The lights were turned off, and Knutas pressed a button to display the pictures, one after another, on a screen. No one else in the room said a word.
“First we have the pictures of Helena Hillerstrom, who was killed on June fifth. As you can see, the body was subjected to a brutal assault. No one part of the body was attacked more than any other, and none of the violence was directed at her sexual organs.”
A close-up of Helena Hillerstrom appeared on the screen.
“Fucking hell,” muttered Norrby.
“Next we have the second homicide victim,” Knutas went on. “Frida Lindh, who was killed early yesterday morning. Ten days after the first murder. Her body was found in the cemetery. Frida Lindh was also naked. In this case, the victim lost a lot more blood, as you can see. She, too, suffered multiple wounds. Again there are no external signs of sexual assault.”
“What could the panties in the mouth mean?” asked Wittberg, half to himself. “Why does he do that?”
“It’s certainly damn strange,” Kihlgard agreed. “Did the murderer know these women? Did he have sexual relations with them? Did they break up with him, and so he wanted revenge? Or is this about a killer who hates women in general?”
Kihlgard fell silent and stuffed a piece of chocolate cookie into his mouth. Little crumbs sprinkled onto his lap.
Knutas was seized with disgust, and he wondered how the man could eat at a time like this. He turned off the projector. “We have to figure out what the connection is between the two victims. If there is one.”
He kept on talking in the dark. “This is what we know so far about what the two women had in common: Both of them had strong ties to Stockholm and Gotland. Helena Hillerstrom was born and raised here, and her family still has a summer house on the island, which she visited at least a couple of times a year. She also has relatives and lots of friends here. Frida Lindh came from Stockholm, but she was married to a man from Gotland. About a year ago, she and her family moved here and settled in Sodervarn. According to her husband, they wanted to try living on Gotland because he’s from here and his family lives here. We don’t yet know whether the two victims knew each other. Both women were in their mid-thirties. There was only a year’s difference in age between them. And they were both attractive. That’s about all we know right now.
“What I want us to do is form a work group to map out the lives of the two women, including the people they knew. A second group will be assigned to check on the murderers and assailants who are known in Sweden, concentrating on Stockholm. Do any of them have ties to Gotland? We have the eyes of the whole nation on us at the moment. Not to mention the mass media. As of right now, we’re going to put all our efforts into catching this killer before another murder occurs. I’ve asked for reinforcements from the NCP in Stockholm. We’re going to split up into two teams: internal and external. Kihlgard and Hansson will assist us, especially with the interviews and with charting assailants found in police records. A few officers from here will need to go to Stockholm again. The perpetrator could just as well be over there as here on the island.”
“It’s actually rather likely that the murderer lives in Stockholm,” said Wittberg. “Helena Hillerstrom came to Gotland only a few times a year, and she was here only a few days before he struck. Frida Lindh lived in Stockholm until a year ago. It seems very possible that they met him over there. They might have had an affair with him. Maybe it was still going on. Do we know whether Frida Lindh ever went over to Stockholm? How many times has she been back there since they moved? Maybe she went there to visit relatives and had an affair at the same time.”
“In that case, he’s smart to kill the women over here. That puts the focus on Gotland, and he can go back to Stockholm in peace and quiet,” said Norrby.
“Are we sure that she had never met the man in the bar at the Monk’s Cellar before? Maybe she was just pretending she didn’t know him for the sake of her girlfriends. What if they already had some sort of relationship going on?” Sohlman suggested.
“He could also be a customer,” interjected Jacobsson. “Frida Lindh worked in a beauty salon at Ostercentrum, the one that’s in the gallery near the Obs supermarket. She could have met him there. It’s a really vulnerable type of work. Any lunatic could have been spying on her for days without her knowing it.”
“That’s a possibility, of course,” Knutas conceded. “We haven’t yet talked to her colleagues at work. Could you follow up on that at the hairdresser’s?”
Jacobsson nodded as she jotted a note on her pad of paper.
“As I see it, this might very well involve a madman who chooses his victims at random,” said Kihlgard. “Maybe it was just bad luck for Helena Hillerstrom that she happened to be on Gotland when he decided to start his killing spree. He caught sight of her somewhere, followed her, and waited for the right opportunity. As simple as that.”
“If that’s true, it’s just too awful,” said Jacobsson. “That means that he could strike any woman, at any time.”
An uncomfortable tension spread through the room. They were all thinking about their wives, girlfriends, sisters, and female friends. No one was safe.
“We can sit here and speculate forever,” Knutas snapped. “Right now we need to deal with the facts.” He glanced at his watch. “Okay, we’ll stop here for the time being. As you know, the press conference is at three. We’ll meet afterward and discuss how to divide up the work. Shall we say five o’clock?”
Karin Jacobsson and Anders Knutas went over to a pizzeria a few blocks from police headquarters. They ate their food quickly and in silence. After almost fifteen years of working together, they understood each other very well. Sometimes they joked about themselves as the hard-working older couple, even though there was a big age difference between them. Karin Jacobsson would be thirty-eight this year, while Anders Knutas was forty-nine. He thought she was charming. He had always thought so. The big gap between her front teeth never prevented her from being quick to laugh. Many times when they worked together, he thought it was her laugh that carried her through. Her male colleagues were not always easy to deal with, especially not when Karin was the newcomer in the group. The fact that she was unusually short, only five foot one, didn’t help matters. It made her male colleagues act even more like big brothers toward her. But she had proven herself to be a smart and no-nonsense colleague, and she quickly won their respect.
Karin swallowed the last bite of her pizza. “What are you thinking about?” she asked.
“The man at the inn. Frida Lindh sat and talked to him for over an hour. The question is: Who is he? He ought to come forward when he hears about the murder.”
“Did they leave together?”
“No. Apparently he left the restaurant about half an hour before the others did. According to her friends, Frida was alone when she got on her bike to head home.”
“What do you think about the idea that both Helena and Frida might have had an affair with the same man? Maybe even the one that Frida met at the Monk?”
“Of course that’s always possible. Even though they don’t seem to have been raped, the motive could still very well be sexual. The panties indicate as much. But what’s so damn strange is the part about the different types of weapons. First an axe, then a knife. I wonder why.”
“It’s incomprehensible,” Jacobsson agreed. “Maybe he’s just doing it to mess with our minds.”
Knutas leaned back in his chair. “I wonder whether we shouldn’t be concentrating on Stockholm, in any case. That’s certainly where they might have met the murderer. Then he decides to kill them on Gotland to throw us off the scent. He wants us to be looking over here.”
“We still need to check up on Frida’s customers,” Jacobsson pointed out. “It could be one of them. She hadn’t worked here very long-I think only five or six months-and she hadn’t lived here more than a year. All her acquaintances were new. Of course the killer could be from Stockholm, but he still had to have spent some time on
Gotland to spy on them, to find out where they lived, what their routines were, and where they usually went. I think it all seems very well planned.”
“I agree. I actually do think that the murders were premeditated, but we still need to keep all avenues open. It’s too easy to get locked into one idea. The whole thing is damned unpleasant,” said Knutas, shaking his head. “Do you have time for a quick cup of coffee?”
“Sure, thanks. With milk. No sugar.”
“I know.” He rolled his eyes. They had had countless cups of coffee together.
Johan didn’t care anymore. Even though he knew full well that he shouldn’t do it, he was going to call her. Contrary to all expectations, he was back on Gotland, and he had spent too much time thinking about Emma to be able to ignore his desire to call her. His feelings were too strong. He sat on the bed in his hotel room, torturing himself. It doesn’t have to mean anything, he thought. We could just talk for a while. That can’t be so dangerous. Soon he would have to leave for the press conference, and after that he’d be working full steam for the rest of the day and night. He knew that.
He picked up the phone and punched in her number.
It rang once, then twice.
Shit, he thought. To hell with the whole thing. What if her husband answers? But he didn’t hang up the phone.
“Emma Winarve.”
A joyous warmth spread through his body when he heard her voice.
“Hi, it’s me. Johan Berg. From Regional News. How are you?”
Three seconds of silence. He clenched his teeth so as not to panic.
“I’m okay. Are you here on Gotland?” she asked.
He thought he detected a touch of happy surprise in her voice.
“I’ve just come back. The second murder, you know. What are you doing right now? Am I disturbing you?”
“Not at all, don’t worry. Olle took the children to the swimming pool. How are things with you?”
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said, and held his breath.
“Really?” she said hesitantly.
He could have bitten his tongue off. Shit.
“I’ve been thinking about you, too,” she added.
He could breathe again.
“Could we get together?” he suggested.
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Just for a short time?”
Now that a hope had been lit, he was his usual self again, persistent and single-minded. “How about later tonight?”
“No, I can’t. Maybe tomorrow. I have to go into town anyway.”
“Tomorrow would be great.”
The room where the press conference was going to be held was full to bursting when Anders Knutas and Karin Jacobsson entered several minutes before it was scheduled to start. This time not only the local media was represented but also the morning papers that covered national news, the evening papers, the TT wire service, Eko radio news, several commercial TV channels, and the state-run Swedish TV. Johan Berg and Peter Bylund from Regional News were there as well.
The air was buzzing with voices. The reporters settled into the rows of chairs, clicking their ballpoint pens and rustling the pages of their notebooks. Some of them were outfitted with radio gear. The guys with their big TV cameras took up strategic positions and adjusted their equipment. Microphones were set up, one after another, along the dais.
The onslaught of journalists had forced the investigative team to change rooms at the last minute. They were now sitting in the big conference hall in a different section of police headquarters. Eva Eriksson, the county governor, had called to say that she would attend.
I wonder what she’s doing here? thought Knutas as he made his way through the crowd. Already seated on the dais were Martin Kihlgard and the county police commissioner.
The murmuring in the room ceased as Knutas welcomed everyone. He introduced himself and his colleagues seated next to him and then started off with a brief report about the latest murder. The police were trying to be generous with the amount of information they would share. At the same time, it was important not to release any details that might hamper the investigation. It was a difficult balancing act.
When he was done, he opened the floor to questions.
“Are there any similarities between this homicide and the murder of Helena Hillerstrom?” one reporter asked.
“Yes, there are certain similarities, but I’m afraid I can’t go into any further detail about that now.”
“Obviously the same weapon couldn’t have been used,” said the reporter from one of the local papers, sounding very sure of himself. “But was the same type of weapon used this time? Was the latest victim also killed with an axe?”
“No. The latest murder was committed with a sharp instrument.”
“You mean a knife?” asked Johan.
“As to what type of sharp instrument, it’s too soon to say.”
“Are there any witnesses?” wondered the reporter from Gotlands Tidningar.
“At this time, it appears that no one saw or heard anything. We’re still in the process of interviewing a large number of people.”
“Do you suspect that it’s the same perpetrator as before?”
“Both yes and no. There are certain things that indicate it might be someone else-for example, the fact that the killer used a different kind of weapon. Other circumstances point to one perpetrator, so at the present time we don’t know. Of course we can’t rule out that possibility.”
“Have you found any connection between the victims, other than that they’re both women about the same age?”
“I can’t go into that right now, for the sake of the investigation, but I can tell you this much: Both women had ties to Stockholm and to Gotland.”
“Could the killer have come over from Stockholm?”
“Certainly.”
“Why aren’t you looking for him there?”
“We are.”
“Where?”
“I can’t answer that. I’m sure you’ll understand why.”
“Are there any similarities in the MO of the killers?” asked Johan.
“I can’t comment on that.”
There was a great deal of frustration among the reporters, but Knutas was unyielding. The investigative team had decided not to reveal anything about the way in which Frida Lindh was killed. That left the field wide open for speculation.
“Are we dealing with a serial killer here?” asked the woman from Radio Gotland.
“It’s much too early to say. We have no idea,” said Knutas.
“But you wouldn’t rule it out?”
“Of course not.”
“What’s going to happen to the boyfriend of the first victim?” the reporter from the local radio station continued.
“He’s going to be released from custody. He’s no longer a suspect.”
A murmur spread through the room.
“Why not?” the radio reporter asked.
“I’m afraid I can’t comment on that.”
“How can you be so sure he’s innocent?”
“We can’t divulge anything about our reasons for letting him go. The only thing I can tell you is that the boyfriend is no longer suspected of having anything to do with the murder in Frojel,” repeated Knutas, whose face was starting to flush with annoyance.
“That must mean that you think the same person committed both murders,” Johan ventured. “The murder of the woman in the cemetery couldn’t have been committed by Per Bergdal, since he was being held under arrest in Visby.”
“As I’ve said several times, we can’t go into any further details about the circumstances,” said Knutas, forcing himself to remain calm.
Johan dropped the matter of the perpetrator.
“What about the murder weapon? Was it found?” he asked instead.
“No.”
“What are the police doing now?” asked the reporter from Eko.
“We’ll be getting additional reinforcements from the
National Criminal Police. We’re conducting extensive searches and trying to come up with any points of connection between the two victims.”
“Did the victims know each other?” asked another TV reporter.
“No, not according to the information we have now. We’re in the process of checking their backgrounds.”
Almost an hour later, after all the journalists had finished their individual interviews, Knutas hurried out of the conference room. The governor took his arm.
“Have you got a minute?”
“Of course,” he said wearily.
He turned to lead the way to his office and closed the door behind them.
“This is a very serious situation,” said Eriksson, who was a vigorous woman of fifty-five or so. Normally she was outgoing and cheerful, but right now there were signs of great anxiety on her face. With a sigh she sank down onto the visitors’ sofa in Knutas’s office, then took off her glasses and wiped her brow with a handkerchief.
“This is a very serious situation,” she repeated. “Here we are in the middle of June. Everyone is hard at work preparing for the tourist season at all the hotels, campgrounds, youth hostels, rental cabins. The reservations are pouring in. For the time being, at any rate. The question is what will happen now. This seems to be a case of a serial killer, and that’s not something that will attract tourists. I’m concerned that these two murders will scare people away.”
“I know,” agreed Knutas, “but there’s not much we can do. None of us wants a killer on the loose.”
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