FABIAN RISK LOCKED HIS car and hurried across the street; his heart was pounding much faster than usual. He felt like he was finally starting to see light at the end of the tunnel. Lina Pålsson had remembered the perpetrator’s name, just as he’d hoped. He had discovered the killer’s name and how he wanted to pass the information on to his colleagues so they could do the rest. With a name like Torgny Sölmedal, the man’s address shouldn’t be hard to find.
It was already past nine when he unlocked the door to the house at Pålsjögatan 17. It was quiet, with no Marilyn Manson to greet him. Did he dare hope that Theodor had finally grown tired of sitting alone in his room, destroying his ears? Or had that neighbour lady come over to complain?
The kitchen looked just as he’d left it earlier that evening, which meant that Theodor probably hadn’t eaten in several hours. He was most likely caught up in Call of Duty and hadn’t had time to notice how hungry he was. Fabian didn’t understand how computer games contributed to teens’ weight gain; in his experience it was the other way around. He yelled that he was home, but didn’t receive an answer, so he took out his phone and sent a text: Hi Theo, I’m home now. Where are you? I was thinking we could go have a nice dinner at Pålsjö Krog in about half an hour. Dad.
In just half an hour, he would kick off his vacation by calling Sonja and asking her and Matilda to get the first train back. Then he would drag Theodor out of his room and order him to experience their new hometown. On a warm summer evening like this, there was nothing better than a walk down the hill and through the woods to Pålsjö Krog.
He logged onto his laptop at the same time that Theodor’s reply popped up on his phone. I’m home. Still playing CoD. Headphones on. But Pålsjö Krog sounds good. Do they have burgers?
Fabian laughed. I’m sure they do, but am afraid they’re about a hundred times better than McD’s.
Sweet, Theo replied.
Fabian focused on his computer again. He went to Eniro, the online directory, and typed “Torgny Sölmedal” into the search box. Just as he’d expected, there was only one person with that name, and he lived in Helsingborg — at Motalagatan 24 in Husensjö. A Google search, however, turned up 879 hits, which surprised Fabian; he had only been expecting a link back to Eniro.
There was a paid link at the top of the Google list: SÖLMEDAL ENGINEERING AB — INVENTIONS, DESIGNS, BUILDS — NO TECHNICAL PROBLEM IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR US!
Of course he owns an engineering firm, Fabian thought, scrolling down through the rest of the search results. Most concerned various patents on everything from small-machine parts to electronic operating systems. A few pages later he found a link that interested him: READ MORE ABOUT T. SÖLMEDAL, which relayed him back to Sölmedal Engineering AB.
Torgny Sölmedal was born in Ekeby on August 12, 1966. He stands 6’1” above the ground and burdens the earth with less than 160 pounds. He is ambidextrous and has an IQ of 131 and above, depending on the test. He has loved to build things ever since he received a Meccano set for Christmas when he was a child. In 1986 he started Sölmedal Engineering AB, with the motto that there are no problems that can’t be solved; his work has resulted in a number of patents as well as economic independence. He continues to run his company because — in his own words — “it’s fun.”
“Because it’s fun,” Fabian repeated to himself; he didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry. A few results down he found a link to an article that piqued his interest. It was about the operation in which Rune Schmeckel had failed to remove two plastic clips from a man’s bladder during an operation. The patient, Torgny Sölmedal, is not planning to file suit at this time, he read. Was that why he’d chosen Claes Mällvik as his main victim? First he had taken all the attention away from him in school, and then he’d supervised this catastrophic surgery.
Fabian’s thoughts were interrupted by a strange sound coming from upstairs. It grew louder and louder, and sounded like someone was speaking through a megaphone. A minute later he heard an audience whistling and applauding. He realized Marilyn Manson was back on again, right before the drums and distorted guitars thundered to life at top volume, proclaiming the singer as all-american.
It was thirteen minutes past nine — not all that late. But considering that the neighbour had already expressed her displeasure, albeit in mild terms, and that Marilyn had probably been screaming at the top of his lungs all day, Fabian thought enough was enough and headed for the stairs.
The song was repeating a single swear word over and over again.
The volume was considerably louder on the second floor; it was nearly unbearable. He didn’t understand how Theodor could even stand to be in the same room as those speakers. Was that why he was using headphones? Something seemed off. The door was ajar. Fabian was about to open it when his phone started vibrating in his pocket: it was Sonja calling. She was probably wondering how everything was going. He’d been meaning to call her but hadn’t had the chance, so he hurried back downstairs, went out on the deck to shut out as much of the music as possible, and answered the phone.
“Hi darling.”
“It rang for a while — am I calling at a bad time?”
“No, not at all.”
“I mostly just wanted to check and see how you’re doing.”
“Oh, I don’t know, about as expected, I suppose,” Fabian said, realizing that he hadn’t even thought about his burns for the past few hours.
“Are you still at the hospital?”
“No, I just got home. Sonja, I —”
“So you’ve seen Theo. Has he been okay alone?”
“Uh... yes, I think so. We’ve actually only texted so far, but at least he responds. His stereo is turned up so loud that it feels like my ears are about to —”
“Fabian, I met her.”
“Huh? What? Who?”
“Niva Ekenhielm. We had coffee today. Lisen took Matilda, so we had time for a good long talk.”
Fabian didn’t know how to respond.
“She told me everything: every tiny, intimate detail. I wanted you to know.”
She just doesn’t give up, Fabian thought. Niva couldn’t leave him and his family in peace. Was it because he had asked her for a favour? He wondered exactly what she’d told Sonja and how many liberties her active imagination and wishful thinking had taken this time. He wanted to protest — to tell Sonja that Niva had surely exaggerated her story to drive a wedge between them — but he stopped himself, realizing that it didn’t matter in the end. He had lost this match long ago.
“Do you feel better?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?”
“Is there anything you want to talk about?”
“Not right now.”
He waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. She obviously wanted him to say something, so he did: “I love you. Just so you know, I love you.”
“Call me when you’re finished. And can you tell Theo that he has to answer when someone calls him?”
“Darling, you can actually go ahead and book a ticket —”
He heard a click in his ear, stuck the phone back in his pocket with a disappointed exhale, and walked inside.
Marilyn Manson was still singing about raping the rapers.
As he walked back up the stairs to the second floor, he was overcome by a feeling that was growing stronger and stronger — a feeling he’d had since he stepped into the house. He stood outside Theodor’s bedroom. He was sure that something was wrong, horribly wrong. He pushed open the door and stormed into the room.
The music was at fever pitch now.
He pressed button after button on the stereo, but it stubbornly continued to project a chain of expletives that assaulted his ears.
He finally yanked the entire stereo loose, cables and all, and threw it on the floor. The subsequent silence was anything but enjoyable. He knew it was pointless, but he still looked under the bed, behind the curtains, and in the wardrobe. Theodor was not in his room.
He shouted for his son over and over, as loudly as he could, even though he didn’t expect a reply. He screamed until he had to stop, collapsing onto the edge of the bed to gather his thoughts, but he couldn’t. Something inside him just kept wanting to panic and cry, as if he knew deep down that all was lost, that it was all his fault.
He closed his eyes and tried to force himself to take deep, slow breaths. A few minutes later he opened his eyes and looked around the room. Had Theodor even been here when he’d returned home earlier? He had been welcomed by the same album of hellish noise then. He started to think about it, and realized that he’d last seen Theodor when they’d gone to a movie and taken the ferry to Denmark — on Tuesday. Now it was Friday. They hadn’t spoken for three whole days.
Sonja had nagged him to call his son, which he’d done. But there had been no answer, except in the form of texts. He’d been satisfied with that response. He had never heard his son’s voice, but had been content with his replies in writing.
He had only been thinking about the investigation.
Fabian put his head in his hands, hoping it would turn out that Theodor had just run away from home. It would be perfectly understandable: he probably would have done the very same thing himself. But Fabian was sure that wasn’t what had happened. He was absolutely certain that something else was behind it, something much worse.
He stood up and started searching the room for clues. Most of Theodor’s belongings were still in moving boxes. Aside from some clothes, only the computer and stereo had been properly unpacked. There was a black notebook he’d never seen before in the middle of the desk. A pen was stuck in the cord that held it closed. He pulled the pen out, loosened the cord, and opened the notebook.
This diary belongs to:
Theodor Nils Risk
If you are not the person listed above, and do not have permission from the person listed above, close this book immediately.
Did his son really keep a diary? He started flipping through it.
This is the first time I’m writing in you even though I got you for Christmas two years ago from Mom. She said it’s always good to write down your thoughts so that you don’t forget anything... I’ve tried to smell my own BO. I don’t think I smell. But I know I’m ugly — ugly as shit... I hate school. I hate it!... heard them looking for me and yelling that I was gay... they punched me in the stomach and said it was my fault... spit in my face... I hate them so much. They don’t understand a goddamn thing... they took my hat and peed on it and made me put it on again...
Hate myself!... Laban was lying in his cage like he was sleeping, but he wasn’t sleeping. I stuck a needle in his back to get him up. At first he squeaked and tried to get away but I held him down super hard... super funny... walked up to one of them, and hit him in the face with the brass knuckles under my mitten... yanked him down to the ground, and started pounding his head on the pavement... most awesome thing I’ve ever done. Well, since the first time I went to Legoland...
July 7
It’s been a week since we moved to this shithole. Dad’s fucking idea. Everything is supposed to be so fucking nice and super-duper great here — like hell it is. He’s good at promising... this is like a slow, drawn-out hell... . I’m just sitting here alone, hating... playing CoD... Dad took me to a fucking piece of shit movie and tried to talk to me. So fucking pathetic... I feel like hitting someone so goddamn hard. Just dragging it out and
The last entry ended abruptly, as if he’d been interrupted mid-thought. Fabian didn’t know how to interpret the diary. It was no secret that Theodor had had a difficult time at school and that he’d been involved in a number of fights. But this was something else entirely. Did Sonja know? He turned the page to make sure there was nothing more.
If you ever want to see your beloved little good-for-nothing son again I suggest you put on the baseball cap sitting on the moving box to the left and follow my instructions. I. M.
Fabian couldn’t breathe. Deep down he’d known since he stepped into the room, but now he had proof. Everything was spinning and he was forced to sit down on the bed again before he lost his balance. The killer had been here — in his house — and taken his son. The pattern had definitely been broken. Until now, he’d only been after the people in his class — not their children. This was different. He took out his phone and sent a text to Theodor. Come on down. Let’s go. Your burger awaits...
His hands were shaking so much that he had to put down the phone while he waited for a reply. It arrived much more quickly than he’d expected. Nice try, but you’d better follow my advice.
Fabian realized he had no choice and looked around the room for the hat. He found it quickly. It was black with a brim. He’d seen caps like it before: it had five LED lights on the front that could be illuminated at the push of a button. He’d thought about buying one himself the last time he was at Clas Ohlson, but had decided against it when he imagined Sonja’s teasing voice in his head.
He picked up the cap — the eye of a camera had replaced the middle light on the brim. He hesitated, trying to think through the alternatives, but quickly realized he had none, and put the cap on his head. It fit perfectly, as if it had already been adjusted for him. He received another text: Log in at http://89.162.38.99:8099/cam12 password: aLmos1oVer
Fabian did as he was told. A grainy image appeared on the screen showing Theodor lying on his back in a narrow space with his hands bound. He had obviously tried to free himself because he had bloody wounds on his arms and hands. He lifted his head and stared straight at the camera, completely terrified. He looked like he was screaming for his life.
“Theo, where are you? Tell me where you are and I’ll come get you!” Fabian shouted at his phone.
He can’t hear you.
“What about you? Can you hear me?!”
No one knows how long the oxygen will last. All I know for certain is that it’s running out. It could be tomorrow, or maybe next week, or in two hours?
“Why bring my son into this? What does he have to do with anything? Take me instead!”
You have a task to complete if you ever want to see him alive again.
Fabian looked at his phone. He wanted to see Theo again and tried to type in the login information for the second time. But instead of seeing an image from the webcam, he received a message: Incorrect password! Unauthorized Entry Denied. He tried again but got an identical notice.
Get in your car, drive to the police station, park there, and don’t let anyone see you.
Fabian didn’t even have time to wonder what he could expect before another message popped up.
Tick tock, tick tock...