In a few minutes, the day would be six hours old and even though he’d originally intended to wait for a few more hours, his fingers were itching for it already. He needed his next fix, and he needed it now.
He took out the icosahedron, which with its twenty sides would decide when his next assignment would take place, unless he rolled a one. If that happened, he would simply have to give it up for good. Or maybe not so simply. The risk of there not being a next time made his stomach knot.
He shook the dice, released it on to the felt and didn’t know if he could believe what he was seeing.
A two.
He’d only had two days to prepare last time. And now it was a two again. On the other hand, this was what he wanted, and he preferred being pressed for time to being forced to twiddle his thumbs for twenty days.
He took out the tin with the six-sided precision dice, which were going to decide where his next victim would be found and who they were going to be. After a number of throws, chance had homed in on Helsingborg, specifically Kärngränd 4, second floor, whoever lived behind the far-left window.
Then he moved on to how it would happen, this time selecting from the category Ways to die.
He pulled out his list of twelve possible outcomes and did a pre-roll as usual to determine the number of dice, in this case one or two.
A three.
Thus directed to use one dice, he picked up the same one again, shook it and let it fall.
Dehydration
Beheading
Starvation
Asphyxiation
Drowning
Electrocution
Decompression
Poisoning
Fire
Exsanguination
Disease
Traffic accident
A five.
So the person in question was going to be drowned on Tuesday. He was already looking forward to it and almost felt two days was too long.
Now he just needed the final confirmation. The final roll of the icosahedron to verify that this was what he was supposed to do. The green light he needed to get started on the preparations.
The ten, represented by an X, was the only thing he didn’t need right now. The time frame was too tight for a complicated side mission. But he wasn’t worried. He’d already rolled X twice in a row, so the risk of it turning up again had to be considered minimal.
He sent the dice tumbling across the felt and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when he saw the X for the third time.
It was as if the dice was stuck in a glitch, he mused as he went to fetch the notebook with the 120 numbered side missions and rolled the twenty-sided dice once more.
A twelve.
He took out twelve six-sided dice; it was so many he could barely shake them in his cupped hands without dropping some.
Three threes, two fives, four sixes, two fours, one two.
He flipped to side mission fifty-three and felt an abyss open up at his feet as soon as he started reading.
He was intensely disappointed.
He read it again, slower this time. But he’d read it right the first time, and no matter how badly he wanted to pick the dice back up to give them another chance, he had no choice but to follow the rules and start his preparations, regardless of how impossible the task might be.
42
Matilda hadn’t even been home twenty-four hours. And yet there he was, on the top floor of the police station on a Sunday, so early the morning mist hadn’t dissipated, waiting for everyone to pour themselves coffee so the meeting could start.
The phone call from Tuvesson was entirely to blame. It had put him at a crossroads where the curious part of him immediately wanted to push the green accept button to find out what was going on. The other part had already realized it was almost certainly serious enough that, coupled with his own private Molander investigation, it would occupy his every waking hour.
‘These croissants are several days old,’ announced Lilja, who didn’t look like she’d had nearly enough sleep. ‘Look.’ She picked one up and snapped it in half.
In the end, Sonja had told him to pick up and, as he’d suspected, there had been another murder, which meant his colleagues now had not one but three complex murder investigations on their hands.
‘Dunk it,’ Klippan suggested. ‘That’s what I do.’
But even knowing that, and despite Tuvesson’s assurances that she would never have called unless it was absolutely necessary, he’d declined to end his leave early.
‘Or you could throw it away and save the calories until there are fresh ones,’ Molander countered as he entered the room.
Too many times, he’d put his job before his family. Too many times, the perpetrator had come first, and every time he’d failed to realize the price he and his family paid.
‘Waste of food, I say.’ Klippan dunked his croissant in his coffee, making the cup overflow.
There was always going to be another case. They would never stop coming. The same was true of perpetrators and victims. But he only had one family, and he’d struggled through the past few weeks sleepless, worrying that soon it would only exist in the pictures in their photo albums, as a reminder of his failures.
Tuvesson had respected his position and not let even a hint of disappointment shine through when she’d wished him a lovely rest of the summer and asked him to send the family her love.
Instead, Sonja was the one who had reacted. Not with a happily surprised smile and maybe even a hug. No, she’d just shaken her head and asked him what he was doing. Why he didn’t do the obvious thing and help his colleagues.
Matilda was home and in one piece, and she, Sonja, was more than able to run the house. Who do you think you’re fooling? This is what you want, she’d said, and he’d replied that the only thing he wanted was not to lose his family.
She’d taken the phone from him without a word and dialled Tuvesson’s number, and while it rang, he’d wondered to himself if this meant his family was already lost. That it didn’t matter how much he tried. That the split was inevitable no matter which path he chose.
At the same time, he couldn’t deny that Sonja was right. This was what he wanted. Molly Wessman’s strange death had all the ingredients required to trigger his curiosity. And he’d only just scratched the surface.
Then there was Molander. It remained to be seen whether he’d be able to work side by side with him while simultaneously conducting his basement investigation.
‘All right, if everyone’s done making a mess, we should get started.’ Klippan got to his feet.
‘Not a lot of mess to be made when everything’s rock hard,’ Lilja commented.
Klippan walked over to the whiteboard wall, which was already full of pictures and notes from the three investigations. ‘As you already know, we have—’
‘Hey, wait for me.’
Klippan and the others turned towards the door to see Tuvesson enter, carrying a tray piled high with fresh chocolate croissants, almond pastries and fancy lattes from Café Bar Skåne.
‘Astrid? I thought you were supposed to be in rehab for several weeks and—’
‘That was the plan.’ She put the tray down on the table and started handing out lattes. ‘But that’s simply going to have to wait until things calm down.’
‘In all seriousness, Astrid. Is it really a good idea for you to leave in the middle of your programme?’
‘No, but to be honest, I don’t see that I have much choice. These are exceptional circumstances, and to have even a chance of solving these cases, we’re going to have to use all available resources. Which is why Fabian’s here, too.’
‘But Astrid, this is your health we’re talking about,’ Lilja said. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to ask Malmö for help?’
‘Exactly what I was going to suggest.’ Klippan pulled out his phone. ‘I’m calling them right now.’
‘You bloody well aren’t!’ Tuvesson banged her fist on the table. ‘Enough already. Ast
rid this and Astrid that. Me coming back to work is not the same as me falling off the wagon. If you’re so damn worried, I guess you can test me regularly, see if I can close my eyes and put my fingertips together or whatever. As far as Malmö’s concerned, I’ve already been in touch with Thomas Winkel, who told me he can’t lend us so much as an eraser because they, too, have their hands full with an investigation that requires all their resources. Was there anything else?’ Tuvesson fixed Lilja, Klippan and Molander in turn, but was met with silence. ‘Wonderful. Then I suggest we get started. Because in less than forty minutes, I have a meeting with Stina Högsell about that Sweden Democrat.’
‘If you’re referring to Sievert Landertz, she’s been hounding me too,’ Klippan said.
‘Right.’ Tuvesson walked over to the pictures of Landertz posted on the whiteboard wall, diagonally below the pictures of the laundry room, the victim Moonif Ganem and the suspect Assar Skanås. ‘According to Högsell, we brought him in for questioning Friday morning, and he’s been detained since. Is that correct?’
‘Ask Irene.’ Klippan nodded to Lilja. ‘She’s refusing to listen, even though it’s clear as day we don’t have nearly enough to hold him.’
‘What’s with the accusations?’ Lilja put down her coffee, which she had been about to sip. ‘I’m not refusing to listen. I just don’t share your opinion. I think we do have more than enough to keep him until noon tomorrow.’
‘So, what is it we have, concretely?’ Tuvesson asked as she studied the pictures of the washing machine drum inside which Moonif’s slender body appeared glued to the sides.
‘Firstly, he’s suspected of planning the fire in his own party offices.’
‘But we still don’t have any proof,’ Klippan put in and picked up one of the fresh chocolate croissants.
‘The arsonists used his car. And I happened to be there when it happened. All he wanted was for me to leave. He was so nervous, sweat was literally dripping from his forehead. He had even just purchased a new fire extinguisher. It was still in its packaging.’
‘And secondly?’ Tuvesson said.
‘He lied to my face about not knowing Igor Skanås. I know I showed him a picture of his brother, but they look the same don’t they? And I’m convinced he’s lying about quite a few other things that could have helped our investigation. Thirdly, his Sweden Democrat gig’s just a façade. In reality, he’s a dyed-in-the-wool Nazi who would jump for joy if he saw those pictures of Moonif in the washing machine.’
‘Sadly, that’s not a crime, though.’
‘Sure, but setting fire to a refugee centre is.’
‘You’re not seriously saying he did that?’ Klippan said.
‘No, but I think he knows who did. What would be the point of setting fire to his own offices and posting the list of refugee centre addresses online, if he didn’t?’
‘What’s happening with that investigation anyway?’ Tuvesson asked. ‘It’s my understanding it’s being handled locally, but have we heard anything from the Bjuv Police?’
‘All I know is they’ve secured tyre tracks from the scene. If you ask me, they should be checked against the car I was put in when they dumped me in my own front garden.’
‘Right, I heard. It must have been awful.’
‘That’s putting it mildly. But that’s how they operate. They try to scare you into silence.’ Lilja let out a snort of derision and sipped her coffee.
‘So you’re saying they might be the same people who set fire to the refugee centre?’ Klippan said.
‘Why not?’
‘Either way, it sounds like something we should look into,’ Tuvesson said. ‘But that doesn’t change the fact that we have to let Landertz go. Much as we may want to nail him and everything he stands for, I see no other option as things stand.’
‘Fine,’ Lilja said, so curtly it was almost inaudible.
‘Let’s move on to this Assar Skanås fellow. I’ve been told an internal alert has been put out about his disappearance.’ Tuvesson walked over to the whiteboard and took down the picture Klippan had found of him. ‘Tell me what you have on him.’
‘We have quite a lot,’ Lilja replied. ‘But maybe it would be better if I sent you a report later in the day, so we don’t take up everyone’s time.’
‘One thing might be worth mentioning,’ said Molander, who looked like he was having a hard time suppressing a smile. ‘Me and my little team have had a match, or rather several matches.’
‘What kind of matches?’
‘Fingerprints. Three of the prints on the glass part of the washing machine door match several of the ones we found at Skanås’s home, on the toys and children’s films.’
‘And we’re sure they’re not his brother Igor’s prints?’
‘Positive.’
Lilja exchanged looks with Klippan and the others. ‘Wow, that’s great. So we have solid proof. Then maybe you would even consider prioritizing that mobile triangulation as soon as we’re done here?’
‘Absolutely, so long as you promise to keep your fingers crossed it’s really his number this time.’
‘I also think we should make this picture public,’ Tuvesson said.
‘Speaking of which,’ Klippan said. ‘The media have been hounding me about a press conference.’
‘I know. But that’s going to have to wait until we can get our heads above water.’
‘But people are worried,’ Lilja said. ‘They want to know what’s going on.’
‘The problem is that we do, too, and before I get in front of the cameras and expose my jugular, I want our affairs in better order. So let’s move on to the stabbing in Hyllinge instead.’ She turned to Klippan. ‘How are you getting on? Have you found anything of interest?’
‘No, so far we’re no wiser than we’d be if we’d just read the papers. But hopefully the fog will clear once Ingvar has finished with the crime scene and I get access to the CCTV footage.’
‘Good. Then let’s wait for that. At this rate, I might even make it to my Högsell meeting on time. Finally, our most recent victim, Molly Wessman.’
‘Right, well, we’re not one hundred per cent sure that’s murder, though several things point to it,’ Fabian said.
‘Let’s put a pin in that particular problem and start instead with what you’ve found out about her.’
‘Not much more than that she lived alone on Stuvaregatan 7 in the North Harbour, was thirty-two years old and had neither children nor siblings.’
‘And no parents either?’ Molander asked.
‘She worked for Mavia Technologies in Landskrona and—’
‘Hello, I asked you a question,’ Molander broke in, waving as though to establish contact.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,’ Fabian said, trying to push down the thought that he was talking to a man he suspected of having killed not just his father-in-law, his lover and their colleague Elvin, but possibly many more besides.
‘You know, like a mum and dad,’ Molander reminded him.
‘They died a year and a year and a half ago respectively down in Cádiz in southern Spain, where they’d lived since ’92,’ Fabian replied, trying to process how Molander could sit here and make jokes and pretend everything was normal.
‘So where did she get the money?’ Molander asked.
‘What money?’
‘A bit rusty after your sabbatical?’
‘Fabian, the North Harbour isn’t exactly the cheapest address in town,’ Klippan explained. ‘So given her relative youth, you have to wonder whether she might have inherited a fortune or something.’
‘Not that I know. Her parents’ house was mortgaged to the hilt. But I can tell you her salary went up considerably in the past two years.’
‘Where did you say she worked?’ Tuvesson asked.
‘At Mavia Technologies in Landskrona. They’re in the car industry. That’s all I know.’
‘Sounds like she had a meteoric rise.’
‘But the company s
eems to be struggling. Their last three annual statements have shown a loss, and they’ve let almost half their staff go.’
‘Maybe she stepped on someone’s toes?’ Lilja said.
Tuvesson nodded and made a note about colleagues under possible suspects.
‘I don’t know about the rest of you,’ Klippan said. ‘But I would like to know how she died.’
‘This is what we know at the moment,’ Tuvesson said. ‘One of her neighbours, who happens to be a good friend of mine, was taking the bin out and noticed Wessman’s door slightly ajar. At first, she didn’t react, just walked past it to the rubbish chute. But on her way back, she saw a hand on the threshold, which prompted her to open the door fully and discover Wessman dead in her hallway.’
‘And the cause of death, what do we know about it?’
‘So far, nothing.’
‘But as soon as we’re done here, I’m calling Flätan,’ Fabian put in. ‘Even if he’s not done, he should have something preliminary.’
‘I’m going to have to ask you to hold off on that until tomorrow,’ Tuvesson said.
‘How come?’
Tuvesson sighed and exchanged a look with Klippan and Molander. ‘It’s his birthday, and no one takes their birthday more seriously than Flätan.’
‘What about his colleague then? Arne Gruvesson or whatever his name is. Can’t he step in?’
‘You know how Flätan feels about Gruvesson. He would never consent to handing such an intricate case over to him.’
‘By the way, did you hear what he said the last time Gruvesson came up in conversation?’ Molander said. ‘The only way that man should be allowed into the morgue is as a corpse!’
Klippan and Molander guffawed.
‘I agree with Fabian,’ Lilja said. ‘We’re in the middle of three investigations. Of course we should be able to call him. It’s not even a milestone birthday.’
‘Since when is fifty-eight not a milestone?’ Molander quipped.
‘Were there visible injuries?’ Klippan asked.
Motive X Page 21
