Eighteen Below

by Stefan Ahnhem

  “Totally sure. That’s him, number three.”

  “Good. Very good,” Fabian said, wondering what to do next. Number three did not look at all like their suspect. But he was the only one, besides their guy, with a shaved head. “I know you have other things to do, but it’s important that you take your time and don’t rush.”

  “What, was that the wrong answer or something?”

  “No, no, not at all. I just wanted to make sure you have no doubt. Because if you do, it’s important to say so. Or if you want any of them to take a step —”

  “You already said that,” Dee interrupted. “That’s him, and just so you know I have no issues with taking the stand and pointing that bastard out.” She raised her hand for a high five, and although it was the last thing he felt like doing, Fabian managed to do it right this time.

  Everything was different with Jeanette Dawn. In addition to the fact that she was the polar opposite of Dee, she was in a state of such sorrow that it was impossible not to feel for her. She was as fragile as the wing of a butterfly. Which wasn’t that surprising, considering that just a few hours ago she had been chained up in the basement with her two boys, convinced that they would never get out alive.

  Tuvesson had already met with her at the hospital, so if nothing unexpected occurred, it would be her turn to stand at the helm while Fabian made sure to keep in the background with Högsell.

  “You should know that we’re extremely grateful that you felt able to come here and do this for us.” Tuvesson took Jeanette’s hand.

  “If it will help you get a conviction,” Jeanette said so quietly it was almost a whisper.

  “That’s what we’re hoping. Please take a seat. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  Jeanette nodded and sat in the chair before the dark window, but when she tried to lift the cup, her hands shook so hard that she had to put it right back down.

  If this was what they had to hang all their hopes on, it was certainly a thin thread, Fabian thought. He was convinced that Högsell was battling to come up with alternative solutions beside him. If the court wasn’t of the opinion that their witness was at her full mental capacity, they would dismiss her opinion as they had Lisbet Palme’s, back when her husband the prime minister was assassinated.

  “Are you okay?” Tuvesson took a seat beside Jeanette and placed a hand on hers.

  Jeanette nodded, but she couldn’t keep from breaking into tears.

  “Listen, I understand if you’re worried that you might not recognize him. But you don’t have to be. It’s not the end of the world. It will all work out some other way. Okay?”

  “Will he be able to see me?”

  “No, he can’t see you or hear you. He won’t even know that it’s you in here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Jeanette, all he will see is a mirror. Come over here, I’ll show you.” Tuvesson pressed the microphone button. “Can you turn on the lights? The witness would like to inspect the room.”

  The lights came on in the adjoining room, and Tuvesson showed Jeanette out through a soundproofed door. “They’ll come in through the door over there on the left, and all they will be able to see is this mirror.” She turned around and pointed at the glass. “You can give it a tap if you want to.”

  Jeanette cautiously knocked on the glass. “The door into our room. Will it be locked?”

  “Absolutely. In addition, this area will be full of guards, so there is nothing to worry about.”

  Jeanette thought for a moment and looked around, then followed Tuvesson back into the witness room.

  “Do you feel ready?”

  Jeanette nodded and sat in the chair.

  “Okay, we’re ready over here,” Tuvesson said into the microphone, and soon thereafter the door in the left-hand corner opened and the nine men were shown in.

  Jeanette sat motionless, staring straight ahead. No one spoke, and after five minutes Fabian found himself wondering if she was even blinking — it turned out she was. The question was whether she was doing anything else. After another five minutes of unnerving quiet, Tuvesson cleared her throat hesitantly.

  “Jeanette, I understand that this is difficult. But is there any one of them that catches your eye a little more than the rest? One you think you might have seen somewhere, but can’t quite place?”

  Jeanette shook her head without moving her eyes.

  “Okay, would you like to ask them to take a step forward, one by one? Or maybe ask some of them to leave the room?”

  Jeanette continued to stare without showing any reaction whatsoever. Tears began to run down her cheeks again.

  “Shall we take a break?” Tuvesson asked, without receiving an answer. “What do you say? Maybe it’s best to stop there, and we can see how you’re feeling tomorrow. How does that sound?”

  “Number five,” Jeanette said, her voice so weak that it was immediately sucked up by the silence.

  “Sorry?”

  “Number five,” Jeanette repeated, now in a clearer voice. “That’s him. The one holding the five.”

  “You’re absolutely positive?”

  Jeanette nodded. “I recognize his eyes.”

  “In what way?”

  “They’re cold and dead. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such cold eyes before. It might sound like a cliché, but Chris’s eyes were warm. Always. Even when he was angry.” Jeanette tried to dry her eyes, but the tears kept coming.

  Tuvesson handed over the packet of tissues as Högsell walked over and pressed the microphone button. “I think we’re finished here.”

  69

  Cliff parked outside Johan Halén’s old house in Viken, stepped out of the car, and put Einstein’s leash on. He had just spoken to Tuvesson, who told him that Jeanette Dawn had picked the perpetrator out of the lineup and that Högsell planned to lay charges on Friday. Like everyone else on the team, he had taken the rest of the evening off.

  The problem was, he couldn’t go home. If he did, he would have to tell Berit about Johan Halén, and then she’d see red again. He was sure of it. On their way home from Sonia’s gallery opening on Thursday, she’d been mad as a hornet.

  Cliff had tried to apologize and even offered to give her a foot massage, but nothing helped and they had fallen asleep on opposite sides of the bed, backs to one another.

  It stayed that way for the rest of the week, and she’d only started speaking to him again after he agreed to take care of Einstein. The thought of ripping open old wounds by telling her she had been right made him want to keep a good distance between himself and his home.

  He approached the white picket fence and gazed up at the charming house while Einstein did his business on the mailbox. A man in plaid shorts, a cap, and hearing protection was cutting the lawn on a riding mower, and two girls between five and eight were hula hooping closer to the house. Further on, a woman was hanging laundry out to dry.

  Cliff wasn’t quite sure what he was doing there. It had been over a year and a half since Johan Halén was killed, so any evidence was almost certainly gone. What’s more, both Elvin and Molander had visited the crime scene back when it happened. Along with Braids, they had come to the faulty conclusion that it was a suicide, but after reading the report, Cliff could find no indication that they had been negligent.

  It had been an unusually cold winter, many degrees below freezing, which had explained why the body in the garage was frozen solid. But that couldn’t have been the only thing they’d missed. There must have been more.

  “I’m sorry, but what are you doing?”

  Cliff turned to the man, realizing only then that the lawnmower had gone silent.

  “You’ve been standing here staring for several minutes,” the man went on. He was unnaturally pale and had quite a few pimples, although he was around forty.

  “I’m sorry. I’m Sverker
Holm, with the Helsingborg police.” Cliff showed his badge and put out his hand.

  “Oh? Hello there.” The man shook Cliff’s hand, but his expression didn’t change.

  “Awfully nice house you’ve got here. I live on the ‘wrong side’ of Höganäsvägen and I can only dream of living down here. I actually had an eye on this very house, you know, just out of curiosity, but I must have missed it when it went on the market.”

  “It was never shown publicly,” the man said, ending with a few short nods of his head as if to emphasize that this topic was exhausted. “So why are you here?”

  “I’m not sure how familiar you are with what happened to the former owner of this place.”

  “You mean Johan Halén.” The man sighed. “We know he killed himself in the garage. Hard to miss that. But that has nothing to do with us.”

  “Of course not. New information has come to light that suggests Halén’s death might not have been a suicide, but —” He stopped and turned to the wife, who had just joined them.

  “Hi. Stephanie,” she said, shaking hands with Cliff.

  “He was interested in the house too,” the man said, giving Cliff a look.

  “Oh! Well, would you like to come in and have a look around? We haven’t got it all totally organized yet, but…”

  “I’d love to,” Cliff said, making sure to avoid the man’s gaze as he stepped through the gate.

  “Oh, so cute!” the two girls chorused, dropping the hula hoops and running over to Einstein. “Can we hold his leash?”

  “Sure, if it’s okay with your mom.”

  “Mom, please. Please…” the girls repeated like a flock of hungry ducks until the woman nodded her assent.

  “You’re welcome to give him a little water, too. I think he’s pretty thirsty.” Cliff handed the leash to the older girl.

  “I’ll get it,” the younger one said, dashing off.

  Cliff immediately recognized the inside of the house from the crime scene photos. He had been surprised at how cold and lifeless the house seemed in them. Maybe it was the art and the blank white surfaces. Or maybe it was the rumour of the hidden sex dungeon Molander had never managed to find.

  “You’ll have to excuse the mess,” the woman said as she showed him around. “But with three kids, we’d need a whole staff to keep any sort of order around here.”

  In contrast to the photographs from the investigation, the place felt like someone actually lived there now; that sacral emptiness was long gone. The rooms were filled with furniture, curtains, and all the trappings that came with having small children. But Cliff wasn’t interested in the ground floor. He had to make his way down to the basement. Maybe those weren’t just rumours after all.

  “So, that’s us.” She turned to him to indicate that the tour was over.

  “Your husband said it was never open for public showings.”

  “No, otherwise we never would have been able to afford it. They wanted a quick sale and were prepared to accept an offer way under asking price. All we could do was say thanks and sign the papers.” She made a move to turn back into the hallway.

  “Well, congratulations,” Cliff said, staying put. “By the way, who was the real estate agent?”

  The woman turned to him as if this question was completely unexpected. “Someone here in Viken, I think. Or maybe Höganäs. I don’t know — Peter put us down on some list, and sure enough, we got a call. We only met here, then we went straight to the bank. It all happened in a matter of hours. Incredible, when you consider that it’s the biggest purchase of your life.”

  “May I ask what you paid?”

  The woman looked downright uncomfortable now. “We’d prefer to keep that information private. Like I said, it was quite a bit under the asking price. But if you’ll excuse me, I have some things to take care of. We’re having dinner guests this evening, and as you can see there are quite a few rooms to clean.”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t leave before I’ve taken a good look at the basement.” Cliff showed his police badge as he spoke.

  “Wait, you’re a policeman?” the woman said, but she looked more like she thought he was a burglar.

  “Yes, and I’d like to know whether you’ve heard the rumour that the former owner had a room in the basement where he brought women.” He stopped and wondered how to go on. “You know, because he was single, and…I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ve found that room?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What sort of room?”

  “Well, I don’t know.” He swallowed and could almost hear the thin ice he was on beginning to crack. “According to the rumours, it was supposed to function as a sort of…a sort of sex room, where he could…with women.”

  “I think we’re done here. Peter!” the woman called out the front door. “Peeeter!”

  Cliff took his chance and went down the stairs. The basement hallway was reminiscent of a boat — matte-finish on the door to the home spa, recessed lights in the ceiling, and white wood panelling along the walls, atypically with horizontal boards. Further on, the hallway swung to the right. Cliff stopped to look at the built-in illuminated cabinet. In the investigation photos, there had been models of the Halén company’s various ships on the glass shelves. Now it contained a collection of perfume bottles in different colours.

  He opened the door a few metres to the right of the cabinet, and found that they’d chosen to turn the room into a home theatre, with a popcorn machine and everything. But there was something else that didn’t match the pictures from the old investigation.

  “Excuse me, but what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Right. The door. He turned to the man, who had come after him with his wife in tow. “I’m sorry, but this door.” Cliff tapped the door that led to the home theatre. “Was it here when you bought the house?”

  “He’s snooping around and talking about some secret sex room,” said the woman.

  “I’m sorry. I certainly understand if you’re upset, and that truly wasn’t my aim. But as I explained to your husband, there has been some new information to suggest that Johan Halén was murdered. That’s why I’m here.” Cliff attempted a smile and threw up his hands, but he wasn’t met with the understanding he’d hoped for.

  “So the police don’t need a warrant anymore? You just force your way into our home?”

  “That’s mostly just in crime shows on TV. In reality, it’s enough for someone to be under reasonable suspicion, and it’s worth asking who that might apply to in this case. Anyway, I need an answer about whether you put in this door, which real estate company you dealt with, and whether there is anything out of the ordinary in the house, anything at all, that you’ve noticed since moving in.”

  “We’re not going to say a word until you can show us a piece of paper that says you have the right to be here.”

  “I understand,” Cliff said, deciding not to test their patience any further.

  “Hold on…Peter, what about that plastic thing we found in the garage? We never really figured out what it was.”

  “I don’t care. Unless this guy can prove he’s not full of shit —”

  “I’m sorry, but what sort of plastic thing are you talking about?”

  “Hold on, I’ll go get it.” The woman hurried off down the hall.

  “Stephie!” the man called after her. But she had already vanished through the door that led to the garage. “It must be nice to be able to stand there staring at little girls, or tromp your way into someone’s home and get away with it, just by shoving your police badge into people’s faces. No wonder that power is abused so often.”

  Cliff was about to say something in his defence, but the woman had already returned; she showed him a silver-grey plastic object with two buttons on it. “It looks like a remote control,” he said, testing out the buttons as he i
nspected it.

  “That’s what we thought too. But it doesn’t work on the curtains, the ventilation system, or anything else in the house.”

  Cliff fiddled with the device until he finally found what he was looking for — the battery compartment. He moved the little flap aside so he could turn the two batteries with his thumb. Then he held it up in the air again and tried the buttons once more.

  Something turned on and they heard a faint hum. Before Cliff could locate the sound, two of the boards of the wall panelling between the cabinet and the entrance to the home theatre began to rotate horizontally out from the wall.

  “What’s happening?” The woman’s hand went to her mouth.

  The man didn’t seem to know what to say. Cliff, in turn, fumbled for an appropriate answer until he realized that hiding behind the two panels were two hefty steel ties that were fastened to the side of the glass case, which was moving out from the hole in the wall. A few seconds later, the cabinet was dangling in the air, and a moment after that it was moving front side first into the doorway of the home theatre. The whole mechanism was so sturdy and forceful that they could hear the newly installed doorframe crunching on the other side of the cabinet.

  But no one was thinking about that. Instead, all attention was on the opening in the wall, which was now to the left of the cabinet.

  “What in holy hell…” The man signalled to his wife to wait in the hall as he made to follow Cliff inside.

  “No, you wait out here,” Cliff said, relieved that his words would finally have some weight. He walked cautiously into the room. The walls were painted white, just like the rest of the basement. He couldn’t see any windows, but there were plenty of large mirrors on the walls, and one hung on the ceiling over the bed that stood in the centre of the room, its mattress encased in plastic, covered by a few pillows and a sheet dotted with several dark spots of what appeared to be blood.

  A peek under the bed revealed that its legs were fastened to the floor by sturdy corner braces. The even layer of dust suggested that no one had been in the room for quite some time, perhaps even a full year. Cliff approached the white-painted cables that were ingeniously snaked through a series of block and tackles so Halén could quickly and easily fasten his victim to the bed.