Eighteen Below

by Stefan Ahnhem

  Of course, the humming sound had stopped, and as the seconds ticked by he felt increasingly certain that he’d just imagined it. But now that he had gotten everyone to be quiet, he might as well wait a couple of minutes to make sure.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and found that Sonja had sent a photo. It was dark and blurry, and at first all he could see was that it was of a few people with tape over their mouths, lined up on a sofa that looked like his own. Hold on —

  The realization struck him just as the phone buzzed again.

  Hi, Fabian. As you can see in the picture, I have your wife, your daughter, and her friend here at your place. Nice house, by the way. In exactly one hour, I will start to kill them, one by one, at fifteen-minute intervals. Unless you show up here with my sister, and only my sister, in your company.

  Best,

  Didrik

  The bottle slid out of Astrid’s hand and wedged itself between the side of the freezer and Sandra Gullström.

  Then came the silence.

  No thoughts making a fuss.

  No pulse throbbing.

  No breaths.

  Silence in its most pure form.

  Even the lid of the freezer opening didn’t create enough change in air pressure for her ears to perceive it as a sound. The same went for the searching, blinding beams of the flashlights, which, despite their strength, couldn’t disrupt the impenetrable darkness.

  108

  They were back. The voices of his old colleagues Tomas and Jarmo. Their screams for help. Like a constant reminder of his failure. A reminder that no matter what he believed, he would fail once more. Only this time his family would be the victims.

  Fabian had no idea what had happened. Whether Alex White was in fact one of the victims, as he’d believed from the start, or whether Didrik Meyer had encountered Sonja some other way. But it didn’t matter. All he cared about right now was making it there in time, at any price, before Meyer started making good on his threats.

  It wasn’t difficult to find the spot on the E6 where the trailer had stopped and Nova Meyer taken into custody. The blue lights of the police cars were visible from several kilometres away. There was also a traffic jam, despite the late hour, because the left lane had been blocked off and uniformed police were inspecting every passing car.

  Fabian showed his badge, drove past the blockade, and parked. Twenty metres on, Molander’s truck sat next to the trailer, which had skidded into the grass. Molander himself was nowhere to be seen. Nor were his assistants, who would surely also recognize him. They were probably inside the trailer, busy gathering physical evidence.

  He stepped out of the car and glanced at the clock. It was already five to one, which meant that he only had thirty-five minutes left to find the officers who were holding Nova Meyer, convince them that he was to take over, and then drive her to his house. What would happen after that remained to be seen.

  “Fabian! What are you doing here?”

  Fabian turned around to see Molander, who had stepped out of the trailer and was walking toward him. “I’m supposed to pick up Nova Meyer for an initial interrogation,” he said as they shook hands; he was surprised at how natural he sounded. “You don’t happen to know where they’re holding her, do you?”

  “She’s in one of the Landskrona cars over there.” Molander nodded at one of the flashing squad cars. “From what I hear, she hasn’t said a single word since she was taken into custody. But speaking of someone who can talk, I just spoke with Cliff, and he didn’t mention anything about you coming.”

  “No? Well, here I am anyway.” Fabian shrugged, to emphasize that he had no intention of wasting time on that topic. “How are things going with the trailer? Did you find anything?”

  Molander lit up. “Wigs, clothes, pictures, a big mind map, driver’s licences, computers…Högsell is going to jump for joy. Now it’s up to you to squeeze that chick hard about where her brother is holed up, and maybe for once we can actually enjoy a weekend off.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Fabian said with a brief nod. “See you.” He continued in the direction Molander had indicated, and spotted Nova in one of the squad cars. There, between the two uniformed officers in the back seat, was the silhouette of the woman who had fooled him like none other.

  “Hey, listen! One more thing,” Molander called just loud enough that Fabian couldn’t pretend he hadn’t heard.

  He looked at his watch and turned around again. Five past one. Twenty-five minutes left.

  “Well done with Tuvesson. Cliff said she’s going to make it without any permanent damage, even though her heart had stopped and she has serious hypothermia.”

  “It was a close call,” Fabian said, giving a few dull nods before he felt he could move on.

  The rest of it went surprisingly smoothly. The two officers didn’t find it strange that he was taking over, and just five minutes later he was on his way home to Pålsjögatan 19 with Nova Meyer beside him in the passenger seat.

  He had far too many questions to know where to start, so he didn’t ask any of them. Instead he focused all his energy on trying to stay calm and silence the voices that called out his name in vain.

  Fabian found a free parking spot across the street from his house. The lights were on in the living room, but the curtains were drawn so it was impossible to tell what was going on inside. He stepped out of the car, then walked around and helped Nova Meyer out. Thus far they hadn’t spoken a single word to each other, and maybe they never would. Maybe this was the last he would see of her.

  She didn’t protest as he unlocked the handcuffs and bound her hands behind her back instead. He left her ankle chains on, and they began the slow trek across the street. Once they arrived on his front stoop, he drew his weapon from his shoulder holster and removed the safety. The door turned out to be unlocked, and with one hand on Nova Meyer’s handcuffs and the other holding his gun, Fabian entered the house.

  Just as in the picture he’d received via text, his family were sitting beside each other on the sofa. Sonja was in the middle with Matilda on her right and Matilda’s friend Esmaralda on her left. Their mouths and hands were taped, and he could see terror glinting in their eyes.

  “Well done,” said Didrik Meyer, who was sitting cross-legged on the coffee table with his eyes on his watch. “Almost two whole minutes before the deadline.” He looked at Fabian. “That’s worth some applause. Don’t you think?” He placed his gun with its long silencer in his lap and gave four slow claps.

  “Put down the gun.” Fabian used his own weapon to indicate that he should slide it across the floor.

  “Maybe you think I’m being sarcastic. But you’re mistaken. I’m honestly impressed. I mean, to listen to your wife, you don’t care about her or the children. If you did, we never would have ended up in this —”

  “I said, put down the gun.”

  “You mean this?” Didrik Meyer held up his pistol. “In that case, I’ll have to disappoint you. You see, for the gears of this music box to keep turning, you’re the one who has to drop the gun. Not me.”

  Fabian shook his head, well aware that the weapon in his hand was currently the only thing keeping him and his family alive. “I did exactly as you asked. Your sister is here, and there are no other police officers in the vicinity. But if you want to be able to leave this house with her, you will put down that gun right now.”

  “It looks like all those hours at the shooting range got results. Your hand isn’t shaking at all.” Didrik Meyer aimed his pistol behind him without taking his eyes off Fabian. “Now all you’re missing is speed.”

  The shot sounded more like an arrow whizzing through the air than a bullet, and he didn’t realize it had actually fired until he saw Matilda grabbing her bleeding stomach.

  “Either you do as I say, or you don’t. It’s as simple as that.”

  Fa
bian wanted to scream, empty his magazine into the sister, and throw himself over the brother, but none of that would help, and all he could do was slowly place his gun on the floor and kick it across the room with his foot.

  “There you go. Clever boy.”

  Matilda had slid off the sofa and was lying in a fetal position on the floor. He couldn’t tell if she was still alive, but blood was spreading across the white carpet. Sonja screamed behind her tape as she tried to get down to Matilda.

  “You stay where you are,” said Didrik Meyer, who still hadn’t looked away from Fabian. “And you, free her hands and legs.”

  Fabian took out the key, crouched down, and unlocked the chain around the sister’s ankles. Then he stood up again and took out the key to the handcuffs. But just as he was about to insert it into the lock, he heard the front door open.

  “Who is that? Are you expecting guests?”

  Fabian shook his head. He hadn’t told anyone, and he had no idea who it could be before Theodor walked in with his broken nose and stared at the destruction.

  “Well, would you look at that. How lovely. The whole family is here. You don’t see that every day.”

  “What the hell…Is that Matilda?” Theodor pointed at the body on the floor. “Jesus, that is Matilda! What the fuck is going on?”

  “Theodor, that’s your name, isn’t it?” Didrik Meyer said, offering up a smile. “As you can see, your sister isn’t feeling very well right now, and if you don’t want to end up the same way, you’ll have to come over here and have a seat on the sofa.”

  “Just do as he says,” Fabian said, but he was met with an expression of hatred.

  “This is your fault. All of it. All yours.”

  “Theo, just do as he says before more people —”

  “I apologize if I’m interrupting a father–son talk here, but unfortunately we don’t have all night.”

  “Just shoot, then!” Theodor stood in front of Fabian, facing Didrik. “Do it. I don’t care.”

  “As you wish.” Didrik raised his gun.

  “Theo, what are you doing? Just do as he —”

  “Shoot, for God’s sake!” Theodor shouted. “Shoot!”

  Only then did Fabian discover the pistol sticking up out of Theodor’s waistband. Theodor was shouting at him. He was the one who had to shoot, not Didrik Meyer. And without a thought about where the gun had come from, he grabbed the grip, yanked it out, and fired three shots in quick succession. He had no memory of taking off the safety or aiming, but Didrik Meyer had already collapsed on the table with blood pumping from the hole in his forehead.

  Theodor rushed over to Matilda as Nova Meyer’s shriek cut through the room. Fabian had only just turned to face her when she threw herself at him, even though her hands were bound behind her back. He lost his balance and fell backward as he tried to fight his way out from under her. Like a rabid dog, she held on and bit him bloody, anywhere she could reach, in her struggle to rip open his jugular.

  Fabian managed to push her head away with one hand and used the other to hit her with the gun. But he wasn’t able to swing far enough to strike with sufficient force, and he felt the jab of pain from his neck as her teeth sank into him. He hit her with the gun again and again, and he didn’t stop until she let go and collapsed on top of him, unconscious.

  Theodor’s words echoing in his head, he flipped her over onto the floor, rose on unsteady legs, and hurried over to his son, who was trying to revive Matilda as the carpet beneath her grew increasingly red.

  This is your fault.

  All of it.

  All yours.

  Epilogue

  May 18–20, 2012

  When Astrid Tuvesson arrived at Helsingborg Hospital, she was suffering from severe hypothermia. With a core temperature under twenty-eight degrees Celsius, she was below the threshold required to maintain metabolism and other bodily functions. As a result, she developed an arrhythmia, which led to a lack of oxygen to the brain and was the direct cause of her unconscious state. Fortunately, no brain injury was found, and her chances of a full recovery with no lasting effects were considered very good.

  Matilda’s condition, however, was more critical. After an eight-hour operation, the doctors were still unable to provide a detailed prognosis. The unfortunate truth was that the bullet had entered the upper right quadrant of her abdomen and shredded portions of her liver, stomach, and left lung. The situation was made worse by the fact that she had also lost a great deal of blood.

  The following day she was moved to Skåne University Hospital in Lund, where she underwent another lengthy operation. But there again, the doctors could not provide much information, except to say that given the circumstances, the surgeries on her lung and stomach had gone well. The real uncertainty came from her liver, which would need further surgeries as soon as she had regained enough strength.

  All the while, Fabian and Sonja kept a vigil at her side. Hand in hand, sometimes sleeping in each other’s arms. They didn’t say much to one another, but for the first time in several years they felt a solidarity. There, in the glare of the stark fluorescent lights, in the uncomfortable chairs and amidst the chaos of conflicting emotions, arose something they had both given up hope of ever experiencing again.

  Once the police released the story to the media, it spread far beyond the country’s borders, and in the following weeks the headlines revealed new details about the twins. How they had been the victims of regular physical and psychological abuse at the hands of their father Henning von Gyllenborg, and had since had a sexual relationship, living invisible to the outside world. In 2008, using falsified identity papers, they were married in the Church of Sweden in Järna, as Sten and Anita Strömberg.

  During the initial interrogations, Nova Meyer refused to answer a single question. Nor did she speak during the ensuing trial, where she became the eighth woman in Sweden to receive a life sentence. Since none of the women’s prisons were maximum security, it was decided that one of the units at Hinseberg Prison should be renovated. Unlike her performances as Dina Dee and Sandra Gullström, Nova Meyer didn’t say a single word during her meetings with mental health professionals and therapy groups.

  The forensic search of the couple’s trailer turned up a body bag in a hidden compartment. Its contents were far along in the decomposition process and were later identified as the remains of Rolf Stensäter. Whether there were additional victims of identity theft in the case is yet to be seen.

  From her apartment on Blågårdsgade, Dunja Hougaard followed the story of the four masked teenagers who were extradited to Sweden, where they were sentenced to juvenile detention. Although their identities were not made public, she was convinced that Theodor Risk was not among them. Which meant she would have to contact Fabian. But not while his daughter’s condition was so critical. There were limits. What’s more, she had enough on her plate trying to come up with a plan for how to get back at Kim Sleizner.

  On Sunday afternoon, Fabian left the hospital in Lund to attend Hugo Elvin’s funeral at the church of Santa Anna. There were no relatives in attendance, and only a few friends, none of whom had been in contact with him in recent years. The rest were colleagues from the Helsingborg police. Aside from Tuvesson, who was still in the hospital, Molander, Cliff, and Lilja were there, and so were receptionist Florian Kruse, Stina Högsell, and district police chief Gert-Ove Bokander. Braids almost looked normal in his black suit, although both his hair and beard were full of plaits.

  To Fabian’s surprise, his old Stockholm colleague, crime scene technician Hillevi Stubbs, showed up. It turned out she and Elvin had been classmates at the police academy, and later on, after the service, she drew Fabian aside to ask if they had any theories to explain why Elvin had taken his own life. He told her that Elvin had been wearing makeup and a dress when they found him, and that he seemed to have been seriously considering a sex-change opera
tion.

  “Are you kidding me?” Stubbs said, bursting into laughter that took Fabian completely by surprise.

  Stubbs explained that she and Elvin had had a relationship during their student days, and that Elvin was as far from a woman trapped in a man’s body as you could get. Fabian began once again to worry that maybe everything wasn’t as it seemed.

  They didn’t get much further than that before Cliff and the others joined in, and the conversation turned to anecdotes about Elvin. Molander didn’t hesitate to remind Fabian of his first weeks at the police station, when he’d had to borrow Elvin’s office and committed the mortal sin of adjusting his fancy desk chair. Everyone laughed and shared various situations in which Elvin had become enraged as only he could. Fabian nodded along, and tried to smile and laugh to make it appear that he was listening and participating in the conversation, but the thought that had just occurred to him was taking all his focus.

  Half an hour later he excused himself, saying that he had to head back to the hospital in Lund. Instead, he went to the station, took the elevator up to the deserted unit, and went to Hugo Elvin’s office.

  He hadn’t really thought about the incident until now. Maybe it was because so much else had gotten in the way, or because it wasn’t something he was particularly proud of. Fabian didn’t know, but it didn’t really matter. The important thing was that the memory was crystal clear now. Every little detail had returned.

  Two years before, he had been rooting through Elvin’s desk drawers out of sheer curiosity, but he hadn’t been able to get at the bottom one, because it was locked. A few days later he’d accidentally overturned his cup of coffee all over Helsingborgs Dagblad while he was on the phone with Dunja Hougaard, and the coffee had flowed across the paper and formed a small waterfall over the edge of the desk and onto the floor. Fabian had gotten down on all fours to clean up the coffee and discovered a key taped to the underside of the desk.

  He bent down to look under the desk and found that the key was still there. Fabian pried it loose, weighed it in his hand, and cautiously inserted it into the lock of the bottom drawer. He was surprised at how easily it turned. It was like the lock was made of room-temperature butter and, just like two years ago, there was a soft click as it opened.