“No, but it’s on my list.”
“Good,” said Tuvesson, turning to Fabian. “And I want to see you in my office in five minutes.”
*
TUVESSON’S OFFICE LOOKED NOTHING like how Fabian had imagined it. After his ride in her smoke-impregnated car he’d expected anything but this sparsely furnished room with a large, neat desk right in the centre, a set of leather furniture in one corner, and a few framed posters from the Lund Konsthall’s collections on the white walls.
He scanned the row of spines on one of the bookshelves. Besides a multitude of reference books, there was a solid collection of crime novels — everything from Josephine Tey’s The Daughter of Time to Graham Greene’s The Third Man.
He walked over to the window to check out the view. On the other side of the highway he could see the Helsingborgs Dagblad building, and a few kilometres past that was Fredriksdal School. He tried to figure out which of all the red-brick structures it was, but it was too distant and was hidden by closer buildings. Fabian looked at the clock on the wall. Tuvesson was one and a half minutes late, and he wondered if this was on purpose. Another thirty seconds went by before she arrived with two freshly purchased lattes, which she placed on the desk.
She smelled like smoke and Fabian wondered if his excursion to Denmark was to blame for her seemingly increased dependence on nicotine.
“Have you tried the coffee here yet?”
“Unfortunately I have,” said Fabian, sitting down in the visitor’s chair.
“That machine cost a small fortune. It must have thirty different buttons, displays, and God knows what else. The only thing it doesn’t have is good coffee. For that, you have to go to Café Bar Skåne on Bergavägen.”
Fabian tasted the beverage and could only agree that it was very close to the perfect latte, not too warm or too milky.
“Fabian, what didn’t you understand in the meeting yesterday?” Her smile had vanished.
“I’m sorry? I don’t know if I —”
“What part of teamwork did I make unclear?”
“Nothing.”
“Apparently it was something, since you still don’t seem to have grasped it.” She went silent and left him time to respond, but he didn’t know what to say. “I appreciate that you were thrown right into this case without any real introduction to the way I want us to work. I can also grasp the fact that we hardly know each other, which can excuse quite a bit. But I had hoped, or rather I had expected, that you would take the opportunity to explain everything that you knew about this case in the meeting today. But you didn’t. Even when we spoke on the phone last night, you said you were on your way home, but you weren’t, were you?”
How does she know? Fabian thought.
“You went back to the gas station. Why?”
“I found more reason to believe that the car is linked to the perpetrator, and I wanted to make sure that he couldn’t move it from the station.”
“How did you do that?”
“I removed one of the back tires and handed it over to the store.”
It seemed to take Tuvesson a while to figure out what he had just told her. “You’re telling me that you took off the tire and gave it to the gas station attendant?”
“Yes. She promised to give me a call if anyone comes looking for it.”
It looked like Tuvesson was having a hard time deciding how to react. They were at a crossroads. No matter which path she chose, it would end up affecting their working relationship in the future. “Okay. Let’s hope he leaves the car alone until the Danes get their thumbs out of their asses.”
“Have you been in contact with them yet?”
Tuvesson nodded. “Before I forget, here’s your access card.” She pushed the plastic card across the table to Fabian. “The code is 5618. Okay?”
Fabian nodded, took the card, and left the room.
*
“DID YOU GET A SMACKDOWN?”
Fabian stopped and stuck his head around the door of Irene Lilja’s office. “A little.”
“I’m sure you deserved it. I actually don’t like female bosses, but just so you know — this one, she’s good. If I had been in her shoes I wouldn’t have let you get anywhere near this investigation.”
“But fortunately you’re not.”
“Nope, I’m not,” she said. “Come in, I have a present for you.”
Fabian walked into her office, which was the exact opposite of Tuvesson’s. The small room was filled with teetering piles of stuff so high he found himself wondering if they had been glued together so they wouldn’t fall over. The window was covered in an orangey-yellow Indian fabric that had gold elephants and small mirrors stitched on it. An unrolled sleeping bag lay on a mat in the corner. One wall looked like a giant bulletin board, full of taped-up pictures and notes that were connected by strange symbols and arrows running in different directions. Lilja sat right in the middle of the room at an undersized desk.
“Why wouldn’t you want me working on the case?” said Fabian.
Lilja gave a laugh.
“Isn’t it obvious? Tuvesson is letting you work because she thinks you’re sitting on valuable information. But there’s nothing that makes you any less of a suspect than the others in the class — besides Mällvik, who is your theory.”
“You’re absolutely right,” said Fabian as he searched for something to fix his eyes on. “You said something about a present?” Lilja lit up and clicked her mouse. A printer quickly started humming.
“There.” She nodded at the printer, which was hidden among books and binders.
Fabian pulled out the paper as carefully as he could to avoid toppling the piles. He glanced through the document. “Glenn Granqvist?”
“Jörgen Pålsson’s right-hand man, if you’re to be believed. There are only three people with that name: one lives in Älvsbyn and one in Örebro, so I threw all my eggs into the third basket, in Ödåkra. He doesn’t seem to be God’s most gifted creation. Last time he did homework was in the ninth grade; he plodded his way through compulsory military service and will soon be celebrating his twenty-five-year anniversary as a truck driver at a construction supply warehouse in Åstorp.”
“Why am I not surprised in the least?” said Fabian, making a move to leave. “I’ll see if I can get hold of him. Maybe you and I can have lunch later?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“If you can find anything like that on Rune Schmeckel, I’ll even consider paying.”
Lilja flashed him a smile and Fabian knew exactly what she was thinking.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You can still keep suspecting that it’s me.”
*
FABIAN SAT DOWN IN Hugo Elvin’s fancy futuristic chair, which he had firmly decided was truly comfortable, and started dialling Glenn’s number.
“I see you’ve made yourself at home.”
Fabian spun around to see Molander standing in his temporary office.
“I wanted to invite you and your family over for a barbecue tonight.”
“Today?”
“I understand it’s short notice, but if you don’t have plans I think it will be fun. Everyone else is coming. It’s a beautiful Friday with not a cloud in the sky...”
“That sounds really nice. Let me just check with my wife.”
“Sure. No problem. Hope to see you later,” Molander said, and went on his way. Fabian wondered if he was being paranoid or if he was actually a potential suspect in Molander’s eyes too. Was that the real reason for the invitation? Regardless of Molander’s intentions, he had to go to the barbecue.
Five minutes later, Molander came back with a full cup of coffee. “Well? Have you gotten the go-ahead from the missus yet?”
“No, but you can count me in.”
“Great,” he said, about to leave.
“Hey, listen... What’s Hugo Elvin like? The guy whose office I’m using.”
“Hugo...” Molander chuckled. “...is impossible to describe. You have
to experience him in person, but if I were in your position, I wouldn’t mess with his stuff too much, especially the settings on the chair. Elvin isn’t the type you want to provoke if you don’t have to. Anyway, see you tonight.” With that, he disappeared.
Fabian lowered his eyes to all the knobs he had already twisted on the chair, realizing it was too late for him. He would have to deal with Hugo’s wrath when Elvin came back to the office.
He picked up the phone again to call Glenn. Six rings later, he heard Robert De Niro’s voice in the receiver.
“You talking to me?”
13
HE HAD THOROUGHLY ENJOYED every second of his four-hour sleep on the blanket before his alarm woke him. He had slept deeply, more deeply than he had intended, which meant he was relaxed and felt safe. Maybe too safe, he realized just a few minutes later as he packed up his things. He’d had a visitor.
The packaging of his apple pie was torn to pieces, and all but a few crumbs were gone and had been replaced by rat droppings. They’d been hungrier than he’d expected. Once more, luck had been on his side, and he had to remind himself that luck was not something he could count on.
He left the warehouse through the window and walked over to the car, which was hidden behind some bushes on the other side of the road. There was not a living soul in sight. It was just him and the morning. He pulled off his boots and removed his dark work clothes in the peace and quiet. He washed up with some water from the can in the trunk, and changed into a pair of beige shorts with large side pockets, a light-blue polo shirt, a yellow cap from Bubba Gump Shrimp Co., and a pair of green Crocs.
He felt like a clown in his new clothes, but the point was to look like a typical Swede on his way to Denmark to drink beer. In his backpack he put an extra pink shirt, a bottle of water, a pair of gloves, a camera, a rope, the keys to the Peugeot, a flashlight, a utility knife, and a syringe full of Propofol. The last item was just a security measure and would likely not be used.
He made good time to Knutpunkten, Helsingborg’s central station. On his journey across the Sound he indulged in a beer and a large shrimp sandwich with far too much mayonnaise. It was too much food, but it would be a long while before he had time to eat again. He took the 10:55 train from Helsingør and it arrived in Copenhagen at 11:41. The bathroom at the station was so disgusting that he nearly missed the S-train to Ringsted. He arrived at Ringsted Station thirty-four minutes later and made his way to the bus stop on foot.
The sun had kicked things up a notch, forcing the temperature all the way to thirty-five degrees; he was grateful for his light clothing. He was surprised to find the Crocs so comfortable. At 13:00 he climbed on board the bus and sat as close to the front as he could. He didn’t like sitting at the back, especially when it was so warm and the bus was full of sweaty passengers.
At 13:28 he got off the bus outside Lellinge School, and was finally able to take a few deep breaths without smelling the stench of collective sweat. The gas station where he’d parked the car a week and a half ago was less than 300 metres from the school, and it wouldn’t take more than two minutes to walk there. But he chose to take a detour through a number of little streets, making a wide circle around the station to be certain that there were no police staked out nearby.
At first he felt relieved, but his anxiety set in a few minutes later. Why hadn’t he run into a single person yet? Why did the whole neighbourhood seem unnaturally deserted? Had he missed something?
He wasn’t able to put the pieces together until he passed a house with open windows and heard the sound of a TV inside. Unlike Sweden, Denmark had made it to the World Cup and were playing a game in South Africa today. In other words, this was an ideal time to retrieve his car. He walked by a yard full of garden gnomes and took out his camera in the shelter of a few trees. He zoomed in on the gas station 50 metres away. He couldn’t see anyone, and the Peugeot was just where he’d left it. The only change was a note under the wiper, which didn’t seem odd.
He put away his camera and walked briskly toward the car. His pulse increased with each step, but he knew it would slow down again as soon as he turned the key in the ignition and was on his way out of there. His body was pumping out adrenaline and he was very focused.
But the closer he came to the car, the more strongly he felt that something wasn’t quite right. The Peugeot was tilted strangely, as if it were about to tip forward. He couldn’t figure out why until he reached the car and grabbed the note.
THIS VEHICLE IS ON PRIVATE PROPERTY
PLEASE CONTACT PERSONNEL
14
IRENE LILJA SUGGESTED THAT they meet down at Olsons Skafferi for lunch just after one o’clock. Fabian knew the place and had been there several times before moving to Stockholm. It had been a new, hip restaurant back then, but now it was an old classic.
On the way there, he called Sonja, who was eating lunch with Matilda at the Louisiana Museum’s outdoor café, where the view alone was apparently worth the whole trip. He told her about the invitation to the barbecue at Molander’s and, to his surprise, she thought it sounded like a good idea. She believed it was important that they get to know some new people. If he had some nice colleagues, why not start there?
Fabian thought she was being sarcastic at first. Sonja had never been particularly interested in meeting his friends, much less his colleagues. But maybe she was doing just as they’d agreed — giving their new life a fair chance. They decided to meet at home around five. He said he would pick up some wine.
He found an empty parking spot on Hästmöllegränden across from Systembolaget, where he scanned the shelves for a creative wine. He usually ended up with a few different Riojas, chosen at random from the more expensive shelves.
Up until a few years ago, his ignorance about wine had chafed like a stiff laundry tag against his neck. As soon as the wine list came around to him he would be struck by panic at the thought of making a decision. He tried to remedy his ignorance by joining a wine-tasting club, but after just a few meetings, during which he’d tried to muster up enthusiasm for gurgling wine and discussing vintages and varieties of grapes, he’d accepted that his knowledge would never be anything to brag about.
He stepped into Olsons and saw that Lilja was already waiting for him at the window table in the corner.
“What do you say to Skåne roe deer with chanterelles sautéed in butter, puréed parsnips, potato blinis, and veal gravy flavoured with lingonberries?”
Fabian nodded and sat down.
“Good, because I already ordered it for us both — it was the most expensive item on the menu,” she continued, placing a file on the table.
“Schmeckel?”
Lilja nodded.
“And?”
“So far I’ve only looked online, but he’s definitely of interest and he seems to have a number of skeletons in his closet. He was born in 1966, just like you. He’s single, no kids, and he works at the hospital in Lund as — and this is where it gets interesting — a surgeon.”
“A surgeon? Any particular specialty?”
Lilja nodded and took a bite of bread. “He started working at Lund Hospital in 1997, and quickly became one of the best surgeons in the country for prostate cancer operations. But in 2004 there was an incident and he was barred from working for twelve months.”
“What kind of incident?”
“He left two plastic surgical clips inside a patient.”
“He left them inside the...”
Lilja nodded, sipping her mineral water. “In the bladder. The patient, Torgny Sölmedal, had to pee them out and apparently said it was one of the worst things that ever happened to him. Ironic, given Rune’s last name, isn’t it?”
“Did it end there?”
“No. They opened a huge investigation, as I understand it, and made a pretty big deal out of the whole thing. In any case, it turned out Rune was suffering from sleep deprivation and downing as many pills as Michael Jackson just to manage his job, but it clearly did
n’t help. The hospital administration supported him throughout the entire ordeal and he was back with knife in hand one year later, but these days he mostly does hernias and appendixes.”
“Any other incidents?”
“Not that I could find.”
“What do you have on his childhood?”
“More or less nothing, which is why I think it’s fishy. Everything after 1994 seems more or less typical: his education, work history, various home addresses, phone numbers, the cars he’s owned, and so on. He runs the spring marathon in Helsingborg every year, for example.”
“Since when?”
“Records show since 1994. But that’s the thing — there’s almost nothing on him before 1994. The only information I managed to find about his childhood was on Wikipedia of all places: Rune Schmeckel grew up in Malmö, where he graduated from the natural sciences program at secondary school with top grades. After that he did his compulsory military service as a non-commissioned officer in Kristianstad. That’s his entire early- life biography. Other than those two sentences, it’s like he didn’t even exist before 1994.”
“So you don’t believe that information?”
“Well, for one thing, I checked the records and he never did military service in Kristianstad. It seems he made up a few things to make himself sound good.”
“Why would someone do that?”
Her face lit up and she leaned toward him. “To hide the fact that there isn’t anything there.”
Lilja’s theory had something to it. The Internet had been in its infancy in the 1990s, but for the most part enough information could be found to form a picture of the person in question. Holes had a tendency to fill themselves, but apparently not when it came to Rune Schmeckel.
“Did you find any pictures of him?”
“On the third page of the document.” Lilja held the file out to Fabian, who felt something spark inside him when he looked at the picture of Rune Schmeckel. He had never seen this man before, yet there was no doubt there was something familiar about him. He tried to figure out what it was, but gave up once their food arrived.
Victim Without a Face Page 8
