Silenced: A Novel

by Kristina Ohlsson

  ‘No,’ said Alex deliberately. ‘No, we don’t. On the other hand, we don’t know exactly what we think did happen, either.’

  Fredrika looked doubtful.

  ‘I’ve been thinking a bit about the Ahlbin sisters,’ she said. ‘And I’m starting to wonder if we’ve made a mistake in separating the two oddities, so to speak.’

  The others looked blank, and Fredrika made haste to explain.

  ‘We keep talking as though the obscure elements in the case have nothing to do with each other. Jakob Ahlbin seems to have shot his wife and then himself, but we still don’t believe it. Johanna Ahlbin seems to have vanished from the face of the Earth, but we don’t know for sure. And there are various reasons for suspecting irregularities in the matter of Karolina Ahlbin’s death, but there, too, we don’t know exactly what may have gone wrong.’

  Fredrika paused for breath.

  ‘What if they’re all interconnected? That’s all I wanted to say.’

  With his chin propped in one hand, Alex looked ten years older than he really was.

  ‘Well,’ he began, ‘I’m pretty sure nobody here has been imagining things aren’t interconnected, the problem is that we can’t quite see how. What thoughts did you have?’

  ‘I thought it might not have been Karolina who died,’ said Fredrika, squirming a little. ‘I know it sounds mad, of course.’

  ‘But she was identified by her own sister,’ said Peder, frowning. ‘And she had her driving licence on her.’

  ‘But how hard is it to get hold of a fake driving licence if you need to?’ asked Fredrika. ‘And what are the odds of a doctor finding out it isn’t genuine? Karolina Ahlbin was identified by a sister whom we haven’t seen hide or hair of since. And if Karolina’s still alive, we know we haven’t seen her either. And that’s the crucial problem, as I see it. Why aren’t they getting in touch, even though the story’s all over the media?’

  No one said anything. They had all seen that morning’s papers – full of whole-page articles telling the Ahlbin family’s story. This time the journalists had managed to find pictures of the two girls, too.

  ‘WHERE IS JOHANNA AHLBIN?’ shrieked one of the headlines, suggesting something could have happened to her, too.

  ‘I hear what you’re saying,’ Alex said to Fredrika, ‘and of course – you may be right. But there could be less dramatic explanations for these anomolies. Karolina Ahlbin hasn’t been in touch for the simple reason that she’s dead, and Johanna because she hasn’t found out what’s happened yet. But I agree – if she hasn’t come forward by the middle of the week we’ll have to take other steps.’

  ‘You don’t think anything could have happened to her, do you?’ asked Joar.

  ‘Either that or it’s like Fredrika says, and she’s got reasons of her own to keep away from the police.’

  He turned to Fredrika.

  ‘Over to something else,’ he said. ‘You made a very good point about the content of the emails and the fact that Tony Svensson could have been contacted by whoever wrote the emails that weren’t sent from his own computer. I had a word with the prosecutor and we can bring him in again. I want Joar and Peder to interview him together.’

  He raised his eyes, and there was anger in them.

  ‘Together,’ he said. ‘Understood?’

  The two men nodded.

  ‘Fredrika’s tackling the library in Farsta,’ Alex went on. ‘And I want us to keep chipping away at the circumstances surrounding Karolina’s death. See if anyone’s shown an interest in the body; there’ll have to be a funeral and so on. Maybe she had some bloke we haven’t heard about yet. Get back in touch with the hospital and keep damn well digging.’

  Fredrika nodded and looked happy with that.

  Alex looked around him distractedly.

  ‘I think that’s it for now,’ he said.

  ‘But what about the officer?’ Peder objected. ‘The one with the Norrmalm Police, that Tony Svensson was in touch with?’

  ‘I’ll deal with that myself,’ said Alex. ‘We’ll have another meeting here at four o’clock this afternoon.’

  They were interrupted by a vigorous knock, and a detective from the Stockholm CID put his head round the door.

  ‘I’ve just got some information to pass on about Muhammad Abdullah, who you and Fredrika went to see in Skärholmen last week,’ he said, his eyes on Alex.

  ‘Oh yes?’ said Alex, none too pleased by the interruption.

  ‘He’s dead,’ the detective said. ‘He had to go out on some sort of business yesterday, and he didn’t come back. His wife alerted the police last night but she didn’t get any help until this morning. He was found shot in the head in a car park not far from where they live.’

  Fredrika felt dismay and sorrow. The man had been pleasant and cooperative, despite feeling under threat. And now he was gone.

  Alex swallowed.

  ‘Well I’ll be damned,’ he said quietly.

  ‘And that’s not all,’ said the visitor. ‘Yesterday evening, a jogger came across a dead body that had been dumped in the water at Brunnsviken, where the jogging track follows the shoreline. The man hasn’t been identified, but initial indications are that he was shot with the same weapon as Muhammad Abdullah.’

  It had been a long and trying night for Alex, lying sleepless beside his wife, hour after hour. Thoughts of Lena seared him like fire. He had promised himself to try and talk to her over the weekend, but had not been up to it. Or had not dared.

  What if she’s ill, what if it’s Alzheimer’s, he thought dully. What the hell will I do then?’

  The fear of it paralysed him. He wished she would tell him what was wrong, since he was too weak to make the first move.

  Fredrika came charging in, stomach first. She was back up to speed now, with only a month to go until her due date.

  ‘I just wanted to tell you I’m off to the hospital now.’

  ‘Sounds like a good start,’ said Alex.

  ‘I rang Farsta Library, too,’ she went on, ‘and they promised to get back to me. They haven’t got the data stored on computer so they were going to look it up in their log book.’

  A man from the technical division knocked on the door behind Fredrika.

  ‘Yes?’ Alex demanded.

  ‘We spotted something when we were checking out the Ahlbins’ telephone subscription,’ said the technician.

  ‘Uhuh?’

  ‘Notice that they wanted to cancel their landline subscription was sent in writing to Telia a week before the murders, with a request for the subscription to end on Tuesday the 26th of February, that’s to say, the day they died.’

  ‘Who signed the letter?’ asked Alex.

  ‘Jakob Ahlbin himself. And he also rang and cancelled his mobile contract the day he died.’

  ‘And his wife’s mobile?’

  The technician cleared his throat.

  ‘That was active until last Wednesday morning, and then the contract was terminated. We don’t know who by.’

  ‘Has anyone rung it?’ asked Alex.

  The technician nodded.

  ‘In the time since we’ve had it here, the mobile operator has only registered two incoming calls: one from an unidentified number in Bangkok and one from a parishioner who clearly didn’t know she was dead.’

  ‘Bangkok?’ Fredrika echoed in surprise.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘So he cancelled his phone subscription,’ Alex said. ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘If it was him who did it,’ Fredrika put in.

  ‘Just so, if it was him who did it . . .’

  ‘Which it probably wasn’t,’ Fredrika went on. ‘It seems more likely, doesn’t it, that it was the same person who cancelled Marja’s, a bit later?’

  ‘It’s perfectly possible to cancel another person’s telephone subscription,’ the technician put in. ‘The only information they ask for, to check it’s the subscriber ringing, is basic stuff like national identity number and home address.’


  Alex nodded and knitted his brows.

  ‘The question is,’ he said irascibly, ‘why the hell was that so important? Cutting off their phones?’

  The technician withdrew and a cleaner passed by in the corridor. Fredrika nodded to him that it was fine to do her office.

  Alex picked up the report of the two fatal shootings the night before. The man found in the water at Brunnsviken had probably died only an hour or so before the jogger found him. The murderer might very well not have thought anyone would be out jogging in Haga Park at midnight, and not expected the body to be found so soon. As for Muhammad Abdullah, he had died about two hours before the other man.

  Same weapon, same perpetrator, Alex wondered. A peripatetic murderer, then.

  As if reading his thoughts, Fredrika said:

  ‘I think we can assume it was the same perpetrator in both cases.’

  Alex waited a moment and then asked:

  ‘And the link to Jakob Ahlbin? If there is one?’

  ‘Yes, I think there must be one,’ said Fredrika, looking thoughtful.

  Then she said:

  ‘I think they both needed silencing, and that’s the link.’

  Alex’s eyes grew wide.

  ‘But why?’

  ‘That’s what I don’t get,’ Fredrika said frustratedly. ‘Muhammad Abdullah was open with us about being scared when we met him, and with hindsight we know he had reason to be. And Jakob Ahlbin seems to have had reason to be fearful, too, but the question is whether he was aware of it himself.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Alex. ‘And why was Muhammad Abdullah so bloody petrified, in fact? Well, because he was convinced he’d had sensitive information entrusted to him, and because he was scared the police were going to start looking into his connections with the traffickers.’

  ‘And he had time to pass the sensitive information about the new migrant-smuggling network on to Jakob,’ Fredrika supplied.

  ‘One of those emails told Jakob to stop looking. Does that mean he was actively seeking out information that he should have steered clear of?’

  ‘Seems a fair assumption.’

  ‘But can that really be the link?’ Alex said dubiously. ‘I mean, it sounded like something positive for the refugees that there might be this cheaper, better alternative that would mean not having to put themselves into the hands of corrupt gangsters.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ said Fredrika. ‘It really would be odd if people smuggling refugees on generous terms went in for killing vicars at the same time.’

  The cleaner had finished and gave Fredrika a little wave as he came back past Alex’s room. Then something else occurred to her.

  ‘The man who was killed by the car outside the university,’ she said.

  ‘The murdered bank robber?’ queried Alex.

  ‘Yes, him,’ said Fredrika. ‘He had supposedly come into the country that “new” way, according to Muhammad, so it seems quite likely that he had some insight into how it operated. And he was murdered, too.’

  Alex looked doubtful.

  ‘And the man in Haga Park?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Fredrika, feeling her pulse rate rise. ‘But there’s something about that story that feels terribly . . . close . . . I just can’t put my finger on it.’

  Alex stood up and looked at his watch.

  ‘I’m going to try and track down this officer in Norrmalm who had contact with Tony Svensson,’ he said determinedly. ‘And let’s hope the national CID can come up with more detail on these other murders during the day. Meanwhile, you find out all you can about goings on around Karolina’s death.’

  ‘Right, I’ll get straight on with it,’ Fredrika said with equal resolution, and leapt out of her seat with surprising agility.

  Alex’s face split into a grin. The real Fredrika Bergman was back.

  For the second time in swift succession, Tony Svensson was brought in for police questioning. This time he was rather less cooperative, and stared mutinously at Peder Rydh and Joar Sahlin as they came into the interview room.

  ‘I’ve said everything there is to say,’ he bellowed. ‘You hear? I’m not saying another word, I tell you!’

  Then he planted himself on his seat, folded his arms and glowered at them.

  Behind that façade of strength and cockiness, Peder could see something else: fear. He hoped it would not pass the clueless Joar by.

  Peder was quite happy with the way his week had started. He loved it when things started hotting up at work, it was a good distraction from all the painful private stuff. Recent developments on the case had also meant a postponement of his appointment with the workplace psychologist.

  ‘We’ll get going on that when there’s time,’ Alex ruled, and promised he would personally ring Margareta Berlin, head of HR.

  So Peder was able to focus exclusively on Tony Svensson.

  ‘We’ve just got a few follow-up questions,’ he said quietly.

  Tony Svensson continued to look furious.

  ‘I’m saying nothing,’ he hissed.

  Not true, thought Peder sarcastically, you’re talking non-stop.

  ‘Is there any special reason for that?’ asked Joar.

  He’s got it, thought Peder. The question is whether he’s going to fritter our advantage away again.

  ‘Is there any special reason for what?’ snapped Tony Svensson.

  He clearly had the will to communicate after all – he just wanted some guarantees.

  ‘Is there any special reason why you’re refusing to talk to us any more?’ Joar asked slowly.

  No reaction. Tony Svensson’s mouth was clamped shut.

  ‘I think it was like this,’ said Joar, leaning across the table. ‘You felt pretty calm last time you were here, because you knew we only wanted to talk about what you had against Jakob Ahlbin, and because you knew that would all sort itself out. It wasn’t you who sent those last emails and you knew we’d find that out sooner or later.’

  Joar took his time, trying to read in Tony’s face whether he was getting through.

  ‘But this time you’re scared, because we want to talk about something else all of a sudden, and you know as well as we do that there aren’t that many subjects we’d want to ask you about.’

  He leant back in his chair again, giving Tony his cue to speak by adjusting the balance of power at the table. But Tony said nothing and his face was hard to read.

  ‘We think you went round to Jakob Ahlbin’s because he was interfering in your affairs again, and we think somebody else sent you to do that,’ Peder said softly. ‘And the only thing we want and need to know is who your contact was and what you were supposed to do or say.’

  He tried to catch Tony Svensson’s eye, running one hand across the table as if to brush away some invisible speck of dirt.

  ‘Jakob Ahlbin and his wife were shot in the head,’ he said in a businesslike tone, but keeping his voice low to encourage a feeling of mutual confidence. ‘My colleague and I will find it very hard not to tie you into this investigation on suspicion of being an accessory to murder, unless you can give us some good reasons not to.’

  Tony Svensson still refused to speak, and his solicitor put a discreet hand on his lower arm. Tony pulled his arm away quickly.

  Shit, thought Peder. They must have put the frighteners on him to a point where he’s more scared of whoever he’s working for than he is of going to jail for being an accessory to murder.

  ‘What did they say they’d do to you if you blabbed to anyone?’ asked Joar, as if he had read Peder’s mind. ‘Did they threaten to shut you up for good? Or were they going to make do with a good beating?’

  Still no answer, but Peder could see Tony Svensson’s jaws grinding.

  ‘I saw in your paperwork that you’ve got a daughter,’ he ventured.

  And provoked a very physical reaction.

  ‘Don’t you touch her!’ roared Tony Svensson, leaping up. ‘Don’t you touch her!’

&n
bsp; Joar and Peder stayed in their seats.

  ‘Please sit back down,’ Joar said mildly.

  Peder tried to get Tony to look him in the eye.

  ‘Was it her they were going after?’ he asked. ‘Was it her they were going to take if you squealed?’

  Tony Svensson subsided onto his chair like a punctured balloon. He did not look at either of them, just put his elbows on the table and leant his head in his hands.

  ‘Was that it, Tony?’ asked Joar.

  And – finally – got a silent nod in reply.

  Peder breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘We can help her, Tony,’ he said. ‘We can help you both. If you’ll just talk to us.’

  ‘Like hell you can,’ Tony said hoarsely. ‘Don’t you fucking well say you can protect any of us from them. Not a bleeding chance.’

  Peder and Joar looked at each other for the first time in the interview.

  ‘Oh yes we can,’ Peder said assertively. ‘And we can do it well, what’s more. Much better than you could do yourself.’

  Tony Svensson gave a weary laugh.

  ‘If you believe that, then you haven’t got a fucking clue about all this,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘My only protection, my only bloody hope of surviving this and getting my daughter through it unharmed, is to not talk to you. Have you got that? If you really want to save me, you fucking well let me out of here right now.’

  A chair scraped on the floor as the solicitor made a slight movement.

  ‘All we need is a name,’ said Joar. ‘That’s all – then we’ll take care of the rest of it.’

  ‘If you get your fucking name, there won’t be any “the rest of it”,’ bellowed Tony Svensson. ‘I haven’t got a name. I’ve just got a fucking ugly face.’

  ‘But that’s enough,’ said Peder. ‘Then at least you can identify him. We can give you pictures to look at and if you recognise him . . .’

  Tony Svensson’s harsh laugh cut him off in mid-flow and bounced back off the bare walls.

  ‘Look at pictures,’ he said dejectedly. ‘You lot are fucking floundering and you don’t even know it. It’s not somebody like me you’re looking for, you fucking numbskulls.’