Broken Mirrors (ARC)

by C S Duffy

  Annette Björkstedt, 38. Fell down the stairs opposite Fotografiska, catastrophic head injury.

  Cattis Bergman, 23. Complications from an epileptic seizure at home on Skånegatan.

  Sigge Åstrand, 34. Heart attack at Kvarnen.

  Björne Svensson, 29. Overdose at home on Åsögatan

  Sanna Johansson, 30. Drowned following heart failure in straight near Arholma.

  Gustav Lindström 30. Instant heart failure at Nytorget.

  Liv Nilsson, 31. Instant heart failure at home on Hornsgatan.

  I added two more names:

  Anna Essen, 23. Cause of death unknown. Found posed at Mariatorget.

  Mattius Eklund, 20. Cause of death unknown. Found on a bench in front of Stora Blektornsparken.

  Karin Söderström was the victim the most damning for Mia. She had been in the same class as Mia, Johan, Krister and Liv. She'd had a crush on Johan, and he had told me he had been sort of interested too, in that awkward teenage boy way which had consisted mostly of him ignoring her and occasionally making fun of her. During the school ski trip, Krister had conspired to shove the two of them onto a ski lift together, and they had stammered and stuttered their way towards a plan to meet late that evening for a walk. When evening came Johan chickened out and Karin had been found dead the next morning on the cross country ski trail where they had agreed to meet.

  I had managed to find potential links between Mia and a few of the other victims, but given that they all lived on one small island where people's lives inevitably crisscrossed, I knew that few, if any, would hold up in court. Karin Söderström, however, had been killed on the outskirts of a remote mountain village. Mia had been there; it was unlikely Lotta Berglund had been.

  But Ola Andersson owned a ski jacket bearing the name of the same resort.

  21

  'It's not one of the well known resorts,' I explained to Henrik and Nadja the following evening at the police station. We were in the same little interview room where they had questioned me after Gustav Lindström's death, and I was almost certain that the manky coffee Henrik had handed me was the same one from back then too.

  'It's near Salén, but it's off the beaten track. This afternoon I spoke to Josefin Beckman, the principal at their school who was on the trip, and she explained that one of the teachers had a family connection to this little village, so they got a good deal.'

  'And this jacket Ola Andersson wears, is it only available at the resort itself?' Nadja asked. Henrik was taking notes.

  I nodded. 'It's part of the uniform that the ski instructors wore. Josefin Beckman put me in touch with the owners, and it turns out they don't have a ski school there any more, but bus guests to one of the bigger resorts. They only ever had four or five instructors, so the owner remembers Ola well. He was working there over the season when Karin Söderström died. The owner couldn't remember offhand whether or not Ola was working the week of the school trip, but he said he would try to dig out the rota from that period to confirm. I told him you would probably follow up.'

  'That was kind of you,' said Nadja tartly.

  'Thank you for bringing this to us now,' added Henrik, with a mild warning look at Nadja. He sat back in his chair which creaked under his weight and stretched. I noticed that his shirt was crumpled, and he had several days' worth of salt and pepper stubble.

  'I researched an article about serial killers a few years ago,' I continued. 'It was some anniversary to do with the Yorkshire Ripper, I wrote a piece about some of the more famous ones, trying to explore just why they fascinate us so much. In my research, I came across the fact that because of their narcissism, it is very common for them to be fascinated by what they have done. Very often they will insert themselves into the investigation somehow, in the guise of a helpful witness. Ted Bundy did that. The public way that Ola accused Lotta Berglund — he didn't just come to you quietly, he called a press conference — there was something odd about it.'

  'He does not have the education in chemistry to have developed the drug,' said Nadja.

  'True, but he knew Lotta, who did. What if she unwittingly helped him and threatened to turn him in when she realised? What if that's why she has disappeared?'

  The two detectives exchanged a look.

  'Has there been any sign of her yet?'

  'Her debit card was used at a cash machine in the Netherlands yesterday,' Nadja said shortly. 'There was no indication of an altercation at her apartment. Our belief at the current time is that she left of her own accord, perhaps hoping that the attention from his accusation would die down.'

  'We have spoken to many of her colleagues, family members, who say it is not uncommon for her to take off for a trip without telling anyone,' Henrik added.

  'There's more,' I said. 'Ola got the job as the ski instructor because his uncle was friends with the owner. This uncle is a funeral director in a small town just outside Gothenburg, and Ola had worked for him the summer before.'

  'In the funeral parlour?'

  I nodded. 'He told me that a trainee like Ola was not qualified to embalm of course, but that he would have been present, even assisting, many times. He could well have picked up the basics.'

  'We have checked Ola Andersson's passport records and he was not in the US when the victim in Boston was killed,' said Henrik.

  'I've been thinking about that — what if that's a red herring? What if these two murders aren't linked to that one, but copycats? Lotta was there, she must have read or heard about it. She could have told him about it and that's where he got the idea from. He made a point of telling me that she was in Boston at the time.'

  'You have spoken to him?' Nadja looked up sharply, her eyes narrowed.

  'I ran into him at a coffee shop,' I said, with a slightly defensive shrug. 'We're both freelancers. We fell into conversation.'

  I would have judged them if they'd believed that. Nadja shot an irritated glance at Henrik and seemed just about to lay into me when his phone buzzed. He glanced at it and his eyes widened.

  'We have to go,' he said, getting to his feet. He snapped something in rapid Swedish at Nadja. I caught 'kropp' and 'Skanstull.'

  Another body had been found at Skanstull.

  As soon as their patrol car pulled away from the police station, I started jogging in the direction of Skanstull.

  The outdoor swimming pool was covered up for the winter, the large fenced off area flat with thick snow. I'd guessed that if a body had been posed near Skanstull it would have to be in the area between Ringvägen and the water, a little way back from the heavily trafficked junction. Hoping to avoid Henrik or Nadja spotting me, I'd run down to the water at the other side of the bridge, then jogged back under the cycle path, passing the boat club with its rows of silent boats trapped in ice, and the outdoor gym. In the summer it was buzzing round here with sunbathers and joggers and swimmers, but now the silence was almost palpable.

  The main sidewalk that ran between the leisure centre and the outdoor pool was guarded by uniformed officers, but I clambered up a treacherously icy pathway at the other side, past the little red allotment cottages that peeked out from beneath pristine snow. I finally got high enough to be able to see the crime scene flooded with silver light and paused, breathing heavily, sweating in my thick coat as I watched the now horribly familiar hive of activity.

  A group of Scene of Crime officers carried a white tent across the open space, but just before they unfurled it, I caught a glimpse of the victim. The woman — I was almost positive it was a woman, though at such a distance it was difficult to be certain — was upright like the others, but she lurched heavily to one side. Was she in some kind of leaning pose — dancing? Yoga? — or had she simply fallen over?

  The tent went up and I swore under my breath as she was hidden from view. I was almost sure she had fallen. Not fallen, in fact. Collapsed. Her neck was horribly bent as though her head was too heavy to support; one arm had been pointed high, but the other just flopped at her side, as though she w
ere a puppet whose strings had broken.

  The other two had been so flawlessly posed. The killer was slipping. Had they rushed this time, failed to dose the body with quite enough freezing chemical to achieve the full statue effect?

  My thighs were burning from crouching in the snow, so I stood up, hoping that I was far enough away to escape attention. There probably wasn't much else I could see now that the tent was up, I thought, realising that feeling in my toes had departed several minutes earlier. I should go, write up my notes on this latest development. I'd passed on what I knew to the police, it was up to them to take action on it.

  Then I heard a noise and I froze, icy chills trickling down my spine.

  I wasn't alone up here.

  A footstep, crunching through snow, just behind me. This path was too steep to be heavily used in the winter, the snow had been undisturbed when I'd scrabbled my way up. Behind me was only allotments, the nearest apartment buildings a good twenty, thirty metres away.

  I turned slowly, my heart hammering, and I came face to face with Ola Andersson.

  22

  'How strange to meet you again here,' he said in an unnaturally bright tone. He stood a foot or two away, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his ski jacket.

  Spiders of terror scuttled down my spine as I desperately attempted to arrange my features into some sort of smile. He turned and stared at the silvery glow of the crime scene in the distance with a slight frown, as though he had just noticed it.

  'I wonder what is happening over there?' he asked.

  'I — don't know,' I muttered. I forced a grin that I'm certain seemed manic. 'I was just walking by. Got a bit lost. I was going to the, uhh, subway station at Skanstull.' I laughed, my voice shrill. 'Must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.' I was babbling. The words tumbled pointlessly out.

  'And you found yourself here,' he said, cocking his head to one side like a curious dog. 'You are very nosy, aren't you Ellie?'

  'I'm just lost. I'd better get home, my boyfriend will be wondering where I am. Nice to see you.'

  Ola sniggered, but as I made to step past him, he shifted just slightly so that he was in my way. He hadn't torn his eyes from the crime scene for a second. My heart tumbled into my toes.

  Out of the corner of my eye I could see Henrik and Nadja striding along the little path that had been trampled in the snow towards the tent where the body was. Look up, I begged silently, even though they'd never see us in the darkness. Ola was standing a little above me on the narrow path. To get towards Ringvägen I would have to push past him. Behind me was only a snow covered beach then the solid ice of Lake Mälaren.

  'What do you think happened there?' he asked again, nodding towards the crime scene.

  I could run round the way I came, I thought frantically. If I was fast enough, I might just manage to scream to one of the uniformed officers before —

  My breath caught in my throat as I imagined an icy syringe being plunged into my neck, the sensation so acute I could almost feel the chill of the chemical invading my body, turning me into a living statue.

  And then a dead statue.

  'I think someone was murdered,' I said, amazed at how steady my voice sounded.

  'That is very sad,' he said in the sort of bright, sing-song voice that reminded me of myself begging little Tor-Björn to stop crying.

  'Yes.'

  'I suppose it was Lotta who killed her.' He tutted, shaking his head. 'She is very evil. They really should stop her.'

  'How do you know it was a woman who died?' I asked quietly. 'They put the tent up before you got here.'

  He chuckled, but there was an edge in his voice that sent chills cascading through me. I could feel terror building in me as though it were a physical thing, suffocating me from the inside. Don't fucking faint, Ellie, I ordered myself. This was not the time.

  'Do you not know the statistics?' he asked, shaking his head with a soft tut. 'It is always women who die.'

  The moon came out from behind a cloud. Our eyes met for the first time and I saw fear trickle into his. We both froze for a split second then he span around and ran up the path.

  'Henrik —! Nadja —' I screamed. 'Up here!'

  I didn't wait to see if anyone had heard as I gave chase.

  There must have been steps cut into the snow. I slipped and jammed my kneecap into solid ice, scrabbled to my feet, skidded and slithered through thick snow as Ola's dark form disappeared into the murk ahead of me. The path widened out at the top of the hill and I saw him pick up the pace.

  My lungs were burning already, legs trembling as I sprinted to try to close the gap between us —

  He turned suddenly and I screamed — he flung something at me and the sharp shock of pain was dizzying as my cheek was sliced by a jagged icicle —

  I could feel hot blood trickling along my jawline, down my neck and the world span and wavered in my vision as I gritted my teeth, forced myself to my feet again —

  We crossed the open space and Ola slipped around an apartment building and onto a quiet residential road —

  There was a dog walker up ahead who barely glanced up as Ola ran past her.

  'Help,' I screeched. 'Call the police!'

  But the woman shrank back, dragged her little dog towards the apartment building. Ola was almost at the end of the road.

  I could feel a howl of pain and terror and frustration building as I staggered on — the distance between us was growing, Ola appeared to be gaining strength the further he got from me —

  He dashed around the corner and burst onto Ringvägen which was bumper-to-bumper with traffic in both directions. He ran into the road, weaving between cars as I gritted my teeth in a final burst of speed —

  The number three bus came trundling up the bus lane just as Ola darted from the other side —

  The dull thud reverberated through me as Ola's body flew into the air —

  A flurry of screams, the screech of brakes —

  My legs gave way and I crumpled onto my knees in the snow piled by the side of the road. My blood roared and my own rasping, horrified gasps filled my ears. It seemed as though everything went into slow motion as Ola landed on a jagged pile of snow in front of the bus with a curiously echoing silence and lay completely still.

  23

  It was morning before I was released. I left the hospital, the stitches in my cheek stinging despite the copious painkillers I had been given in the night. I was drunk with exhaustion, the murky, greyish-purple dawn swimming in my vision. Henrik had said something about a patrol car driving me home earlier, but there was no sign of him when the nurse said I could go, and I couldn't bear to stay in the hospital another moment.

  I started to walk home. Ringvägen was still cordoned off and I didn't think I could bring myself to get on a number three bus. As I waited for the green crossing signal, I turned and glanced back at the hospital.

  Ola Andersson was somewhere in there, in a coma and under arrest. Henrik had told me that Ola had broken his pelvis, femur and several ribs, one of which had punctured a lung. He was alive though, I thought sourly, which was more than could be said for that poor woman he had left crumpled on top of a closed swimming pool. His ex wife, Ulrika Andersson.

  I felt a deep shudder wrack through me and held on to the traffic light for support. I'd tried to dose on the stretcher while I was waiting for my stitches, but every time I closed my eyes I saw Ola's body fly into the air, heard the screech of the brakes, screams, sirens, Henrik's shout from behind me. Snow dyed dark read with blood.

  The pedestrian crossing turned green and I crossed Ringvägen, looking steadfastly ahead so that I didn't so much as glimpse the accident scene. I wasn't familiar with the back roads round here, but vaguely trusted that if I zigzagged generally right I would eventually reach Götgatan and then I'd know where I was again.

  'You followed us?' Nadja spat in the emergency room as I lay on a stretcher with gauze pressed to my cheek. Henrik gave her a warning look to keep
her voice down, which she silenced with a glare that could freeze lava. 'To an active crime scene? What were you thinking?'

  'I just wanted to see,' I'd sighed. I couldn't defend myself. Partly because I had already been given some spectacular pain killers and was woozy as hell, but mostly because she was right. 'I stayed far back. I wasn't in the way.'

  Somewhere beyond my cubicle an agitated old man argued with medical staff, a baby cried, a monitor beeped urgently. My cheek stung like a bastard and I kept feeling little jerks, like mini electric shocks, as adrenaline drained from my body. Henrik had offered to phone Johan, but I'd refused.

  'We could arrest you for obstructing an investigation.'

  'I didn't obstruct it. I was just watching. He approached me.'

  'You chased him.'

  'I screamed for you first. Was I supposed to just stand there and wave him off?'

  'What would you have done if you had caught him, Ellie?' Henrik had asked gently. I'd turned away. I didn't have an answer to that. 'That is why you cannot —'

  'I don't know, sat on him until you came?' I spat. My body was trembling and for a horrible moment I thought I was going to cry. 'I didn't really think about it. He ran and I chased. It was instinctive. Anyone would have done this same thing. I should have —'

  I cut myself off, bit back the sob I could feel building.

  'Should have what?' Henrik asked gently.

  'Mia was right there and I let her escape.'

  I half caught them exchanging a glance out of the corner of my eye.

  'The cottage was on fire and Johan was trapped inside,' Henrik said after a moment. 'I think you made the right choice to help him.'

  'It was probably me who knocked the candle over when I ran after her,' I said bitterly. 'I should have tackled her the moment she entered the cottage. I could have locked her in one of the bedrooms or something, I don't know. She was only a couple of metres away from me and I let her get away.'

  'We also let her get away.' Henrik perched at the foot of my stretcher as I stared at the ceiling, blinking away tears.