If Molander had had an affair, it should, statistically speaking, have been with a colleague. But after going through the staff register of the police department, he concluded that she didn’t work for the police in Helsingborg, Malmö or any of the smaller municipalities. Nor for the regional detention facility nor the Prosecution Authority. Nor was she one of the many assistants he had gone through over the years.
When the work angle failed, Fabian had turned to more outlandish ideas, such as searching for pictures of the staff at the hairdresser out in Väla Mall where he knew Molander usually went for his haircuts. But she had been nowhere to be found, and after spending more than two hours on the search, the whole project began to seem futile, so he sat down in his armchair to rest his eyes and think about how to proceed.
He was convinced he’d seen her not too long ago. If not for that, he might have been able to let it go and start working on some other lead. As it was, he was completely blocked and felt compelled to keep banging his head against the same wall. Not even the fact that Sonja and Matilda were coming home any minute…
How daft could he be not to have thought of that?
Gertrud Molander’s girlfriends.
They were much rarer than workplace liaisons. But friends, both one’s own and one’s partner’s, were still a solid second when it came to affairs, and it went without saying that Molander might have found his lover among them.
Molander didn’t have a Facebook profile. According to him, social networks were the beginning of the end for humanity and a much greater threat than climate change. Fabian did have a profile but was never on it. And if he was, it was to read other people’s posts, never to write his own. But unless he was mistaken, Gertrud Molander had sent him a friend request a few months ago.
He got up and walked over to his computer, but before he could even type in the password, he realized where he’d seen the woman.
She’d been there all along, right in front of him, so close it hadn’t crossed his mind. The realization broke over him like an icy wave when he turned to his whiteboard and looked at the picture of her lying naked on a beach, entangled in seaweed, washed up like driftwood by the wind and waves. Her eyes were wide open and half-filled with sand, and one arm and one leg were still screwed to the wooden pallet.
The woman’s name was Inga Dahlberg, and she had been attacked on 24 August five years ago while out running in Ramlösa Brunn Park, then raped and sent down the Rå River with her arms and legs nailed to a wooden pallet. She had been washed ashore over twenty-four hours later on the island of Ven in the middle of Öresund, between Sweden and Denmark.
The method used had been similar to Danish serial rapist Benny Willumsen’s MO, and since everything had pointed to him having crossed the sound to the Swedish side, all the material had been incorporated into that case file.
But during the trial, which had dealt with a string of torture-like rape murders, Willumsen had eventually been declared not guilty on account of insufficient evidence in the so-called Ven Murder, which had remained unsolved.
But Hugo Elvin had secretly suspected Molander and when Fabian typed in Inga Dahlberg in the search bar and saw her address, he could see why.
Ingvar Molander had had an affair with his next-door neighbour.
That must have been what Gertrud’s father, Einar, had discovered. A discovery that had cost him his life.
37
Lilja looked at the number Igor Skanås had written in her notepad. He’d been right; the number had been listed in the phone book online under Assar Skanås’s name and address. It was just plain embarrassing that she hadn’t thought to check. Normally, that was part of the routine checks that were run as soon as a suspect was identified. A task that had fallen to her this time and that she had completely overlooked.
Sure, she could blame the fact that they were severely short-handed and that Klippan’s muddled leadership had undermined any kind of logical thinking and made it virtually impossible to deal with the most straightforward of routines. But the truth was that she was to blame.
That said, it was very unusual for a suspect on the run from the law to not even bother buying a pay-as-you-go SIM card. Though she supposed it tallied somehow with his remarkable decision to drive the Volvo all the way to his home and do nothing more to conceal it than to throw a tattered tarpaulin over it. It was as though he hadn’t given the consequences a moment’s thought.
At least she had now belatedly talked to Molander about doing a triangulation for the number, but since he had spent the whole morning triangulating Igor Skanås’s phone, he’d made it clear she would have to wait until he was done processing the brothers’ house. It went without saying that was an important task, too, but she was far from convinced it was the right way to prioritize.
Not an hour passed without a reminder of how badly understaffed they were. In less than six weeks, their team had been halved. She would never see Elvin again and Risk would, if she’d understood it right, not be back until sometime in late summer.
Normally, his way of keeping everything to himself would irk her. Now, she missed him and his unexpected ideas, which though not always accurate were invariably interesting.
Not to mention Tuvesson. God, she missed her so badly. No one could direct their work or put their foot down without causing offence like she could. Now they were drifting, each on his or her own, almost as unstructured as Assar Skanås. It was in large part her own fault. She hadn’t been able to take Klippan’s leadership seriously. His theories about the underlying motive even less so. And yet, he’d been right and she’d been wrong.
He could have rubbed her nose in it, but he was apparently so cowed he hadn’t even said I told you so, let alone demanded that she follow his instructions from now on. It was as though he’d completely given up on being in charge.
The best she could do was to apologize. Hopefully that would give him enough confidence to take the tiller again. Maybe he would even dare to grab Molander by the scruff of the neck and order him to start the search for Assar Skanås’s phone before it was too late.
She left her office and walked down the corridor past the kitchen. That’s as far as she got before her phone rang, and at more or less the same moment that she saw it was Klippan calling, the man himself burst out of his office.
‘There you are.’
‘Yes, I was coming to talk to you. What happened?’
‘Another murder.’
38
Sonja had always been the one who organized the children’s birthday parties. He had at most helped run the games or hand out goody bags and, when the children got older, he’d put together playlists for them. If he’d been there at all and not buried in some investigation or other.
This time, he was in charge. The apple pie still had twenty minutes left in the oven and the burgers were resting under their plastic wrap, waiting to be fried. The table was laid and the kitchen cleaned.
The only thing left to do while Sonja and Matilda were hanging up their coats was to turn off Yello’s ‘To the Sea’ from Pocket Universe, an album that always put him in a good mood, and instead turn on a mix CD he’d made with a few of Matilda’s favourite artists, like Justin Bieber, Beyoncé and Rihanna.
‘Welcome home,’ he said as he went to meet them. ‘You’re finally here.’
‘We are, and the house looks so lovely.’ Sonja shot him a smile that would normally have eased the weight on his shoulders, but now was neither here nor there, since Matilda didn’t even bother to turn around.
‘Thanks, sweetheart,’ he said and gave her a hug.
Maybe that was crossing a line, given that they hadn’t had any physical contact whatsoever recently. But the way she flinched and almost shied away showed just how far apart they had really drifted, even though she quickly pulled herself together and returned the hug for the sake of appearances.
‘Matilda.’ He turned to her, arms outstretched. ‘Can I have a hug from you too?’
&nbs
p; ‘I’d rather not. I’m still sore from all the surgeries.’
‘All right, but you let me know the minute you feel better. You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed you.’
Matilda nodded with a smile that signalled nothing more than tolerance.
‘Imagine, back home again,’ he went on, feeling as though he was trying to accelerate with the clutch engaged. ‘It’s almost hard to believe you’re really here and we’re all together again.’
‘Yes, isn’t it incredible,’ Sonja agreed. ‘And speaking of which – where’s Theodor?’
‘In his room. I’ll go get him. Sonja, would you mind toasting the bread? It’s all set up. And, right, Matilda, guess what we’re having for starters?’
He’d been hoping it had been something temporary connected to her waking up in the hospital. But apparently it hadn’t been, because there it was again. That strange, distant look. As though it wasn’t his own daughter standing there, looking up at him with a stony expression.
‘Toast Skagen!’ He squeezed out a smile and wished the ground would swallow him up. ‘You know. Your favourite, with hand-peeled prawns, mayonnaise and the whole shebang.’
‘My goodness, that sounds delicious,’ Sonja said. ‘You’ve gone to so much trouble.’
‘It’s only right. It’s not every day your daughter comes home after a month in the hospital. And to wash it down, I thought we might have some…’ He opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of champagne. ‘Ta-da!’
‘Oh, Fabian, you shouldn’t have. Not on my account.’
If not for the voice, he would have been sure that was Sonja. But odd as it may sound, the words came from Matilda.
‘No need to worry,’ he said, as he felt himself getting even more worried. ‘Of course there’s non-alcoholic bubbly for you and Theo. Also, you should feel free to call me Dad.’ He added another half-inch to his smile before turning to face her, only to be met by those eyes that seemed to be looking straight through him, making him ever more uncomfortable.
‘I’ve stopped drinking sugary drinks. I think I’m going to go upstairs and rest for a bit instead.’ Matilda turned and started walking towards the stairs.
‘No, okay, wait, hold on a second. Why?’ He put the bottle down and hurried after her, looking for a trace of his daughter somewhere deep inside. ‘Are you not feeling well?’
‘I’m fine, just a bit tired. But it’s okay. The real question is how you’re feeling.’
‘Me? I’m not sure I’m following… Do you understand any of this?’ He looked over at Sonja, who looked like she was miles away. ‘Sonja?’
Sonja jumped and turned to him. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.’
‘I’m talking about all of this. The champagne, the balloons, the music. All the food.’
‘Well, what’s wrong with it?’
‘It’s so incredibly over the top.’
‘Over the top? How can it be over the top? It’s for you. All of this is to celebrate that you’re finally—’
‘Fabian, I don’t know who you think you’re fooling. But this…’
‘Would you please stop calling me Fabian!’ He could feel something break inside him. ‘I’m still your father, you know, even though you seem to think that—’
‘Fabian.’ Sonja cut him off, putting a hand on his arm. ‘Try to listen to what she has to say instead.’
‘All right, fine, fine.’ He jerked his arm away from her hand, which was little more than a condescending pat on the head anyway. Listen? Who was she to talk about listening? ‘I just wanted to do something nice to show how happy I am that Matilda’s finally home again. But you know what. Forget it.’
‘Oh, Fabian…’ Sonja said in that same condescending tone.
‘No, I mean it. Let’s just forget it. If she doesn’t want to, she doesn’t want to.’ He grabbed the champagne and threw open the fridge so violently the things in the door fell over.
‘As if any of this is for me.’
‘Excuse me?’ He turned to Matilda, and this time he didn’t give a fuck about the look in her eyes.
‘Okay, I’m going to head upstairs and see where Theo’s got to,’ Sonja announced suddenly, and she walked off towards the stairs to the first floor.
‘I said, none of this is for me,’ Matilda repeated, preventing him from calling after Sonja to thank her for her tremendous support.
‘That’s interesting. Who’s it for, then?’
‘You. Who else?’ The answer came without a moment’s hesitation and, unlike him, she hadn’t raised her voice at all so far. ‘This is about you feeling guilty. Nothing else.’
He was about to object and launch into a rant. The thing was, though, that she was right. His thirteen-year-old daughter had hit the nail on the head. ‘Of course I feel guilty,’ he managed at length, and he clapped his hand to his cheek as though he’d just been slapped. ‘You were this close to dying because of me and my job.’ He illustrated his words with his thumb and forefinger. ‘How could I not feel guilty? If not for Theodor coming home just then with that gun… I don’t know. I can’t even—’ He broke off and realized he was crying.
A whole month had passed without him being able to squeeze out so much as one tear and now, suddenly, the tears were streaming down his face, even though the only thing he could feel was anger.
‘But you shouldn’t. None of what happened was your fault.’
‘Matilda, listen to me.’ He dried his tears as best he could. ‘If not for my investigation, none of this would have happened. Okay? If I hadn’t prioritized everything else over the most important thing in my—’
‘If, if, if,’ Matilda cut him off. ‘You can list as many ifs as you like. It doesn’t change anything. What happened, happened and no matter how badly you wish there was something you could do to change it, there isn’t anything.’
And so it came back to this. All her talk about Ouija boards and how nothing really meant anything because everything was predestined anyway. ‘And what does Mum say about all of this? Or have you not told her you’re convinced that she, Theo or I will die soon because you survived?’
‘Fabian, it’s not something I think. I know it,’ Matilda said with a serenity that indicated she had made her peace with it.
‘Matilda, you’re thirteen years old. That might feel really mature. But I’ve lived a bit longer than you, and—’
‘How can you be so sure of that?’
‘Oh, we’re going to get into reincarnation now, too?’ He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘All right, you can be as old as you like. But that doesn’t change the fact that no one can see the future. Believe me, it’s impossible. No matter how much you want to, no one can predict what’s going to happen.’
‘But some people can, and Greta happens to be one of them.’ Matilda crossed her arms. ‘But you don’t even think she exists, so why would you believe she has gifts?’
‘So you’re telling me, in all seriousness, that everything in life is predetermined?’
‘Not everything, but the important things. The big moments that really mean something are almost always written in stone.’
‘Like a member of your family dying in the near future?’
Matilda nodded.
‘So all our choices and actions are in fact meaningless?’
‘They have meaning, but only on a small scale. We can shape our path, choose whether to go left or right or backwards, but the goal we eventually reach is never up to us. No matter what we do, that’s where we’ll end up.’ She took his hand in hers, and he was surprised to feel how warm she was. ‘You did your best. Who can do more than that?’ She got up on tiptoe, kissed him on the cheek and turned towards the stairs.
Fabian watched her walk away and felt powerless to silence the nagging notion that it wasn’t his daughter disappearing up the stairs.
‘Everything looks lovely.’
He opened his eyes and saw that Sonja had returned to the kitchen. ‘Nice to hear someone appreci
ates it,’ he said and rubbed the gritty remains of the tears from his eyes.
‘Hey…’ She walked up to him. ‘Don’t take it too much to heart.’
‘Sonja, she’s walking around believing in the supernatural and is convinced one of us is going to die just because she survived. How am I supposed to not take that to heart?’
‘I’m sure it’s just a phase.’
‘No, it’s her friend, that Esmaralda, who’s put ideas in her head.’
‘At the hospital, they told me it might be weeks before she’s her old self again. So just let her play pretend with the occult for a while. No, I think this thing with Theodor is a lot more serious.’
Fabian could only nod. ‘Then at least he told you. At least that’s something.’ He pulled out the bar stools from the kitchen island and got out two wineglasses. ‘We have to talk about what to do. He’s refusing to listen to me.’
‘What do you mean, do? We don’t even know if it’s true. The important thing is for him to start seeing a therapist so he can get some professional help. Maybe even medication.’
Fabian opened one of the wine bottles he’d bought for the main course and filled their glasses. ‘Of course he needs help. But the trial in Helsingør starts next week, and I see no other option than to—’
He’d turned the sound off so he wouldn’t be bothered during dinner. But since the phone was sitting next to the cutting board at the edge of his vision, he couldn’t help but notice when the screen lit up. It was Astrid Tuvesson, and if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that she would never call unless she absolutely had to.
Something had happened.
39
This was just too much. That was Klippan’s only thought as he turned into ICA Maxi’s car park. Too much, too much, too much. Until two months ago, nothing had happened in absolute years. Now it was all happening at once.
They weren’t just in the middle of an urgent manhunt for Assar Skanås. The arrest of Sievert Landertz was a problem that had snowballed out of their control. Over the past few hours, the discontent among the Sweden Democrats sympathizers had grown exponentially; it was only a matter of time before their mail server crashed.
Motive X Page 19
