The Ninth Grave

by Stefan Ahnhem

  He decided to wait and threw away the sad leftovers. He walked around turning off all the lights while brushing his teeth, then went to bed. His body was pounding with fatigue and it felt like he hadn’t slept for a whole week. He adjusted the pillows, lay down and let gravity lower his eyelids. But he couldn’t fall asleep.

  Instead, the events of the past few days replayed over and over in his mind. He couldn’t stop wondering what the woman from the bus had been talking so enthusiastically about with the other woman under the Mushroom at Stureplan, and what connection she might have with Grimås’ organs and Fischer’s missing heart – if there even was a connection.

  An hour or two later, he gave up and went over to Matilda’s room, picked her up along with her teddy bear and carried her over to his own bed, where he could hold her in his arms, feel her warmth and hear her calm, deep breaths.

  He managed to count three of them.

  56

  THE CHURCH BELL STARTED to reverberate over Katarina cemetery and the surrounding blocks, sounding all the way down Östgötagatan, southwards and past Fabian, who was locking his car in front of a charming design office that highlighted its many framed distinctions on the inside wall.

  It was Saturday, and even though it was only three o’clock in the afternoon, it was starting to get dark. At ten o’clock that morning Malin had called him and explained that she’d managed to convince the therapist to grant Ossian Kremph a crime-scene visit. Five hours later, all the papers and permits had been signed, which was fairly quick, considering how many people had to sign off on it.

  But for Fabian it had felt like an eternity. The ten straight hours of sleep had done him good. The fleeting thought that had emerged in the Shurgard storage space had developed overnight into a concrete theory. He was on the trail of something, and hopefully Kremph’s crime-scene visit would indicate if he was on the right path.

  He still hadn’t said anything to the others, not even Malin, which was unusual. A good theory wasn’t enough to get them involved at this point. There couldn’t be any doubt – the consequences were much too great if it turned out he was wrong.

  He hadn’t been completely idle at home, however. While waiting for the green light he’d had time to play a game of Monopoly with Matilda and Theodor. He’d contacted Aziza Thåström and managed to convince her to interrupt her Christmas preparations to resume the examination of Grimås’ inner organs. And, just as he’d suspected, one of the organs was missing: the liver.

  Maybe Ossian Kremph had prepared and eaten his liver. In most species, the organ was a delicacy. Together with Fischer’s missing heart, he might have made a real feast. Unless there was something other than hunger behind the murders, something that would put the whole investigation in a new light and make everyone realize that it was a long way from being over.

  He waved to Malin, who had turned the corner on to Blekingegatan and was desperately looking for an empty parking space. Tomas and Jarmo came walking from Katarina Bangata, each carrying a pitta wrap, and the riot squad’s bus was already parked in front of the container outside the entrance.

  They had certainly not skimped on security. The force was made up of six men, all armed with automatic weapons, bulletproof vests and helmets with lowered visors. Two of the men stood on either side of the bus and scanned the area, before another two quickly disappeared into the condemned building on Östgötagatan.

  They would have preferred to take him to the Shurgard facility in Högdalen where they had recently found Adam Fischer, but Stubbs was still working in full swing, and the nap room in the parliament building would have drawn too much attention. That left the condemned building – still a well-kept secret from the general public. They hadn’t been able to find traces of any dismemberment there yet, but they had no doubt that the plastic-covered table was set up with only that in mind.

  Now it was time to hear from Ossian Kremph, who was helped out of the bus by the last two riot police. Both his hands and feet were shackled, like a prisoner condemned to death. Kremph’s head was lowered and the half-metre-long chain from the shackles scraped against the icy asphalt as he was led past the container and under the scaffolding.

  ‘God, I don’t understand how you cope with living in the city,’ said Malin, stopping to catch her breath. ‘I had to search all the way up to All Saints Church before I found a—’ She was interrupted by a shrill whistle; Tomas was waving for them to come over.

  *

  OSSIAN KREMPH WAS LED into the room with the bright lamp over the plastic-covered table. His gaze was still lowered and he limped on his injured leg. After a few metres the two police escorts released him and stood on either side of the doorway.

  Kremph looked curiously around as if he’d never been there before. He wouldn’t look at Fabian, who was standing by the far wall, or Tomas, who was squeezed into the corner right behind him, filming everything. But when he caught sight of Jarmo, who was strapped down on the table as the victim wearing only underwear, his eyes were transformed and he started shaking his head while he backed out towards the hall.

  They had two hours with him. If you subtracted the time for transport and security preparations, there wasn’t much more than an hour left. It wasn’t much time to put someone in the right mood so that their most repressed, shameful memories would come to the surface.

  Edelman had managed to ward off the therapist’s demands to be involved, so at least they had Kremph to themselves.

  ‘Hi, Ossian.’ Malin stopped him. ‘Do you recognize me?’

  Kremph shook his head, without taking his eyes off Jarmo’s body.

  ‘You’ve been here before, right?’

  He shook his head again. ‘I don’t like this at all. Can we go back now?’

  ‘Not quite yet. Soon. First we’re going to look and then talk a little. Can you come with me?’ She tried to coax him towards the table.

  ‘I don’t want to – not here. Now let’s go.’

  ‘Ossian, this is completely safe. All you have to do is look around and see if you remember something that you’ve forgotten. After that we can go back, okay?’ She extended one hand to him.

  Only after looking back and forth for over a minute between Malin’s outstretched hand, the porcelain doll on the bookshelf and Jarmo on the plastic-covered table did Kremph finally go along with her. Fabian noted that his breathing was getting more and more jerky with every step he took towards the table. And by the time they were close to Jarmo, who was lying completely still, Kremph appeared to be on the verge of a breakdown.

  ‘Is this how you strap down your victims?’ said Malin, pointing at one of the straps that was holding Jarmo’s neck down on the tabletop.

  ‘Not me,’ said Kremph as his eyes wandered over Jarmo’s body. ‘I only want to listen to the radio.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s the other Ossian?’

  Kremph shook his head. ‘The sea report is really good.’

  ‘Ossian, now I want you to listen to me. We know you did it. We have a lot of technical evidence against you. Now we’re just trying to understand how it happened. Did you pluck out the eyes before or after you started cutting?’

  ‘Not me, I’m telling you! I haven’t done anything!’ He started to violently shake his head.

  ‘I can understand this may be difficult, but try to take it—’

  ‘I’ve always done the same thing, and there was never a problem. I know that. No one ever complained.’

  ‘What do you mean? They could protest while they’re tied down and being slashed?’

  ‘And the sea report, always the sea report,’ Kremph said without taking his eyes off Jarmo. ‘Every morning. It’s the only thing, just the sea report and Sudoku. But I don’t have a radio at the hospital. I don’t know why, but I don’t. They say I can’t have one,’ he continued, more and more manically. ‘Why can’t I have one? Answer me! Why aren’t you answering?’

  Malin turned towards Fabian, who signalled to her to continue, even though he
could see that she didn’t want to. She really hadn’t wanted to lead the interrogation, but it had been one of the therapist’s stipulations.

  ‘Why?’ Kremph continued.

  ‘Ossian, I honestly don’t know why you can’t have a radio. But now I want you to tell us in detail how—’

  ‘How can I listen to the sea report then? I have to, because I do it every morning.’

  ‘Ossian, instead can you tell us how you—’

  ‘And the medications. I have to take them, too. I do it every day: morning, noon and night. They’re in the red tin. They’re always in the red tin in the medicine cabinet, so I won’t forget, especially two o’clock. That’s when… There’s always so much going on then, and time… it just disappears, and suddenly I’ve forgotten, although of course I don’t know it right then.’ He started scratching his neck with both hands.

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘But that’s not good at all. It’s very bad. It doesn’t work, then everything goes wrong.’ He was speaking faster and faster with the saliva running out of his mouth. ‘Everything has to be right, and if it’s not everything starts twirling round and round, and I get so tired. All of a sudden he’s there, the weird guy, although I’m the only one of course.’ He swallowed and continued scratching until a scab loosened and blood started running down his neck. ‘He has the keys and he’s there anyway. He fixes and helps out. He doesn’t think I know, but I do, and then everything gets so dark and heavy, and then it’s like I just go away.’

  ‘Ossian, try to take it easy and concentrate on the body that’s lying here.’

  ‘I lock up every day and I’ve even replaced the bolts. Lock, lock and then I check whether it’s locked – always. Otherwise you can’t be completely sure.’

  ‘Ossian?’

  ‘I can’t stand it. It’s so awful. Really awful.’ He held his head in his hand and caught his breath. ‘I’m so tired, so tired. I can’t take any more now.’

  ‘Ossian, we don’t have much time left. Try to—’

  ‘Have to rest and just close my eyes a little, but it’s not possible. As soon as I close my eyes I’m there again, back to…’ He trailed off and collapsed, out of breath and drained of energy.

  ‘Back to what? Ossian, tell us what it is you come back to.’

  Without any warning at all, Kremph started screaming and threw himself right at Malin, who lost her balance and fell to the floor. She yelled to the others while she tried to kick and claw her way out of his grip.

  Fabian, Tomas and the two riot officers were already on their way over, but the seconds dragged on and Kremph calmly lowered his head toward her throat and hissed something into her ear before he was torn off her and dragged into the adjoining room.

  Fabian helped Malin up. ‘Are you okay?’

  Malin nodded and started straightening her hair. ‘But that really scared me. I thought he would…’ She fell silent to catch her breath. ‘That he was about to…’ She broke down and started crying. Fabian hugged her and let her rest her head on his shoulder.

  ‘There, there, Malin. It’s over now.’

  Malin nodded and tried to calm down.

  ‘He said something to you, didn’t he?’ asked Fabian.

  Malin pulled out of his arms and looked him in the eye. ‘He asked when he was going to get his radio back.’ She broke into a smile and laughed. ‘Isn’t that just sick. After all of this, the only thing he can think about is his radio with the sea report. Oh, God. How do I look right now? Has the make-up run completely?’

  ‘You’re fine.’

  ‘I’m going down to the station with this now,’ said Tomas, holding up the video camera. ‘It doesn’t look like much more is going to happen here.’

  ‘Perhaps someone can be so kind as to undo me,’ said Jarmo.

  ‘You seem to be comfortable where you are, if you ask me,’ said Tomas, disappearing with the camera.

  ‘Fabian, how many years have we worked together?’ Malin opened a compact mirror and looked at herself.

  Fabian shrugged. ‘Five or six years?’

  ‘Seven-and-a-half. For seven-and-a-half years we’ve spent more time with each other than with our significant others.’ She took out a tissue and dried her eyes. ‘And this is the first time you’ve ever given me a hug.’

  ‘And let’s hope it never happens again.’

  Malin laughed and took out a mascara wand to freshen up, but immediately dropped them both and fell down on the floor.

  ‘Malin! Malin!’ Fabian quickly dropped to his knees and tried to wake her. ‘Malin, do you hear me?’ But he got no reaction.

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’ asked Jarmo.

  ‘I don’t know. She just fell all of a sudden—’ He stopped when he saw a pool of blood spreading out on the floor below her. ‘Hello! Can someone call an ambulance?!’

  Two police officers came hurrying in from the adjacent room.

  ‘What the hell are you waiting for? Call, dammit! She’s about to have a miscarriage! And Anders – we have to call Anders, her husband.’ Fabian fumbled for his phone and tried to keep his fingers steady enough to enter her home number.

  ‘The ambulance is on its way,’ said one of the riot officers.

  ‘Good,’ said Fabian while he listened to the ringing phone. ‘Answer already.’

  ‘Hello, you’ve reached the Rehnberg family. We can’t come to the phone right now, but please leave a message after the beep.’

  ‘Hello, this is Fabian Risk. Anders, call me as soon as—’ He was interrupted by a loud sound that he couldn’t initially interpret, even though it was loud and clear. His brain was already so overloaded that it couldn’t put together the sound of breaking glass with any real event. He wanted to continue describing what had happened to the answering machine, but he couldn’t even do that, and soon he was up on his feet and on his way into the other room.

  It was empty. He walked towards the broken window, followed by two riot officers arguing about who’d had responsibility for Kremph. A real snowstorm had started brewing outside and snowflakes were already whirling in the room.

  He’d had a gut feeling the past few days, but his brain needed to catch up with him. Now he knew for sure.

  Ossian Kremph was innocent.

  Part 2

  19–24 December 2009

  My love for you makes me move mountains. It makes me do the impossible, and the most awful, but absolutely necessary. And a little more.

  After you disappeared from the barracks that day, I tried to sustain myself with the idea of you. I listened to Etta James and I touched my palm to the fence and imagined your blue eyes. But it was not enough. I had to find you. I left the barracks at night and left the camp through the hole in the fence. I could only hope that God would be there and show me the way. I’d seen the white cloth sticking out from under your coat and thought that maybe you worked as a nurse at the hospital in Urik a few kilometres away.

  I didn’t make it further than the alleys when loud sirens started howling and voices shouted through megaphones to wake everyone up. I knew about our nocturnal stress raids, but I’d never experienced one myself. Not until then.

  They thought I was one of you, so I ran as fast as I could in no particular direction. They were driving around humiliating people and setting examples. Then the world exploded. The windows above rained down over me and my ears rang. I got lost in the white cloud that stung my eyes and kept getting bigger and bigger.

  I should have given up right there and accepted that it would never work, but I couldn’t let go of even just the possibility of seeing you and the hope that we would never be separated again. I kept running, but stumbled and fell headlong.

  My eyes stung as if someone had stuck them with needles. I tried to get up, but it was hopeless. They were coming closer and closer in the corrosive fog. I recognized their voices. Their laughter in their gas masks seemed to foreshadow the fun that would soon begin.

  I tried to resist, but did
n’t have the strength. I let them take hold of my arms and drag me across the asphalt.

  So tired now… Must rest a little… Just a little… Don’t know how much more I’ll be able to write, but so much left to say. So little strength…

  57

  SHARDS OF GLASS WERE still stuck in his hands and forearms, revealing that Ossian Kremph had used his handcuffs to break the windowpane. He had then wriggled his way through the hole in the glass and jumped off the scaffolding. The fall was from a height of about fifteen metres – a certain death if it hadn’t been for the container below filled with heavy waste.

  But Kremph died immediately anyway. His head struck the edge of the container so hard that everything above the root of his nose spattered in a radius of several metres.

  It was not the most satisfactory conclusion to such a complex investigation, argued Edelman, even if he quickly added that it was a conclusion nonetheless. For Fabian, Ossian Kremph’s death meant anything but closure. There were still too many unanswered questions.

  On the surface, the investigation had always seemed to be moving forward: new discoveries had been made, pictures were taken and notes written. Clues were discovered, labelled, put in bags and categorized. Everyone had worked double shifts and went through every possibility. Eventually connections had been made and judgements reached.

  It all fitted together perfectly. Ossian Kremph, with his dissociative identity disorder and previous convictions, was almost the ideal perpetrator. The victims’ eyes had been removed – his signature – and he also had a motive for revenge against Carl-Eric Grimås, who had been in charge of the investigation that had convicted him all those years ago. The fact that Kremph had memory gaps and refused to talk about the crimes didn’t help either.

  While Fabian’s colleagues were convinced that Kremph was the common thread that finally guided them to a resolution, he couldn’t shake the growing feeling that it had been too simple – that they were fumbling blindly without the slightest clue of what this was really about.