FOR ONCE THEY CHANGED the established routine and met on a Friday instead of a Thursday. It was Oxen’s birthday and they had decided to meet in a pub instead of at the shooting range as usual. Things were different now. One by one they had been losing members of the group. However, Bosse, Oxen’s loyal friend, had decided to invite other old friends to ensure that the celebration still went ahead and, luckily, most of the lads were positive about the idea of a celebration.
Bosse had toyed with the idea of contacting Aron Alvik but eventually decided against it. The pair of them had recently fallen out after Oxen had surreptitiously used Aron’s cottage on Ingarö as a meeting place for his underworld gang.
Although the birthday boy was flattered by the attention he wasn’t that keen on going to Stockholm on a Friday. However, after a series of earnest phone calls from the guys he had finally allowed himself to be persuaded. There was no point in denying that there was more to do in Stockholm that in his hometown of Umeå.
IT WAS TWELVE THIRTY by the time they entered the noisy pub. Guests clustered around the bar and the newcomers were forced to shout to make themselves heard over the loud background music. Everyone seemed to be in a great mood. After an excellent celebratory dinner in Södermalm they were now at their favourite pub. It was the turn of the birthday boy to select their target, even though he always had the last word anyway. Oxen had a weakness for blondes and for the last twenty minutes or so he had been eyeing a tasty little number whom he was very keen to get his hands on.
After a couple of beers his patience ran out. He caught her eye with a look of such intensity that even though she wasn’t particularly interested she found it hard to ignore him.
The man from Norrland made a bee line for his target and before long she was powerless to resist his smile and seductive glances.
“What are you drinking?” asked Oxen, noticing her half empty glass.
“Something non-alcoholic,” she replied with a constrained but polite smile.
A teetotaller. Typical, he thought.
“You don’t drink?”
“I just don’t feel like it tonight.”
“What do you normally drink?”
“White wine.”
The other men walked over to them.
“What type of white wine do you like?” asked Oxen with a twinkle in his eye.
The lads glanced at each other and smiled.
“I only drink vintage wines…” she replied flirtatiously.
“Okay,” said Oxen hesitatingly.
They ordered a bottle of Riesling d’Alsace, which was far too expensive but they were pumped and looking forward to a fun evening. They spiked the drink with the usual substance. One individually spiced bottle of wine should do the trick. It might take a while but there was no rush.
“The best things in life are worth waiting for,” whispered one of the men.
Unfortunately, nothing went according to plan. After the third glass of wine the drug started to take effect and the woman rushed to the bathroom with her hand pressed against her mouth.
The men moved hurriedly aside to let her pass.
“Bloody hell! Disgusting!” snarled Oxen with his strong Norrland accent.
The others looked at each other in disappointment. It was too late to target a new woman.
“What do we do now?”
“Let’s go to Malmskillnadsgatan,” fumed Oxen.
“I don’t feel like paying for a bloody prostitute,” said one of the men.
“Who said we were going to pay?” added Oxen smugly.
“They have their pimps…”
“Not everyone has a pimp, anyway what does it matter if she has one or not?” continued Oxen. “We’ll pick a Swede, they usually work solo.”
“How do we find out?”
Oxen stared at his mate but didn’t reply.
“We’ll talk to her first and if she has a foreign accent, we’ll move on,” answered one of the men.
“Shall we drug her first?”
“Fuck it, whores are whores, they get what they deserve!” laughed Oxen.
A FULL MOON SPARKLED in the clear night sky. When they finally arrived at Malmskillnadsgatan it was quarter past three. The group moved in on the first woman they saw.
As the men approached she stepped forward. “I don’t do group sex,” she said with a forced smile.
“There’s always a first time,” insisted Oxen.
The woman moved out of the shadows and into the moonlight. At the same time her gorilla like minder emerged. Oxen stared at the man pugnaciously. Suddenly, out of the darkness another two men appeared.
“Fuck it, let’s go,” said one of the guys, grabbing Oxen by the jacket.
SANNA CLOSED HER LAPTOP and yawned. It was two o’clock on Saturday afternoon. She got up from the armchair and went to the kitchen. She looked inside the fridge. It was almost empty so she opened the larder and took out a bag of noodles and threw them into a pan of boiling water. She wasn’t a fussy eater – it was just a question of filling her stomach.
The phone rang. It was Kalle.
“Is this a bad time?”
“No. How are things?”
“I’m fine, the kids are at the neighbours. Their son’s having a birthday party and Mia is resting.”
“How is she?”
“It’s hard to tell, she doesn’t want to talk about it. She says she’s just a bit tired but I can tell she’s in pain.”
Sanna stirred the noodles.
“Oh yes, something’s been bugging me…” he continued. “The victims were all found staring up at the ceiling. I think the killer opens his victim’s eyes after they’re dead. Maybe his fingerprints are on their eyelids?”
Sanna smiled.
“I was thinking exactly the same thing. Just before you called I sent an e-mail to Forensics asking them to check it out. With a bit of luck, even if there are no fingerprints, we’ll at least get a DNA profile.”
“Good. By the way did you read The Evening Post yesterday?”
“Yup. I’m dying to know what creep is leaking information,” replied Sanna.
She heard a voice in the background.
“Sanna, let’s talk more on Monday. Mia’s awake…”
“Okay, see you then.”
Sanna poured the noodles into a bowl and sat down at the kitchen table. She opened yesterday’s paper and read Lorena Pascalini’s article again:
‘Sweden has been rocked by a series of brutal murders targeting homosexual men. So far the police have no clear leads.
The first murder occurred three years ago in Gothenburg and there was a similar case in Stockholm the following year. And the murders continue! A new victim has recently been discovered on Värmdö.
Rumour has it that the police are about to appeal to the general public for help in solving the string of murders…’