She was fully aware that it was against all the rules to drive there alone and she knew there wasn’t much more they could do until Molander got the information from the gas stations. But she couldn’t just sit and wait in her hotel room.
Even though Klippan seemed really nice, and his wife no doubt was too, she couldn’t spend hours in their company while Willumsen’s head start got longer and longer. She was certain she was right and Willumsen had stolen Aksel’s car and changed the licence plate. He could be heading anywhere with Katja Skov bound up in his car – if she was even still alive. Besides, she didn’t eat lamb. It didn’t matter how good everyone said it was, the very smell of it cooking made her sick to her stomach.
She thought about suggesting that she and Klippan drive together, but decided they had far too little to go on for him to sacrifice his Friday night. If he knew what she was doing now, he would never have agreed to let her loose. For that reason, she was now sitting alone behind the wheel, forcing down a few gulps of the sickly-sweet, seriously overrated soft drink as she passed the speed camera right after Teckomatorp on route 17 toward Eslöv – Benny Willumsen’s last recorded spot from about quarter to two that day. It was now quarter past six, which meant he was four-and-a-half hours ahead of her. And according to Molander, he had probably turned off somewhere before Marieholm to conceal himself from the cameras.
But she didn’t think he stayed on the back roads to avoid speed cameras. He probably wasn’t even aware that they could record all traffic in real time and likely would have chosen a completely different route starting in Helsingborg as a result. On the other hand, there was a chance he had business in Kävlinge and would spend the night somewhere in the area.
She turned right on to route 108, the only possible road he could have taken down to Kävlinge. It had already crept down to minus twelve degrees Celsius. She scanned the open landscape on both sides. It was dark and she couldn’t see much more than scattered groves of trees and fields so frozen and snow-covered that it was impossible to believe that rape seed would be in full bloom in only six months. She didn’t see any houses with their lights on or an abandoned BMW, and there were no roads that appeared to lead to anything worth checking.
The longer she drove in the darkness, the more she realized what a long shot this was. The chance of choosing seven correct lottery numbers was surely considerably greater than the possibility of finding anything of interest. But she had nothing to lose by at least trying.
She came to a roundabout where she turned left on to route 104 towards Kävlinge. She had no idea whether she was in a small village or a bigger town. All she knew with certainty was that if Benny Willumsen really had stopped he would likely be indoors somewhere. Besides, Mikael Rønning hadn’t found anything registered to him other than the apartment in Malmö, so he had either borrowed a house from a friend or had broken into an unoccupied summer cottage. Or else…
Dunja stopped the car on the hard shoulder and looked towards the industrial building on the other side of the road. Did something blink in one of the small windows or was it just the reflection from the streetlights? She couldn’t be sure. But a large, illuminated banner in the middle of the long wall facing the road indicated there were 780 vacant square metres to rent. Only two of the five spotlights still worked and it looked very worn, so she estimated the space had been abandoned for a long time.
She opted to take a look, and drove further until she could turn left at a tyre shop. A smaller road led her around the back of the building, and she drove into the empty parking lot behind the grey sheet-metal building with its small, grated windows a hundred or so metres apart.
She braked and turned off the engine, her eyes glued to the tyre tracks in the snow in front of her – they led all the way up to the building and then disappeared around the corner.
50
EVEN THOUGH FABIAN AND Malin had run through the corridor, taken the stairs all the way down to the garage instead of waiting for the elevator – which had a habit of not showing up when you most needed it – thrown themselves into Fabian’s car and driven from Kungsholmen all the way to Tengdahlsgatan in Sofia in less than fourteen minutes, they had still managed to miss the bus.
‘Dammit, he saw us! I’m sure he saw us,’ said Malin as she caught her breath and looked at the clock. ‘Besides, it’s only 4:46. That bastard left early.’
‘We’ll get it at the next stop,’ said Fabian, starting to run after the bus.
‘Are you out of your mind? Over my pregnant body,’ Malin called after him, a bit too late.
Fabian had already rounded the corner at Tegelviksgatan and was running as fast as he could without slipping in the snow. No one was waiting at the next stop, which compelled him to continue all the way down to Barnängsbryggan by Hammarby Lake where he managed to get on board and hold the bus for Malin, who looked more dead than alive when she finally sank down into one of the seats for the disabled.
‘God, I’m worn out.’ She unbuttoned her coat. ‘I think I just beat the record for the three hundred metres with twins.’
Fabian nodded, even if all his attention was directed towards the other passengers on the bus. There were five of them, and none of them remotely resembled the woman they’d seen in the photographs. Only a few passengers boarded at the stops after the pier along the Hammarby Canal.
However, once they reached Skanstull across from Åhléns so many people poured in through all the doors that it felt as if the bus was being invaded. Fabian and Malin split up so that they didn’t miss anything, working their way through the bus before it stopped at South Station and opened the doors. Several of the passengers got off, but a new horde squeezed in, and suddenly it was impossible to move.
Fabian forced his way up to Malin. ‘We’ll stand at each exit. It’s the only way.’ But he got no response. Only now did he notice that she was completely pale and her face was sweaty. ‘Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?’ He tried to make eye contact with her, and she looked at him with a glassy gaze and barely noticeably shook her head.
‘Are you sick? Do you have pain somewhere?’
She looked lost in her gaze.
‘Malin, can you answer me? Malin? Hello?’
She moved her mouth but no words came out.
Fabian turned towards an elderly woman who was sitting in a seat. ‘Excuse me, but could you please stand up so that she can sit down?’
The woman, who was dressed in beige sports clothing and wearing hiking shoes, looked at him as if that was one of the stupidest things she’d ever heard. ‘Listen, I’m actually seventy years old, and I’ve worked my whole—’
‘Yes, and she’s very pregnant,’ Fabian interrupted. An ornery retiree was the last thing he had patience for right now. ‘So stand up now, dammit.’
The woman snorted and looked away.
‘Get up, I said.’ Fabian took hold of the woman’s arm to pull her up.
‘Wait, you can have my place instead,’ said the woman in the seat ahead of them, who was wearing a flowery red shawl over her coat. She stood up and squeezed out into the aisle.
Fabian thanked her and helped Malin sit down.
‘You ought to be ashamed,’ the older woman hissed behind them.
Fabian ignored her and directed his attention to Malin. ‘Just take it easy now and breathe.’ He took off her scarf and set it on her lap.
‘This country is going downhill because of people like you,’ the woman behind them continued as they passed Mariatorget and continued toward Slussen and Old Town, where she got off along with several other passengers.
‘Finally,’ said Malin, shaking her head. ‘What a fucking bitch.’
Fabian nodded and, to his great relief, he could see she was starting to recover some of the colour in her face.
‘I wish I could see to it that she has to take paratransit services for the rest of her life.’
Fabian laughed, but was struck by the fact that there was something familiar about the woman
who had given up her seat. Maybe she had a new haircut, or was wearing different clothing because it was winter. He turned around, but couldn’t see her anywhere.
‘What is it? Did you find her?’ said Malin.
Fabian shrugged and took out one of Ossian Kremph’s pictures from the bus where the woman was seen more or less clearly. Then he realized what it was he had noticed.
The hexagram.
The flowery shawl had been attached to the coat with a brooch of the exact same hexagram she had worn around her neck in several of the pictures. It couldn’t be anyone else.
‘I think it’s the woman with the flowery shawl,’ he said, looking around for her.
The bus stopped at Kungsträdgården, where several of the passengers got off and new ones poured in.
‘There is a technical problem on the bus ahead of us, which has been taken out of service. It’s going to be more crowded as a result. We apologize and thank you for your patience,’ the bus driver informed them.
Fabian forced his way towards the doors in the middle of the bus as quickly as he could, but didn’t get there before they closed and the bus drove on. It was impossible to tell whether the woman had got off or was still on the bus. It was so full again that he couldn’t see anyone other than those standing right next to him, and forcing his way ahead risked triggering the scuffle that he could feel brewing.
Someone started to complain about standing and waiting for an eternity; another chimed in that this wasn’t the first time. But at Norrmalmstorg the pressure alleviated enough so that Fabian could move again.
Then he caught sight of her – right after the bus had stopped at a red light. She had taken off the flowery shawl and was standing by the rear door.
Without warning she turned around and looked at him. He didn’t know what he should do. If he averted his gaze too quickly it would seem suspicious, but it would be just as suspicious if he kept on looking right at her. Instead, he tried to look past her, while he took out his phone and called Malin.
‘Have you found her?’
‘She’s standing at the exit in the back.’
‘God, it’s nice to know that he didn’t get her.’
Malin was right, of course. He had been preoccupied with wondering why Kremph had been interested in her at all, and what she had in common with Adam Fischer and Carl-Eric Grimås.
The bus stopped at Stureplan. The doors opened and the woman got off.
‘We have to get off. She’s left the bus.’ Fabian jumped down on the sidewalk and watched the woman, who was walking quickly towards the mushroom-shaped concrete rain shelter. ‘Malin, where are you? We can’t lose her.’
‘Take it easy, I’m on my way,’ said Malin, joining Fabian. ‘God, I’m completely wiped out.’
Fabian nodded, his eyes directed toward the Mushroom where the woman was now standing with another woman. Judging by their body language, they were discussing something that upset them both. She turned around and once again met his gaze. Immediately after that the other woman looked at him too.
‘I think she’s figured out that we’re following her. Come on, let’s go and talk to them.’ He made an effort to leave.
‘Wait,’ said Malin. ‘To be honest I don’t know if I can handle any more right now.’
‘Are you okay?’ He turned towards her. ‘Can I help you—’
‘No, it’s fine. I think I’ll just take a taxi home and lie down on the couch for a bit.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yes, I’m just a little… pregnant. Forget about me now and get to work.’ She hailed a taxi, which pulled over and stopped.
Fabian nodded and watched her walk to the taxi. Then he turned back to the Mushroom, only to discover that the two women were gone.
He ran over to assure himself that they weren’t hidden behind the central pillar. Then he climbed up on the wave-shaped wall that faced Birger Jarlsgatan and looked across the square. They were nowhere to be seen.
His phone started ringing. It was Hillevi Stubbs. ‘Listen, can I call you back? I’m in the middle of something,’ he said as he jumped down from the wall and jogged towards the entrance of the Sture Galleria.
‘Of course you can. But just so you know I’m not going to answer,’ said Stubbs, emphasizing what a bad idea she thought that was.
‘Okay, what’s this about?’ Fabian stopped with a sigh.
‘I don’t have time to explain now. It’s better if we meet there.’
‘And where’s “there”?’ He couldn’t help but be irritated by Stubbs’ insistence on keeping him on tenterhooks.
‘I found something in Ossian Kremph’s broom closet. The passcode to a storage unit in Shurgard out in Högdalen.’
51
THE BUILDING WAS ONLY one storey tall and almost 800 square metres. It looked like it had been hastily constructed with no consideration whatsoever for the surroundings. But why would that bother Benny Willumsen? It was considerably more important to him that the parking lot was behind the building and the view from the road as good as non-existent, which made it the perfect refuge for anyone who wanted to be left alone.
Dunja Hougaard grabbed her bag from the passenger seat and took out her service pistol. She put in a magazine, well aware that she was outside the borders of Denmark, but there was no chance she would leave the car and follow the tyre tracks in the snow up to the building unarmed.
Winter was having a hard time deciding if it should melt the snow or freeze it to ice, which made it impossible to see whether the tracks came from Aksel Neuman’s BMW. All she could say for sure was that they had driven only in one direction. She continued around the building, where the tracks continued for a few more metres until they disappeared into the building under a lowered garage door.
There were no windows to look in through and no handle or knob to open either. Then she heard a sound, a dull rumble that was difficult to locate, as if a truck was idling somewhere nearby. She pressed her ear against the garage door; it was coming from inside the building.
Nonetheless she didn’t give contacting Klippan a second thought. Car tracks outside a vacant industrial building in the middle of nowhere and a rumbling sound that could have come from a ventilation system simply weren’t enough to interrupt his Friday night. She would need considerably more proof before she could call for back-up.
She made her way to the back of the building again and found a door. It was locked. She went over to the window alongside, turned on her small flashlight and looked in. The only things visible behind the drawn curtains were some office furniture and a number of removal boxes. The window had also been equipped with both a protective grate and burglar alarm, even if it was almost certainly non-functional.
She tried walking around the building from the other direction and continued to the front, which faced the road some twenty metres away. The snow was deep and when she tramped through the frozen crust she sank down several inches.
The little window where she’d seen the light blinking was too high for her to look in, but the upper part of a fire escape was hanging down from the gutter at the far end of the building. Normally it would be impossible to reach without a fire ladder, ensuring that people couldn’t climb up and get on to the roof.
Normally.
The wind had created a high wall of snow right under the fire escape, so Dunja simply had to make her way up on all fours as carefully as possible so that she didn’t sink down through the crust. Once she was on top she managed to get hold of the lowest part of the fire escape. She tried to heave herself up, but had far too little muscle strength to get the whole way.
It wasn’t the first time she’d promised herself to start working out seriously. She’d bought exercise clothes and an annual gym pass, and used it twice, maybe three times. But this year she would keep her New Year’s resolution – it would be her top priority.
She tried to twirl around so that she could hang upside down, like a child on a jungle gym, and finally she was able to
get her feet up so that her knees were resting on the bottom rung. After that it was simply a matter of crouching up and taking hold of the next rung.
Once she was on the roof she was damp with sweat, even though the icy cold was cutting straight to her bones. Friends and acquaintances who had vacationed on the Scanian plains told her that the westerly onshore wind was both colder and harder than the offshore wind on the Danish side. But this was the first time she’d experienced it for herself, and if she didn’t get into a warm place soon, she risked freezing solid and cracking into thousands of pieces.
She made her way along the horizontal ladder on all fours towards the roof ridge, which ended after a few metres. She pushed away the snow, revealing a skylight. A few well-aimed kicks later and she’d made a hole big enough to fit through.
But it was so dark it was impossible to see what was in the room below her when she let go.
52
SOFIE LEANDER HAD GIVEN up trying to figure out what was happening. For a while she’d thought she understood. She’d thought that everything that had happened to her was somehow logical, and a reasonable consequence of her actions. But when she woke up and realized that she was still being kept alive, uncertainty had returned and gained the upper hand. And, contrary to human nature, she was neither relieved nor reassured. She had long since given up hope that this was something she could survive.
Then, a few minutes ago, she had heard a big gate opening somewhere in the building. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard the characteristic creaking that cut through the thin metal walls – her heart rate always increased and she tried to summon the person’s attention any way she could. But each time they continued about their business, and slowly but surely she paid less and less attention to the sound.
This time wasn’t like all the others, even if she could hear that same penetrating creak. It was the other sounds she heard that gave her hope again: not one but several cars driving in and braking so that the tyres screeched against the surface; car doors opening and slamming shut; loud voices echoing in the space; and the beeping and static of walkie-talkies.
The Ninth Grave Page 21
