gave her an excuse to find out how things were with him.
He’d had a busy winter, and they hadn’t spoken in almost two weeks. He’d spent the Easter weekend in Spain with Elin and his parents. The last time Nora saw him, he’d been really down.
The separation between him and Pernilla was comparatively recent—just a few months. At the moment Thomas was staying in the apartment in the Söder district of the city, while Pernilla had moved out. She traveled so much for work anyway that it seemed like the most sensible option, he’d explained on one of the few occasions when he’d talked to Nora about the situation. Pernilla had found a nearby two-bedroom sublet that she was renting until the summer.
Nora scrolled down to his number.
“Andreasson,” replied a familiar voice.
“Is that Detective Inspector Andreasson?” she asked, as if he didn’t know who was calling.
They’d been friends for more than half their lives; it was hard to believe they were now middle-aged. She wasn’t entirely comfortable with that thought.
“It depends,” he said. “Is this personal or work related?”
Nora switched to speakerphone. “You choose.”
“OK, work.” His tone softened. “Sorry, but I have a meeting in five minutes. How can I help?”
Nora quickly explained.
“Kovač is still in custody,” Thomas confirmed after a brief pause. “He’s been questioned twice. He denies assaulting his wife, and insists it was an accident. If no other evidence emerges, he’ll be released on Thursday at the latest.”
“No new witnesses have come forward? Neighbors, for example? Someone must have heard her screaming.”
“Not necessarily.”
Nora could hear him typing as they spoke.
“They live in an upscale residential area,” he went on. “The gardens are pretty big. Only Kovač and Mina were in the house when the ambulance arrived. His wife was taken to the hospital, and a patrol brought him in. Let me see . . . He was arrested at eight thirty last night.”
Nora made a note. “Have you heard her version yet?”
“She made a short statement. She refused to cooperate; she claims it wasn’t her husband’s fault, she just happened to trip over the vacuum cleaner.”
None of this came as a surprise.
“What about forensic evidence?” Nora asked. “There must be something to link him to the assault.”
“Nothing that can’t be explained away by the fact that he was trying to take care of her afterward. He got blood on his clothes when he helped her up.” Thomas snorted. “I have no doubt that he beat her up. They were alone in the house, apart from the baby, who was in his crib. With a skilled lawyer Kovač will be able to account for every detail, as long as Mina doesn’t say anything.”
Thomas hadn’t sounded this cynical for many years, but the major reorganization at work had affected both him and his colleagues. He’d been very open about the fact that the constant changes of direction and lack of leadership made the job more difficult than ever. Many experienced officers had left the police force in frustration, and the shortage of skilled forensic technicians didn’t make life any easier.
Thomas was now stationed a long way south of Stockholm, in the complex at Flemingsberg, which dealt with crimes throughout Nacka, Värmdö, Södertälje, and the archipelago. Was the job wearing him down, or were the problems in his private life taking their toll?
Someone called out his name.
“Sorry, Nora—I have to go.”
“Thanks for your help. By the way, who’s been appointed prosecutor?”
“Erik Sandberg.”
Nora didn’t recognize the name, but there were a lot of prosecutors in Stockholm.
“We’ll have to get together soon,” she said.
“Absolutely.” Thomas sounded stressed, as if his mind were already elsewhere.
Nora thought for a moment. If she could persuade Mina to file a complaint against her husband, that would
increase the pressure on Andreis Kovač. He would have two criminal investigations to deal with, and Ulrika Grönstedt would find it more difficult to present her client as an upstanding citizen.
It was worth a shot.
She decided to give Erik Sandberg a call, offer to take over the domestic abuse case, ideally with his blessing and assistance. If she found Mina alternative accommodation, a place where she could feel safe, then maybe she would trust the authorities enough to cooperate.
There was a women’s shelter on the island of Runmarö that would be ideal—Freya’s Haven. Nora went online to find the contact details for the personal security team so that they could organize a place for Mina and prepare for her arrival.
CHAPTER 6
Anna-Maria Petersén put down the phone and closed her eyes.
There was no end to it.
All these women who were slowly but surely crushed by abuse and hatred and had to hide from violent men. She’d just agreed to take in yet another woman at Freya’s Haven; she’d lost count of how many she’d helped.
She gazed out of the window. From her office she could see the lawn and the flower beds, with a shimmer of blue water just visible beyond the sparse pine trees. Freya’s Haven was in an idyllic location on the island of Runmarö. It was more like a beautiful summer home than a shelter, and that was exactly the intention. It was meant to blend in with its environment.
Malin, her only child, smiled at Anna-Maria from the photograph on her desk, her eyes sparkling. Anna-Maria reached out and touched the picture to find strength and remember happier times. Her darling girl.
She sat back. She had to keep faith, keep believing that what she was doing made a difference. If she gave up, who would take over? She couldn’t let the dark thoughts come creeping in.
Through the closed door she could hear children playing in the common room. This week Freya’s Haven had nine women and two children in residence. The sound of the little ones laughing was the best thing in the world; it made her forget her own troubles. They lived in the moment, and just like them she must appreciate the good times, instead of worrying about finances and the needs that always seemed to exceed the available resources, wondering where the women would go when they could no longer stay here.
