by Karin Nordin
‘What details?’
Henny drummed her fingers on the bookshelf, her gaze lingering on the empty glass. ‘That’s how I knew the methods of their deaths. He told me.’
‘And you posted that on your blog without confirmation?’
‘Of course not! I’m not an idiot. I had it confirmed.’
‘By whom?’
Kjeld caught her glance for a split second. Enough to know she was trying to figure out how to answer without incriminating herself or someone else. But eventually the stubbornness dropped from her expression.
‘I have a source in the pathologist’s office,’ she said. ‘He sent me photos of the victims from the lab.’
Kjeld clenched his jaw. ‘Could your source also be the person who’s been calling you?’
‘No,’ Henny said, confident in her certainty. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘Because there’s something in his voice. The man on the phone. Something … different. Unfeeling. My source at the pathologist’s office is just looking for attention from a pretty face. His fifteen minutes of fame, you could say. And he’s easily bribed with a bottle of cheap scotch. But the man who calls me …’
Henny’s face whitened as she thought about him. ‘I can’t explain it. There’s something about his voice that’s threatening even when he’s being helpful. Something about him that’s untrustworthy. And yet, he hasn’t lied. Everything he’s told me so far has been the truth.’
‘And you’re certain it wasn’t a woman?’
‘I’m positive.’
Kjeld tried to reconcile Henny’s insistence that the man on the phone was the killer with the knowledge that Maja Hassan’s fingerprints had been found on the knife at Daniel Santelmann’s house. Was it possible there were two killers? Or was someone trying to lead them astray? But if that were the case, how could they possibly get Maja’s fingerprints on the knife? Better yet, why?
‘Is it someone from Second Life?’
The shock that sprung up on Henny’s face couldn’t be performed. She looked at him as though he’d just accused her of being the murderer. As though it were something impossible to believe.
‘Second Life?’ She laughed. ‘What? No. That’s ridiculous.’
‘I know you were seen speaking to Jonny Lindh. I also know that until his death Jonny was a resident at Second Life Wellness Respite. A few days after he decides to leave the commune, he turns up dead. I find a witness who claims to have seen you speaking to Jonny. Then I overhear you in the coffee shop making a deal with somebody and shortly after you drive all the way out to Second Life and report from within their walls. Am I supposed to believe that’s a coincidence?’
Henny shook her head. There was a frazzled glimmer in her expression, which she buried in another glass of whisky.
‘No, no, no,’ she muttered.
‘You have been present at every crime scene. And you were with Jonny before his death. So, either you know more than you’re telling me. Something this supposed caller told you about Jonny. Something that connects all of these killings to Second Life. Or you’re involved.’
Henny slammed the glass on the shelf. It clinked against one of the bottles. She winced, seemingly frightened of the sound. ‘I am not a murderer.’
‘Then who were you talking to? What did you say to Jonny? And what were you doing at the commune?’ Kjeld took a step forward, closing the distance between them so he could get a better look at her face.
‘It had nothing to do with the case. It was a coincidence. I knew Jonny was a Second Life resident, but when I spoke to him I had no idea he was one of the killer’s targets.’
‘What did you talk about?’
Henny bit her lip.
‘If you don’t tell me you could be charged with impeding this investigation. That carries a prison sentence.’
‘It’s not what it looks like.’
‘You think your life is miserable because you lock yourself up in these beautifully furnished rooms? Wait until you’re in a cell no bigger than a garden shed.’
‘I was talking to him because I want to go back!’
Kjeld lowered his brows. Henny was shaking, her hands clenched together in front of her chest, fingers anxiously rubbing against each other. For a moment the sleeve of her turtleneck rolled up and he got a glimpse of a deep scar on her wrist. Her eyes welled up, threatening tears, but she refused to let them fall. Instead she pressed her hands to her eyes, waiting until her heaving breaths subsided before dropping them to her sides.
‘What do you mean you want to go back?’
‘I used to be a member of Second Life,’ she whispered. ‘After my attack. I didn’t know what to do anymore. I didn’t want to live. I was afraid to go anywhere. Second Life took me in. They helped me find a path back to myself. They gave me focus and a reason to go on. People think that survivors should be grateful. They should feel lucky for being spared death. Something horrible happens to you and people see you differently. Friends and family can’t understand why you can’t be happy. Why you can’t just turn around and be the person you were before the event that changed you. They take their safety for granted. They don’t realise that it’s so much harder to live. Death would have been so much easier than the pain that follows.’
Henny took a deep breath. ‘That’s what I was talking to Jonny about. About going back to the commune. But I was afraid. It’s been years. What if they didn’t want me again? What if I’d lost my chance?’
Kjeld felt a twinge of guilt as Henny told her story. It didn’t excuse the things she’d done and it didn’t change his hatred of her, but it did strike a poignant chord with him. Perhaps he didn’t understand her tragedy exactly, but he understood the pain of carrying the past with him. And the fear that he’d never be rid of it.
‘It’s possible that Jonny was trying to recruit Louisa Karlsson to Second Life. We think she may have attended a few meetings.’
Henny blinked out of her daze. ‘What?’
‘And there is some speculation that Andrea Nicolescu might have been involved in the drug trafficking that Second Life is being investigated for.’
Kjeld watched Henny closely for a reaction to that revelation, but her expression didn’t change.
‘And you’re certain the voice of the man who called you couldn’t have been from someone at the commune?’
Henny frowned, deep lines forming between her brows as she thought. ‘I don’t know.’
‘What about Brother Björk?’
‘Brother Björk? No, he would never. He’s not that kind of man. He’s peaceful. He’s—’
‘Charming? Convincing? Manipulative?’
Henny peered at him.
‘Could he be the voice?’
‘Maybe. I don’t know. It’s been so long since I’ve spoken to him.’
‘But you were at the commune for at least an hour this morning.’
‘It doesn’t work like that. You can’t just get an audience with him because you want to. You have to go through the steps. You have to be one of them. I left years ago. And they don’t forget that. It’s not a betrayal so much as a sign of weakness. I was weak. So was Jonny.’ Henny hung her head. ‘I tried to convince Sister Löv to let me speak with him, but she said I wasn’t ready. That’s who I was talking to on the phone at the coffee shop. And that’s why I did the broadcast. I thought it might make Brother Björk change his mind. That’s how it is with their philosophy. You have to be ready before you can move on to the next step. You have to give up your old life. I clearly have not.’
Kjeld crossed his arms over his chest and paced the width of the handcrafted floor rug. He still felt as though he were missing a piece of the puzzle, but he knew there were answers at Second Life. But if Henny couldn’t get a conversation with the commune’s leader, how could he?
‘How did you get past the police watching the commune? Surely they would have recognised you.’
A small smirk tugged at the corner of Henny�
�s lips. ‘There’s another path through the forest. You can’t find it by following the main road. You have to know where it is.’
‘I want to get into that commune.’
‘Even if you got in, nobody would talk to you.’
‘I assume Brother Björk has an office. A place where he conducts his business. A place where he meets people when they are ready.’
‘He does, but it isn’t easy to get to. It’ll be guarded. He’s a little paranoid.’
‘What else would I expect of a cult leader?’
‘It’s not a cult.’
‘That’s what people keep telling me.’
Henny pursed her lips. ‘All right. I’ll show you how to get into the commune, but I want something in return.’
‘What’s that?’
‘An interview. An exclusive with you on the Kattegat Killer. No holds barred. Nothing is off limits. I want to know everything.’
Kjeld stopped his pacing. This was not a deal he wanted to make. But Tove’s life was on the line. He didn’t have a choice.
‘Fine. But if I do that then you retract everything disparaging you’ve posted about my department. And you take down the photos of my daughter.’
‘Agreed.’ Henny held out her hand.
Kjeld hesitated before clasping her hand in his own. He knew it was a bad arrangement. Somehow Henny would figure out a way to turn it on him, as she did everything else. But if giving her one little interview saved Tove’s life, then it would be worth it. And he’d deal with the consequences later.
Chapter 64
Kjeld followed Henny’s vehicle from her apartment to the Änggårdsbergen Nature Reserve. When she didn’t take the same exit he had the previous time through Gunnilse, he thought she might have been jerking his chain. But a few minutes later she turned off the main street and onto a narrow strip of dirt road that stretched through the trees. Before she drove too far into the forest, however, she pulled the car off to the side and parked. Kjeld pulled up behind her. Henny climbed out of the car and made her way over to his driver’s side window. He rolled it down.
‘This is as far as I’m going,’ she said. ‘If anyone sees me here so soon after the last time, they might not talk to me again.’
‘How much further is it?’
‘You can drive another kilometre before the road ends. There’s a fallen tree. You have to walk the rest of the way.’
‘In which direction?’
‘It’s an almost straight shot from the road. There’s a row of birch trees about halfway. Keep them to your left. There isn’t a path, but you might be able to make out footprints because of the rain. You’ll come upon some warning signs for guard dogs just before the commune. That’s just for show. They’re trying to discourage people from sneaking in and taking photographs.’
‘What about the commune itself? I won’t be able to walk through the front door. They’ll remember me.’
‘The exterior wall is shorter on the northern stretch. I’m sure you’ll find a way to climb over it.’
‘Which building is Björk’s office in?’
‘The second floor of the communal cabin. The same building where they have group meditations.’
The beanbag building. Kjeld had already been there once. That would make it easier.
Henny started for her car and Kjeld canted his head out the window to call back at her. ‘Thanks, Henny.’
She stopped and glanced back at him. Kjeld expected to see a sneer on her lips, but there was an uncommon sympathy on her face instead. Esme was right. A child in danger changed everything. ‘Don’t thank me. Just don’t forget about what you owe me.’
Henny climbed back in her car and drove off.
Just as Henny said, the road ended after another kilometre. Kjeld turned the vehicle around in the small patch of dirt so it was facing back down the road before he got out and headed out into the woods.
His pace was quick, spurred on by the worry for his daughter. Kjeld tried not to think about what the killer had planned for her. Ever since he’d learned about Tove’s kidnapping he’d tried to mentally focus his priorities into simple well-defined compartments in order to prevent himself from losing track of what he needed to do. First, he had to get into the commune. Then he had to speak to Brother Björk. If his instincts were correct then that conversation might illuminate some of the discrepancies in the case. And, if he was lucky, it might even lead him to the killer. Kjeld wasn’t entirely convinced that Tove might be held at the commune – even if much of the evidence seemed to point to them – but he hoped.
He increased his hike to a jog, zigzagging in between trees and over large stones, mindful to keep the birch trees to his left. The mossy ground was damp from the week’s rainfall, but he didn’t see any footprints. Henny better not have led him astray. Kjeld didn’t have any time to waste. Every minute that passed was another minute closer to the killer’s plans for Tove.
Assuming the killer hadn’t already carried them out.
He shook the thought away.
Ten minutes after passing the guard dog signs nailed to the trees he came upon the commune.
And true to Henny’s word, the northern portion of the fence was at least two feet lower, as though they’d run out of longer planks during construction and weren’t concerned about trespassers wandering in from the forest. Kjeld jumped, high enough to see over the fence, and checked for any onlookers. Then he grabbed hold of the top of the planks and pulled himself up. A minute later he was over the fence on the other side.
Kjeld crept towards the back of the communal building that he and Esme had been in earlier that week. A large rain cloud passed overhead, darkening the ground beneath his feet and obscuring the afternoon hour. The murmur of voices caught his attention and he ducked down, waiting as two women left via the front door and crossed the lawn to one of the more barrack-styled buildings.
Just get in and find Björk, he reminded himself. Once the man was in front of him he’d have to talk.
Kjeld stood up and made his way around the opposite side of the house. When he turned the corner, however, a large shadow swung at him. His head buzzed with pain for a split second. And then everything went dark.
Chapter 65
Kjeld’s feet dragged along behind him as the two men lugged him into the room. They dropped him into a chair and his eyes slowly blinked open. His head throbbed and it took a few moments before the disorientated blur of his vision came into focus. Once it did he found himself face-to-face with Brother Björk, whose dark and scornful expression looked considerably less peaceful than it had the last time they’d spoken.
‘I’m afraid Brothers Alm and Ceder were a little too enthusiastic when they knocked you over the head. They don’t often get the opportunity to catch trespassers.’
Kjeld glanced at the two men who stood side by side near the doorway. They, like Brother Björk, were dressed in khaki-coloured tunics and green slacks. The garments gave them the appearance of beachside masseuses at a tropical resort. Or maybe yoga instructors from a private spa. But judging from their rugged hard-bitten faces, arm-length tattoos, and Alm’s rigid right hook, Kjeld didn’t think they were much into the world of spiritual or physical healing.
‘Alm and Ceder? Don’t you think you’re going a little overboard with the tree names? Besides, with arms like that they look more like redwoods.’
Björk laughed. ‘They do, don’t they?’ He waved dismissively to the two men. They left the room, closing the door behind them.
Kjeld pressed the heel of his palm to his temple to ease the throb in his head. Then he turned his attention back to Björk.
‘I hope you don’t mind, I had your pockets checked before you were brought in.’
Kjeld caught a glimpse of his service weapon sitting on the desk and clenched his teeth.
Björk picked up his police identification. ‘You’re not the first detective to try to seek an audience with me on their own terms, but I have to give you props for be
ing the most creative. No one’s ever climbed the fence before. That goes against protocol, doesn’t it?’
‘Does it?’ Kjeld knew it wasn’t wise to be flippant, but Björk irked him and he didn’t have time for pleasantries.
Björk chortled again, but the laugh quickly turned into a throaty cough. He picked up a tissue from his desk and hacked into it. Then he wadded the tissue up into a ball and tossed it in a bin. ‘Did you think that by sneaking in through the back we wouldn’t notice? I’ve known about your friends out on the main road for weeks. It’s hard to keep a secret when the media is crawling all over you. Nobody is interested in drug trafficking. Not when the police department could be staffed with cold-blooded killers. Besides, surely if there was something to find they would have found it by now.’
Kjeld shook his head. ‘I’m not interested in any of that.’
Björk raised a brow. ‘No? The state of your vehicle says otherwise.’
Kjeld blinked. ‘That was you?’
‘Not me. I haven’t left the commune in months. But my associates don’t have patience for people getting between them and their profits. The bomb was supposed to be a warning. But now that you’re here …’
‘I’m just looking for my daughter.’ Kjeld clenched his jaw. He couldn’t let his anger at discovering Björk’s men were behind the car bomb on his vehicle distract him. He had to find Tove.
‘Your daughter? You look a little young to have a daughter old enough to be one of our members.’
‘She was kidnapped by the same person who murdered Louisa Karlsson and Jonny Lindh. And I suspect that person may also be responsible for the death of Andrea Nicolescu, who I’m almost certain was involved in your side business – the one my colleagues out on the main road are interested in.’
Björk gave Kjeld a scrutinising stare before sitting down on the edge of his desk, but he didn’t say anything.
‘Tell me what these murders have to do with Second Life. I know they’re connected. I know someone from here is responsible.’ Kjeld glared at Björk, his patience waning. ‘Tell me where my daughter is.’
