by Karin Nordin
He unsnapped the wallet. A vacant face on a driver’s licence stared back at him through the clear plastic pocket. He read the name, just to be sure.
His heart sank.
Louisa.
Chapter 6
After finishing up at the crime scene and making arrangements with Frisk to meet up later for the results of the pathological examination, Kjeld and Esme drove to the police station while Sixten stayed behind to coordinate the evidence collection with the crime scene manager. While Esme was filling Axel, their data analyst, in on what to expect from the technicians, their chief, Johan Rhodin, caught Kjeld waiting in the corridor and called him in to his office.
Chief Johan Rhodin wasn’t a large man, but he had a commanding presence. When he spoke, it was with the assurance of a man who’d spent most of his professional career telling other people what to do. Unlike some of the other police officials in the upper echelon of command, however, Rhodin wasn’t a bully. And he had a soft spot for hard luck cases, which had been cultivated over the course of many years. And Kjeld was no exception.
‘I heard you picked up a bad one today,’ Rhodin said, perching himself on the edge of his desk with his arms crossed.
‘We think it’s Louisa Karlsson.’
‘Shit.’
‘My sentiments exactly.’
‘Have you notified the family?’
‘We’ve called them to identify some belongings we found at the house. They should be on their way here now,’ Kjeld said.
Rhodin smoothed down his moustache with the palm of his hand. ‘That’s the last thing we need.’
‘Sir?’
‘I had a visit from Ardal over at Special Investigations this morning. He’s been leading the inquiry into Nils’s old cases.’
Kjeld nodded. He hadn’t heard much about the investigation into Nils’s history. They were keeping a tight lid on the flow of information. But everyone knew it was happening. The Special Investigations Department, or SU as they were commonly called, were in charge of investigating offences by police officials. They’d interviewed Kjeld on numerous occasions following Nils’s arrest, scrutinising his every action to determine he hadn’t been involved or had any foreknowledge of the killings linked to the Aubuchon case or the Kattegat Killer case as the media tokened it. Their investigation had been the basis of his suspension. Once they’d cleared him of any wrongdoing, however, he’d been able to return to work.
But with the trial approaching it was logical to assume they were searching through Nils’s old case files for any sign of tampering. If they uncovered anything it could call into question hundreds of arrests. Anything linked to him had the potential of requiring re-examination. After all, how could they trust a serial murderer to follow appropriate protocol in the case of other killers?
Kjeld waited for Rhodin to continue, but he didn’t. ‘And?’
‘And they’ve asked me about a particular case. A delicate one.’
Kjeld waited for Rhodin to continue, but he didn’t. He merely stared at Kjeld as though looking for a sign of recognition before the fact.
‘I hope you’re not stalling for dramatic effect,’ Kjeld said.
‘Emma Hassan.’
Kjeld blinked. The memory of a teenage girl running out into traffic flashed across his thoughts. His heart dropped into his stomach.
Rhodin must have noticed a change in Kjeld’s demeanour because his face drew into one of grave concern. ‘Is there something I need to know?’
Kjeld took a measured breath to compose his thoughts. ‘Everything is in the case file.’
‘Are you sure?’ Rhodin reached behind his computer monitor and picked up an old file in a manila folder.
Kjeld’s heart rate increased. It took him a moment to catch his breath and relax. Then he nodded, attempting to reassure himself as much as the chief. ‘Yes. It was an accident. I don’t know how it happened. It was thoroughly investigated and there wasn’t any negligence found on our part.’
‘On your part, Kjeld. That I believe. And even if you had left the door unlocked, I know it wouldn’t have been intentional.’ Rhodin smacked the file on his knee. ‘But what about Nils? If SU has taken an interest in this case then they must have found something that we missed all those years ago. And if it wasn’t you then that only leaves one other person.’
Kjeld furrowed his brows and racked his brain to remember the events of that day. It wasn’t difficult to recall. It had been one of the great disasters of his early career. One that almost convinced him that he wasn’t cut out to be a detective. Although he didn’t think about it consciously anymore, it was a case that sometimes woke him up in the middle of the night. Because even though it had been proved an accident, something about it had always lingered. Something never did seem right.
He knew he’d locked the door. He just didn’t know how she got out. And, at the time, Nils had seemed just as surprised as Kjeld when she threw open the back door of the police vehicle and leapt over the barrier to the oncoming leg of the highway.
‘Kjeld? Is there something I need to know about the Emma Hassan case?’
‘No, sir.’
‘You’re not covering for him, are you?’
The question took Kjeld off guard. It was a question he expected from one of his suspicious colleagues. Not from the chief who’d known him since his days as a rookie. ‘No, sir.’
Rhodin sighed. ‘You know I had to ask.’
‘Was there anything else you wanted to ask?’
Rhodin eyed him with a hard stare that quickly wore off. ‘No. Go on. Get out of here. And bring me the bastard who killed that poor girl.’
Rhodin shook his head. ‘Louisa Karlsson, of all people. That’s going to be a hell of a day when it hits the press.’
Chapter 7
‘Take your time,’ Kjeld said. Across the table were clear evidence bags filled with various items Sixten had uncovered in the bin of the house that bordered the property where the body was found. The body that they were reasonably certain had once been Louisa Karlsson. It was the wallet in the muddy tote bag that had practically sealed that belief in Kjeld’s mind. Inside was a faded University of Gothenburg student card, a driver’s permit, and a debit card, all of which had Louisa’s name on them. There was also a mobile phone, a half-eaten bag of salted liquorice candies, a brush with blonde hairs caught between the bristles, and two library books.
Abel Karlsson took one look at the evidence bags containing his daughter’s personal items and broke down. His sobs were uncontrollable, punctuated by deep panicked breaths and choking tears. The sound echoed throughout the small confines of the interview room. And it took almost twenty minutes before his eldest, now only, daughter, Danna, managed to soothe him down to a whimpering blubber.
Kjeld and Esme sat opposite Abel and Danna, waiting for the both of them to find the strength to continue. Esme had placed two cups of tea on the table in front of them, but they sat untouched, and had gone cold by the time either of them were prepared to speak.
‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ Kjeld said. The words sounded flat, but he, too, could feel a thickness in his throat. This man had lost a daughter. A daughter he thought he’d never have to worry about again. Kjeld couldn’t imagine how his own reaction would be if the situation had been reversed. ‘And I know this is difficult, but I have to make an official confirmation before we can go further. To your knowledge, do these items belong to your daughter, Louisa Karlsson?’
Abel opened his mouth to respond, but only a raspy breath escaped. He dropped his head and gave a wordless nod.
Danna placed a hand on her father’s back, then she looked to Kjeld. Her eyes were red, but she had yet to cry in front of them. Perhaps she’d already done so on the drive over. ‘Yes. That’s Louisa’s tote bag. I recognise it. The hairbrush, too. I gave it to her for Christmas last year. It was in a gift set with—’ She cut herself off realising it wasn’t important. ‘And that’s definitely her phone. It used to be mine.
I gave it to her when I bought a new one.’
Kjeld tried to offer a grateful smile, but it felt wanting. There was nothing he could say or do to relieve the unbearable agony they must have been going through in that moment. All he could give them was his attention, but even that was lacking. While he ought to have been focusing on Louisa, his thoughts drifted to the case Rhodin had mentioned to him as he left the station. Emma Hassan.
Kjeld had a very clear recollection of the day he’d informed her mother, Maja, that her daughter had passed. It was one of the first times in his career that he’d had to deliver the news himself. Nils had insisted. He remembered sitting on a sofa across from Maja. He couldn’t recall what he said exactly, but he’d never forget the way she broke down in front of him, blubbering into the front of the plain formless dress meant to hide her large figure. Minutes later she’d pulled him into an awkward embrace, engulfing him with her sobs and weeping eyes smearing mascara on his button-up. A few days later she was threatening to sue the police department for neglect.
Esme pushed a box of tissues towards them.
Danna handed her father a tissue. ‘What happened?’
Kjeld hesitated, his gaze averting to the bagged items on the table.
‘We don’t know yet and to be perfectly honest, we won’t officially know it’s her until the pathologist has a forensic odontologist compare the findings to Louisa’s dental records. But from what we’ve seen and where the body was found, I think it’s safe to say there’s a high likelihood that it’s her. And regrettably we are classifying it as a homicide,’ Esme said. She had the perfect tone for these kinds of conversations. Calm, relaxed. Sympathetic but professional. Kjeld was always grateful when Esme took the lead on informing family members of the grievous circumstances surrounding the murder of their loved one. But in this case, he felt ashamed for not having the strength to speak up.
‘She was found at his house?’ Danna’s face slackened.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Esme replied.
Abel’s expression darkened, his eyes focused on Kjeld. ‘Was it one of them?’
‘Them?’ Esme raised a brow.
‘Gjur Hägglund had a small fan club for a while after his arrest,’ Kjeld said, unable to hide his disgust. ‘But it was mostly angry misogynists on the internet just looking to start arguments and rile people up. It died down after his death.’
‘Dad got a few hate letters in the mail back then,’ Danna said. ‘But we haven’t received one in years. Do you think it could be one of them?’
‘It’s too early to rule anything out, but so far there’s no evidence to suggest that kind of involvement. It is, however, a lead we intend to follow up.’
‘What about his family members? Someone who was angry about his incarceration?’ Abel stared at Kjeld, but Kjeld had the impression he wasn’t really looking at him.
‘What about the current owner of the house?’ Danna said. ‘Could they be responsible?’
Esme sent an uneasy peer in Kjeld’s direction, searching his face for a clue into his thoughts.
Kjeld’s expression remained firm. He was trying his hardest not to give in to his emotions. But in truth, with Gjur being dead, they were essentially starting this investigation with zero leads. Which was why this conversation with her family was so important. ‘As soon as we have more information, you’ll both be the first to know.’
An unwieldy silence filled the room. When it was finally broken it was by Abel trying to build up the courage through a raspy whisper. ‘How?’
Esme fidgeted in the chair. ‘We haven’t received the results from the pathologist yet, but there was a fire.’
‘Was she in pain?’
Esme bit her lower lip, struggling with how to answer.
‘She’s gone, Abel,’ Kjeld interrupted. ‘Whatever pain she might have experienced is over now.’
Abel groaned. He took another tissue from the box on the table and wiped his eyes. ‘Thank God her mother isn’t here for this.’
Kjeld turned to Danna. ‘Where is Fru Karlsson?’
‘Mum passed on last year,’ Danna explained. ‘Breast cancer.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ And Kjeld was. Thankfully he didn’t know what it was like to lose a child, but he did understand the pain of watching someone slowly wither away before him. Cancer had taken his mother. And it had almost taken Bengt.
Esme leaned forward. ‘Was there anything different about Louisa recently? Any new people in her life? Conflicts at work? Anyone you can think of who may have wanted to harm her?’
Abel shook his head. ‘She kept to herself. She didn’t go out much.’
‘She lived with Dad,’ Danna said. ‘Has ever since, well, you know. When she finished her studies, she got a job at the local library. Occasionally we’d go shopping together, but she bought most of her clothing online. Her routine was cautious and guarded. She went to work. She came home. That’s it.’
‘No significant others or close friends?’ Esme asked.
Danna frowned. ‘She tried to go out on a few dates early on while she was still studying, but they never worked out. She had a good friend her first year in college, but they fell out as well. She was too afraid to get close to anyone. Took her years to even open up to her therapist. She was getting better though. She …’
The reality of what had happened seemed to hit Danna later than her father. She sank back into the stiff plastic chair as though hoping it would engulf her completely.
‘She was working through her trauma,’ Abel said. ‘She’d even written a letter to that bastard during the trial, forgiving him of everything he’d done. Both to her and the other women. I hate to say it but I was furious when I found out. Why should she have to forgive him in order to move on with her life? And what good did it do her?’
Another lull fell between them and Kjeld found himself wondering why neither Abel nor his eldest daughter seemed to notice that Louisa hadn’t been home for breakfast that morning.
‘She hadn’t been missing?’ Esme asked, taking the words right out of Kjeld’s head.
‘She spent the weekend with Danna.’
Danna turned a confused glance on her father. ‘No, she didn’t.’
‘Are you saying she lied to me?’ Abel’s face pinched in disbelief.
‘No, I mean …’ Danna paused, trying to find her thoughts. ‘She was supposed to stay with me. That was the plan. But when I last spoke to her she said she’d changed her mind. She didn’t want to. Said she was too tired to deal with the kids.’
‘When did she tell you this?’
‘Saturday morning at the library. I took my kids there for a visit. We do that once a week. Not just to check on her, of course, but you know how it is when you worry. Anyway, the kids were really rambunctious and acting up. And Louisa was in one of her moods. You know, down. Depressed. Said she didn’t think she could deal with a night of screaming kids and that she planned to go home after work.’
‘And she didn’t give you any indication that she might have something else planned? Or that she was going to make any stops on her way home?’
‘She always took the bus home from work. The timetable doesn’t leave much room for stops.’ Danna shook her head. ‘Oh, God, I should have asked her if everything was okay. I should have insisted that the kids would be settled down by the time she got off work. It’s all my fault.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ Esme said. ‘You can’t blame yourself for that.’
Abel clenched his fingers around the fabric of his shirt.
‘We’re going to have to come by and take a look at her room.’ Kjeld didn’t bother asking because he knew that this was something the family had already been through before. He also knew that Abel would do anything to find out what happened to his daughter.
Danna nodded, wiping the tears from her face.
‘Inspector?’
Kjeld turned his attention to Abel. The look in his eyes, however, wasn’t the tragic grief he’d e
xpressed when he first saw Louisa’s belongings spread out in evidence bags. And it wasn’t sorrow, either. It was pure unadulterated rage.
‘You find the son of a bitch who did this to my daughter.’ Abel gritted his teeth hard. ‘You find them and this time you don’t make prison an option.’
Chapter 8
Breaking the news of Louisa’s death to her family left a sour taste in Kjeld’s mouth. Many detectives grew numb to the practice over time, but Kjeld became more sensitive to it. It rolled around in his empty stomach like a piece of undigested meat that secreted a foamy bile, threatening to squeeze upward and burn the back of his throat. Perhaps it was because he now had a child of his own that he’d become keenly aware of how fragile the thread of life was and how quickly it could be snatched away. He tried to maintain his stoic, standoffish disposition, but every time he had to look a parent in the eye and tell them their child was gone he felt a piece of himself crack off and crumble.
Fathers were the worst. Mothers leaned on their friends, their sisters, their therapists, other women who had lost children by birth or tragedy. They opened up and sought methods to help them grapple with their daily suffering. Fathers went into the garage and unloaded a round of buckshot into their heads. That’s how they coped.
The floor of the Violent Crimes Division at Gothenburg City Police was bustling with officers, moving in and out. While they hadn’t yet released Louisa’s identity, news of another crime at the Cellar Sadist’s house spread quickly. The persistent chatter of what had happened or who could have been responsible set Kjeld’s limited patience to boil. And he’d already downed two paracetamol with a cup of rancid coffee in hopes of minimising his burgeoning headache.
Kjeld’s phone buzzed on the desk, reminding him of an appointment with his therapist, Alice Pihl. The timing was almost too fortuitous.
