In Bad Company (Sandhamn Murders)

by Viveca Sten

  Thomas nodded. They might not have a murder weapon, but they did have a time frame.

  At least it was a start.

  Bosnia, May 1993

  It was late afternoon when Blanka turned up on the doorstep. Selma was sitting at the kitchen table, feeding Emir, while Andreis was playing in the garden.

  Blanka’s voice was far from steady. She came over to Selma and hugged her for a long time. “We’re leaving now.”

  Selma had feared those words. “Please, no!”

  She could hear her own despair bouncing off the walls. Blanka was the one who’d kept her going as the world collapsed around them; now she was going to disappear, too. Would they ever see each other again?

  Blanka sat down. “There’s no future here, Selma, even though we’re Catholics. The Serbs are burning and destroying everything. They’ll kill us all if they break through the line of defense and come here.” She took a packet of cigarettes out of her pocket. “There’s no alternative. We’re running out of time.”

  “It will pass.”

  Blanka shook her head. “You heard about what happened in Ahmići,” she said quietly. “They say the Bosnians and Croats burned down the entire village—everyone died. The young men were gathered together and tortured before they were killed. Even the babies were shot.”

  “Zlatko is a Croat. They won’t touch us.”

  “But you’re a Muslim.” Blanka’s tone was sharp.

  “We’re not religious,” Selma protested. “I don’t even know how to pray in Arabic. Think of all the times we’ve celebrated Catholic festivals with our friends outside the village.”

  “Things were different then. Under Tito, no one cared about religion or talked about ethnic origins. You know that as well as I do, but now the whole country is on the verge of collapse.”

  “Andreis’s father is a Serb,” Selma said quietly. “He has a European name, and he was baptized in a church.”

  Blanka lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. “That doesn’t matter. In the eyes of the world, you and your children are Bosnian Muslims. They won’t spare you, even if you show them Andreis’s birth certificate.”

  Selma began to cry, which in turn upset Emir. She stood up and walked around the kitchen, jiggling him up and down in her arms. “We’ve nowhere to go,” she said. “We can’t go to Croatia—they’ve turned against Bosnia and declared war on us.” Her voice broke. “We should have left when my sister did her best to persuade us.”

  Blanka’s cigarette smoke rose to the ceiling. “I’ve heard about a country in northern Europe that’s accepting refugees from Bosnia—Sweden.”

  “Sweden?” Selma wasn’t sure where Sweden was. All that came into her mind was snow and darkness and blond hair.

  “We’re going to try and get there via Hungary,” Blanka explained. “They say the route through Croatia is open at the moment. You ought to come with us.” She stubbed out her cigarette. “We’re leaving tomorrow morning—at first light.”

  CHAPTER 83

  Staffan Nilsson called out to Thomas just as he and Aram finished questioning Linus Roslund.

  Thomas turned to see Nilsson standing by the grave with the other technician, Hasse something or other. Thomas was relieved that Nilsson had been brought in; he trusted his colleague’s judgment completely.

  Aram followed him over to the shallow grave. Whoever had buried the body didn’t seem to have cared whether it was found or not—or maybe they’d been in a hurry.

  Officers were searching the forest for tire tracks or anything else that might indicate how the perpetrator or perpetrators had gotten to and from the location. A dog handler was also on the way.

  Nilsson slipped something into an evidence bag, sealed it, and placed it in a large leather case on the ground. “So,” he said. “Here we are again.”

  Every homicide had its own story. An investigation must never become pure routine, but this situation was a familiar part of their profession. Thomas could feel the surge of adrenaline that always came hand in hand with the weariness at yet another wasted human life. At the thought that a bullet could pass so easily through a head and extinguish that life.

  Nilsson pointed to the corpse, laid out on its back with the legs slightly parted, arms by its sides. The clothes were damp and filthy, strewn with pine needles and withered leaves.

  Thomas scrutinized it. A man, probably in his thirties, slightly above average height, broad, muscular shoulders. Dark hair, shiny with some kind of gel. Expensive watch.

  “He hasn’t been there very long,” Nilsson said. “Rigor mortis has only just set in.”

  “Any ID?” Aram asked.

  “Nothing—no wallet, no phone. I’d check the missing-persons database.”

  “How are we supposed to recognize him?” Aram pointed to the mutilated face covered in congealed blood. It had darkened to the same color as the earth that had settled on the shredded skin. From this angle, there didn’t seem to be many of the man’s original features left. Thomas moved closer.

  The right side of the face was gone; the shot must have been fired at very close range, possibly straight into the eye. The bullet had exited through the back of the head, which mainly consisted of a large wound. It was a horrible sight, even for a hardened cop—no wonder Linus Roslund had looked kind of green.

  Death must have been instantaneous.

  The chin was also damaged, the skin discolored, as if someone had delivered a powerful blow with an object. A clenched fist wouldn’t have caused that level of injury.

  The right eye, the right side of the chin. That could mean that the perpetrator was left-handed, if the same person had beaten and then shot the victim. Or he was right-handed and he’d been standing on the other side . . .

  There was something familiar about the face, the little that remained, but Thomas couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  “He was killed elsewhere,” Nilsson said, interrupting his train of thought. “There’s very little blood. If he’d been shot here, there would be a lot more, given the severity of his injuries.”

  So the body had been moved. With a bit of luck, there would be a car with bloodstains in the trunk. It wasn’t easy to transport a heavy dead body without leaving any traces—DNA could be identified from the smallest fragments.

  A short distance away several torn black plastic garbage bags were being examined by another technician; had they been used to wrap the body? Thomas estimated the victim’s weight at around 190 pounds, so at least two people must have been involved.

  “He’s wearing a leather jacket,” Nilsson said. “Either he was grabbed while he was outdoors, or he went willingly with the perp.”

  In which case he hadn’t been abducted by someone he didn’t know. Not that it had made much difference to him.

  “Do you think he was tortured before he was killed?” Aram asked, pointing to the discolored wrists. “The broken skin suggests the use of cable ties.”

  Thomas agreed; the damage to the chin supported this view. It must have been agonizingly painful. The victim had certainly suffered during the final hours of his life.

  A tooth was missing from the lower jaw.

  “I wonder if they were trying to get some kind of information out of him? And if so, what was it?” Thomas asked.

  “Could be a dispute between rival gangs,” Aram suggested.

  “It’s not a very sophisticated approach,” Nilsson said. “Pure violence, nothing else. By the way, he pissed himself—but that could have happened at the moment of death.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Just use your sense of smell.” Nilsson grinned in spite of the tragic circumstances, pointing to a large, dark stain around the victim’s crotch.

  “Maybe he knew he was going to be killed,” Aram said.

  “Poor bastard,” Thomas murmured. Tortured and murdered with the full knowledge of how things were going to end.

  “If he was a gang member, it goes with the territory,” Aram said dryly
.

  Thomas shivered. There was a chill in the air, even though the sun was shining through the mist. Patches of grubby snow still lay here and there beneath the trees, and the ground was sodden. He walked around the body to take a closer look at the undamaged side of the face, crouching down on the damp moss. From this angle the features were better preserved. He could see a hint of dark stubble against the ashen skin. The smell of urine was unmistakable.

  One dark eye stared straight ahead.

  Thomas realized that he knew exactly who the victim was.

  CHAPTER 84

  Herman Wibom had just sat down with a cup of coffee at his desk, which was cluttered with papers as usual. The dark wood was barely visible. Gunilla, his secretary, often took him to task over his untidiness. His defense was that he had his own system; so far he’d never lost an important document.

  “It’s only a matter of time,” she would say with a snort. They’d worked together for many years.

  He pushed aside one of the piles and put down his coffee just as the phone rang. It was Mina Kovač’s number. To tell the truth he hadn’t expected to hear from her so soon. He’d thought he’d have to chase her to find out how she was going to react to her husband’s demands.

  “Good morning,” Mina said. “Am I disturbing you?”

  “Not at all. How are you today? Are you feeling better?”

  The state she’d been in the previous day had worried Herman, in spite of the professional distance he always tried to maintain when it came to his clients. He’d hoped that his role as Mina’s counsel wouldn’t be too arduous. After a long career he was nearing retirement, and definitely ready to step aside. The firm had shrunk more and more, and he no longer employed a legal associate, only the ever-loyal Gunilla, and she was happy to cut back. There were too many newfangled ideas that he couldn’t cope with, such as the demand for an increased online presence and electronic accessibility. He’d reluctantly agreed to post a recent photograph of himself on the company’s home page.

  “I’ve made up my mind,” Mina said. Her voice was a little unsteady, but there was a note of determination there. Herman could hear the baby whimpering in the background; maybe she was holding him in her arms to give her strength? The power of a mother protecting her offspring was unique. It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed this, in spite of the fact that he had never been in a long-term relationship and had no children of his own. Herman was definitely a confirmed bachelor. Being part of a couple wasn’t for everyone.

  “Oh yes?” he said, trying to sound encouraging. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

  “I will never give up Lukas.” Mina paused. “And I have no intention of going back home.”

  “I see.” Herman rested his chin on his hand and thought for a moment. Deep down he’d expected Mina to give in to her husband’s demands.

  He’d obviously underestimated her.

  “You can tell Andreis and his lawyer that I will never let him have Lukas. I’d rather die!”

  Herman wasn’t particularly fond of dramatic outbursts. To be honest, there was a great deal he didn’t like about this case. Too much violence, too many threats, and children always exacerbated the situation. He was too old for this kind of thing.

  He opened the drawer and took out his favorite black-and-gold Montblanc pen. The familiar weight in his fingers made him feel better. A sense of normality returned.

  “I also intend to file for divorce,” Mina continued. “I won’t be going back to him.”

  Herman made a careful note.

  “You can inform Andreis that I’ll be testifying against him. I’ll tell the court about all the times he’s abused me. I have photographs of the injuries he’s inflicted on me.” Her voice gave way. “And I’ll be helping the prosecutor as much as I can.” Mina began to cry, but Herman could hear the resolve beneath the surface. She mumbled an apology and blew her nose. “There’s no point in him threatening me—I’m not going to change my mind.”

  Herman had no illusions about the consequences of Mina’s decision, but this wasn’t the time to go into all that. Mina was his client, and she’d made up her mind.

  “Understood,” he said. “I’ll do whatever I can to support you. You can rely on me.”

  He ended the call, but kept his hand on the receiver. He would have to contact Ulrika Grönstedt.

  She would be disappointed, to say the least.

  Maybe he could email her instead? Her tone had been sharp and unpleasant the last time they’d spoken. She was the kind of lawyer who enjoyed attacking others—the kind Herman preferred to avoid.

  However, the thought of upsetting her was surprisingly appealing. It was a long time since he’d had a case that filled him with enthusiasm. This was almost like the old days.

  He drew the Penal Code toward him and looked up the section on no-contact orders. Best to summon up the whole artillery now that Mina had made her position clear.

  CHAPTER 85

  Ulrika Grönstedt ended the call with Herman Wibom and put her cell phone down on the table, although she would have preferred to hurl it at the wall with all her strength.

  The guy was a has-been, but he’d conveyed his message with admirable clarity. He had more backbone than she’d thought. He’d even informed her that he would be filing for a no-contact order as soon as possible. This new threat on Mina’s behalf infuriated Ulrika.

  She’d expressly asked Kovač if his wife had anything on him, sensitive information that might harm his defense. He’d dismissed her concerns and said it was out of the question. Mina was too dumb for that.

  Now what?

  She called her client. There was no point in putting off the conversation, even if it was likely to be unpleasant.

  “Hello?” He answered almost right away, but sounded as if he’d just woken up. It was ten fifteen, and Ulrika had been up for four hours. If he slept all morning, he had only himself to blame if she disturbed him.

  “Were you asleep?” she asked, almost hoping he’d say yes.

  “What do you want?”

  When he didn’t bother to turn on the charm, he really was an asshole.

  “I’ve just spoken to Herman Wibom,” she said, walking over to the window, which was ajar. A white Vaxholm ferry was just moving away from the quayside in front of the entrance to the Diplomat Hotel. In a month the summer timetable would begin, with direct boats traveling to the outer archipelago.

  Ulrika longed for a vacation.

  “He had new information,” she said, not bothering to hide her irritation.

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “Herman Wibom, the lawyer who’s been appointed as your wife’s counsel.” She must have mentioned his name to Kovač at least five times by this stage.

  “When is she coming home?”

  There was no point in sugarcoating it. “She’s not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mina’s decided she’s not coming back to you.”

  “What the fuck?!”

  “She’s filing for divorce.”

  “She can’t do that! I won’t allow it!”

  Kovač started yelling and swearing, but Ulrika had no intention of letting him get away with that. “Listen to me!” she snapped.

  He stopped immediately.

  “If we contact social services, then Mina and her lawyer will produce documents that could harm you.” She’d caught his attention; he didn’t say a word. “Wibom was very clear. According to him, Mina has collected evidence that can be used against you, and will give her sole custody of your son.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Apparently Mina has documented the injuries, which, according to her, you have inflicted on her over the years. She has photographs of everything, including her medical notes.”

  “I didn’t know there were photographs,” Kovač muttered. There was no trace of regret in his voice.

  “That’s not the worst of it,” Ulrika continued. “Your
wife has decided to cooperate fully with the prosecutor. If she knows anything about your financial affairs, that information could come out, too.”

  For once Kovač seemed to be lost for words. Ulrika hoped the seriousness of his situation had sunk in. Maybe he’d be prepared to listen to her advice.

  “Are you still there?” she said after a few seconds.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you remember my asking you if Mina was involved in your business affairs? If there was any risk that she could reveal your secrets?” A fire truck raced by, the sound of its sirens filling the room. “You assured me that she had no idea about anything. That there was nothing to worry about.”

  “She hasn’t a clue. I’ve found the leak and dealt with it.”

  Ulrika didn’t want to know what that meant. “What if you’re wrong?”

  “Mina doesn’t know what she’s fucking talking about.”

  Kovač sounded slightly less sure of himself now. “If what Wibom says is true, then there could be serious consequences,” Ulrika informed him.

  “That won’t happen. I’ll talk to her.”

  Ulrika was losing patience fast. “She’s in a shelter. All contact has to go through me or her counsel.”

  “Find out where she is.”

  “I can’t. That would contravene the Bar Association’s rules.” Ulrika paused. “Maybe you could speak to her parents, see if you can reach her that way?”

  “You do it. I want to know where Mina is!”

  CHAPTER 86

  Nora was in her office waiting for Leila to finish conducting an interview on another case, so that they could go to Runmarö together. There was a boat from Stavsnäs at eleven. If they left within fifteen minutes, they should be able to catch it.

  Her phone rang.

  “You have a visitor,” the receptionist informed her. “There’s a detective here; he wants to see you as soon as possible.”

  “Just a second.” Nora checked her schedule to be on the safe side. “What’s his name?”

  “Thomas Andreasson.”

  “I’ll come down.”