The Ninth Grave

by Stefan Ahnhem

  He couldn’t see any pipes, and from his viewpoint it just looked like a black hole. But once he shone the flashlight into the opening, he discovered that it was anything but a little hole. It was a shaft about two square metres in size that extended vertically through the building, from the top floor all the way down to the cellar.

  He had nothing to lose and squeezed through the narrow gap holding the flashlight in his mouth. A sturdy bolt that stuck out from the wall right above the opening served as a handle so he could heave himself up and pull in his legs without falling into the shaft. He supported himself with one foot against the lower edge of the opening and found a number of thick electrical cables to use as passable foot support against the opposite wall. He stood up and examined the walls of the shaft.

  A thick board rested against the wall a short distance below the opening and extended like a catwalk over to the opposite side of the chute, where there appeared to be a similar hole. The flashlight slipped out of his mouth as he moved one foot over the other to the catwalk, and a few seconds later it went out with an echoing crash.

  The darkness became so dense that he was forced to straddle the board so that he didn’t lose his balance. He felt along the wall with his hands and found that there was something blocking the opening. But it was no inspection hatch. It felt like twisted steel wire or some kind of thin grate. He tried to press it in, but was unable to move it. Only once he braced himself against the catwalk and pushed with both feet did it finally shift and he could make his way out through the opening.

  At that moment he realized that he had been here before.

  73

  AFTER SHE CAME HOME Dunja barely had time to unpack her new phone and connect it to the computer to transfer all her contacts before it started ringing. She recognized Carsten’s number immediately. Even if she had longed to hear his voice for the past twenty-four hours, she had no desire to answer right now, she had too much on her mind. Not once during the whole day had he tried to get in touch with her, or any of her colleagues for that matter. Only now, when the news about what she’d been through had reached all the way up to Stockholm, was it convenient.

  But that wasn’t why she didn’t answer. She simply didn’t have the time.

  She had spent most of Sunday in the meeting room with Jan Hesk and Kjeld Richter, where they had turned every clue in the investigation upside down. They’d cleared the whiteboard and put everything up again in a new way to try and see it with fresh eyes. They were hoping to find a different motive where Benny Willumsen’s only function was to act as a decoy.

  Hesk had done everything he could to pretend that nothing had happened between them. He completely ignored the fact that she’d called him, desperately asking for help and pleading for her life, and acted like he hadn’t turned his back on her when she needed him most. He hadn’t even offered an apology or an attempt at an explanation. He seemed to believe it would be enough to just work through it.

  They hadn’t managed to come up with much more than a number of different ideas, all of which felt far-fetched.

  All but one.

  She’d been struck by it when she saw the pictures of Katja Skov’s arranged body parts and noted that a large part of her chest was missing. Neither Hesk nor Richter thought it was strange and tried various explanations for how easy it was to lose a body part.

  She was firmly convinced that they weren’t chasing a perpetrator who went around losing things, so much so that she’d managed to convince Oscar Pedersen to skip the season finale of The Killing to go and examine the first victim, Karen Neuman, one more time.

  Dunja let the ring tones from Carsten’s phone call go to voicemail. Until he called for the third time.

  ‘Dunja, is that you? What the hell happened? I heard on the news that—’

  ‘Honey, I’m fine.’

  ‘Fine? Isn’t it true that—’

  ‘Yes, but you don’t need to worry. Everything’s fine now.’ She heard the beeping tone indicating that Pedersen was trying to get through. ‘Listen, I don’t have time to talk any more now. I have to hang up.’

  ‘Huh? Wait a minute. I just—’

  She ended the call and took Pedersen’s. ‘Hi. I’m sorry, I just had to finish another call. Have you found anything?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘You were right. Her right kidney is missing.’

  74

  FABIAN STOOD UP, BRUSHED the dust off and shivered. He was standing in the condemned apartment and the gust from the window – still broken from Ossian Kremph’s suicide – explained why it was so cold. He turned towards the refrigerator that he had just pushed to the side, and understood exactly how the perpetrator had been able to make his way in and out of Kremph’s apartment unnoticed.

  Two linked apartments in two different buildings: one with an address on Blekingegatan, the other around the corner on Östgötagatan. They were close enough that the police would suspect that the apartment with the plastic-covered table was Kremph’s lair, but far enough away that they would never think the two were actually connected by a shaft in the wall.

  He quickly took a few pictures of the hole in the wall and inside the shaft, and then pushed the refrigerator back in place and continued towards the door. Of all the times he’d been there, it was the first time that the door had been closed.

  It took him all of two steps into the adjoining room to realize that the ceiling light was on, shining right on to the plastic-covered table, which was so wet it was dripping down on the floor and into a large tub that was filled two-thirds of the way with fluid.

  Fabian’s breath quickened. Someone had literally just been there to make use of the equipment. They must have missed each other by minutes. He hurried over, crouched by the tub, and studied the transparent fluid – rings spread out towards the edges with every drop that fell from the table. It looked like ordinary water. But when he leaned down to smell it, he sensed immediately that there was something about the odour that didn’t add up. There was no doubt that it was water, but it was brackish. There was no way this had come from the taps in the apartment. But why would the killer want to carry a bucket of brackish water all the way here?

  The next evening I knocked on your father’s door. Your mother answered and started shouting. It didn’t take long before your brothers were there. They pushed me up against a wall. I had brought disgrace to the family and your mother was forced to send you away. I was devastated. Everything was my fault. If I had just forced you to walk away from the fence that day, none of this would have happened. Now it was too late.

  They tied me to a tree in the backyard and took turns hitting me while they waited for your father to return. I don’t remember if your mother tried to get them to stop, I only remember that I was woken by a bucket of dirty water being thrown over me and tried to open my battered eyes. Your father’s face was so close to mine.

  How dare I set my dirty foot in your country, he shouted. I told him I was there to ask for your hand and that I was prepared to do everything I could to get his consent. I remember the wind, the flies, the leaves in the tree, even the dripping tap. Everything fell silent. Then he nodded and said that I should go with his sons on a mission.

  Aisha, soon I won’t have much energy left. There is blood everywhere, and your brothers have already fallen silent. I’m so sorry, but the convoy of settlers came just as we expected. We made our way out of the crevices and threw our stones.

  The trucks stopped and I saw how our stones dented the metal. I thought it was strange that they didn’t drive away. Your brothers screamed at me to continue. There was so much panic in their eyes. I did as they asked, but soon realized that something wasn’t right.

  They came out of their trucks with blinding searchlights, tactical vests and automatic weapons. Don’t ask me how, but they knew about our ambush. The volleys of shots echoed against the rock wall, and we kept on throwing. I did too because I wanted to show your brothers where I stood an
d that I was a man of my word. But, Aisha, it just didn’t work. One by one we fell, and the searchlights lit up parts of the rocks that were red with all the blood.

  They laid us out in rows and studied our wounds. Zakwan on one side of me had been hit in the eye, but was still alive, and Wasim on the other side was coughing blood. I had been shot twice in the stomach and felt that I was bleeding to death. I could do nothing but look up at the black night sky, absent of stars. A storm was brewing.

  I heard another truck drive up and stop. I recognized the voices from the camp and tried to turn my face away when they walked over and shone their flashlights. But no one recognized me, maybe because of all the blood. I was dragged away with the others and thrown into the van.

  Aisha, it feels like you’re here and reading every word over my shoulder. I don’t want to stop writing, but strength has run out of my body. I must save my last bits so that I can fold this up, put it in the envelope and drop it in the night. I hope that God takes over and sees that one fine day it reaches you.

  Wherever you are and whatever you are doing, I’ll be thinking about that one fine day.

  Efraim Yadin

  75

  SOFIE LEANDER’S FIRST THOUGHT had been to use the scalpel to cut her carotid artery and let the painful waiting slowly run out of her. The thought of just fading out into nothingness was almost as enticing as surviving and being released.

  It was that almost that stopped her.

  Just as she pressed the edge of the scalpel to her throat, it occurred to her that this tool, and the fact that she was no longer strapped down on the table, increased her chances of survival by several thousand per cent. True, there was no way for her to get out at the moment. She’d searched through the whole compartment, but hadn’t found anything that could help her; not even the two small keys that were hanging on a hook inside one of the cabinets fitted anything. Not to mention that the motor for the louvre gate was outside the room and there didn’t seem to be any way to control it from inside.

  On the other hand, she could kick on the gate and scream for help, which would hopefully make someone passing by stop and realize that something wasn’t right. But so far, no one had come.

  Not until now.

  With her ear pressed against the gate, she listened as the big door outside opened and a car drove in and stopped. Then she heard a car door open and close, and steps walking on the hard floor. She wanted to pound and hit and make as much noise as possible, but she hesitated. She still couldn’t be completely sure who was on the other side and she wanted to wait until she could determine whether the steps were walking by her or stopping somewhere within her storage unit. The only thing she hoped they didn’t do was to stop right outside her gate.

  Her body was shaking from the exertion and she was struck by how little she cared that she was completely naked. It didn’t matter if the person on the other side was a man or a woman, or whether they were old or young; she would ensure that they couldn’t miss her. The steps came closer and closer, and in just a few seconds they would walk past to one of the units further in the building. As soon as she knew for sure she would start.

  Instead, her worst fears were realized.

  They stopped.

  There was a brief silence and then the electric motor turned on and started rolling up the gate. It was not enough time for her to plan anything new, but she had prepared herself well and knew exactly how she should hide behind the cartons of the vomit-inducing dietary supplement and stand ready with the scalpel.

  She had put the table back in place and set out pieces of cardboard and other material she’d found to try and make it look as if someone was lying there. It was far from convincing, but in the best-case scenario it would give her the extra second she needed to jump out and press the scalpel wherever she could reach, search through the pockets for the car key and then run without ever turning back.

  The electric motor worked its way to the end. She crouched, motionless, and waited until she saw the person come in and walk to the table, just as she’d envisaged in her mind countless times. Only then did she leap out and strike with the scalpel.

  A kick against her leg threw her off balance when she tried for a second time. Her head struck the concrete floor and she dropped the scalpel.

  The last thing she wondered before the gas was sprayed in her face was why she hadn’t followed through with her first idea.

  *

  WHEN SHE FINALLY WOKE up it was as if nothing had happened. It almost felt like a dream she’d just woken up from, or a subconscious game that was now over. She was once again strapped down on the plastic-covered table with the feeding tube taped to her mouth.

  But she didn’t have the energy to care any more. She had long since given up hope of being able to die soon. As of now she intended to let apathy take over. Most of all, she just wanted to check out and close down.

  But however she tried, she couldn’t help speculating about what was going on. Why was her hair wet and smelling of shampoo? Did she hear the sound of scissors? Was her hair being cut?

  There was a damp towel over her face, so she couldn’t see anything, but she could definitely hear scissors finishing up and being set down on a metal tray.

  Her hair was surely in need of a wash – or two. But had she really been there so long that it needed to be cut? What did it matter if her hair got a little longer?

  Evidently it did.

  However much she resisted, she couldn’t help having a little hope. What if she was to survive after all? Maybe she’d served her sentence and was now being prepared for release. Then soon she would be at home with her beloved husband again. She longed for him and his warm, calming embrace.

  Something cold landed on her breasts, first one and then the other. Then some dropped down on to her stomach and over her legs. It was some kind of cream, which the hands started rubbing in.

  It smelled good.

  A little like coconut.

  76

  IT WAS ONLY FOUR thirty in the morning, and there were still several hours before it would be light outside. It was the shortest day of the year so maybe there wouldn’t even be light, Dunja noted, as she got out of the car holding the cardboard tray with three coffee cups, feeling the cold, damp wind work its way through every tiny, invisible opening in her coat. Not even the Danish flag-pattern hat she’d got for Christmas from Carsten’s mother, and normally refused to wear, seemed to have any warming effect.

  She saw Kjeld Richter and Jan Hesk talking further ahead by the edge of the pier, but they fell silent as soon as they saw her. You didn’t have to be Einstein to figure out that she was the topic of discussion. After less than a minute out in the cold, she was almost prepared to agree with Hesk and Richter’s argument that conditions couldn’t have been much worse.

  The dark and the cold were bad enough, but the conditions in the water were horrible. The strong wind had stirred up the surface so that heavy blocks of ice pressed against each other like big teeth grinding everything in their path. And the harbour manager had demanded – several times – that they be finished by no later than six o’clock.

  ‘Don’t you look frisky and happy,’ said Dunja without getting so much as a smile in response. ‘Coffee?’ She held out the tray until they were both forced to take a cup. ‘How’s he doing?’

  ‘How do you think?’ Hesk nodded towards the turbulent water. ‘Do you have any desire to jump in?’

  ‘No, but I’m not a diver. From what I can tell, it looks like he’s already down there.’

  ‘You can always get in…’ Hesk sipped the coffee and clenched his teeth as if to mask how good he thought it was.

  Richter’s communication radio crackled: ‘The car’s here. Over.’

  ‘See if you can open the doors and get in. Over,’ said Richter, moving away from them to talk on the radio undisturbed.

  Dunja drank her coffee and stared over the edge of the pier, down into the black chunks of ice. But she couldn’t mak
e out any bubbles coming to the surface or see the glow from the searchlight. She looked beyond the wet dock and the boats that were moored along the quay opposite towards the back side of Kronborg Castle – the last outpost of the East.

  She often reflected on this when she looked out over the Sound and saw Sweden towering up on the opposite side. Their neighbouring country was officially neutral and undoubtedly the Swedes leaned more toward the West in their basic values, but the sensibilities of the East had always been apparent with all their rules, state liquor stores and the like.

  But her feelings were completely different this time. Instead of thinking the Swedes were hopelessly behind Denmark, she now thought they were further ahead. She didn’t know if this shift was caused by meeting that very pregnant policewoman from Sweden, or the fact that she’d just set foot in the country for the first time only a couple of days ago. All she knew for sure was that, despite her experiences in Kävlinge, she felt an increasingly strong desire to go there again.

  She turned to Hesk and asked whether the coffee was okay, but regretted it immediately. Why was it always her responsibility to break the silence? Hesk, for his part, had done nothing to alleviate the awkwardness. Instead he waited as long as possible before he shrugged and nodded almost imperceptibly. ‘I guess it’s okay.’

  ‘Good,’ said Dunja, feeling increasingly irritated.

  He still hadn’t so much as said a word about how he hung up on her when she was in grave danger. Nor had he even bothered to admit that she was right as far as Karen Neuman’s missing kidney was concerned. If he thought he was going to get away with it by keeping quiet, he thought wrong.

  ‘After we finish up here, I was thinking about stopping in to see Pedersen to hear what he has to say about that missing kidney,’ she said, emphasizing the last two words.

  ‘Okay.’ Hesk took another sip of his coffee, his gaze directed out into nothingness.