by Karin Nordin
Esme nodded. ‘Assuming no other weapons came out of the manufacturer from the same time with the same defect then it would be anomalous to that gun only.’
Axel reached over for the file, flipping it open to the last page. He removed a full-colour photograph of two bullets, side by side, displaying their various striations. ‘Maybe ballistics made a mistake?’
‘We’ll have to have the bullets re-examined.’ Esme huffed.
‘We should have the gun from the Hedebrant case tested as well,’ Kjeld said. ‘If it was used recently there should be residue. And we can fingerprint the evidence bag to check for tampering.’
‘Who was the last person to log into evidence for that file?’ Sixten asked.
‘The on-duty evidence clerk was the last signature on the documentation. Before that the forensics analyst and then myself. We checked the chain of custody. It doesn’t look like it’s been touched in years.’ Kjeld leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin in thought.
There was a collective pause among the team as though they were all holding their breath. And Kjeld knew why. They were expecting him to say someone else’s name. Someone they knew could be blamed for obstructing the course of justice. Nils. Which made Kjeld wonder if SU hadn’t been right. Was it possible that someone else in the department could have been working with Nils during the Aubuchon case? If another officer had been involved in the murders then that would explain why it had taken so long for the evidence to lead back to Nils. Could something similar have happened here?
‘But we have to consider the possibility that it was. If someone was smart enough to remove the gun and return it without anyone noticing, then they’d be smart enough to cover their tracks.’
‘Does it bother anybody else that this is the same kind of weapon many of us were issued?’ Sixten asked.
‘It’s not the only service pistol the police use. I have a P229,’ Esme said. She glanced at Kjeld.
‘Same, but my first model was a 226.’
‘It could just be a coincidence,’ Axel offered. ‘It’s a common firearm for duty use and concealed carry in multiple countries.’
Kjeld ran his fingers back through his hair. He didn’t believe in coincidences. Nor did he think the investigators at SU believed in them. And the moment anything even tangentially related to the Emma Hassan case came under suspicion, they could lose the entire investigation to SU.
‘What about Louisa? Any chance that she could be connected to Andrea?’ Axel asked.
Esme leaned against the side of Kjeld’s desk. Her eyes were tired and bloodshot from too much caffeine. ‘Doesn’t appear to be. They couldn’t have been more different from each other and there’s no suggestion that their circles crossed. They’re from different areas of the city, different social standing, different careers. Not to mention the fact that Louisa practically never left her house except to go to the library. She had no history of drug abuse or any known connections to people in the drug trade. And Andrea’s wife didn’t recognise her.’
‘But we still haven’t accounted for Louisa’s whereabouts on those four days she didn’t go to work.’
Esme crossed her arms over her chest and pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘I know we all want these two cases to be linked, but I think they’re unrelated. And I think we need to treat them as such. There’s nothing to suggest this is the same killer. Hell, for all we know Ingrid killed Andrea.’
‘She didn’t seem that broken up about it,’ Sixten added.
‘Okay, let’s go through it again from the beginning,’ Kjeld said. ‘Starting with Louisa.’
Esme ran down the list of evidence – or the lack thereof – starting with Gjur Hägglund’s house and leading up to the pathological findings. While she spoke, Kjeld’s thoughts drifted back to Emma. They’d picked her up at school. The gun was still in her backpack. They put her in the back seat. Kjeld had the backpack in the front, on the floor between his feet. They drove onto the highway. The traffic was bumper-to-bumper. The door opened. Was there an unlocking click? Fuck, he didn’t know anymore.
Axel began walking them through the CCTV findings for the umpteenth time.
Kjeld sighed. His eyes were beginning to cross from going over the same ideas over and over. As much as he agreed that Esme was right, that these cases weren’t linked, he couldn’t help but feel like there was something they were missing. Something he was missing.
He took out his phone and pulled up the photo of the flyers he’d taken outside Högsbo Library. He zoomed in on the number for the missing Pekingese and dialled it on his desk phone. Esme shot him a look as though to question why he wasn’t paying attention, but didn’t say anything. A few seconds later an older-sounding woman answered the phone. Kjeld spoke with her for a few minutes only to discover that the woman had indeed found her missing dog and forgotten to take down the neighbourhood flyers.
He rang off and then zoomed in on the other flyer. There was no phone number or address. At the top of the flyer was a drawing of a pair of opening palms, which met at the wrists in a V-formation. In between the hands was what appeared to be a sun, its rays stretching upwards. Underneath was a single question without an answer: Are you ready for your second chance?
Kjeld frowned. What was that supposed to mean?
Axel groaned. ‘This is impossible. We need more evidence. I hate to say it but I think we need to lean in on the tip line. Maybe we’ll get lucky.’
Sixten rolled his chair up beside Kjeld. ‘Thinking about joining the collective, boss?’
‘Hm?’
Sixten nodded to the image on Kjeld’s phone. ‘Second Life Wellness Respite. To be honest you really don’t strike me as the type, but to each their own.’
‘Wait – you know what this is?’
Sixten tossed a gummy Bilar candy into his mouth, which he’d taken from the jar on Axel’s desk. ‘Sure. I saw a documentary on them a few years ago. They claimed to be a kind of commune for people who’d gone through traumatic experiences or were trying to kick drug habits. Like an alternative form of a rehabilitation clinic. Residents lived on their campus until they were healed from whatever ailed them. But some of them stayed on, which started these rumours about the place being a cult.’
‘A cult?’
Sixten chewed the gummy candy in between talking. ‘I don’t think it’s a real cult. That’s just something people started saying because some of the former residents admitted to going by different names, refusing to use modern technology, and practising meditation. You know, hippy stuff. But after the bad press you stopped hearing about them in the news.’
‘And this is one of their flyers?’
Sixten nodded. ‘Yeah, looks like it. That was part of the reasoning behind them being a cult. Because their flyers were so vague and always consisted of a single question. I think the idea behind it had something to do with need and determination. If you really were ready for a second chance, for example, then you would find a way to get in touch.’
‘So, it’s a religious group?’
‘Holistic, I’d say.’ Sixten held up a handful of candies. ‘Bilar?’
‘No thanks.’ Kjeld pulled thoughtfully at the beard hair on his chin. He needed a trim. ‘How would someone go about finding this commune?’
‘I’d start with Google.’
‘I thought they didn’t use technology.’
‘Have you ever known a cult not to be hypocritical?’
Chapter 25
Sixten was right. While Second Life Wellness Respite, or Second Life as it was more commonly called on the internet, didn’t have a phone number or an email address, they did have a website. And that website did very little to hide their location. There wasn’t a physical address for the commune, but they did have driving directions listed at the bottom of the page with a statement that claimed, ‘Due to the delicate nature of the healing and self-discovery process, the administrators and residents of Second Life are not available for public inter
views with media or television personalities.’ There was, however, contact information for their private attorney. A fact Kjeld found suspiciously unsettling but it didn’t stop him and Esme from driving out to the commune on their lunch break.
Second Life’s compound was located off route 190 near the southwestern edge of the Änggårdsbergen Nature Reserve about twenty minutes from Gothenburg city centre. The area was sparsely populated and dotted with small hard-to-find houses on dirt or gravel roads that weren’t indicated on any map or GPS. Even the driving directions Kjeld had copied from the website were hard to decipher once he reached the area. In fact, were it not for a small hand-painted sign Esme saw on the side of a road near the town of Gunnilse, depicting the same open hand and sun gesture that was on the flyer outside the library, they may not have found the commune at all.
Although “found” was a relative term.
The final road that Kjeld thought would take him up to the gate stopped at the edge of a densely wooded area. Outside the air was frosty, the sky bleak with low-hanging snow clouds. He grabbed a pair of gloves from the centre console and climbed out.
There wasn’t a distinct path to the commune, but the direction they needed to follow through the dense woodland was easy enough to find. Someone had marked a series of low-hanging tree branches with red ribbons that fluttered in the wind. The terrain wasn’t difficult to traverse, but large protruding roots and thick brambles that stuck to their clothing if they got too close slowed their pace. In the end it was at least a fifteen-minute hike through the woods before they came upon the entrance.
From the outside there wasn’t much to see. A wooden fence, about eight feet high, surrounded the entire commune. And a single door, stark white in colour, offered the only passage in and out. It wasn’t locked, but when they stepped inside they were immediately met by a woman who appeared to be in her mid to late forties and was wearing a beige-coloured tunic and green linen slacks. Her auburn hair, which was pulled back in a loose bun, was gently matted down by the rain.
‘Welcome to Second Life Wellness Respite,’ she said. ‘I’m Sister Löv.’
Esme introduced them both, showing the woman their police identifications. Sister Löv didn’t display any surprise. If anything, she acted as though they were expected and with little more than a ‘follow me’ she led them across a large open field to a row of buildings.
Inside the commune walls it was eerily quiet. No voices. No doors slamming shut. Only the occasional whistling chirp of a blackbird, perched hidden in the trees. The layout reminded Kjeld a bit of Skansen park in Stockholm, the small houses made to look like older farm dwellings. They were all painted in traditional Falun red and a few of the houses had grass roofs, although Kjeld suspected they still had modern plumbing and electricity. Most of the buildings were close together, like one might expect in a suburban neighbourhood. There was, however, a central gazebo with rows of outdoor amphitheatre-styled seating built into the ground and a large vegetable garden, which had been wilted by the excess rain.
Sister Löv escorted them into what appeared to be an indoor communal area. The room was open and spacious with amber-coloured walls that were interrupted every few feet by long pieces of tie-dyed cloth that dangled from the ceiling like wispy tapestries. There weren’t any tables or chairs in the space. Only a circular spiral-designed carpet and a smattering of beanbags. It reminded Kjeld of the photos from a yoga retreat pamphlet that Bengt had tried to con him into years ago.
A few young people, both men and women, passed them by in similar loose-fitting robe-like garments, politely nodding their heads in acknowledgement. Kjeld did his best not to show how ridiculous he thought all of this was and pursed his lips to prevent himself from making any sarcastic comments. Esme, for her part, didn’t seemed fazed by the utter absurdity of what appeared to be a commune of hippies in the middle of the woods outside Gothenburg proper. Then again, she was a little more accepting than he was. Or perhaps she was simply better at hiding her opinions. Probably both.
Sister Löv led them towards the beanbag area of the room. ‘Brother Björk will be with you shortly. Would you like any water or herbal tea in the meantime?’
‘Do you have any coffee?’
‘We refrain from stimulants here.’
Kjeld made a face.
‘No, thank you. We’ll be fine,’ Esme said.
Sister Löv nodded. ‘You’re welcome to make yourself at home while you wait,’ she said, motioning to the beanbags. Then she wandered off, leaving them alone.
Kjeld nudged one of the beanbags with the toe of his boot. ‘Are these people for real?’
Esme shot him a warning stare. ‘Play nice, Kjeld.’
‘I am playing nice, but come on. If this isn’t a cult then I don’t know what is. No one else would wear that much linen.’
‘You’re just jealous you wouldn’t be able to pull off that beige tunic with mint-green slacks.’
‘They’d have to pry my blue jeans from my cold dead hands.’
‘Someone really ought to.’ Esme smirked. ‘You’ve been wearing the same pair since we met.’
‘When it comes to a good pair of denim I’m fucking loyal.’
‘I think the word you meant to use is “stubborn”.’
‘Well, we can’t all look like we rolled out of bed and into a Vero Moda catalogue.’
Esme rolled her eyes. ‘Says someone who’s clearly never stepped into a Vero Moda in their life.’
Esme walked over to a far wall where a framed photograph hung between two swaths of sheer fabric. It was a small group of people, all dressed in commune garb. At the centre stood a tall man with a soft face and thin blond hair. Above the photo someone had printed a quote and taped it to the wall: “Every second chance begins with a first one.”
Kjeld stepped up behind her and eyed both the photograph and the quote dismissively. ‘Sounds like a load of bullshit to me.’
‘That’s what most of the people in that photo said at first,’ a voice said from behind them.
Kjeld and Esme turned around to see a man approach them – the same man from the centre of the image, only quite a bit older. Brother Björk appeared to be in his early to mid-sixties. He had an oval-shaped face, marked by loose jowls along the sides of his jaw. His eyes were small and his nose long. He had blond hair that was thinning and combed backwards, revealing a broad forehead dotted with sun spots. Although he didn’t wear any earrings, Kjeld could see that his left ear was pierced. And there were faded remnants of an old tattoo on the side of his neck that disappeared under the Nehru collar of his tunic.
Björk offered his hand to Esme first. ‘I’m Brother Björk.’
‘Esme Jansson. And this is my partner, Kjeld Nygaard.’
Kjeld shook Björk’s hand as well and was surprised by how firm it was. The grip was stronger than he’d anticipated and he could see the tendons in Björk’s wrist tense just before he dropped the handshake.
Björk nodded to the photograph. ‘Our first cohort. That must be about ten years ago now. Most have moved on, but some are still here.’
Esme pointed to a young woman in the front row. ‘Is that Sister Löv?’
‘She’s been with us from the start.’
‘Why stay?’ Kjeld asked. ‘I thought this was a wellness centre. Isn’t she well?’
Björk smiled, but Kjeld sensed a taut impatience at the corner of the man’s lips. ‘For some people, the act of helping others helps them. Sister Löv was in a dark place when she joined us. A place that was heightened by her connections in the outside world. By remaining here she ensures that she won’t fall back on bad habits. And instead of taking that risk, she’s devoted herself to helping others find their way to a new life.’
‘What’s with the names? Löv? Björk? Are you sure you aren’t a tree-hugging society?’
‘We’re all family here. And we’re all equal. Hence the brothers and sisters. As family we accept each other’s difficulties and burdens without j
udgement. As for the plant references, well, nature is an instinctive source of rebirth and renewal. By giving each other new names we offer our residents the opportunity to be the person they were always meant to be. It’s not required, but it is encouraged. You’d be surprised how much of a person’s identity and trauma is wrapped up in a name. A name given to us by someone else at the moment of our birth. A name that might not even truly reflect the people that we are. From the moment we’re born we’re trapped into someone else’s idea of us. And that can make it challenging for people to move forward. That’s what we try to do here, help others rediscover their true selves. Their better selves. The past is not important to us here. Only the present.’
‘And the future?’
Björk looked Kjeld directly in the eyes. ‘That’s up to them.’
Esme took out her phone and held up the image of the flyer Kjeld had snapped outside the library. ‘Is this one of your recruitment flyers?’
‘Recruitment? You make it sound like we’re an agency or a cult. I assure you, we’re neither.’
‘My apologies,’ Esme said. ‘But is it one of your flyers?’
Björk leaned in closer, narrowing his eyes. ‘Yes, it does appear to be one of ours.’
‘It seems a bit counterproductive to post a flyer offering to help people but not providing any contact information,’ Kjeld said.
Björk peered at Kjeld. The corner of his eye twitched and there was a familiar intensity to his gaze that made Kjeld wonder if they hadn’t met somewhere else before. After an uncomfortable pause Björk answered, ‘As I’m sure you’re both aware, we’ve had some difficulty with the press recently. And we’re only here for the truly devoted. For the people who are ready to put their old lives behind them. Completely behind them. And people who are that desperate for a new start have no trouble finding out how to contact us.’
Esme removed a photo of Louisa Karlsson from her pocket and held it up for Björk to see. It was one of the photos Louisa’s father had provided them for the press conference. ‘Have you ever seen this woman before?’
