Last One Alive

by Karin Nordin

  ‘Oh God, yes! It’s about time we got together again,’ Tilde said between bites. ‘Not that I don’t love being a mum, but I sometimes feel like I’m going to rip my hair out. All those late hours waking up in the middle of the night. I’m so glad that Marit was able to take off a week to watch Violet so I could come up and visit you guys. I still miss her though. Let me show you this video Marit sent me the other day!’

  Tilde took out her phone and played a thirty-second film clip of a tiny infant squeezing her index finger. Both Miriam and Britta made exaggerated expressions of admiration followed by the proverbial “awws” and “how adorables”. Esme gave a small smile. Violet truly was a picture-perfect baby but seeing how Miriam and Britta reacted to the image left Esme with an odd sense of estrangement. It wasn’t unlike holidays with her family. She spent nearly every family gathering shrugging off her aunt’s questions of when she planned to settle down and have children. In the beginning, when her cousin started having children, Esme would laugh off her aunt’s insistence. Later it made her angry. Nowadays she tried to work the holidays to avoid the conversations altogether.

  It wasn’t that Esme didn’t like children or want them. She just didn’t know if being a mother was in the cards for her. There were other things she wanted to do first. And she knew that was nothing to be ashamed of. Yet still these kinds of conversations made her feel like a disappointment.

  ‘What about you, Esme? Any chance that you’ll be joining us at baby yoga soon?’ Britta asked, completely ignorant of the insensitivity of her question. She pushed aside the lyckling on her plate to stab at her salad instead.

  ‘What?’ Esme had been lost in her thoughts and missed the question.

  ‘Will we be seeing you at baby yoga soon?’ Britta repeated.

  Esme didn’t know what bothered her more, Britta’s rude question or the fact that she wouldn’t even try the food. But it was clear from Britta’s expression that she had no idea how hurtful her question could be.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Esme mumbled in between bites.

  ‘Don’t you want children?’ Britta looked at her like she was from outer space.

  Esme’s face burned with embarrassment.

  ‘Esme is great with kids,’ Miriam interrupted. ‘She watched my eldest two a few times when they were younger. They loved her.’

  ‘Esme’s just more practical than us. She wants to make sure she’s found the right partner and is properly settled before she dives into family life. I know I would have had it easier if I’d saved up some money beforehand.’ Tilde smiled.

  Esme knew it was meant to be a compliment, but she couldn’t help but feel like there was an unintentional barb to Tilde’s words. Of course, Tilde would have been devastated if she’d known she’d hit a painful chord with Esme. Which was why Esme just replied with a half-hearted chuckle.

  ‘I don’t really work the greatest hours at the moment,’ Esme said, suddenly even less interested in her meal than Britta was. But all of this talk of babies and families made her chest tighten. She suddenly felt like the walls were closing in on her. She sipped her mineral water to distract herself, hoping that the cool wet taste would ease some of her nerves.

  Miriam leaned across the table. ‘But surely there must be someone at your work who’s interesting.’

  Esme took another bite to avoid having to respond.

  ‘Police officers are really fit.’ Britta grinned. ‘There’s one who goes to my gym. I swear if I weren’t already married …’

  ‘You would not!’ Tilde laughed.

  ‘I absolutely would. That man looks like he was cut from marble.’ Britta paused. ‘From what I can tell anyway. Sometimes he lifts up his shirt to wipe the sweat off his brow. Half the gym has a membership just to see it. I swear.’

  Tilde snorted. ‘You’re unbelievable! But seriously, Esme, there must be some hot guy or girl at the station. I think I watched every single crime drama on Netflix in the last two months of my pregnancy. And everyone on those shows was gorgeous. That’s gotta be based on truth, right? Tell me it is. Are all your colleagues so good-looking that it’s impossible to choose between them?’

  Esme shook her head. ‘Not really.’

  ‘Tilde! You make it sound like she works on the set of a soap opera!’ Miriam waved over a waitress and ordered another Ramlösa citrus water. ‘But now I’m curious. There’s no one at work you’re even slightly interested in? Not even for a one-night stand?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s really a good idea to get involved with someone I work with.’

  ‘What about your detective partner? What was his name?’

  ‘Kjeld?’

  ‘Sounds sexy already.’ Britta winked.

  ‘Why is that name so familiar?’ Tilde asked. ‘Have you talked about him before?’

  ‘You probably saw him in the papers.’ Miriam took out her phone and pulled up an article on The Chatterbox, holding it up for everyone at the table to see. A photo of Kjeld standing in the rain in front of Gjur Hägglund’s house stared back at them.

  ‘Girl! He is hot! Let me see that!’ Britta took the phone from Miriam. ‘I would jump that in a second. Wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Hell no, I’m way too gay for that.’ Tilde grinned.

  ‘He’s married. Is that it?’ Miriam teased.

  ‘No.’ Esme pursed his lips. ‘He’s just complicated.’

  ‘But you do agree that he’s smoking, right?’ Tilde passed the phone across the table to Miriam.

  Esme combed her fingers through her fringe, pressing it down to cover as much of her forehead as possible. ‘No. I mean, yes, he’s good-looking, but it wouldn’t work. And I’m not interested in him like that. We’re just friends. And I like it that way.’

  Miriam looked as though she might press the issue further, but the waitress returned to ask if anyone was interested in dessert. Miriam and Tilde both ordered the chocolate brownie with milk-free whipped cream. Britta ordered a lemon dammsugare and a cappuccino. Esme had been thinking about the infamous chocolate and coconut pastry that she often ordered to go on the weekends. One of the few sweet indulgences that she’d been looking forward to. But she didn’t feel very hungry anymore. In fact, she felt a little sick. She ordered a peppermint tea hoping it might settle her stomach.

  The conversation quickly returned to talk of the other ladies’ families and children. Esme sat there quietly and listened, her thoughts distracted. After a few minutes she found herself peeking at her phone under the table, hoping for a message from work that would give her an excuse to leave early. But all she’d received in the last two hours was an apologetic text from her aunt asking her to call when she got a chance and an email from her mobile phone provider reminding her that she only had five days left to upgrade to a new plan before the monthly deal was over.

  She sighed and slipped her phone back into her pocket. Then she turned her attention back to her friends and tried to enjoy the stories she couldn’t relate to. She even smiled once or twice, but she wasn’t listening properly. She was thinking about how much anger a person would have to feel in order to burn someone alive.

  Chapter 13

  Onsdag | Wednesday

  By the time Kjeld arrived in the incident room the next morning, Esme had already set up a whiteboard with the evidence they’d collected thus far. It was depressingly sparse. She’d posted a map of the city, pinning the location of the library where Louisa worked, as well as the location of Gjur Hägglund’s house. Axel had also printed off a snapshot of Louisa from the CCTV footage, depicting her leaving the library at closing time. But there was nothing else. No suspects. No leads. Nothing but a dead girl and a grieving family who was waiting for answers that Kjeld didn’t have.

  ‘Where are we on the evidence collected from Louisa’s room?’

  Axel lifted up his head from behind his computer screen, twirling a pen between his fingers. ‘Zilch.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘No social media, no personal emai
ls, the most minimal of texts. The only people she’s really been in contact with for the last few years are her father, sister, colleagues – but she only messages them about work – and her therapist. The girl was a shut-in.’

  ‘Got you a coffee, boss.’ Sixten held out Kjeld’s personal office mug, the one he kept in his drawer and often forgot to wash more than once a week. The aroma of a dark roast brew filled his senses. Not the normal cheap brand that was stocked in the station kitchenette.

  Kjeld accepted it with a grateful nod. He used a tissue to remove the piece of chewing gum he’d hoped would stave off his cigarette craving and tossed it in the bin beneath his desk. Then he took a sip. No sugar this time. ‘What about CCTV?’

  ‘Security cameras from the pharmacy across the street show her arriving for her shift a little after nine in the morning.’ Axel pulled up another clip of video footage on his computer screen, depicting the main entrance of the library. ‘Here you can see her coming around the corner of the building from the back.’

  ‘Not from the direction of the car park?’ Kjeld asked.

  Axel shook his head. ‘The nearest bus stop is on the street behind the library. She shortcuts through the grass instead of walking around via the car park.’

  ‘I called the library and the head librarian said Louisa worked the entire day. According to her, she didn’t seem upset or distracted. In fact, she said Louisa was in uncommonly good spirits,’ Sixten said. ‘But she did confirm that Louisa’s sister had been in that morning with her children and that Louisa was a little distracted afterwards.’

  Axel fast-forwarded the surveillance footage. ‘As you can see, Louisa leaves the library thirty minutes after her shift along with two of her colleagues. The two head for their cars in the car park. We have footage of them driving off separately. Louisa waves them off, locks up, and then heads back around the building to the shortcut.’

  Kjeld leaned forward to get a better view of the image on the screen. ‘What about the bus stop? Any cameras there?’

  ‘Nothing. There aren’t any businesses up there. And it’s a small neighbourhood bus stop.’

  ‘So, something happened between the library entrance and the bus stop.’ Esme chewed on her lower lip in thought. ‘She doesn’t double back to the library?’

  ‘I watched it ahead five hours on both cameras. There’s nothing.’

  Kjeld glanced at Sixten. ‘Have we contacted the bus service? Do we know if the driver picked anyone up from that stop?’

  Sixten took out a small notepad from his pocket. ‘I called the transportation services in charge of that line and they didn’t have any verified check-ins from that bus stop between three o’clock that afternoon and seven the next morning. I spoke to the driver that evening and he said he didn’t take on any passengers on that stretch during the time we think Louisa went missing. He also claimed not to have seen anyone, but it was raining pretty hard.’

  ‘Dammit.’ Kjeld pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘What about the toxicology report?’

  ‘Frisk just sent that over a few minutes ago,’ Esme said, searching through a stack of papers on the desk. ‘Traces of ketamine in her system. He said the state of the body made it impossible to determine the route of administration. He was unable to find an entrance point for a potential intravenous injection, but he wouldn’t rule it out at this point.’

  Kjeld sighed. ‘Do I even want to know what forensics recovered from the scene?’

  The rest of the team went quiet, which told him everything he needed to know.

  They’d found nothing. It was back to square one.

  ‘They’re still collecting evidence,’ Esme offered. ‘But the fire destroyed a lot. And the presence of the firefighters didn’t help any.’

  Kjeld stared at the near-empty board, gaze darting back and forth between the map and the photo of Louisa leaving the library. ‘Then we do it the old-fashioned way. We talk to everyone. Neighbours, family, colleagues.’

  ‘We’ve already talked to the family.’ Sixten frowned.

  ‘Then we do it again. We’ve missed something. Louisa was a known victim of a heinous crime. This is not some random killing. Someone planned this carefully. The execution of it is too clean. But no one commits a perfect murder. Whether they’re aware of it or not, someone knows more than they’re letting on.’

  The door to the incident room opened and a young intern hurried in, breathless. She inhaled deeply, face red and frazzled as she gasped for her words. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but you need to see this.’

  The intern held up a tablet displaying a rainy scene of what appeared to be an empty football field. It was livestreaming on YouTube. The number of viewers and likes were increasing by the second. When the camera turned away from the field, it centred on a woman. Henny Engström’s face filled the screen. She was speaking straight into the camera and even though he knew it wasn’t the case, Kjeld felt like her words and that simpering smirk, were directed at him.

  ‘This is Henny Engström reporting to you live from Biskopsgården where it appears yet another body has been found and the police are nowhere to be seen.’

  Chapter 14

  The crime scene was located in Sunnerviksparken, a small grassy area crammed in between a section of lower rent apartment housing on the eastern side of Biskopsgården not far from the Lundby neighbourhood line that mostly consisted of a children’s sized football field and a rusting swing set. By the time Kjeld and Esme arrived on the scene, three major media vans and two local press vehicles were already blocking traffic in both directions on the main road. A pair of uniformed officers were arguing with reporters to move their vehicles to one of the side streets in order to allow general traffic to pass safely while another officer pushed back the steadily growing crowd of photographers trying to snap pictures of the body before the crime scene technicians put up a tent.

  It was a disaster.

  The torrential downpour of that morning had lightened up to a drizzle, but the wind pummelled it horizontally against Esme’s face as she pushed through the crowd, yelling at everyone to move back. Most of the journalists took a respectful step backwards, hoping it might endear them to her or Kjeld in exchange for a statement. It didn’t, but Esme appreciated the gesture. Unsurprisingly, the lone individual who refused to follow the will of the group was Henny. While the others stepped back, she stepped forward, shoving a handheld camera in Kjeld’s face.

  ‘Inspector Nygaard! Can you tell us if this murder is related to the body found the other day?’

  ‘We won’t know anything until you let us pass.’

  ‘Can you tell us why it took so long for law enforcement to arrive on the scene?’

  Kjeld shot her an accusatory stare. ‘Can you tell me how you were the one to find it?’

  Henny brashly stared him out before continuing with another series of rapid-fire questions. ‘Is it true that the crime committed at the Cellar Sadist’s house might be the work of a copycat killer? Was someone close to Gjur Hägglund involved in the murder of the person discovered a few days ago? When will the police be releasing the identity of the body?’

  The uniformed officers were using the media’s distraction to put up a line of cordon tape stretching between their two vehicles. Kjeld held up the tape for Esme. She ducked under it, quickly followed by her partner who allowed the tape to snap down as a barrier between them and Henny.

  Henny leaned over the tape. She was so close to Kjeld’s face that if Esme hadn’t known better she would have inferred that there was more to their history than Kjeld let on. But Esme knew that wasn’t the case. And Henny’s hissing threat only cemented that fact. She was just out for a story and would get it any way she could. ‘If you don’t tell me what I want to know I will find out another way. This is your chance to improve your standing with the media.’

  Before Kjeld could make a scene with his response, Esme brought her fingers to her lips and let out a high-pitched whistle. An officer trying to hold back the wall
of journalists glanced in her direction before jogging over.

  ‘Kindly escort Fru Engström down to the station. We’re going to have a few questions for her when we finish up here.’

  The officer nodded and made his way to the other side of the police line to lead Henny towards a patrol car.

  ‘How dare you! You bitch! You don’t have any right to detain me!’

  ‘I’m not detaining you, Henny. I’m giving you the opportunity to talk to us voluntarily before someone starts to get suspicious about how you keep ending up at the wrong place at the right time.’ She paused. ‘Or would you rather I read you your rights?’

  Henny fumed.

  ‘Doesn’t always pay to be the first at a scene. Looking forward to having a chat about that.’ Esme fixed her with a hard stare before waving off the officer and following Kjeld to the tent that the crime scene technicians finally managed to erect. Behind her she heard the clicking clamour of cameras flashing at her back.

  Esme was the first in the tent after gowning up in protective gear, but from the state of the scene it didn’t look like it would do much good. The weather had already had its way with the scene. Even worse was the erratic mess of footprints, in various sizes and shapes, that were scattered around the area. Half the reporters in the city had probably already snapped close-up photographs of their victim. She sighed when she realised her caution on approach to the scene was unwarranted. Another pair of muddy prints wasn’t going to make much of a difference.

  Esme exhaled a tired breath, disappointed and annoyed. Unlike Kjeld who was a downtrodden realist, she’d always tried to err on the side of optimism in most situations. Kjeld never expected the best of people. But she wanted to believe that, given the opportunity, people would do the right thing. Like not trample over a crime scene in order to get their picture on the front page.