The woman glanced at the simple drawing, poised to hand it back without much thought and walk off with her guests. But instead, she froze mid-movement and looked from him to the sketch and back a few times before turning to the waiting group. ‘I’m sorry, but you’re going to have get started without me. I’ll join you as soon as I can.’
The others nodded and left.
‘Is that Wessman’s?’ She glanced over her shoulder as if to make sure no one had lingered.
‘So you recognize it?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve actually never seen it before. But I’ve heard rumours. Are you sure it’s Wessman’s? Because I have no recollection of her having a tattoo.’
‘Tell me about the rumours.’
‘At least, that’s what I assume they are. Like that he comes to this club. Sometimes, he’s even been said to be in several places at once. But as I said, I always figured that was just a gimmick to draw people in.’
‘But now you don’t know any more.’
The woman shook her head, still staring at the drawing.
‘And who is this legend?’
‘I first heard about him about two years ago. He calls himself Columbus. No one knows who he really is, but a lot of people would give up everything for a night with him.’
‘Why?’
Only now did she tear her eyes away from the napkin and meet his eyes. ‘Rumour has it, it’s like losing your virginity a second time. Like meeting a virtuoso who can push anyone beyond the limits. And who doesn’t want that?’
‘What limits?’
‘Their own. Who else’s?’
Molander had, in other words, not been too wide of the mark when he’d guessed the tattoo was a version of the Physical Barrier Border Crossing icon. ‘And what about you?’ he said and took the napkin from her. ‘How much would you give up for one night?’
‘The last thing I need is to venture beyond more limits. Besides, I’m an advocate for a varied diet.’
‘Varied diet?’
‘I’m sure it’s just a rumour, like the other thing. But when he’s done with you, you supposedly belong to him alone.’
51
The E6 motorway was practically deserted when he drove home. Fifteen minutes later, Fabian turned on to Pålsjögatan and found an empty spot right outside the dark terraced house. But when he’d killed the engine and was about to unbuckle his seat belt, he felt a sudden reluctance to going home and turning in. After his visit to Spades, he had too many images flashing before his eyes, and he could picture Sonja lying with her back towards him while he stared at the ceiling, trying desperately to think about nothing at all.
He didn’t know if that was the ultimate reason he turned the key in the ignition and drove on towards Johan Banérs Gata, where he turned left towards the sea. But he felt a lot better as soon as he got there and could roll down his window and fill his lungs with the briny sea air blowing in from the sound.
He turned on the radio, which was playing The The’s ‘Love is Stronger than Death’.
He’d never been a singer. Not even when his friends had dragged him to a karaoke place for his stag do had he agreed to get on stage. Now, though, he was singing with such feeling he had tears in his eyes all the way to Hittarp, where the music faded out to make room for the news.
‘Tomorrow, Monday, will be the first day of the trial of the four Swedish teenagers of the so-called Smiley Gang in Helsingør’s County Court. The four stand accused of murdering three homeless people in Denmark. The prosecutor’s most damning evidence is said to be the videos the accused disseminated online, which show them killing by means of what is best described as torture methods. Even so, the risk of a complete acquittal is said to be considerable. Rolf Sandén, Professor of Law, commented earlier today:
‘“The problem is that they were masked and will very likely blame one another. It’s really not so different from some of the recent rape cases that have featured in the media, in which there were several perpetrators. There, too, we have seen a number of acquittals, as a lack of third-party witness statements has made it virtually impossible to determine who did what.”’
He turned the radio off, slowed down and stopped by the side of the road near Svanebäck, where the land around him was so flat the grass appeared to meld into the mirror-like water, and even though he didn’t think it would work, he found her number again and tried it. He had to talk to her and find out exactly what she knew about the case.
‘The number you have dialled is no longer in use. The number you have dialled doesn’t exist. The number you have dialled is no longer in…’
He tried information, only to be told that they couldn’t find anyone named Dunja Hougaard in Denmark.
She had gone off grid and apparently had no interest in being found by him or anyone else. But why? Had something happened? Or was something about to happen? Either possibility was disconcerting. He decided to go over to Copenhagen as soon as he could to try to locate her.
Twenty minutes later, he turned on to Pålsjögatan again and parked his car in the same spot as before. He took his shoes off on the front steps so he wouldn’t wake Sonja. Once he was inside, he hung up his coat and walked towards the downstairs bathroom without turning the lights on.
It had only been a few hours since his last shower; though he’d thought about it, he hadn’t crossed the line and done anything Sonja or anyone else could find fault with. Even so, he felt dirty and was hoping a long, hot shower would rinse away the worst of it.
‘Why are you so late?’
He turned around and realized someone was on the sofa. ‘Sonja? Is that you?’ She, who never slept downstairs, had stayed up, waiting for him to come home.
‘It’s okay if you don’t want to say, and what difference does it make? As though I even have a right to ask.’
‘I’ve just been working.’ He went into the living room and couldn’t help but feel a jolt of joy that she did seem to care a little. ‘Did something happen?’ He sat down on the edge of the sofa, which instantly made her pull her legs away and sit up.
‘We need to talk.’
‘Sonja, I’m aware I got too angry at Matilda when you came home yesterday. But there’s something off about her, and to be honest, I’m really concerned.’
‘Well, for once, I’m not talking about Matilda.’ Sonja poured two cups of tea from a thermos. ‘It’s about Theodor.’ She pushed one of the cups towards him. ‘He’s told me as well now and given me a slightly more nuanced version than the one you presented.’
‘More nuanced?’
‘Yes, I just think it’s easier for him to talk to me about these things.’ She sipped her tea. ‘About how he fell in love with the girl in that Smiley Gang and was forced to be their lookout and ran into your Danish colleague, Dunja Hougaard.’ She broke off and seemed to have to pause to summon the strength to go on.
‘Did he also tell you he threatened her with that gun and tried to beat her up?’
‘Fabian, listen to me. The things they’ve done seem horrible. Just heinous, I can’t find the words to even begin to describe it. But that’s not what this is about.’ She met his eyes. ‘Our Theodor was never part of it.’
‘No? What do you call being the lookout and threatening people—’
‘Please, just try to listen. He didn’t even know. He was just in love, and as soon as he realized what they were doing, he tried to get away from them. The problem was they wouldn’t let him leave but rather forced him to help them that last time. And now you want to make him turn himself over to the police.’
‘Yes, of course. It’s the right thing to do.’
‘Is it? How can you be so sure?’
‘The truth. No matter what we do, it’s going to come out one way or another. Either he reports to the police and gives a statement, gets it out of his system and faces the consequences. Or he continues down the path he’s on now and lets it eat him up from inside until he completely falls apart.’
‘Am I? Or are you having trouble seeing things clearly because you behave exactly the same way as our son?’
‘And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?’
‘Sonja, as long as you choose not to tell me what happened between you and that art dealer, we’re never going to be able to move on and you will just feel worse and worse.’
‘We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about Theodor. Can we please stick to the subject at hand.’
‘Fine.’ Fabian spread his hands. ‘I’ll say it again: Justice must be allowed to be done, no matter how badly we want Theodor to—’
‘So what’s more important? Justice or your own son?’
‘That’s a false dilemma.’
‘No it’s not. So what’s it going to be? Justice or Theodor? Go ahead, choose.’
‘And what makes you think this is up to—’
‘If you insist on this,’ Sonja broke in, fighting back her tears, ‘Theodor is going to fall apart. Just so you know. He’s not going to be able to handle it.’
‘Sonja.’ Fabian moved closer to her on the sofa. ‘It’s not that I don’t understand that this is hard.’
‘Hard?’ Sonja looked at him with revulsion. ‘Is that what this is for you? “Hard”? Can’t you see it’s going to be completely devastating? Can you even picture Theodor in prison, serving, I don’t know, a number of years for something he might not even be guilty of?’
‘No, and do you know why? Because it’s extremely unlikely that he would be given any kind of prison sentence. As you yourself said, his involvement will be considered minor compared to the others. And if he did end up in detention, against all odds, he wouldn’t be in a prison, he would be sent to a young offenders’ facility. And that’s the worst-case scenario. The most likely outcome is that he gets a suspended sentence or acquitted completely. Both because he was coerced and because he did almost nothing. They will also take into consideration that he turned himself in and is willing to cooperate. But none of that is up to us, it’s up to the courts. Just imagine what the world would look like if people disregarded justice whenever it didn’t suit them?’
‘Okay,’ Sonja nodded, with tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘At least I know where you stand.’ She tried to wipe them away but gave up. ‘I shouldn’t even be surprised. It’s always been like this. Work before all else. Before you, me and definitely before your children. Never mind if they go to pieces, so long as justice is done.’
‘What’s the alternative? To sweep this under the carpet and pretend nothing happened? Do you really think that’s going to make him feel better? That the best option for him is to build his entire future on a lie? If he doesn’t take the stand, the accused will blame one another and probably walk away scot-free.’
‘Right, so now he’s supposed to carry the weight of the entire justice system on his shoulders, too.’
‘No, but he has a responsibility and is at a crossroads that he’s going to have to live with for the rest of his life. And if this isn’t the time to nudge him in the right direction, when is?’
Sonja shook her head and sipped her tea, which had long since gone cold.
‘Sonja…’ He tried to catch her eye in a last attempt at persuasion, but she refused. ‘When you started seeing that art dealer, I knew immediately you shared more than an interest in art.’
‘Great.’ She met his eyes for a brief moment before looking away again. ‘Back to that again.’
‘But I didn’t say anything. Instead, I let you stay out all night and come and go as you pleased with nothing but flimsy excuses.’
‘I’m sorry, but what does this have to do with Theodor?’
‘And do you know why? Huh? Do you?’
‘What are you doing?’ She stared him right in the eye. ‘Why do you have to open up—’
‘Because it felt easier! Not because I was indifferent and didn’t care. Quite the opposite. I simply couldn’t handle the conflict just then, even though you going behind my back felt so wrong and just fucking awful, to put it plainly.’
‘All right, I think I get your point.’
‘Even though I still loved you and wanted nothing more than for you to come back to me, I sat back and let it happen. I don’t know what he did to you, and maybe you’ll never want to tell me. But whatever it was, I was the one who let it happen and will never be able to forgive myself for not putting my foot down, for not forcing that conflict and sticking to my convictions. Never.’
Sonja still didn’t say anything. But in her eyes, deep down, he thought he glimpsed an I’m sorry, and when she held her arms out to him, all his doubts vanished. Only now did he realize how much he’d missed having her close. How much he’d longed to just hold her. The smell of her hair. Her breath against his chest. Maybe he was imagining it, but he felt like she was back, and he could already sense a stirring of hope that maybe everything would be okay again someday.
52
While waiting for Tuvesson to finish her call and resume the meeting, Fabian’s thoughts meandered back to Sonja. He couldn’t remember the last time it had been like that. Him waking up, like he had that morning, in exactly the same position as when he fell asleep – on his back, with her head on his shoulder and his arm around her hip. Quite a change from his usual position, as far out on his side of the mattress as possible with his back to her.
Nothing more had been said. The words had all been used up by the time they’d got off the sofa and gone to bed. An intimate, almost magical closeness had enveloped them when she’d snuggled in next to him and let him put his arm around her.
The idea of sex had been there the whole time; in a way, it was the perfect set-up. Her body next to his, the building warmth and lust. They had both been ready and millimetres from breaking the ice. And yet it had never seemed more remote.
Minutes later, she’d begun to twitch as her breathing grew deeper. He’d lain awake for another hour or so, trying to understand what had happened. Whether this was the start of something new and they would finally be able to deal with all the things that had been left unsaid and build something together. Or whether it was simply a temporary ceasefire in their cold war.
One thing was clear, however. If Theodor didn’t see the light and agree to turn himself in, there was nothing he could do about it. It didn’t matter that he was right, or that he, too, risked being charged with crimes if it ever came out that he’d known about his son’s involvement. Until he and Sonja agreed, all he could do was wait.
That troubled him; he could only hope she would eventually come to her senses.
His worry about that had, however, been replaced with a different one the moment Molander entered the conference room and sat down diagonally across from him. When they’d spoken on the phone the day before, he’d been almost certain his colleague didn’t know anything. Since then, Gertrud had had plenty of time to fill him in.
During the meeting, he had tried to analyse every detail of his colleague’s behaviour, but had, in the end, concluded that his only option was to visit Gertrud as soon as possible to try to suss out if she’d brought it up.
That aside, the morning meeting had been unusually efficient. None of them had had the time or peace of mind to enjoy the first get-together of the week or make small talk. Lilja had for some reason spent most of the time staring at her phone, and both Molander and Klippan had, with the help of Tuvesson’s expert direction, been surprisingly succinct and focused, which was why they’d reached the last point on the agenda after just twenty-five minutes and were now waiting for Klippan to connect his laptop and show them clips from the ICA Maxi CCTV tapes.
Lilja had already told them about how her search for Assar Skanås’s turned-off phone had led her to a building on Carl Krooks Gata, and that the only thing of interest she’d found there was a one-bed flat for rent. After a short discussion, they’d agreed not to divert resources to door-knocking in the area. But they would
make sure to maintain around-the-clock readiness to act if the phone became active.
Molander had also, with the aid of the network provider, secured the call lists for the past week to and from the number in question. They’d shown that Skanås had called Björn Richter, the man with the dolls who lived in the same building as Moonif Ganem, several times. He had even tried to call him at 7.18 a.m. on the morning of the murder.
One theory was that Skanås had travelled to Bjuv to visit the man with the dolls, and when he was not in, he’d lingered in the stairwell until Moonif came down with his recycling. Either way, it was clear the two knew each other, which was why Tuvesson had immediately dispatched two uniformed officers to search Richter’s flat.
Then Klippan had recounted the conversations he’d had with some of Molly Wessman’s co-workers, who had all spoken of her competence and ability to execute both cutbacks and restructures. Some had, however, mentioned that she had not seemed like herself in the days before the murder. She had allegedly acted nervously and after calling off her presentation to the board halfway through had left the office in a hurry.
He had told the others about his meeting with Flätan, who had concluded that Wessman had been poisoned with ricin, probably at some point on Friday afternoon. He had shown pictures of her concealed tattoo and informed them that it suggested she had been in sexual contact with a certain Columbus, who, as rumour had it, could make anybody push beyond their own sexual limits.
It was undoubtedly their most promising lead, though Tuvesson had remained sceptical and asked him to keep looking into how much truth there really was to the rumours and whether this Columbus was even real.
‘All right. Great, then we know. Thank you.’ Tuvesson put her phone down and turned back to the others. ‘I’m sad to say, people, Assar Skanås is not hiding at Björn Richter’s house, playing with dolls.’
‘Did they check his basement storage area?’ Lilja said.
Tuvesson nodded and glanced at her watch. ‘Klippan, how are you getting on with that?’
Motive X Page 26
