SANNA SAT IN HER OFFICE reading the report from the National Board of Forensic Medicine.
The document was one hundred pages long and in a standard format, divided into four sections: external examination, internal examination, conclusion and death certificate.
The forensic pathologist had counted approximately 130 visible wounds on Ingrid Svenson’s body, the majority of which were to her head, face and neck.
Death had occurred rapidly and was caused by severe blood loss – a so-called epidural haemorrhage.
Sanna returned to the summary at the beginning of the report where the forensic scientist stated that if the woman had survived, in all probability she would have been paralysed or in a vegetative state.
Sanna looked away briefly and rubbed her eyes. The report made for gruesome reading. The injuries Ingrid Svenson had received were more commonly associated with street violence among men. Of course, women were occasionally on the receiving end of assaults like this, but what was so unusual in Ingrid Svenson’s case was the sheer number of injuries she had received.
Arne Falk stated that he had conducted an extended forensic examination together with a colleague, who in this case acted as controlling pathologist. During the examination internal bleeding was identified in several places including the lungs, pancreas, brain, neck muscles, eye sockets and left hip. Older injuries were also discovered on her arms and legs, including a serious injury to her right hip.
After examining Ingrid Svenson’s medical history, compiled from data collected from various hospitals and clinics, the doctors were able to confirm that she hadn’t sought medical help for any of these earlier injuries. The pathologist wrote:
“I’m amazed that she didn’t see a doctor about this… it must have been very painful.”
Sanna rested her face on her hand. She stared at the document. There would be a murder trial and the guilty person would receive the punishment he deserved. But the psychological trauma suffered by the victim was rarely talked about.
“How would it feel to be beaten so violently that you are powerless to stop it? Beaten until your body starts to shut down. Until your heart and brain give up...” Sanna frowned, straightened up in the armchair and put her feet on the desk. “What induces a person to attack someone who is so much weaker and incapable of defending themselves?” She laid the report on the desk and sank back down into the chair.
The case wasn’t unique by any stretch of the imagination. Three years ago a woman was abused by her partner over a several-day period. Finally, her body just gave up. The brutality of the attack reminded Sanna of Ingrid Svenson’s murder, except that in Ingrid’s case the vast majority of injuries had been inflicted on the same day.
She picked up the report again and continued reading.
“Severe internal bleeding in the brain, several skull fractures, dislocated jaw. Knocked out teeth – two in the front of the upper jaw and two on the right hand side of the lower jaw.
Sanna closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead.
“Have you read the forensic report?” asked Kalle, as he marched into Sanna’s office and sat down.
Sanna nodded.
“She must have suffered a lot. She was subjected to a long, drawn out attack that could only be described as torture. How would it feel to be tortured to death and not have the means to defend yourself? To be held prisoner in a room and realize that there is no way out. Can you imagine?”
“No, it’s impossible to imagine,” replied Kalle. “The tragedy is that Ingrid Svenson’s case isn’t an isolated one. I read a report about a woman who had been horribly abused. Later, she described her thoughts while lying there, paralyzed with fear, shaking and convinced she was going to die. Luckily she survived.” He looked at Sanna intensely. “Last year seventeen women were murdered by their partners and even though the circumstances were different there were still a number of parallels with Ingrid’s case.”
Sanna nodded.
“You’re right, but I believe that in many of those cases the man was either drunk or high on drugs. That’s not an excuse but how can a man who is in full control of his senses and is to all appearances a normal, well-adjusted person commit such a horrendous crime?”
Kalle studied her and nodded slowly.
“The question is whether Svenson is innocent. After all, he does say…”
“What – that he found his wife dead?” interrupted Sanna.
BÖRGE SVENSON’S HEARING WAS held behind closed doors at ten o’clock on Friday morning at Stockholm County Court. Details of the hearing would remain confidential and not be released to the public.
The defence lawyer, Ingmar Tallén, requested that all information disclosed during the preliminary investigation should also be confidential. The ban was directed towards anyone present at the hearing.
The prosecutor took exception to this demand.
“I oppose such a ban.”
Tallén went red in the face.
“I would like to request that my client’s identity is protected,” he said casting a glance in Börge Svenson’s direction. “He is a respected citizen with no previous record or stains on his reputation.”
The judge had a private word with the jury and five minutes later announced that he would grant the defence lawyer’s request.
Not that it helped matters. All the circumstantial evidence so far indicated that Svenson was guilty of murdering his wife. Despite sustained attempts by Ingmar Tallén to prevent the arrest, Börge Svenson was remanded in custody. One of the judge’s motives for the arrest was the risk that the suspect might tamper with evidence or hinder the investigation in some way.
Even though the evidence pointed to Svenson as the culprit, Sanna still needed witnesses from the murder scene to identify him as the person they had seen leaving the house. However, several witnesses had already modified their version of events and were unable to confirm the identity of the man they had seen.
Nevertheless, after several witness interviews the investigating officers were satisfied that they had a good deal of material to work with. Though, they were uncertain how much of this information could be used.
The most interesting witness so far was Einar Melkerson. He was adamant that he had heard the Svenson couple arguing in the kitchen. Unfortunately Melkerson had already left the scene by the time that the man, who they assumed was Börge Svenson, came out of the house.
The other credible witness was Anna Cartagena. She didn’t know the Svenson family and this meant her account was more likely to be impartial. However, Anna Cartagena was also unable to identify the man as Börge Svenson.
There was another problem. During his arrest Börge Svenson insisted that the police had caught the wrong man – an assertion he stuck with. He claimed that he returned home to find Ingrid lying on the floor and that the blood on his clothes was evidence that he had tried to resuscitate her.
ELVIRA ABRAMSON, WHO HAD earlier cancelled her interview because of ill health, the same week that she had gone abroad on vacation, contacted the police to arrange a new meeting.
She was a woman in her early sixties, between sixty and sixty-five years old, short in stature and slightly overweight. Her twinkly brown eyes shone with joy. She seemed gentle and shy but there was also a hint of confidence and steely determination in her expression.
Elvira Abramson was one of the witnesses Kalle had seen talking to a journalist. She also lived opposite the Svenson family.
“Is there anything you would like me to explain before we begin the interview?” asked Sanna.
“How long will this take?”
“That depends, but it shouldn’t be more than an hour.”
The woman gazed at Sanna impassively and nodded.
“Interview with Elvira Abramson of 98 Skogsvägen, Djursholm on Wednesday 23rd June. The interview is conducted by inspector Sanna Johansson of the Stockholm Police Force and assisted by police cadet Monica Lindh.”
Inspector Johansson switched on the recording device.
“Where were you in relation to the Svenson’s house on the afternoon of the murder?”
“I was probably one of the first to arrive on the scene. After Mrs. Cartagena, of course, who was the one who contacted us and alerted the police. But, to get back to your question, I was standing a few metres from the left hand side of the house – I mean the kitchen side.”
Elvira Abramson glanced at the jug of water on the table. Sanna leaned forward and poured her a glass.
The witness took a sip of water and continued: “Yes, as I was saying, to start with I was standing outside the kitchen window. Mrs. Cartagena pointed to a man coming out of the house holding something. It could have been a weapon. But to be honest, it was hard to see what it was. A baton maybe…”
“Who was he?”
“I just can’t believe it! Whoever would have thought something like this could happen in our peaceful little neighbourhood? He must be an immigrant.”
“What do you mean?”
“The man who did this couldn’t possibly be Swedish.”
“But you said earlier that he was definitely Swedish.”
“Yes, I know, but I’ve been wracking my brains ever since trying to remember his face. Trouble is, I didn’t actually see what he looked like.” She paused. “Anyway… I’ve changed my mind. There’s just no way a Swedish man could do this to his own wife!”
Sanna didn’t like the fact that the witness had changed her original statement. She suspected that Elvira knew more than she was prepared to admit and decided to ask her a leading question.
“Do you think Ingrid Svenson’s husband killed her? Did he beat his wife?” Sanna looked directly at the woman to gauge her reaction.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” exclaimed Elvira. “It wasn’t him.”
“So you’re saying it wasn’t Börge Svenson?” asked Sanna.
“Everyone at the scene seems to agree that the man who came out of the house was Swedish… and to be honest I didn’t really pay much attention.”
Elvira Abramson changed her tone, embarrassed at having raised her voice.
“Who thought that? Can you tell me their names?”
The witness stared at Sanna as if spellbound.
“Can you give me any names?” insisted Sanna.
“No, I can’t. Just people, nobody special.”
“I don’t understand. People normally have names, don’t they?” said Sanna, prodding gently to make her feel at ease.
“Yes, but I don’t want to drag anyone else into this – it wouldn’t feel right.”
“You won’t. We just want to find out what you saw. It’s crucial to the investigation. Don’t you agree that it’s important to find the murderer? The life of a woman –Ingrid Svenson – the mother of a young child – has been snatched from her in the most brutal fashion.”
“Yes, you’re right. And that’s exactly why I’m here. I really want you to find him…”
“Whoever he is?”
Elvira Abramson looked at her impassively. She examined her fingernails and fiddled with the ring on her left thumb. She looked up at Sanna and sighed anxiously.
“I really don’t like this – not one bit.”
Sanna waited.
“Ingrid Svenson had a friend who lives on the same street. I don’t know which number, but I think she…”
Elvira paused again. She pursed her lips. “No, I won’t say anything more. You’ll have to talk to her. I’m not going to sit here and tell you what other people think. I’ve given you my version of what I saw and remember from that day.”
“Yes, that’s precisely the point of this interview. We want you to tell us YOUR version of events. What YOU saw and heard, including whether you heard other people say anything that might be of interest to this inquiry.”
Sanna stretched her upper body and adjusted her shirt as she continued to stare at the witness.
“You and Mrs. Cartagena were the first to arrive at the scene; did you see anybody else in the vicinity of the house?”
The woman regarded Sanna intently.
“I didn’t think about that. You’re right. There was a man. I thought he looked familiar but I didn’t pay much attention. I was more concerned with when the police were going to come. So was Mrs. Cartagena...”
“You said earlier that you recognized him?”
“I have a feeling that I’ve seen him around the neighbourhood.”
“Can you be more precise about where you might have seen him?”
“That’s what’s hard, you see. I don’t remember. First of all I thought it could have been at somebody’s house, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Can you describe him?”
“No… he was standing a long way away. The only thing I remember was that he had dark hair. Oh yes, another thing I noticed was that he was wearing black clothes,” she added with a wry smile. “It’s summer. Not many people wear black this time of year…”
Sanna often wore thin, black clothes during the summer. But she humoured her witness and nodded in agreement.
“Could it have been the same man who was interviewed in The Evening Post?”
Elvira Abramson shook her head. “No. The journalist didn’t talk to him.”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw her talking to one of my neighbours, but he turned up a long time after I did so it couldn’t have been him,” said Elvira Abramson decisively.
“Couldn’t she have interviewed him before you?”
Elvira Abramson shook her head vigorously.
“Impossible. That would mean that he was standing NEXT to us since Mrs. Cartagena and I were near the kitchen window pretty much the whole time.”
Sanna made a note of this.
Elvira Abramson gasped and pressed the palm of her hand to her mouth.
“Oh my goodness! What if he was the murderer?”
“Were his clothes covered in blood?”
“Oh no, sorry, here I am imagining things.”
“Did you see his clothes?”
“No. He was a long way from the house when I saw him, but…”
“But?” repeated Sanna.
“I think he was waiting for something. He approached the house, but seemed to change his mind almost immediately.”
Sanna glanced down at her notes.
“Do you remember anything else?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Before ending the meeting Sanna asked Elvira Abramson whether she would be able to recognize the man if she saw him again. Her response was non-committal – she probably would be able to but couldn’t guarantee it.
HER BLOND HAIR WAS TOUSLED and her ponytail hung half way down her neck. She was pale and looked tired. As she reached for the glass of wine her hand shook, splattering drops of liquid onto the kitchen table.
She stared at her mobile phone. They had agreed he should wait a few days before calling. Under no circumstances was she to contact him before that.
The days drifted by and the waiting became unbearable.
“Call, dammit! What the hell’s going on?”
She crumpled up an old newspaper that was lying on the table and pounded it against the wall in frustration.
She had tried repeatedly to reach him without success. Maybe she should call one of his friends. She looked out of the window. It was dark outside. She was on her way to the hallway when one of her mobile phones began to ring. She ran back to the table and dived forward to reach it. It wasn’t her main phone but a second hand one with an unregistered cash card that the thirty-five-year-old had given her.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“None of your bloody business! Where’s my money?” demanded the man.
“What money?”
“Don’t you dare try and double cross me – you don’t know who you’re dealing with!”
“You’re not getting any money from me!” she shouted.
“You bloody bitch…”
“You’re not getting anything from me. And I warn you, stop threatening me. You don’t know what I’m capable of,” she screamed. “They say that Svenson murdered her!”
“Yeah! Do you want specifics?”
“Yes, I want specifics! You were supposed to send me photos. I haven’t received them yet.”
“What photos?” asked the man, sounding genuinely puzzled.
“You won’t get any money from me until I receive the photographs!” she added, slamming the phone down onto the table.
MIRIAM ASPLUND, WHO WAS described in Ingrid Svenson’s diary as her best friend, contacted the police as soon as she returned from her trip abroad and opened the summons, which had come through the post. The call was forwarded to Sanna and a meeting was scheduled.
The two women sat opposite each other in the interview room.
Sanna began with the formalities. “Interview with Miriam Asplund of 5 Skogsvägen, Djursholm on Wednesday 26rd June. The interview is conducted by inspector Sanna Johansson of the Stockholm Police Force and assisted by police cadet Monica Lindh. It is nine thirty.”
“How well do you know the Svensons?”
“I know or knew, Ingrid well. But I wasn’t particularly friendly with her husband. Ingrid and I have been friends for twenty years. We studied computer science together at university.”
Miriam Asplund shifted nervously in her chair. The police station was obviously one of the last places she wanted to be right now.
“I’m sorry but I’m having a hard time talking about this. I really want to help but I feel so sad.” Her voice shook as she dabbed the tears from her eyes.
“I understand this is a difficult time for you but we need your cooperation. You are one of the few people who was close to Ingrid and we would welcome any information you can give us that might help our investigation,” continued Sanna gently.
“I keep thinking about poor Viktor lying there at the hospital. I wonder what’s best – that he doesn’t survive or wakes up to this? What will he do without his mother? With a father who doesn’t care about him?”
“Are you saying that Börge Svenson doesn’t care about his son?”
“Börge is selfish, he only thinks of himself. Ingrid was devoted to Viktor. I know her mother is going to take care of him now, but she can only do so much…”
They sat in silence. Sanna wanted to give Miriam Asplund time to think.
“Ingrid was a very private person. She often seemed troubled. Something wasn’t right but however much I tried to get her to open up, she never did.” Miriam Asplund reached for the water jug and poured some water into a plastic cup. She stared at it for a few seconds and then slowly took a few gulps.
“Is there anything you can recall about their relationship?”
“What do you mean?”
“How they behaved towards each other when among friends and family?”
“I don’t know. It’s hard to say. He was always very social. On the other hand she was quite reserved when he was around. When she was alone she was much more animated and talkative. Even though she never discussed her home life we were never at a loss for things to talk about.”
“Do you know if he was ever violent towards her?”
“No… I don’t know. I wouldn’t be able to stand up in court and claim that he was abusing her. In social situations he was very loving towards his family. If I hadn’t known Ingrid before her marriage I would have thought they were very happy, but…”
”I understand. But even if he was very loving towards his family and Ingrid was generally very reserved, you would surely have noticed if she was injured or in pain. We have evidence that Ingrid was severely beaten on several occasions.”
”Yes, I’ve also wondered about that many times. There were days when she made excuses not to meet. I remember one time in particular. We were going to meet some old university friends and she was really excited about it. We had been talking about it for ages. But the day before we were supposed to meet up she called me and said she couldn’t come. I asked why but she never explained…”
Sanna gave her a long, serious look and nodded.
Miriam Asplund was troubled. She wanted to help them but realized nothing she had said so far was of much value. She had never liked the way he flirted with other women. He even had the nerve to leer at her even though she was Ingrid’s best friend. What was he thinking? What was he trying to prove?
“Where were you on the day of the murder?” continued Sanna.
Miriam Asplund, who had been momentarily distracted by her thoughts, looked at Sanna in surprise.
“Excuse me, could you repeat the question?”
“Where were you on the day of the murder?”
“I was away on business in Canada. One of my friends called to tell me. It was such a shock – I just couldn’t believe it. Not Ingrid. I called my mother to find out what had happened.”
She burst into tears.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can go on. Talking about Ingrid is too upsetting.”
Sanna agreed that there was no point in continuing with the interview. Miriam Asplund’s distress was clearly preventing her from thinking straight.
“Please contact us if you remember anything…”
“I’m so sorry that I haven’t been able to help with the inquiry. Hopefully once I feel better I’ll remember something…”
SANNA JOHANSSON WAS PREPARED to leave no stone unturned in her efforts to find out what exactly had occurred in the Svenson family home. The investigation was going to take time, but she had no intention of letting Ingrid’s murderer go free. However, to convict him they needed firm evidence. They had to gather as much information as possible, not only physical evidence from the crime scene but also details about the couple’s private and social life.
At first, she had been convinced they had the right man. But the mystery man who kept surfacing – first in the newspaper article then in the witness statements – was confusing matters.
Sanna massaged her forehead and closed her eyes to think.
In cases involving abuse and murder it wasn’t unusual for the killer to turn out to be a previous or current partner. But although the statistics reinforced her suspicions, only the technical evidence would disclose whether Börge Svenson was telling the truth. Or whether someone else really had murdered his wife.
Sanna frowned.
“Is Pascalini’s witness the same man Anna Cartagena and the other eye witnesses saw hanging around the house? Did anyone else see him? Does Pascalini have a photograph of him?” The uncertainty irritated her.