The Treacherous Net

by Helene Tursten

  It was decided that the armed response unit should take over until the ambulance arrived; they would also wait for CSI, who would deal with the van.

  One of the officers walked back to the road with Irene, Åsa and My in order to direct the medics when they arrived. They realized it was possible to drive into the forest by following Mr. Groomer’s tire tracks; presumably there was an old dirt road there.

  “Could he have some kind of link to this place?” Irene wondered.

  “I don’t think there’s anything to have a link to,” her armed response colleague replied.

  “No, but he knew he could drive his van into the clearing, so he must have been here before. I’m just thinking he might have brought Alexandra and Moa here too.”

  Irene drove back to police HQ with Åsa and My in the backseat.

  “How are you feeling, My?” Irene asked.

  “A bit shaken up.”

  Irene studied her in the rearview mirror. She had pulled back her hair in a loose topknot, and she was wearing no more than a hint of mascara. Her face looked young and naked. She had on a lined grey hooded jacket over a black T-shirt, scruffy Doc Martens and baggy blue jeans. She doesn’t even look old enough to have been confirmed, Irene thought with astonishment.

  “And what about you, Åsa?” she went on.

  “I feel a bit shaken up too. I’ve shot elk, deer, hare, you name it. But I’ve never shot a human being before. It was . . . terrible!”

  “It was a clean hit. You’re a good shot,” Irene commented.

  They spent the rest of the journey in silence.

  When they got back to police HQ, Irene excused herself and went straight to her office. Åsa’s props and makeup were still there, but she had put back the desks and returned Irene’s lamp to its rightful place.

  Irene called the cardiac intensive care unit and spoke to a nurse who informed her that Gerd would be staying with them for a while. Her condition was serious. It wasn’t possible to operate on either her fractured arm or her broken hip until the irregular heartbeat was under control because they couldn’t risk anaesthetizing her. Irene asked if she could call back later, and the nurse assured her that would be fine.

  As she made her way to the meeting room, Irene felt both distressed and excited. When she reached the open door she took a deep breath and decided to put her anxiety to one side for the time being; the important thing now was to focus on Mr. Groomer.

  “I’ve ordered pizza all round,” Tommy said as soon as he caught sight of her. Only then did she realize how hungry she was. It was almost nine o’clock, and she hadn’t eaten since lunchtime.

  “I think we’ll start by asking My to tell us exactly what happened,” Tommy said with an encouraging smile. As if My were a young girl. It was easy to forget that she was a grown woman of twenty-six.

  “I guess all that dressing up was a complete waste of time,” Jonny said, glaring at Åsa.

  “Don’t say that. He didn’t suspect a thing,” My said.

  “He must have. He grabbed you practically as soon as you got to the station!” Jonny protested.

  “Not because he suspected anything. He just didn’t want to show himself in the café. I think he was hanging around just inside the doors leading into the station. I didn’t see him; I just felt his hands on my shoulders all of a sudden. He was strong, and he quickly pushed me toward the van. He kept on talking about ‘my brother Micke.’ ”

  She drew quotation marks in the air. Tommy raised a hand and interrupted her.

  “Let’s just back up a little. Try to remember exactly what he said from the time he got hold of you until he threw you in the back of the van.”

  “He grabbed my shoulders and said: ‘Hi! I’m Fredrik, Micke’s older brother. Micke’s at ice hockey training and he asked me to pick you up. We don’t have much time because all the guys are going to McDonald’s after training; Micke wants you to meet his pals.’ When we got to the van he opened the back doors and said: ‘Jump inside and I’ll take you to him.’ He more or less threw me inside and slammed the doors. It was pitch black. He drove fast, and the van was lurching from side to side. I sat down on the floor. The smell . . . there was a horrible smell in there.”

  No one spoke for a little while after My had finished.

  “I think you’re right. Of course he didn’t want to come into the café. Too many people,” Åsa said.

  “What did you see?” Tommy asked her.

  “Unfortunately, it turned out that I was on the wrong side of the concourse. I saw My come in from the Nils Ericson Terminal, then suddenly this guy appeared from behind a pillar and bundled her away. I set off after them, but of course an entire school class came along at that precise moment. And then all these other people were in my way . . . I got a bit stressed, to tell the truth. By the time I got to the van he’d already started it up and was driving off. But I’m not sure he realized I was chasing him; there were so many people wandering around and—”

  She was interrupted by a call from reception to say that the pizza delivery guy had arrived, and could they please come and collect all these boxes!

  They took a break to eat. Irene tried Krister’s cell, but he didn’t pick up. It was Friday night, so he was probably busy at work. She left a message asking him to call her when he had time.

  When they had finished the pizzas, Tommy asked My if she would mind leaving the room for a little while; he and Hannu would then take her statement. My nodded, and Åsa took her along to the office she shared with Irene.

  As soon as Åsa returned, Tommy told her that she must write down exactly what had happened, from the minute she saw My being hustled out of the concourse to the point where she fired the shot. Monday morning would be fine, he assured her. Åsa nodded, compressing her lips into a thin line.

  “Irene, I’m going to need a detailed report from you on what happened out there in the forest.”

  Irene knew this was essential for Internal Affairs; any shot fired at another person by a police officer on duty has to be investigated.

  “The van is a ’96 Chrysler Voyager. It’s registered to a Mattias Eriksson, who bought it in December last year,” Tommy went on. “He’s twenty-nine years old and lives in Malmö. He’s probably the individual who has now been taken to the hospital. He is refusing to answer any questions, and won’t even give his name. They will be treating the bullet wound tonight; apparently there was no damage to the bones or major blood vessels, only to the muscle. He will be transferred to the custody suite tomorrow.”

  “Do we know anything else about him? Any previous?” Jonny asked.

  “Jens has put together some notes.”

  Jens nodded and looked down at the papers in front of him.

  “Born in Malmö in 1979. Unmarried. No children. He’s on our records; he was questioned twice last fall, the first time following a complaint that he had exposed himself to a group of eleven-year-old girls outside Fågelros school. The second time he was accused of sexually molesting two underage girls in Biskopsgården. They were eleven and twelve years old, but neither of them was able to pick him out or provide a detailed description. He denied everything, and was released due to lack of evidence.”

  He put the sheet of paper to one side and picked up another.

  “He moved to Göteborg eight years ago to study at the Chalmers University of Technology, but dropped out after less than one semester. He was unemployed for a while, and since then he’s had a series of casual jobs at places like McDonald’s and various stores. Last fall he started work as a conductor on the trains. He doesn’t have a fixed timetable, he just covers wherever necessary, but from Thursday to Sunday he’s usually on the X2000 between Göteborg and Malmö. At the moment he’s registered at his mother’s address in Malmö; he moved back there in November last year.”

  “Hang on, he can’t possibly chat online while
he’s working,” Irene said. “Those trains are packed.”

  “Not while he’s working, no. But he’s got plenty of time when he’s on his way back to Malmö after his shift. Or up to Göteborg to start his next shift from here. Central Station in Göteborg is a terminus, which means that all trains traveling further on have to turn around after stopping here. Railroad employees travel free to and from work,” Jens explained.

  “I need coffee!” Irene exclaimed.

  While she was waiting for the machine she tried Krister again, but without success. She left another message asking him to contact her.

  When everyone had a cup of coffee, Tommy took over once more.

  “We need to work out a strategy for the investigation. Fredrik and Jonny are working over the weekend. Contact our colleagues in Malmö and ask them to visit Mattias Eriksson’s home address; we’ll assume he’s the person we have in custody. Maybe they can find out a little more about him. Meanwhile, I’d like you to try to get him to talk, if possible. If not we’ll wait until Monday. I don’t think it will do any harm to let him soften up in the cells for a day or two.”

  Jonny held up his hand.

  “Why did he kill the girls here? If it is this Mattias Eriksson, he lives in Malmö,” he pointed out.

  “He wanted to put some distance between himself and the crimes,” Hannu suggested.

  “Okay, but where was the car?” Jonny went on.

  The most likely answer was the obvious one: in a garage. They agreed to look into whether Mattias Eriksson had access to a garage somewhere in Göteborg.

  “The next question is where he was on the train when he was chatting to little Ann last Thursday,” Irene said.

  “You definitely didn’t see him?” Tommy asked.

  “Absolutely not,” she replied firmly.

  “Tricky one,” Fredrik said, attempting to suppress a yawn.

  Tommy gazed at his weary team and glanced at the clock. “Almost ten. I suggest we leave it there. We’ll take My Björkman’s statement before we drive her home, and forensics will examine the Chrysler over the weekend. On Monday we’ll come back with renewed energy, and let’s hope we can nail this guy.”

  Her mother was dead.

  Irene understood that, but she couldn’t accept it. Gerd’s body was lying there in front of her in the neatly made hospital bed. On the bedside table a candle burned in a wrought-iron holder, and next to it the nurses had placed a Bible and a book of psalms. Gerd’s face was smooth and peaceful in the soft glow of the candlelight. She looked different somehow; several years younger, in fact. Death had freed her from all her pain. There was no mistaking the fact that the soul had departed, leaving only the shell behind. The essence of Gerd was no longer there.

  And yet Irene couldn’t get her head around the idea that she was gone forever.

  Krister gently squeezed Irene’s left hand, while on the other side Katarina clutched her right hand in an iron grip. They were standing by the bed to say their last goodbyes. Irene’s head felt completely empty. What do you say at a time like this? What do you do? She could feel the tears beginning to well up. The outline of her mother’s body in the bed became blurred, unreal.

  “Oh, Mom . . . Why did it have to end like this?” she whispered.

  The flame flickered, then grew still once more.

  “I think . . . I think Grandma is happy. She’d had enough of her life. She wasn’t enjoying it anymore. She’d come to the end,” Katarina said, her voice trembling. She loosened her grip on Irene’s hand and patted her grandmother’s pale cheek.

  “Sleep well, darling Grandma. I love you. And I’ll miss you. Thank you for everything.”

  Deep down, Irene knew that her wise daughter was right. Gerd had lost both the ability and the will to carry on fighting. They had been so close, Gerd and the twins. And now she was gone.

  Both Irene and Krister had worked all through Friday evening. The restaurant had been very busy, and Irene had had her hands full with plan B. They had gotten home shortly after eleven. Irene had called the cardiac unit; the nurse had told her that Gerd had been given medication to help with the arrhythmia, along with pain relief. She was now sleeping peacefully, and they were welcome to visit her the following day.

  They were both worn out, and had gone to bed at around midnight. Before she fell asleep Irene said to Krister that she was going to call the hospital first thing and ask if she could visit in the morning.

  But that didn’t happen. The telephone rang at two thirty. A large blood clot had formed in the left ventricle of Gerd’s struggling heart. It had made its way through the major blood vessels to her brain. It had all happened so fast. The hospital called Irene and Krister and told them to come in, and they in turn called Katarina; she had asked them to let her know if anything happened to her grandmother.

  None of them had gotten there in time.

  Irene understood that there was nothing they could have done. The clot had been unusually large, and Gerd had been weak. And yet she still felt guilty. It was totally irrational, but she couldn’t shake it.

  She hadn’t been at her mother’s side when death came.

  Irene had spoken to Tommy on Sunday and told him that Gerd was dead. He had known Gerd and expressed his sorrow and his condolences. He had also understood that she couldn’t concentrate on her account of what had happened out in the forest, but Irene had promised that it would be on his desk by Wednesday at the latest.

  On Monday morning Irene went to work as usual. The very thought of staying at home and going over and over what had happened stressed her out.

  The weather was cold and clear, one of the first really crisp fall mornings. Soon there would be more. Sammie had loved days like this; he would get really frisky during his morning walk, something that rarely happened otherwise. He didn’t really come to life until later in the day—unless there had been a heavy snowfall, which was one of his favorite things. This year he wasn’t around anymore, which meant that now no one in Göteborg was looking forward to the approaching fall and winter. I’m getting old; everyone close to me is dying, Irene thought.

  That morning she would contact a funeral director and start making the practical arrangements. Then . . . well, she didn’t really know. She felt as if there was a black, gaping hole inside her. Presumably it was the shock; everything had happened so fast.

  Was that true? She and Krister had talked about how Gerd had obviously lost her sparkle over the past two years. She had felt that she was a burden, and had hated the fact that she could no longer cope on her own. The dizziness, the fear of falling again, the isolation in her apartment and the loneliness had taken over.

  “And there was nothing I could do,” Irene said out loud as she drove along.

  Or was there? That was where the feeling of guilt came into the picture. If she was honest, she knew that she always put work first. She could have visited her mother more often, taken her out and . . . no, that wouldn’t have worked. Gerd had consistently refused all attempts to get her out and about. You can’t force a person if they don’t want to do something. Gerd had made her own choices.

  Katarina was probably right; Gerd hadn’t been enjoying life anymore.

  There was some small consolation in the thought that she had felt she’d come to the end.

  Katarina had called Jenny in Malmö on Saturday. The girls had wept together on the phone for a long time, and Jenny had decided to come up on the train that afternoon.

  It was good to have both her daughters at home on Saturday evening. Krister had made a delicious vegetable soup, with chocolate mousse and a tropical fruit salad for dessert. To Irene’s surprise, they had all eaten with a good appetite. They had sat up late, talking about Gerd, remembering the good times and laughing. Irene had felt as if Gerd was very close; she had always had a great sense of humor, and loved it when people were laughing. Of course she
would have wanted her nearest and dearest to have happy, funny memories of her.

  There was an air of tense excitement in the department. Irene could feel the vibrations in the air as soon as she walked in. She went into her office and took off her jacket; Åsa had obviously been in over the weekend because all the bags were gone. For once Irene was early, and she strolled along to the coffee machine and decided to pour herself two cups right away; it was that kind of morning.

  Efva Thylqvist and Tommy Persson were waiting in the meeting room already. The others drifted in one by one.

  “I’m delighted to inform you that we have arrested the man who killed Alexandra Hallwiin and Moa Olsson,” the superintendent said once everyone was seated. “The red nylon carpet inside Mattias Eriksson’s van is full of DNA traces from both girls. Either he didn’t manage to clean it, or he didn’t bother to try. Forensics found strands of hair, a broken nail, pubic hair, semen and blood. There was a hunting knife and a video camera in the driver’s cab. He filmed his victims. And we know what he used the knife for . . . Ladies and gentlemen . . . we got him!”

  She looked at her colleagues around the table with a triumphant smile. Åsa and Irene exchanged glances; it was clear who would be taking the credit for the successful outcome of plan B!

  Tommy took over. “The suspect is definitely Mattias Eriksson. He hasn’t said a word, but his mother identified him. She visited him in custody yesterday, but he wouldn’t speak to her either. She was devastated; she couldn’t believe that her son was being held on suspicion of homicide. Poor woman—she was crying so much it was impossible to talk to her. Apparently she brought him up on her own, more or less; his father died in a car accident when Mattias was four. His mother never remarried or formed another relationship.”