Höglund rolled his eyes, looking in vain for support from the others. ‘You can think whatever you want, but just because Inger’s been home taking care of her kids more than she’s here doesn’t mean I’ve been doing nothing. Besides the Black Cat on Hantverkargatan, where he showcases most of his girls, I’ve managed, with Inger’s help, to locate seven different apartments around the city where parties are going on more or less night and day. And, yes, we could go apartment by apartment, but it would be better to carry out a synched operation, and that’s not something I intend to do without Inger.’
‘All right. Whatever,’ said Tomas Persson, shrugging. ‘I just think that—’
‘I think we’ll stop there,’ Edelman interrupted. ‘If she isn’t back on Monday we’ll have to try to resolve this some other way.’
Höglund nodded and tucked away yet another cookie while he glowered at Tomas.
‘Otherwise, Fabian and I can help out,’ said Malin, turning towards Fabian. ‘Can’t we? Right now we don’t have anything on our desk.’
‘Why not?’ said Fabian, even though he could see in her eyes that she was just teasing.
‘As I said, we’ll wait until after the weekend,’ said Edelman, turning to Jarmo Päivinen and Tomas Persson. ‘From what I’ve heard you have some news concerning Adam Fischer’s car. Let’s hear about it.’
Jarmo nodded, brought his reading glasses down on his nose, and searched in his documents.
‘Do you want to tell them or should I?’ asked Tomas, drumming his fingers on the table.
‘Take it easy.’ Jarmo kept searching, and Fabian was struck by how old he looked, even though he was only five or six years older than him, which placed him in his late forties. His wife had left him four years ago and taken the children with her and it looked like the loneliness was eating away at him. ‘As I’m sure you’ve all heard on the news,’ Jarmo continued, ‘we’ve been able to establish that this is a kidnapping.’
‘Which is what we suspected all along,’ said Tomas.
‘This is the last we’ve seen of Fischer.’ Jarmo passed out some pictures of Adam Fischer in his SUV from a surveillance camera.
‘Until yesterday,’ said Tomas, looking overly satisfied as he flexed his tattooed biceps. ‘Because then we got a damned good bite.’
‘Maybe you should talk instead.’ Jarmo turned to his much younger colleague.
‘No, no, it’s cool. You go.’
‘Sure?’
‘Yes, just keep talking,’ said Tomas, staring down at the table.
‘We should have thought of it sooner, but he lives in a huge bachelor pad up on Mosebacke – it must have cost him pretty much all his inheritance – and we contacted the car parks in the neighbourhood. Finally, we got a bite at the Slussen car park.’
‘Was his car there?’ said Malin.
‘No, but we did get this surveillance video.’ Tomas held a DVD in the air and stood up. ‘Are you prepared?’ He went over to the old TV, put the DVD in the player, and tried to get it started with the remote control.
‘The remote doesn’t work,’ said Höglund. ‘You’ve got to use the buttons on the TV. Wait, I’ll show you.’ He stood up and went over to Tomas.
‘No, it’s okay. I’ll take care of it,’ said Tomas, searching with his fingers for the right button.
While they were waiting, Fabian’s phone vibrated again in his hand: Going into a meeting soon, and then the curtain goes down for the rest of the day. N
Fabian could wait no longer and made to leave. ‘I’m sorry, but unfortunately I have to go.’
‘Okay. No problem,’ said Edelman.
‘What do you mean, “no problem”?’ said Malin. ‘What is so important that you have to leave in the middle of a meeting when you don’t even have an ongoing investigation?’
‘It’s from Matilda’s school. They want me to call as soon as possible.’
‘It’s fine. I just hope it’s nothing serious.’
‘Yes, we truly have to hope so,’ said Malin, shaking her head at Fabian as he backed out of the room.
‘Okay, you do it then!’ said Tomas, stepping aside so that Höglund could press one of the buttons a few times, whereupon the TV came to life.
13
FOR ALMOST A YEAR and a half she’d cleaned regularly at the Black Cat – the notorious strip club on Kungsholmen that, strangely enough, wasn’t much more than two stones’ throws from the Stockholm police building. Three times a week she’d been let in at the side entrance from Polhemsgatan and made her rounds with the cleaning cart in the murky basement premises, so extensive and labyrinthine that it took her months to get her bearings.
And every time she’d vacuumed and swabbed the floors just as precisely. Fluffed and placed the pillows properly on the couches, and laundered and ironed the pillowcases as needed. She’d picked up condoms, collected lost wedding rings and rubbed away dried semen stains. And sometimes even blood.
Despite explicit orders from Diego Arcas’s right-hand man – the burly guy with rings in his ears and eyes in the back of his head – that they should be on the pill or use an IUD, there were always a few girls who refused, hoping to get pregnant. To start with she hadn’t understood why anyone would subject themselves to getting pregnant by one of the filthy swine who probably had a wife and kids in the suburbs. But soon she realized that there was no quicker way out of there than a growing belly.
But the blood didn’t come only from menstruation. True, violence against the girls was forbidden, but if it was free rein you were after there was a price tag for that too. The fact was that it was all only about how many extra zeroes on the bill you could afford. According to rumour, if you could pony up 300,000 you could rape someone to death. But then you had to take one of the older ones who were on their last legs anyway.
Twice she’d had to disinfect the room afterwards. The first time was after a session in one of the private rooms that got out of hand. It took her hours to get it clean, and the burly guy had given her a tongue-lashing and withheld her pay because she was unable to finish before the club opened. She hadn’t protested, just nodded and reminded herself that money was not the only reason she was there.
The second time it was Diego Arcas himself who was responsible for the assault, when it came to his knowledge that one of his chattels had gone and got pregnant. The point was obviously to frighten the others, and frightened was just what they were when they heard about the bloody loose nails and torn-off clumps of hair she found in the room afterwards. About all the bodily fluids and excrement she scrubbed with cleanser so strong that it required both a face mask and protective gloves. The mattress alone had been so soaked with blood that she was forced to discard it. She could have seen to it right then that the club would be closed by offering her testimony to the police, whom she already knew were actively monitoring it. But she hadn’t made so much as a comment, simply left the room cleaner than ever and continued her rounds as if nothing had happened.
Only then had they started to trust her. The burly man stopped frisking her and let her go unwatched on her rounds. And it didn’t take her long to exploit this newly won freedom. Step one had been to draw out her shift a little longer every day so that she was still there when the doors opened and the customers streamed in. Step two was to make herself invisible in the darkness and go around making a note of everything she saw.
And she saw plenty.
14
FABIAN RISK LOOKED AT himself in the mirror above the sink as his phone started ringing again. So far the circles under his eyes hadn’t come back, but it was only a matter of days before the pressure of this new investigation would bring them back and make him look at least ten years older. He yanked out a few nose hairs and realized that his left sideburn was longer than the right one, then he took out the Nokia Edelman had given him and punched in a number.
‘Niva speaking.’
‘We suspect that SePo is listening, so use this number going forward,’ said Fabi
an. ‘Have you found anything?’
‘Just wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am, no foreplay here.’
‘Sorry, but I think we’ll do that another time. Right now—’
‘Just say when and where. And in case you’ve forgotten, you owe me a drink.’
‘No, no, of course I haven’t. Who do you think I am?’
‘I would say that after this, we’ve probably upped it to at least dinner.’
‘Maybe so. But I don’t know what you have yet.’
‘You’ll just have to take it sight unseen and hope for the best.’
‘In other words I have no choice?’
‘Fabian, you always have a choice.’
She was toying with him, and he should have realized that they would take this route. ‘Silence implies consent. So what do you choose?’
‘Door number one.’
‘Good. That wasn’t so hard, was it? And I’m convinced that you’re going to be satisfied. The woman who left the message on Grimås’ voicemail is named Sylvia Bredenhielm, and only a minute or so later she called the prepaid card number 073 785 66 29.’
‘And that’s Grimås’ secret cell phone?’
‘You guessed right.’
‘Do you have a call list for that number, too?’
‘Yes, but it’s just the two of them calling each other, so unless you’re thinking about a career with the tabloids, I wouldn’t waste your time on it. Now here’s your payoff. Are you prepared to take notes?’
Fabian took out a pen and pulled up his jacket sleeve. ‘Okay.’
‘59.311129, 18.078073.’
Fabian wrote the number combinations on the inside of his arm. ‘What is that?’
‘The cell phone’s most recent position, plus or minus ten or fifteen metres.’
‘Is it still on?’
‘No, it disappeared at 4:04 p.m. yesterday, which is almost forty minutes after the first one.’
‘Amazing, Niva. You have truly been a great help. I’ll be in touch.’
‘I know.’
Fabian ended the call and left the washroom. Finally, he had something concrete to go on. Without sitting down at his desk, he started up the computer and clicked to Google Maps, where he entered the co-ordinates from his arm. A map of Stockholm came up with a red balloon marker pointing at somewhere over Södermalm. He zoomed down to street level and determined that it was aiming at Östgötagatan 46.
He hadn’t initially understood the point of street view on Google Maps. It must have taken an incredible amount of work to photograph every street corner in Stockholm, which was the first city in Sweden to get the service. But when he finally mastered the commands, and aimed the view at the building at the corner of Östgötagatan and Blekingegatan, he sent them his heartfelt gratitude. The building was covered with scaffolding and looked completely uninhabited.
The image was probably taken some time during the autumn, and there was no guarantee the building was still being renovated. If it was, though, or even better, if the renovation had stopped while they were waiting for the financial crisis to ease up, it would be the perfect place to keep a victim hidden.
He cleared his search history, shut down the computer, and walked right into Malin Rehnberg.
‘My, what a hurry you’re in. And you don’t even have anything on your desk – nothing I know about at least.’
‘Malin, I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for this.’ He tried to go around her, but she refused to let him pass.
‘That’s tough luck because I don’t intend to give up until you’ve told me what the hell is going on.’
Various scenarios fluttered around in Fabian’s mind, until he realized that he wouldn’t be able to get much further by lying.
‘Come with me.’
15
THIS MORNING, JUST LIKE every other morning, Ossian Kremph had been sitting by the corner window having his late-morning coffee and solving a Sudoku to Radio Stockholm’s traffic reports. He didn’t know why, but for as long as he could remember he’d loved listening to both the traffic and weather updates, especially the long sea reports which described in detail the direction and force of the wind in every corner along the Swedish coastal strip.
But this particular morning was different. Even though he’d listened to the entire sea report he felt far from calm. Worry had slipped in without him noticing and was suddenly very apparent. He’d tried to ignore it and kept persevering with the Japanese number puzzle, but he couldn’t write down a single digit. His mind was racing and he couldn’t switch off his thoughts.
He’d worked so hard for so many years to get control over his thoughts. Now they were getting stirred up, concentrating on a lot of forbidden things. He turned up the volume on the radio and switched to an easier Sudoku, but that didn’t help, and he was finally forced to switch off the radio and set aside his pen.
It occurred to him that this change had started a few weeks earlier, maybe even before that. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that nothing had been the same recently. He’d been in an unusually bad mood, but that wasn’t the only thing that was off. For instance, he was wearing a blue shirt, even though it was Thursday and he always wore green. And what had happened on that walk around Årstaviken last Sunday? Did he really take it? He couldn’t remember.
That wasn’t the only thing he couldn’t recall. All of last week was basically one big black hole apart from a few loose fragments. And yesterday morning, he’d stayed in bed too long and hadn’t been able to stop thinking about everything he’d promised himself never to dwell on again.
He had no memory of the rest of the day whatsoever.
He’d taken all his medication, he was sure of that. Every day: morning, afternoon and evening he rinsed down the pills with a glass of lukewarm water and felt them make their way down his throat. So that definitely wasn’t the issue – or could it be? What if he thought he had taken the pills but hadn’t really? Or if the dose was much too low? What was it the doctor said? Should they raise it or lower it? And what was that smell? He hadn’t forgotten to take out the garbage on Tuesday, had he?
Ossian Kremph was almost dizzy from all the questions and felt like he needed to lie down and rest. But that didn’t help either, especially not with that man and woman walking back and forth on the street. No one did that, he thought, and went and got his binoculars. You passed by on your way to a destination, you didn’t walk around in the same place like those two were doing. They looked like they were searching for something.
He didn’t recognize either of them, but he’d been able to figure out which car was theirs after watching them for a while. A simple Internet search told him it belonged to a certain Fabian Risk, who worked as a homicide investigator at the National Bureau of Criminal Investigation in Stockholm. The pregnant woman was certainly a colleague and yet another of Herman Edelman’s subjects.
In a way he was not the least bit surprised. He knew that they would eventually creep out of their holes and show their disgusting mugs, he simply hadn’t expected it to happen so fast. But here they were. Fucking cops.
The question was how it had happened. As soon as he’d been set free, he’d done everything to lie low. He not only changed his surname to his mother’s maiden name, he hadn’t even put it up on the door of the apartment he rented second-hand – or was it third-hand? He’d turned the temperature down as low as he could and bided his time in the hope that one day he would be completely rid of his former self, just as his therapist had promised.
But it hadn’t worked. Even though he’d done exactly what he was told and went through all the exercises, the fire burned inside him. He had done what the therapist had expected of him. But deep down, after a year or two in treatment, he’d already come to the realization that it would never go away. Whatever he did, the hunger would always be there.
He took another look in the binoculars and saw the two police officers disappear under the scaffolding. Was it really possible that they’d alre
ady found him? And who gave them the right to persecute him by knocking down the door and stomping in? Who said they could push him down on the floor, put handcuffs on him and search his home?
It may be that his thoughts were forbidden and out of control. Maybe he and his therapist had worked hard for years to quiet them down without success. He knew that it was best for the community to not have them, but he no longer cared. For the first time in many years, he relished every single one of his forbidden thoughts.
If those disgusting pieces of shit came and knocked on his door, he would be prepared. He would sink his teeth into them and tear them to pieces. He had nothing to lose anyway.
16
IF ONLY THIS DAY would end soon, thought Dunja Hougaard, imagining how she would creep under the covers and fall asleep before Carsten got home. But it had just started, and even though she’d drunk at least two litres of water and taken several spoonfuls of oral rehydration salts, she still felt like a wreck.
She poured a cup of black coffee and sat down in her place at the conference table across from Jan Hesk, who still seemed convinced that she’d gone behind his back and had something going with Kim Sleizner. Kjeld Richter sat at one end and tried to find somewhere to fix his gaze. None of them said anything, which made the silence more awkward with every passing minute.
Finally, the door opened and Sleizner came in, quickly scanning the room. He was dressed in a shirt with cufflinks and tie. His make-up from the press conference was still visible. Dunja didn’t know any other man in police headquarters who put on make-up before a press conference, but then again, Sleizner also loved his press conferences more than anyone and announced them all the time. No one was better than him at standing in front of the cameras making something out of nothing.
The Ninth Grave Page 8
