“What about Andreas himself?”
Niklas drew out his answer. “He wanted to live with me. I knew that our relationship was something special,” he said triumphantly.
Just how Andreas had described his relationship with Marianne not more than one hour before. Irene decided this was nothing to share with Niklas.
“You did not know that Andreas and Marianne were meeting as often as they did.”
His face clouded over immediately. “No.”
“What did you think about it once you knew?”
“I found out about it only yesterday. And now it doesn’t matter.” He smiled an evil smile.
For a second he reminded Irene of Belker. This was how the cat must have looked just before he’d dug his claws into the soft skin of her face. Niklas’s smile disappeared quickly. He leaned over her desk and stared her in the eye.
“I know what you think. You believe that I killed Marianne so Andreas would never go back to her. But I can assure you that I did not kill her. Of course, I’m not a hypocrite. I’m not grieving her death. But how she died … no. There was no reason for me to kill her.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Andreas will never leave me.”
“Where were you at midnight between the tenth and eleventh?”
Niklas grinned again as he answered. “Believe it or not, I do have an alibi. I was at a pub with three friends all night long. And I’m going to hand you their names and addresses right now.” He pulled out a folded piece of paper, obviously ripped from a notebook, and set it in front of Irene.
She did not glance down but kept her gaze steady on Niklas. “Let’s hear your entire alibi.”
Niklas leaned back and looked at her through half-shut eyes. Finally he said, “I do hope that Andreas will not learn of this. He doesn’t know anything about it.”
“What doesn’t he know?”
“That I met these old pals. We’ve been friends for a long time, and they’re not people he knows.”
“What time did you meet them and at which pub? Remember, we will be checking up.”
“Of course. I have a set time at the gym every night. I went straight to the gym after work on Monday. That’s the address furthest down on the list. Then I went in the sauna and spent some time in the tanning bed. Probably left around seven-thirty. Then I went straight to Johan’s place. His address is there, too. We waited for the other two, had a good dinner together, and then we went out.”
“When did you leave Johan’s apartment?”
“Around eleven P.M. We went to the Gomorrah Club and were there for the rest of the evening.”
“When did you return home?”
“Three A.M. Alone. I had to get up early to go to work the next morning. That morning was hard, but I made it. I hardly go clubbing anymore. People get older and more stable.” He smiled derisively.
“So you were with your pals the whole time.”
“The whole time.”
His self-assurance gleamed over his head like a halo. Of course all this had to be checked out carefully, but Irene felt he was telling the truth.
“And you would prefer that Andreas did not find out.”
“Preferably not.”
There was only a touch of worry in his voice.
Chapter 9
“MORNING. BEFORE WE get started, let’s welcome an old friend,” Superintendent Andersson said as he started the “morning prayer.” “Hannu Rauhala from General Investigations has worked with us before.”
Inspector Hannu Rauhala nodded and raised his hand in greeting. Most of the people working in the Criminal Investigation Division knew him, since he’d worked with them on a dicey case a few years earlier.
The superintendent continued. “As many of you have noticed, Jonny isn’t here this morning. His entire family has the stomach flu. I went over to General earlier this morning and talked their superintendent into letting us borrow Hannu for a while as a substitute. Since Jonny isn’t here, could you fill us in, Birgitta, on Linda’s former partner, Pontus?”
Hans Borg took a deep breath, which made Irene look at him. She was surprised at his expression. His eyes were wide and frightened. The strangest thing of all was that Borg was staring at Birgitta Moberg. Birgitta noticed it as well and stared right back. He quickly looked down at his empty notebook, but Irene could see how his cheeks and ears were burning.
Birgitta nodded at her boss but shot Borg another direct stare before starting her report.
“Jonny and I headed over to Axel Dahlström Square, where we met Pontus Olofsson. He’s subletting an apartment on the tenth floor of the skyscraper there. It appears he moved in last week and had his final few things moved from Linda’s apartment on Saturday.”
“That is to say, Saturday the eighth,” the superintendent noted.
“That’s right. Pontus didn’t hide the fact that he took the breakup pretty hard. They’d moved in together just one year ago. According to Pontus, everything was fine until the beginning of January. Then Linda suddenly said she wanted a separation. To Pontus this came straight out of the blue. He had no clue why, but she wouldn’t change her mind. Around the same time, Pontus had a friend who was leaving to spend a year in the United States, so he was able to rent his friend’s apartment.”
“So Pontus was not happy about separating,” Andersson said.
“No, not at all. He said he didn’t have the slightest idea why Linda wanted him to move out. He asked her over and over if there was someone else, but she said that there wasn’t. She only said that she did not love him anymore. So he picked up his stuff and moved into the apartment in Högsbo.”
“What kind of alibi does he have?”
“Airtight. I checked it. He was in Borås taking part in his employer’s personnel-training program between Monday morning and Wednesday afternoon. He shared a hotel room with one of his co-workers. The night between Monday and Tuesday, he was in the hotel bar with this co-worker, and they were busy raising their glasses at around two in the morning, after which they went to bed.”
“So it seems he’s in the clear. Does he have any idea what might have happened to Linda?”
“No, but he’s extremely worried.”
“He didn’t have a clue as to where she might be?”
“No. But I did ask him about Linda’s day planner. He says she always had it with her. And when she takes her bike, she always wears a mini-backpack of light brown leather. So the missing items are these: one bicycle, one brown backpack, and Linda herself.”
“But we have her day planner, and later today the techs will give it to me to go through. Hannu will be put on Linda’s disappearance,” declared Andersson. “Hans, did you find out anything more during your house-to-house by Löwander Hospital?”
Hans Borg had returned to his usual lethargic self, but by the way he fiddled with his pen Irene could tell he was still nervous.
“Nothing new. None of the renters or homeowners near the hospital has seen a thing. I also asked about Linda yesterday. Again nothing. No one has seen anyone fitting her description around there since late Monday evening.”
“Damn it all, it looks like Linda went up in smoke,” Andersson exclaimed glumly.
The other officers in the room could only agree.
The superintendent sighed deeply and turned to Irene. “What have you got on Andreas Svärd and his boyfriend?”
Irene summarized the interrogation of Marianne’s ex-husband and his present partner. Hannu Rauhala nodded at her suggestion that he follow up Niklas Alexandersson’s alibi.
Then Irene took up Mama Bird. She repeated her conversation with Folke Bengtsson and related the search of Mama Bird’s shed shelter.
Andersson seemed surprised. “Doesn’t the welfare office take care of people like her?”
Tommy flipped through the pages of his notebook before he answered. “I spent a great deal of time calling around yesterday. All I can say is that bureaucracy has managed to make some pe
ople invisible to us—and even, maybe, to themselves. They’re bounced from department to department in the system until they finally cease to exist.”
“But we’ve all seen homeless people,” the superintendent protested.
“Homeless folks are not all alike. Many are drug-dependent. But the folks I’m talking about are mentally ill. Strange people who cannot make it in our society on their own. Or outside of society, for that matter.” Tommy stopped to sip the last of his coffee before he continued. “Homeless people are almost impossible to trace via the welfare system without a name, number, or address. All we know about Mama Bird is her nickname, as well as the fact that she tends to feed the birds when she’s at Drottning Square and that she’s been staying at Löwander Hospital’s shed since this past Christmas. We also have Irene’s imitation of Mama Bird’s speech pattern from the notes she took off of Kurt Höök’s recording. They certainly show that Mama Bird is mentally ill. I’ve also contacted people at the Salvation Army and the City Mission, and they’ve told me that help for the mentally ill is different from that for addicts. There’s a few treatment residences for the addicts, but nothing for the severely mentally ill.”
“There has to be someplace they can go!” Birgitta protested.
“The reform that included closing mental hospitals and letting the mentally ill become integrated with society has worked for many people who have families and are in contact with the social-welfare offices. But they forgot about one group of people. Those who can’t take care of themselves, even within a mental institution, are suddenly expected to handle their personal hygiene, their living quarters, their food, and their money. Many of these people also have no contact with relatives and often no friends. Many of them have committed suicide.”
“How many commit suicide?” wondered Birgitta, upset.
“No one has kept any such statistics. No one wants to know.”
“So where do these people hang out?” asked Andersson.
“They show up at cafés that the Salvation Army and other organizations run. People from City Mission drive around at night in a bus, and they’ll creep out of their hiding spots for some sandwiches and coffee.”
“So they take care of themselves as best they can.” Birgitta was more upset than ever.
“Right. The City Mission and the Salvation Army do their best to take them in if they show up. Otherwise no one bothers about them. Last night I brought this up to my better half, who’s a nurse, and she said that our society has returned them to the medieval state of the village idiot. I think she’s probably right.”
“But,” Irene countered, “you said many other mentally ill folk have better living arrangements after the reform.”
“That’s certainly true, and many people were freed from confinement, but they probably were not the long-term mentally ill. The rest have no one to take their hand, and they’ve fallen through all the cracks in the system. Nobody seems to care about them.”
“Why not?” asked Irene.
“People who need so much help cost society a great deal of money. This way they cost the state nothing. The best answer for politicians cutting the costs of government. It’s their own final solution, so to speak.”
Tommy paused, and no one else spoke up. “Anyway, today I believe I’ll contact our colleagues in Nordstan shopping mall and see if they know where Mama Bird can be found. If we don’t find her during the day, we’ll have to stake out the garden shed at night. Let’s hope she decides to show up to sleep.”
“Fine,” said Andersson. “Tommy and Irene are in charge of finding the bird lady.”
Irene watched Hans fidget in his chair. He obviously wanted to get away, which was not like him at all.
The superintendent turned to him. “Hans, put on an intensive search for Linda’s bicycle. Maybe it’s been stolen. Maybe someone has turned it in to one of the other police stations. We have its brand and serial number. If we find the bike, maybe Linda will be found close by.”
Irene thought the way Andersson put it was certain to bring bad luck, although of course he didn’t mean it like that. She watched Hans Borg nod even as he got up. He was really in a hurry to leave. Irene was surprised to see Birgitta simultaneously rise and follow him. Instinctively, she got up to follow them both.
Irene watched Birgitta sneak around the corner a few meters ahead of her. Silently, Irene followed her, and just as she was rounding the corner, she heard Birgitta’s angry voice: “Let go. That was in my in-box.”
Irene saw Birgitta snatch at a brown internal-mail envelope that Hans had just taken from the box next to Birgitta’s office. Borg didn’t reply, but he also didn’t let go of the envelope. Birgitta then kicked him in the shin. Borg yelled, and Birgitta took her chance, grabbing the envelope and dancing away with it. Irene saw Hans lower his head to charge Birgitta, and instantly she stepped between them. She blocked Borg’s hand with her forearm, pushed away his hip with her left arm, and dropped him backward with an osoto otoshi. This was not hard to do, since he had the training and quickness of a sloth. She used a firm grip to keep him down. He whimpered that she was hurting him, but she didn’t care. As long as she had a jujitsu black belt, third dan, no one would hurt a colleague. Borg now was painfully aware of that.
Andersson and Fredrik Stridh had also rounded the corner. Irene still kept her grip on Borg while he moaned. Birgitta stood holding the brown envelope tight to her chest. When she saw Andersson, she said, “Sven, we need to talk to Hans.”
Andersson took one look at the brown envelope and blanched. “What the hell! Of all the bastards!” Andersson’s neck and face went from pale to beet red. All his officers knew that this was bad indeed.
“Irene, take Hans into my office,” Andersson commanded.
Fredrik Stridh looked like he was dying to ask, but he knew enough to duck into his own room. Irene was still in the dark, but Birgitta and Andersson seemed well aware of the significance of the brown envelope. And Hans, too, of course. Without loosening the grip on his arm, Irene pulled Hans to his feet. As he straightened, she whispered into his ear, “Don’t forget I’m right behind you.”
Hans didn’t answer.
Andersson gestured to Hans to take a seat in front of the desk. Hans slumped into the chair with no resistance.
Andersson sorrowfully shook his head. “Why, Hans, why?”
Borg said nothing.
“Answer me or this goes right to Internal Investigation. I’ve seen the other pictures. Disgusting.”
Irene took the envelope from Birgitta, opened it, and pulled out some pictures. One glance was all it took. Not soft porn, either.
“That.… She … kept thinking she was so damn good and … clever.… Knew computers and was always up on the latest … All she had to do was wave her tits and get the best assignments and benefits. Talk about affirmative action. She was showing it off to everybody. But I saw through her.”
Hans looked up at Birgitta as he spit out his venom. Even though his ranting was ridiculous, Irene could see that Birgitta was holding back tears. She was smart and talented with computers, but she wasn’t the kind to flirt and flaunt. She and Fredrik had been in love at one time, but that wasn’t what Borg was spouting about.
It was hard to imagine a deeper shade of red than the red on Andersson’s face. He said nothing, however, just drew his hand over the sparse hair at the back of his neck. Finally he leaned across his desk and stared right into Hans’s eyes with barely controlled anger.
“Bullshit. Birgitta’s a good cop. You seem to have some problems, though. Go home and take a few days sick leave. This can’t be swept under the rug, you understand. I’ll have to report this to a higher level.”
Hans sat motionless. Birgitta seemed as if she wanted to speak but bit her lower lip instead.
“You can go,” Andersson dismissed Hans. “I’ll call you this afternoon.”
With one last spiteful look at Birgitta, Hans got up and lumbered out of the room. The superintendent si
ghed heavily and gave Irene a weary glance.
“This has been going on a while. A year and a half ago, Birgitta came to me and said someone had been sending pornographic pictures to her by internal mail. Something happened … that made her think Jonny was behind it, but Jonny denied that he was involved.”
Birgitta could not keep silent any longer. “I didn’t think it could be anyone but Jonny, the way he was always trying to cop a feel ever since I started here. Not to mention all his sex jokes. And the insinuations—” She stopped abruptly and tried to calm herself down before she continued.
“The whole thing started four years ago. Every few weeks an internal envelope would appear in my in-box with these porn pictures. When Fredrik and I were going out together last spring, it dropped off. But it all started again when I returned from Australia in October. I decided to hand over the envelopes to Sven.”
The superintendent nodded. “I have five sets locked in my drawer. We checked for prints, but there weren’t any. The last two had been addressed to Birgitta with a green felt pen. This morning Birgitta saw a similar envelope addressed with a green felt pen. I’d just walked into the hallway when she spotted it. I’d been out seeing about getting Rauhala on our team. Jonny couldn’t have left it, since he was out sick since last night, but I was the only person who knew that Jonny wasn’t coming in today. Birgitta and I decided to leave the envelope there and see if something happened, and it did.”
He absentmindedly stroked the nonexistent hair on his bald head. He seemed old and worn out. “I’ll deal with Borg now. Go on back to work.”
Irene and Birgitta left his office in silence. They stopped outside Birgitta’s room.
“I don’t know what to say. This is … unbelievable,” Irene exclaimed.
Birgitta nodded glumly. “No less true, though. In the beginning I just ignored those pictures. Thought that the whole thing would blow over. But … it never did.”
Impulsively, Irene laid a hand on Birgitta’s arm. “Let’s go get some coffee. I could use a bucket of it after this.”
Birgitta smiled. “Your universal cure for all problems—coffee.”
Night Rounds Page 11
