SOON AFTER TEN O’CLOCK Sanna Johansson and her team arrived at the crime scene. It was a tranquil neighbourhood, surrounded by mature pine trees and overgrown bushes. Several police vehicles and an ambulance were randomly parked along the roadside. The gravel path was still damp following yesterday’s rain and a gentle scent of earth, bark and trampled grass filled the air.
A uniformed policewoman was attempting to bring some sort of order to the crowd of inquisitive onlookers, which had congregated on the other side of the blue and white barrier tape fencing off the crime scene.
“Stand on the other side of the tape!” she yelled at a young man who was eager to see what was going on. “Let’s not upset the forensic technicians by trampling on their evidence!”
A spokesman for the local police stood just inside the barrier talking to reporters. As Sanna slipped through the crowd, careful not to bump into anybody, she spotted a familiar face –Lorena Pascalini from The Evening Post.
Pascalini was a stubborn and persistent journalist in her early thirties. She was almost always the first to write exposés revealing sensitive details about investigations that the police were keen to keep under wraps and away from the media. Sanna didn’t like her but she had to concede that Pascalini had all the right qualities for a good journalist.
Sanna wondered whether somebody from inside was feeding Pascalini information. That woman never missed an opportunity!
She made her way up to the cottage, where the team had gathered outside the entrance. Sanna regarded her squad briefly. She liked to surround herself with colleagues who were experienced and independent. She had personally selected each member and moulded the group into the best investigation team she had ever worked with. She wanted to keep this particular assemblage intact for many years to come. However, against her wishes Henrik Blom had decided to incorporate one more person into the team – a recently qualified investigator named Allan Jonsson. As yet it was far from clear whether or not he was the type of person who would fit in.
“Okay, let’s see why this case has been handed to us,” said Sanna.
Kalle nodded. He was the longest serving member of the team and the one in whom she had the greatest confidence. They had met ten years ago when he was thirty-five years old, and since then they had worked together on so many murder investigations that she couldn’t imagine the job without him. Unfortunately, Kalle’s problems at home dealing with Mia’s illness were negatively affecting his performance at work and it wasn’t yet clear how the situation would unfold in the future.
“It’s there in the bedroom. Not a pretty sight,” said a uniformed police officer, moving aside to let her pass.
Sanna glanced at him and continued through the door, slipping on a pair of latex gloves and shoe covers as she walked. Half way across the threshold the stench hit her. She froze. Nothing could be more uninviting that the smell of a corpse that has been cooped up inside for several days. As she groped in her pocket for a handkerchief she used her other hand to cover her mouth and suppress her gagging reflex.
Kalle and Javier followed her in.
Javier Mendez grunted a few inaudible words and Sanna looked at him questioningly.
“Nothing… I was thinking out loud,” he said with an unconvincing smile. Javier was thirty-nine years old and hailed from Skåne. His parents had moved to Sweden from Spain in the 1960s. From an early age he had dreamed of becoming a policeman and as soon as he completed compulsory military service he moved to Stockholm and applied to the Police Academy. Despite his idiosyncratic temperament and manner he was highly competent. Sanna met him three years ago when the Gothenburg Police had requested her expert assistance in a human trafficking case involving six men who were accused of luring eleven unsuspecting Rumanian women to Sweden.
As far as Sanna was concerned, Kalle and Javier were unquestionably the best crime scene investigators in the country. Although Javier was the kind of person who preferred to work alone and without interference, Sanna was satisfied with his efforts and had complete confidence in his ability to carry out his assignments in a professional manner. She had also noticed that Cecile Thorén with her charm and sunny personality had managed to break through Javier’s defences. Since Thorén had joined the group a year ago Javier had become a much happier and more communicative person. There was hope.
“Have you finished?” asked Sanna as two white-robed forensic technicians from NFC, the Swedish National Forensic Centre passed her on their way out.
“No, Söderman’s still in there,” replied one of the technicians, opening a case and removing a facemask, which she passed to Sanna. “Use this.”
Sanna muttered something inaudible under her breath as she placed it over her nose and mouth.
Allan Jonsson, who had been watching them, approached and stretched out his hand with a smile.
The female technician glanced at Sanna as she passed Allan a facemask. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what you said.”
“Is Falk still here?” repeated Sanna.
“No, but he’ll be here any minute now. Don’t touch anything until he comes. We’ve taken all the samples we need, but you know Falk,” replied the woman.
The technicians from NFC would now begin the task of preparing a detailed report, which in this particular case would include analysis of fingerprints, DNA, footprints and other so called biological traces collected at the crime scene. The information would be used to create a DNA profile of the perpetrator.
A few minutes later Cecile Thorén arrived. Before entering the house she pulled out a facemask from her jacket pocket and placed it over her mouth.
“’Where did you get that?” asked Javier.
“I have more… wait a minute.” She removed another couple of masks from her jacket pocket and passed them to Javier and Kalle.
Sanna noted how Thorén was always so well prepared. She had moved to Stockholm from Ystad a couple of years ago when her partner had decided to return to his old job at Solna Police. Thorén was in her forties. She was popular and forthright and capable of spicing up the daily routine with her vivacious personality. In addition, she was a competent investigator. Her ability to bury herself in details and find connections in complicated cases that others had missed was one of the characteristics Sanna most admired in her.
Sanna surveyed each member of her team.
“Do we know the name of the victim?”
“No,” replied Kalle. “Apparently he had no id on him… Oh yes, one more thing – it doesn’t look like anybody’s living here, the property’s basically empty.”
Sanna raised her eyebrows and turned to Javier.
“Talk to the guys out there and make sure the crowd doesn’t disperse. I want photos of everyone, including those who came later.”
She looked around.
“Where’s Steward?”
“I guess he’s almost here, I think I can hear his motorbike,” replied Javier.
“Good! Ask him to periodically take photos of everyone outside. Later we’ll find out who the busybodies are.”
“I’ll go out and talk to potential witnesses before they leave,” said Javier, eager to get some fresh air.
“I’ll go too, there’s a bloke out there who might be able to tell us who the owner is,” said Kalle, scurrying out after him.
“Allan, you go with them,” said Sanna. His face was as white as a sheet and he looked decidedly unwell. He probably hadn’t seen too many murder victims during his career.
Allan Jonsson hesitated for a moment but eventually obeyed her instructions.
Sanna watched him leave. He hadn’t been at NBI long enough for her to build up an impression of him yet. All she knew was that he had recently turned fifty, hailed originally from Karlstad and had moved to Stockholm eight months ago.
Allan had a reputation for impertinence as well as being a bit of a loud mouth and he had got off to a rocky start in his new role as a detective. However, shortly after joining Sanna’s team, just as the Börge Svenson investigation was gathering momentum, his attitude changed and he became a lot more reserved. Furthermore, his new tough guy look became something of a taking point. His tightly cropped haircut and recently acquired prominent tattoo on his sun tanned muscular forearm helped bolster this impression. Sanna hadn’t yet managed to work out whether he had the competence necessary to be an asset to the investigation.
As Sanna watched Allan and Thorén leave she noticed a look pass between them. She also couldn’t help admiring Cecile Thorén’s elegant, self-confident stride.
She surveyed the living room, which was the first room you came to when entering the property. It was a traditional cottage in reasonable state of repair, and, apart from the pervasive stench of rotting flesh, it had the typical, slightly musty smell of an old building. She made a visual recording of the scene in her memory. The décor was simple with IKEA style pine furniture. Along the left side of the room was a small table surrounded by four grey fabric armchairs and a white sofa. The matching grey curtains swayed gently in the breeze wafting in through two open windows looking out onto the street.
Sanna continued into the bedroom and paused on the threshold before entering. It certainly didn’t resemble a crime scene. Apart from the corpse lying rigid on the bed, the powerful, metallic smell of blood and the pervasive odour of human excrement, the room was in perfect order.
The colour scheme was similar to the living room and there were two open windows overlooking a dense forest.
Sanna adjusted her facemask and approached the victim. The scene reminded her of the three-year-old murder investigation in Gothenburg. She took out her tablet computer and began to write:
“Striking similarities with the Gothenburg case, not in the victim’s appearance but in the way he is positioned on the bed, curled up in the foetal position. The bed is neatly made, almost as if the victim was placed there after the murder. He is naked and his feet are bound together and his hands are tied behind his back with a black leather strap.”
She couldn’t get the old murder case out of her head. A murder investigation that had ended up among the archived unsolved cases due to a lack of technical evidence. She continued to write:
“Also similar to the Gothenburg victim, the man’s torso is facing the door, his face turned upwards. His eyes are open and his face is frozen in a distorted, terrified expression.”
Sanna bent over the corpse.
“His hair is glued to his scalp. Everything indicates a struggle.”
She looked at the man’s penis. No difference here except for size. It was lacerated with dry blood-filled blisters. Sanna drew a sharp intake of breath and paced back and forth around the bed. Next to the victim’s anus was a mess of blood and excrement. As she walked over to the window to escape the repugnant smell she tripped over an armchair. Flustered, she quickly returned the stool to its original position and, as she did so, noticed a similar armchair in another corner of the room. It was positioned so that a person sitting on it could watch what was happening on the bed. She frowned.
Outside the cottage the crowd of curious onlookers had begun to disperse, probably to avoid Kalle and Javier’s questioning. Allan Jonsson was talking animatedly to a woman and Sanna couldn’t help wondering whether he was asking questions about the case or chatting her up.
She turned and looked at the bed. Remarkably, it too was similar to the one in Gothenburg with its old-fashioned white metal frame and headboard consisting of two solid railings with three narrow bars inside. It reminded Sanna of a bed she had seen at one of her grandmother’s friend’s houses when she was a child. She remembered imagining it was a gate. The bed was covered with a white bedspread and there were three cushions and two white pillows neatly arranged against the headboard.
Cecile Thorén, who all this time had been silently staring at the body, too nauseous to speak, walked out of the room towards the kitchen.
Soon afterwards, Javier and Jonsson entered the bedroom with the photographer in tow.
“Holy shit!” exclaimed Javier.
Sanna looked up from her tablet computer and nodded. “Another one…” she whispered.
“He’s definitely not the owner of the house,” said Kalle, who by now had also joined his colleagues.
Sanna turned abruptly to face him.
“According to one of the neighbours the owner is only around one metre seventy six tall.”
“This man’s at least one metre eighty-five… Do we know the owner’s name?”
“No. The man I spoke to said he pretty much keeps to himself and hardly talks to anyone in the neighbourhood,” continued Kalle.
The sound of heavy footsteps approached. Arne Falk appeared in the doorway and made a quick mental note of his surroundings.
“Hmm, the smell of evil,” he said with a deadpan expression as he walked over to the body. “Now I understand what you meant when you described the Gothenburg murder.”
Sanna looked at him in astonishment. She was impressed at his powers of recall.
“Yes, the similarities are striking.”
Momentarily distracted by the click of the photographer’s camera, Sanna left Falk to his own devices as she continued to inspect the rest of the room. This time she intended to let him work in peace and carry out his analysis undisturbed.
The rest of the team scattered to examine the crime scene.
Sanna scrutinized every detail of the room as if she was attending an art exhibition. The victim’s clothes were neatly folded on a chair that stood against the wall. The clothes were torn, yet they had been carefully placed on the chair. Why not leave them on the floor instead? Why go to so much trouble to arrange everything so precisely. It was the same pattern as before and she couldn’t avoid comparing the two murders. In Gothenburg, the victim’s clothes had been folded in a similar fashion. Since the victim’s hands and feet were bound, the only way the murderer could have removed his clothes was by ripping them apart.
Sanna continued into the bathroom. She had expected to find a simple shower cabinet, which would have been typical for this type of summer cottage. This particular property, however, was equipped with a bathtub that was spotlessly clean just like everything else inside the house. She bent down and inspected the plughole. Not a single strand of hair. She scanned the room. An unused towel hung on a hook near the washbasin. The hook near the bath was empty. She strode back to the bedroom, stopped in the centre of the room and flashed a glance around the entire room before bending down to look under the bed. Nothing.
“Missing: bath towel probably part of a matching grey set.”
Steward, the photographer, was following Sanna’s movements closely and making a point of systematically photographing each area after she had finished. From experience, he knew that Sanna would always ask for photos of the one area he had missed.
As he knelt down to look under the bed the waistband of his trousers shifted, exposing the crack of his bottom. John Steward was a youthful thirty-year old man with a well-groomed beard, short brown hair and sparkling light green eyes. He liked to dress in modern loose-fitting clothes that reflected his easy-going personality.
Sanna’s head was bombarded with images of the crime scene. Her thoughts drifted to how events leading up to the murder must have unfolded. The victim was approximately one metre eighty-five centimetres tall and his build was in proportion to his height. The murderer would have had to use brute force to pin him down. She imagined the victim’s desperation as he fought in vain before finally being overpowered.
She shook her head. That wasn’t how it happened.
Next, she tried to work out the murderer’s body type. Anyone capable of overcoming the victim would have to be at least as strong, if not stronger than him.
She made her way slowly to the kitchen where Thorén was busy rummaging through the cupboards.
“Anything interesting?” asked Sanna, glancing around the room. There were two light grey wall cabinets and two matching base cabinets, one fitted with a sink. Facing the window was a wood oven. The floor was covered with dirty grey linoleum flecked with large white stains.
“Not really,” said Thorén tentatively. “As far as I can tell the murderer didn’t use anything from in here. However, for some reason he must have cleaned the kitchen counter because it reeks of chlorine. He also emptied the rubbish.”
“Perhaps the technicians removed it,” suggested Sanna.
“No, I had a short chat with one of them and they didn’t remove anything from the kitchen, only from the bedroom. He also told me they would probably be coming back.” Thorén opened a cupboard. “Check this out. Everything’s arranged with military precision.”
“Make sure that John gets photos,” instructed Sanna, before leaving the room to continue inspecting the rest of the house. She strolled through the living room and hovered in the bedroom doorway. Kalle was focused on examining the contents of a cupboard while Javier and Allan were busy rummaging through a bedside table drawer. Arne Falk had already left the crime scene.
“Hi Sanna, welcome back!” smiled Hans Söderman of the National Forensic Centre.
“Thanks,” answered Sanna cheerfully, “Any evidence?”
“Not yet…” he replied. “Our best bet is the bed. Interesting to find a crime scene that’s been so scrupulously decontaminated. I’m not sure the tests will provide us with anything useful.”
She stared at him and was about to say something but changed her mind.
The forensic technician nodded goodbye and left the crime scene.
Javier was now inspecting the other bedside table. Allan Jonsson stood next to him looking pale and nauseous.
“No blood here,” he remarked, holding up a dildo.
“He’s into sex games as well,” said Kalle, holding up a pair of handcuffs. “Beats me why the killer didn’t use these…”
“Probably because they were no use to him. If we’re dealing with the same attacker, handcuffs don’t fit the pattern,” grimaced Javier.
Sanna entered the room.
“This is starting to look awfully familiar.”
Kalle, turned to Sanna. He was carrying an assortment of sex toys.
“Yup. Strange that none of these were used,” he said.
“Wait!” said John Steward as he scurried in to the room.
Kalle stepped back and pointed to the bedside table.
The photographer took a seemingly endless series of photographs.
Kalle sighed with impatience. “Are you done?”
”Yup,” said Steward and he left the room to continue photographing the rest of the house.
Kalle pressed the record button on his tablet computer:
“Evidence Collection Protocol from Fladenvägen one hundred and seventy six, Ingarö. Bedroom: Bedside table on left side of bed: upper drawer: five dildos of different sizes and colours, three pairs of handcuffs and two rolls of black tape. Bedside table on right side of bed: large blue dildo, two packs of unused batteries, two bottles of lubricant and four strong ropes approx. one metre each.”
He placed the items carefully into a large black plastic bag.
Sanna, who had been watching his actions keenly, glanced inside at the contents.
“A bag full of objects for one specific purpose only.”
“Yup, kinky sex games,” said Javier, grinning sarcastically.
“We have to find out what the hell is going on here. Kalle, can you contact the owner of the house as soon as we’re back at the station?”
Kalle nodded and made a note on his tablet computer.
Sanna walked over to a window overlooking the front garden. A cluster of shell-shocked but inquisitive spectators lingered on the other side of the police barrier. She watched them for a few seconds then turned to Steward.
“John, I want photos of everyone out there.”
“Already done. I’m onto it. I’m also checking regularly to see if anyone new turns up,” he assured her.
Sanna gave him a thumbs up sign.
The creaking from a half-open wardrobe door distracted her. She walked over and opened it. Inside, there was a stack of duvet covers in their plastic packaging as well as two new pillows and four packs of white sheets. Sanna’s curiosity was piqued and she began to pull out the items one by one and lay them on the floor. She leaned inside the empty wardrobe and knocked gently on the back panel then pressed lightly with her fingers from edge to edge until it loosened. Tucked into the wall behind the wardrobe was a recessed bookshelf stuffed with various items, including various types of black plastic garments designed for use in ritual sex games, as well as pornography books and CD’s and DVD’s labelled according to date. In addition, there were three dark brown leather whips hanging from a hook.
“Well, well, will you look at that!” exclaimed Steward, who by now had returned to the bedroom and was eagerly snapping away.
The team looked on in fascination.
“Why is this stuff hidden away?” asked Kalle. “This isn’t a random collection. Is there anything missing?”
Sanna looked at him with a wry smile.
“It’ll be interesting to see what’s on the DVD’s. We’ll take everything with us. Thorén, can you take care of that? Ask Samir Mohamed to register them and write an evidence collection protocol.
“How did you know there was a secret cubby hole?”
“I didn’t, but since there are so many similarities with the Gothenburg case it occurred to me that I might find something similar.”
“And you were right,” smiled Thorén. “By the way, is Mohamed back on the team?”
“Yup”
As soon as Samir Mohamed heard that Sanna was back at work he had put in a request to continue on her team. It was an easy decision. She was very satisfied with Mohamed’s earlier efforts. He was shy and reserved but always did the job well regardless of the type of assignment.
Mohamed’s parents ran a grocery store, but to his father’s disappointment he had never considered taking over the family business. He had other plans. After graduating from Stockholm University with a degree in sociology he secretly applied to the Police Academy, passing all his tests with flying colours and finally fulfilling his dream to be a police officer. When Sanna heard about Mohamed’s promotion to Detective Sergeant she was so impressed by his resumé that she contacted Blom immediately and asked to have him reassigned to her team full time. Fortunately, Blom had no objections.
“If, as seems likely, the victim isn’t the owner of the property, who is he? For the moment, the only conclusion we can draw is that the cottage appears to have been used for sex games of some kind. Apparently, according to witnesses, the owner is hardly ever home, so the question is who uses this stuff? The crime scene in Gothenburg certainly wasn’t as well equipped as this one.”