The Ninth Grave

by Stefan Ahnhem

  Wait, that’s exactly how it all fits together. Suddenly she saw it so clearly that she couldn’t understand why she hadn’t thought of it before.

  ‘What is it?’ Carsten stopped in mid-motion.

  ‘Nothing. Just keep going.’

  The discrepancies were the common denominator. How could everyone have missed it, herself included? Obviously it was the same perpetrator. He simply didn’t want to do the same thing twice. If he was going to get a high, he needed to execute more sadistic methods each time.

  Dunja faked to finish it. Two minutes later Carsten rolled over on his side, satisfied at his performance. Finally, she could get out of bed.

  ‘Honey, I’ll be right back. I just have to do one thing.’

  ‘I promise not to go anywhere. I’m just getting started here,’ said Carsten, taking hold of his tired erection.

  ‘I promise to hurry back,’ said Dunja as she pulled on her kimono and left the room, well aware that he would have fallen asleep long before she was finished.

  25

  ‘BRANDKONTORET AND NEPTUNUS ARE the two smallest buildings,’ said the burly, out-of-breath guard as he hurried through the underground passage that went straight through the old city wall while directing the rest of the force through his radio. ‘And if he did in fact go this way we should find him soon.’

  Fabian and Malin followed the guard to the last place where the minister and the mysterious security guard had been spotted by the surveillance cameras. They hurried through a labyrinth of passages, old cellar arches and narrow stairs that led up to the two government buildings. The feeling that they were getting closer to their goal was intensifying. The guard had force split up between the two buildings and started searching room by room.

  But after almost six straight hours of searching, they hadn’t made any progress. They hadn’t even managed to find so much as a trace of what had happened to the minister for justice. Their energy was running out, and their theories about what happened had multiplied. Maybe the minister had simply left through another door dressed as someone else? Or perhaps it was him on the surveillance video after all?

  Fabian had increasing difficulty justifying a continued search, and after another hour, as the time approached midnight, the effort was called off. According to the guard responsible, the minister was absolutely not there. They had meticulously combed through both buildings and the cellar vaults – two, even three times – and there was nothing to suggest that he would suddenly appear on the fourth. Besides, it was almost midnight.

  Fabian was about to question whether they really had searched everywhere, but he was stopped by Malin, who took him aside.

  ‘Fabian, I know this isn’t your style, but have you given any thought to the possibility that there might be something to what they are suggesting? Perhaps, wait now, they’re even right?’

  ‘So you don’t think he’s here either?’

  Malin shrugged. ‘I have no idea. Something definitely happened between the minister and that guard, but that doesn’t mean he’s still here. If the guard did go out in Grimås’ clothes, then Grimås himself may have gone somewhere in the guard’s clothes, don’t you think? That’s not something we’ll discover now, no matter how many surveillance videos we watch.’

  ‘Well, first of all, his uniform would be much too small.’

  Malin sighed and shook her head.

  ‘Malin, I agree with you. If Grimås was involved, we could have stopped the search hours ago. But he wasn’t. You saw for yourself how the guard suddenly called to him as he was on his way to his transport. Until then he had no idea what was waiting. Besides, there’s not a single unguarded door here, so whether he left any of the buildings, voluntarily or involuntarily, has yet to be confirmed.’

  ‘So what’s your explanation?’

  Fabian shrugged. ‘I don’t know. They must not have searched everywhere.’

  ‘Yes, they have – three times.’

  Fabian didn’t say anything. There was no point. If he didn’t go along with ending the search, he would have both SePo and the police commissioner on him. But he couldn’t shake the feeling of being so close. He had no doubt that the minister was the victim of a crime. And the more he thought about it, the more significant the location of the offence became. How ironic was it that the Minister for Justice was least protected in the parliament buildings? During the few hours between question time and exiting the building, SePo had made the fatal mistake of skimping on his personal protection.

  A security guard had called for the minister’s attention, taken him to one of the camera’s blind spots, and returned a little more than half an hour later in the minister’s own clothes. That much was certain; what happened after that was still unclear.

  Either the minister was still in one of the parliament buildings, or someone had managed to get him out without being caught on any of the surveillance cameras. The perpetrator’s risk of being discovered was enough to suggest that the minister was likely still inside. But where?

  There must be some space they had overlooked, somewhere that was never used.

  ‘Well, then, I guess we’ll say thanks and wish you luck,’ the guard said, showing them to the door.

  They shook hands.

  ‘It’s very possible that we’ll be contacting you again,’ said Malin, as she began walking out the door.

  If he was to hide someone in police headquarters, Fabian knew exactly which room he would have chosen, the room that all major workplaces were forced to have by law, but was never used.

  ‘Fabian? Hello? We’re leaving now,’ said Malin.

  Fabian nodded and followed Malin out, but stopped again, and turned towards the guard. ‘Have you looked in the nap room?’

  ‘Nap room? We don’t have one of those here,’ the guard said with a snort.

  ‘Are you quite sure?’

  ‘I know every nook and cranny in these buildings. Despite what people may think about politicians, they don’t take naps.’

  ‘It was just an idea,’ said Fabian, turning to leave.

  ‘Wait a second. Behind all the old overhead projectors in the arch under Brandkontoret…’ The guard’s face turned pale. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’

  ‘About what?’ asked Fabian, but got no response.

  The guard had already hurried off at such high speed that Fabian and Malin had a hard time keeping up.

  26

  ‘YOU’RE JOKING! DO YOU know how late it is!?’ Mikael Rønning’s voice was shrieking through the phone.

  ‘Yes, I am aware. And, no, I’m not joking,’ said Dunja, curling up on the couch with her phone. ‘But you’re the only one who can help me. Where are you? Far from the office?’

  ‘No, Ben had a conflict. And I mean conflict in quotation marks. I know we have an open relationship and yada yada yada, but you have to agree that’s in poor taste.’

  ‘Absolutely. But where are you?’

  ‘I’m still here playing the Sims.’

  ‘You’re at the office?’

  ‘Yes, but I was just about to head out to Cosy Bar. Do you know what I’m going to do there?’

  ‘No, but I can imagine. Can you help me before you leave to get revenge on Ben? By the way, is his name really Ben?’

  ‘Yes, but most people call him Big Ben.’

  ‘But not you.’

  ‘In that case it would be Big-But-Not-Bigger-Than-Me Ben. But forget about that fucking fairy now. What do you want help with?’

  ‘I think some of the cases you pulled for me have the same perpetrator.’

  ‘How could that be? Besides the extreme violence they have nothing in common.’

  ‘I know. And that’s just the point. He gets bored. So to get the same thrill, he has to reinvent the wheel every time. Do you follow?’

  ‘And what do you want me to do for you?’

  ‘A new search that goes further back in time.’

  ‘How far?’

  ‘Ten or fifteen years. And
it doesn’t have to result in a fatal outcome. Rape is sufficient, or even attempted rape. He must have had a first time.’

  ‘There are going to be a lot of hits.’

  ‘Please, can you just do this for me?’

  ‘Your wish is my command.’

  ‘Sorry, it wasn’t my intention to—’

  ‘It’s okay. But if, God forbid, we were to end up in bed together, like at a Christmas party or something, I’ll be the one holding the whip, okay?’

  ‘Sure, I promise,’ said Dunja with a laugh. ‘Call me as soon as you’re finished. I can’t sleep.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary. I have them pulled up now.’

  ‘Okay, how many are there?’

  ‘Like I said: there are a lot.’

  ‘As in triple digit?’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’

  Dunja held the phone away from her mouth so that Rønning couldn’t hear her sigh. He had been right. It was disgusting how frequent rape or attempted rape had become in Denmark. They needed something that distinguished her perpetrator from all the others, some little detail that was both searchable and could connect with one of the later cases.

  She sat up on the couch and looked at the five investigations sitting next to each other on the coffee table, something she’d done more times than she could count.

  ‘Hello? Are you still there?’

  ‘Hmm…’ she said, finally realizing how tired she was. She really ought to set Rønning loose on Cosy Bar and go back to bed; Carsten had surely fallen asleep by now. But she was on the trail of something that refused to let go and she wouldn’t get a wink of sleep until she made some headway. Her gaze fastened on the investigation of Nanna Madsen, who had been found in a Herlev dumpster with severe bleeding from deep bite marks. ‘Listen, what if you include a dog in the search field?’

  ‘A dog? What kind of dog?’

  ‘Try “Doberman Pinscher”, “fighting dog”, or simply “dog”.’ Dunja could hear the tapping keys as Rønning entered the new search.

  ‘Bingo. On 14 June 2004, a Maiken Brandt reported an attempted rape where the perpetrator, among other heinous acts, is alleged to have set an aggressive dog on her. According to her testimony it was a Doberman Pinscher.’

  ‘Could she identify him?’

  ‘Yes, she’d seen him in the area several times and could identify him. She even testified against him in court.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘His name is Benny Willumsen, age thirty-six. He was sentenced to two years, but was released after one.’

  ‘Can you see exactly when he was released?’ Dunja picked up Nanna Madsen’s file. She was murdered on 5 December 2005.

  ‘He was discharged on 17 July 2005.’

  ‘So, six months later, he was at it again.’

  ‘What happened six months later?’

  ‘I want you to do the same search you just did, but only focus on the days between 17 July and 5 December 2005.’

  ‘Okay, there are three different incidents on 15 August, 23 October and 4 November. The last two were complete rapes, but all three investigations were closed due to lack of evidence.’

  ‘And on 5 December he goes even further and kills his victim. It’s him. It must be him. Do a search and see where he lives.’

  ‘I’ve already done that, but he doesn’t seem to be registered anywhere in Denmark.’

  ‘Have you tried looking up another Willumsen? Maybe his parents or other relatives?’

  ‘He didn’t have any siblings and both parents are deceased. He may have moved abroad.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that. Can you try Sweden?’

  Dunja heard his fingers racing across the keys again, but for some reason she already felt calm. When Rønning started speaking she wasn’t the least bit surprised.

  ‘He lives on Konsultgatan 29 in Malmö, third floor.’

  27

  ‘TAKE IT EASY, DON’T forget I’m pregnant,’ said Malin, who had a hard time keeping up with Fabian and the guard who, despite his size, navigated his way around the underground passages like an eager bloodhound. After passing several closed washroom doors, they turned left, and followed an offshoot of the corridor that came to a dead end. The guard finally stopped, caught his breath, and pointed towards dozens of old overhead projectors stacked on top of one another like a monument to the advances of technology.

  ‘Behind all of that there should be a door.’

  Fabian and the guard moved the projectors one by one, but soon realized that some were strategically placed so they could easily be rolled aside, revealing a narrow passage that led to a closed door with a sign showing the image of a bed: the obligatory nap room that no one ever used. Not until now, anyway, Fabian thought, pushing down the handle.

  Other than the metallic odour of blood, there was nothing obviously surprising about the room that contained only a cot, small table and floor lamp. The Minister for Justice was lying face-up on the cot with his eyes closed, covered by a blanket. Despite the smell, there was no blood anywhere, Fabian noted as he turned on his phone and aimed the light at the neutral wall-to-wall carpet that covered the floor.

  ‘Is he alive?’ said Malin, squeezing in beside Fabian.

  Fabian pressed his fingers against the minister’s carotid artery and shook his head. The body was cold and rigor mortis had almost completely subsided, suggesting he’d been dead about twenty-four hours.

  ‘Do you smell the same thing I do?’ Malin closed the door so that the guard wouldn’t enter.

  Fabian nodded. His suspicions were confirmed when he pulled back the blanket from the naked body. There was a large, gaping hole covering the whole abdomen.

  ‘Good Lord, what’s happened?’ Malin went up and stood beside Fabian, who was shining his light down into the opening that was several inches wide and completely scooped out.

  ‘He’s been emptied of all his inner organs,’ said Fabian. ‘The intestines, liver, kidneys. As far as I can tell, it’s all gone.’

  ‘I don’t get it. This must have required an incredible amount of planning. Do you know what all this is about?’

  Fabian didn’t answer, even though he had just realized the true contents of the freezer bags in the condemned apartment.

  ‘First Palme, then Lindh and now Grimås,’ Malin continued, shaking her head. ‘This is just sick. If assassination of our ministers continues like this, we won’t have any politicians left.’

  ‘Are you okay?’ said Fabian.

  ‘How the hell could I be okay, Fabian? The Swedish Minister for Justice has just been murdered. Do you understand what’s coming? We’re going to have every reporter in Sweden after us! Edelman’s not going to be able to do anything other than hold press conferences where he won’t be able to say much more than we’re working with several parallel leads. But…’ She sighed heavily with her hands resting on her protruding belly. ‘At least we can be happy that there’s no longer any doubt that a crime has been committed and that, as of now, the investigation is officially with us.’

  Fabian nodded in agreement, even though he hadn’t heard a single word she’d said. He was completely preoccupied with connecting the cut-up body in front of him with the contents he’d found in the freezer of the condemned apartment. He doubted those pouches were filled with sausage casings or sweet meats from a hog.

  ‘What do you think?’

  Fabian held up his hand to shush her and directed the beam of light toward the minister’s face. If his theory was correct, those weren’t pickled onions swimming around in the Hayward’s glass jar.

  Once he leaned forward he saw the sunken eyelids.

  ‘What is it? Have you found something?’ said Malin.

  Fabian nodded, took hold of one eyelid with the help of some tweezers, and lifted it up.

  And just like the abdomen, the eye socket too gaped empty.

  28

  Fabian,

  I don’t know what time you’ll be coming home or if you’re even coming home. I
don’t want to get involved in what you’re up to, but I would really like you to call for the children’s sake, especially Matilda’s. She can’t let go of the thought that we’ll separate. What have you said to her? She asked me if we had already split up and I didn’t know what to say. Have we?

  Theodor is a whole other story. I have no idea what he’s doing in the evenings, but I’m sure it’s nothing good. Regardless of what our future looks like that’s something we have to deal with – together.

  There are leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry.

  Sonja

  P.S. I’ll be at the studio all weekend.

  She’d given up, thought Fabian, picking up the handwritten letter from the kitchen table and hiding it in the cupboard among the pill containers. He could understand her point of view and was prepared to agree that it was probably the right decision. But however right it seemed at the moment, he couldn’t make himself take the step towards separation. He would never forgive himself if it turned out to be a wrong decision in retrospect. Maybe they were just in an unusually long rough patch that they were struggling to leave.

  He took the food container out of the refrigerator and opened it. Inside was mushroom risotto, which was one of his favourite things. No one made risotto as well as Sonja. He took a fork and ate it cold right out of the container in case the noise of the microwave woke the others. He decided not to let it be over until they’d made a final, concerted attempt to save their marriage.

  When he had finished, he pushed the container into the overflowing dishwasher, turned off the light and went into the bathroom, where he took a shower, brushed his teeth and started the usual activity of flossing. His dentist had been after him more aggressively recently and threatened loose teeth if he didn’t start flossing soon. Considering how much his gums were bleeding, those were anything but idle threats.

  Sonja was asleep in the bedroom. There was really nothing quite like the sound of her sleeping. Her heavy, irregular breathing was interspersed with light snores, which were so unique that not even she was able to imitate them when she tried to pretend to be asleep.