IT WAS LINING UP TO BE one of the most talked about criminal investigations in Sweden, involving a man who had exceeded the limits of decency in his treatment of women. A man born into a life of privilege who had been given every advantage.
For the first time ever in Sweden the suspect would also be tried for crimes against the forgotten victim – the child. A child who had suffered such severe psychological trauma that after seeing his mother beaten to death he later died.
THURSDAY THE FOURTH of September was the big day. The day when Börge Svenson would finally face the court and be tried for his crimes.
It was the prosecutor, Carl Magnus Alkelius’ job to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant was guilty. Guilty of beating his wife with senseless brutality and then leaving her to die.
Ingmar Tallén’s task as lawyer for the defence was to challenge the prosecutor’s conclusions and establish reasonable doubt.
But the person who would make the final decision on the case, once the legal proceedings were completed, was the judge, Martha Falk-Gomez, who together with the jury would decide the consequences. It was their responsibility and duty to make sure that justice was done. However, this case would be an exception. Although it wasn’t altogether unique. There were many examples within the history of the justice system where the judge used their power to affect the outcome of a trial. This was one of those cases.
SHE HAD READ THE report repeatedly. Her role was to find inconsistencies or mistakes that she could use to dismiss the case. There were a number of inclusions that could immediately be deemed irrelevant such as Svenson’s extra marital affair. Unfortunately there was also a lot of very detailed information that would make it more difficult for her to succeed in her objectives. She was in a very tricky position.
Another problem was that the evidence was strong enough to convict him in any Swedish court.
Judge Martha Falk-Gomez looked at the clock and then at her half empty cigarette packet. She hesitated briefly then took out her tenth cigarette and walked over to the window to light it. She had been sitting there for hours reading the comprehensive 3500-page preliminary inquiry report. It was now midnight but she was far too restless to go to bed. She silently debated her excuses for abdicating responsibility.
How the hell had she ended up in a situation like this? The more she thought about it the more her stomach churned. The situation was completely unsustainable. Admittedly, she owed Harald Svenson a favour but it was unreasonable of him to expect her to acquit a murderer in return for his help in a tax-fraud case.
Idiotically enough, the favour she owed Harald Svenson wasn’t even personal. It was her husband who had asked her if she could pull a few strings to help his best friend. She regretted every having been so stupid, but it was too late for hindsight.
It was important she kept a cool head. It wasn’t even Harald Svenson himself who had contacted her but the Chief Prosecutor. Had the allegation been as bizarre as he had originally claimed she would have done her utmost to get Svenson’s son acquitted.
She had racked her brains to think of a simple way to abdicate responsibility but this would mean she was still indebted to Harald Svenson, whereas she wanted to settle the debt as soon as possible. What might he ask her to do in the future if she didn’t fulfil his request now?
There were two more players in the drama and they should also be involved in the decision. She contacted the Prosecutor General to acquaint him with the investigation and advise him of her strategy. He would pass this information on to Harald Svenson. If Börge Svenson was to avoid going to prison there was only one option. He would have to be declared insane.
The Prosecutor General had already been advised about the complexity of the case by another source. He agreed with her – Börge Svenson must receive psychiatric treatment. Harald Svenson also concurred.
To be on the safe side, Martha Falk-Gomez had recorded the phone call. She didn’t know if the Prosecutor General or Svenson, for that matter, would find a way to use the decision against her in the future.
In the end it didn’t matter what Börge Svenson thought. Although he had finally decided to follow his lawyer’s advice and subject himself to a paragraph 7 examination, the judge at the trial hearing ordered the defendant to undergo a complete psychiatric examination. Tallén protested, not because he didn’t agree with the decision, but because it was his job to do that. The judge’s explanation was simple – this type of decision wasn’t at all unusual in celebrated cases with distinctive features like this one. From the beginning, the court had known that they wanted a complete psychiatric evaluation and that is what they demanded.
Martha Falk-Gomez pondered. Everything had become more and more complicated. Getting a person declared insane wasn’t something you could fix with a backhander.
There were two important elements that needed to fall into place. The first was to enlist the “right” psychiatrist, since it was the court appointed psychiatrist who would have the last word. The other was to convince Börge Svenson that it would be far better for him if he was committed to a psychiatric hospital for the criminally insane since it was very likely that the alternative would be many years, if not life, in prison.
A psychiatric evaluation was a very punishing procedure so it was crucial that Börge Svenson had his wits about him. The interesting question was whether he would have to fake insanity or if the examination itself would show that he really was insane. Regardless of whether the result was an accurate assessment or not the only thing that mattered to the judge was that the defendant was declared psychiatrically unstable.
When Börge Svenson received the news it felt like another slap on the face from his father. It had all happened so quickly. He had once again witnessed the power of his parents. He was moved from the prison to a psychiatric assessment ward the same week that the decision was taken and examined by a court-appointed psychiatric team led by Peder Tallgren, who was the son of a very good friend of the Svenson family. Additional members of the assessment team included a psychologist, counsellor and other healthcare experts. The question was whether Börge Svenson would survive four hours alone in a room being analysed by all those experts or would he get fed up and leave them with incomplete results.
THE SUMMING UP OF THE main verdict wasn’t friction free. Because the psychologist in the court-appointed psychiatric team had been sceptical about Peder Tallgren’s conclusions, the report had taken an additional week to complete. They just couldn’t agree on a unanimous diagnosis. The psychologist had protested and said that he would make sure the psychiatric assessment of Börge Svenson was reviewed by the Swedish Board of Health and Welfare’s legal team.
Peder Tallgren had his own agenda and argued that according to the law, as investigative forensic psychiatrist, he had the last word. What the psychologist or other experts thought was completely irrelevant. He had orders from above. The court-ordered psychiatric report would confirm that Börge Svenson was insane.
The report stated that Börge Svenson had an extremely disturbed personality and suffered from a serious mental disorder. His personality showed clear chaotic tendencies caused by traumatic childhood experiences. In short, he hated women and had an explosive temper. A dangerous combination. At the slightest provocation he was liable to lose control.
Martha Falk-Gomez’ role was to ensure that the predetermined verdict stood, namely that Börge Svenson was in acute need of psychiatric care.
SINCE HER LAST VISIT TO Sweden Pamela McGavin had kept in regular contact with Jenny Hammarlund, who had been eagerly updating her on developments in the investigation and the huge attention it was being given in the media. Initially, Pamela had intended to call Jenny herself. But Jenny loved to gossip and – considering the circumstances – this suited Pamela perfectly. She knew that Jenny would contact her as soon as there was anything to tell.
It was hard to keep secrets among the closed social circles that Jenny Hammarlund and Börge Svenson belonged to. This was a very special case, which shocked some and titillated others. It was hard to believe that one of their own could have become caught up in a predicament of such dimensions. The type of violence Börge Svenson was accused of was more typically seen among people of the lower classes.
“Hi Pam!”
“Hi Jenny, how nice to hear from you…”
“Well, wait until you hear the good news I have for you,” said Jenny, laughing softly.
“Tell me…”
“Börge is going to be declared insane! How about that?”
Pamela was speechless. It was the last thing that had crossed her mind.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes, I don’t know what to say.”
“I understand. I tell you I was completely astonished myself.”
“How did you find out?”
“My best friend’s husband Peder is a psychiatrist. His parents are very close friends of the Svenson’s – I mean Börge’s parents.”
“I see…”
“Peder was leading the group of experts that performed the evaluation.”
“Peder who?”
“Peder Tallgren. Do you know him?”
“No, unfortunately I don’t”
The women chatted for about an hour with Jenny doing most of the talking. She told Pamela more or less everything she knew, including the fact that Börge’s parents had never visited him in prison and that it appeared they had no intention of doing so in the future either. Information about the investigation spread quickly. He was the talk of the town and everyone in Jenny’s social circles managed to keep themselves informed through the grapevine. They seemed to learn about developments in the investigation almost as soon as the police discovered new information. They knew what the defence lawyer and prosecutor did and didn’t do. There was no doubt that it meant a lot to have the right contacts.
Pamela had also been in touch with Sanna Johansson occasionally, but in the long run hadn’t received much in the way of interesting information. Of course this was hardly a surprise. She couldn’t have expected anything else from the lead investigator.
When it came to Pamela McGavin’s attention that Börge Svenson was under arrest for murder she was optimistic that he would finally face justice. But after the telephone conversation with Jenny Hammarlund the situation had changed. It seemed inevitable that the court would approve the psychiatrist’s diagnosis that Svenson was psychologically disturbed.
For the first time since she had met Sanna Johansson Pamela felt disappointed and angry. Nothing was turning out as she had hoped. Had all her efforts been wasted? She would have to rethink her plans. What was the point in going to Sweden to testify? She had confessed her life story to a complete stranger, parts of her life that she had kept secret for all these years. And now she wasn’t even sure it had been worth it.
She spent the rest of the day developing a plan B. She must leave nothing to chance – it was now or never. She had to make certain that Börge Svenson paid his debt to society.
MARIA HAD ALREADY READ through the massive preliminary investigation report. She had taken the liberty of making photocopies of sections she wanted to read in more detail. Huge piles of paper lay on the table with yellow post-it notes sticking out here and there as reminders or references to interesting, important sections. The report was filled with details of assault, rape and murder. Tuesday would be the second in a series of tough trial days when she would come face to face with the bastard who was suspected of murdering her daughter.
She read with dismay the section that included extracts from Ingrid Svenson’s diary describing their miserable life of fear and uncertainty. Börge Svenson was a cold, calculating tyrant who never gave his son a second thought.
Her contempt for this man was spiralling out of control. The more she read of the report and how he continued to stubbornly deny all charges the more she detested him.
She stared at the enormous document.
Although she had read a preliminary inquiry report three years ago about the murder of her Alva she felt a painful palpitation in her chest. She was terrified of what the new report contained. Had they found new evidence or was it just a rehash of what she already knew?
“ALVA ALDHAMO was born…” As she held the document she could feel a burning sensation in her hands. She trembled. It was exactly the same feeling she had experienced almost four years ago. As if the document’s contents contained information about her own funeral.
Time had clearly not dulled the pain.
Maria had searched in vain for Alex. At least the assailant now had a real name and a face to match. She had been searching for years without success. And no wonder – Alexander Razmik didn’t actually exist. But now he had been presented to her on a silver platter.
He was the cause of her suffering. He was the reason she had changed her life completely. He wouldn’t get away this time.
She went to the kitchen and drank a large glass of water, returned to the living room and grabbed hold of the dreaded pile of papers.
ANDERS SEGELSTRÖM FINALLY pulled himself together and set off to his sister’s country place. One hour later, at quarter past seven in the evening, he drove onto the property and parked near Ingalill’s Toyota. He strode up to the house. At the front door he hesitated and took a deep breath before knocking.
No answer.
He peered through the window and saw her sitting at the kitchen table.
“Please Ingalill open the door! We need to talk, you can’t shut yourself in here forever!”
“Leave me alone!” she answered with a quivering voice.
He sat down on the front steps and waited.
A half an hour later the door opened. She stood in the doorway holding a half finished glass of wine. She was pale and reeked of cigarette smoke and alcohol. They went into the kitchen and she suggested he help himself to a glass of wine from the box on the kitchen counter. She sat down at the table again.
“Do you have any coffee?”
She didn’t answer and sat staring out of the window.
He rummaged in the larder for filter coffee but all he could find was a jar of Nescafé. He boiled the water and made two cups of coffee.
They sat facing each other at the kitchen table. The coffee he served her was untouched.
They talked for a long time. Eventually she told him everything. That she had hired a man who was supposed to rape Svenson’s wife in front of him, forcing him to watch. She wanted him to experience the humiliation he had subjected her to.
As she was being raped she was already plotting her revenge and this desire only intensified over time. She hated him with such ferocity that she wanted to crush him and his family. She wanted to kill him but first she wanted to destroy him. She tried to find a man who would be willing to rape Börge Svenson but nobody wanted to take on that assignment. Then a man suggested raping the man’s wife instead. Ingalill had agreed.
The man who the witnesses had seen behind the house was the person who had carried out the attack. They had agreed that she would first visit Svenson at his home and then the man would put his plan into action. But Ingalill’s visit had triggered a huge argument between the Svenson couple so the man, who she called Tompa, decided to wait until things calmed down. When Svenson left the house he murdered Svenson’s wife.
Neither of them had the stomach to talk afterwards. Anders contemplated his sister.
“I don’t think Tompa murdered Ingrid Svenson,” he said at last.
Her expression clouded.
“What the hell do you mean? Did I pay him for something he didn’t do?” She slammed her fist down onto the table. “BLOODY HELL!”
“He wanted your money I guess…”
Ingalill drank the rest of her wine and smashed the glass on the table, scattering glass splinters everywhere.
She screamed. Blood was pouring out of her hand.
Anders went to the bathroom to fetch a towel. She snatched it away from him and pressed it against her hand to stop the flow.
“I want you to leave,” she said wearily.
Segelström didn’t move. He hadn’t finished with her yet and would stay there all night if necessary.
She sighed and walked over to the cupboard to fetch another glass, which she filled with wine.
“I guess you know that the police want to talk to you.”
She nodded.
“The longer you wait the more likely the police will think you’re guilty of something.”
He studied her reaction but she said nothing.
“They think that you are an accomplice to Ingrid Svenson’s murder!”
She stared at him hostilely and smirked.
“Even if you had evil intentions…” He broke off. He had been intending to say that at least she wasn’t involved in the murder but now he knew better. She had surprised him. Here was yet another dark side of her character he didn’t recognize. “I think you should contact them as soon as possible,” he continued hesitantly. “You should report Svenson for rape. The police know that you’ve been raped for god’s sake! Say something!”
Her face twisted into a mocking smile. She took out a cigarette.
“I hope you’re not going to do anything stupid now!” There was a callousness in her eyes, which worried him. “He’ll get his punishment. It would be bloody crazy if you went after him now!” he shouted. His words fell on deaf ears. Ingalill had a plan that she had no intention of sharing with her brother.
She got up to refill her glass.
THERE WAS A HUGE COMMOTION outside the courtroom. As well as Börge and Ingrid Svenson’s friends and neighbours there were about fifty interested onlookers and newspaper reporters clustered at the door waiting to go in.
A man in a dark suit hurried through the crowd and positioned himself in front of the door.
“Regrettably, I must inform you that Case no. B2839-10 in courtroom two will be held behind closed doors.
A buzz of displeasure circulated among the crowd. Some protested vociferously while others slunk away in disappointment.
SHE HESITATED IN THE STAIRWELL. She was apprehensive about coming face to face with the man who had inflicted so much pain on her. She doubted her own strength. She didn’t know how she would react.
She was barely aware of the pandemonium outside. She was tired and ambivalent about what was going on. A passer-by called out to her: “Svenson’s trial is behind closed doors…” She looked at him but didn’t respond. She would go there anyway and bide her time until they called her in as a witness.
She had spent the whole night reading through the report on Alva’s murder and staring obsessively at Alexander Razmik’s photograph – the one Alva had taken with her mobile phone. Now, finally, she would be given the opportunity to see him with her own eyes.
She continued up the stairs and into the waiting room. She wasn’t alone. A woman in her forties was sitting on a chair at the far end of the room. Maria glanced at her. Although the woman was smartly dressed, her bloodshot eyes betrayed the fact that she had been drinking. As soon she became aware of Maria’s presence she put on the pair of sunglasses that had been lying on her lap and readjusted her blond hair, which was tied up in a ponytail.
SANNA LOOKED AROUND the courtroom. As originally planned, the trial against Börge Svenson would take place behind closed doors. Apart from Kalle and Javier who were sitting beside her the only other people present were the jury, who had just taken their seats in the front and were awaiting the judge’s entrance.
“Do you know if Thorén is coming?” asked Javier.
“She’s dropping her child off at day care and should be here any minute,” answered Kalle.
“What do you think the outcome will be?” asked Kalle.
“Hopefully life in prison. We have enough evidence for a conviction,” said Sanna.
The strain was beginning to show. Sanna had been working until the small hours every day for the last few weeks trying to complete the final report. The case had exceeded all their expectations. What was, at the start, ostensibly just another horrific case of domestic abuse, had developed into a full-scale murder investigation of staggering proportions.
All Sanna longed for now was for the trial to go smoothly and the case to be closed. The odds on Svenson being sentenced to a long prison term were high – as long as the justice system functioned as it should.
Sanna glanced at the clock. Carl Magnus Alkelius and the legal counsel were late.
“Shouldn’t Svenson and Tallén be here by now?” asked Kalle.
“Hope he hasn’t escaped!” quipped Javier.
Sanna gave a faint smile.
“Hm, that would be a turn up for the books!” said Kalle.
MARTHA FALK-GOMEZ entered the courtroom. She was a woman in her sixties – approximately 1.65 metres tall with a fairly ordinary figure. Her most striking features were her turned-down mouth and stern, dark eyes framed by heavy eyebrows that met in the middle.
She was an experienced and skilful judge. Like most others in her profession she had followed the traditional route through the county courts and High court. After completing her law degree she worked as a notary at Stockholm County Court for two years, continuing her internship as a public prosecutor at the High Court for another two years. Four years later she became an adjunct before eventually becoming a judge two years later.
She had also worked at the Department of Justice specializing in issues affecting the court system.
Martha Falk-Gomez had been working in the judiciary for thirty years and had spent the last ten years working for the Supreme Court. Besides her excellent credentials as a judge, like many of her colleagues she was also known for her interest in financial crime. Unfortunately, these members of the judiciary tended to be tougher on perpetrators of financial crime than violent criminals. Somebody who destroyed another person’s life through physical abuse might be given a prison sentence of a couple of years while a person committing tax fraud could receive a sentence of up to five or six years, all because the state had lost out on a couple of million kronor in tax.
The Prosecutor General had asked her to take on Börge Svenson’s case as a personal favour, explaining that the accused was Harald Svenson’s boy and that he had got himself into a very difficult predicament.
“As you know, Harald Svenson is – or was, since he is now retired – one of our foremost Prosecutor Generals.”
“Yes, I know Harald Svenson very well. He was my mentor a hundred years ago. It feels like that long anyway…”
“Ah, so you know him personally?”
Typically, Harald Svenson himself had contacted the Prosecutor General and requested that Martha Falk-Gomez handled his son’s trial. She was widely respected by most within the judiciary although her tough sentencing had generated a lot of ill will among some of the defence lawyers. Harald Svenson knew that she had a reputation for winning her cases and, most importantly, she was indebted to him – although that was a fact the Prosecutor General didn’t need to know.
It was with a certain trepidation that Martha Falk-Gomez took on the case, but under the circumstances she could hardly refuse. She was irritated by the way it had been handled. It was typical of Harald not to contact her directly and get other people to take care of his business. There was no doubt that Harald Svenson knew she would accept his conditions and do her utmost to release Börge Svenson.
Martha Falk-Gomez initially accepted Harald Svenson’s assertion that the charges were “absurd”. But after skimming through the preliminary inquiry report and gaining more insight into the case she realized that this was actually a crime of huge proportions.
She read the forensic pathology report with rising consternation. There was no doubt that this was a serious case of domestic violence and possibly murder. “How can Harald Svenson claim his son is innocent?” she thought.
The Prosecutor General, who had been in continuous contact with Martha Falk-Gomez, once again reminded her that the case should be handled discreetly and in a timely fashion. Media attention must be avoided at all costs.
“Don’t forget there are probably many people out there who would like to discredit the Svenson family. As you know Harald Svenson has many enemies among financial criminals,” said the Prosecutor General over the telephone before she went to the courtroom.
HE STRAIGHTENED HIS TIE and adjusted his tailor-made Götrich suit so that it sat just right on his slightly emaciated body. His clean-shaven face was pale and his seductive eyes had lost their sparkle.
The big day had arrived. He was on his way to the courtroom. At last he would be able to explain his side of the story.
His thoughts drifted back to the fateful day. He had never spoken to anyone about it. It would remain a secret. How could he have been so clumsy and not foreseen that the woman who had harassed him might come to the house to threaten his family?
He had tried to block the scenes from his memory but they continued to replay in his head.
It was a special day. It had been a long time since he had felt like that. He was looking forward to spending time with his family – eating dinner together and just hanging out.
The smell of cooking wafted through the house. Ingrid had cooked his favourite meat stew and he had called Viktor in from the garden. Just as they were about to sit down to eat the doorbell rang.
Börge asked Ingrid if she was expecting anyone. She shook her head. Viktor rushed to open the front door.
“Is your mother home?” said a woman and before Viktor had time to react she stepped inside the hallway.
Börge thought he recognized the voice and hurried out of the kitchen. He turned white and stood frozen to the floor.
It was Ingalill Segelström. She smiled coldly.
“Is your wife home? I want to speak to her!” she asked firmly.
“What are you doing here? Please leave. You’ve no business being here!” he gasped. He spoke softly but his voice was firm.
“You never answered my e-mail!” Her eyes narrowed. “You promised to talk with your wife, but didn’t have the guts.”
After what happened between them she had demanded that he tell his wife about their relationship. Otherwise she would report him to the police.
He hadn’t promised, but on the other hand he hadn’t refused either. She still had a hold over him. Now he had no choice – the bloody whore was here in his house!
“What the hell are you talking about woman? Tell my wife what?”
He would have to act fast before Ingrid showed up in the hall. He tried to push her out of the door but she shoved past him and made her way into the house.
Ingrid stood there looking at them both. She was speechless.
The woman walked towards Ingrid and presented herself. “I’m Ingalill Segelström, do you remember me?” she asked nervously.
“Have you two met before?” asked Börge, confused.
Ingrid continued to stare at her.
Börge, in turn, studied the female intruder to whom he had once been attracted. She was Ingrid’s complete opposite. Ingalill Segelström’s female form was enhanced by her tight jeans and snug-fitting black sweater. Her long blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She had been one of his favourites. Of all his one-night stands and short relationships she had been the one who had excited him the most as well as the one who was most responsible to his violent lusts.
Börge Svenson sighed. He was torn by conflicting emotions.
“I called your little wife and told her that we’re a couple,” Ingalill Segelström explained, giving Börge a smooth smile.
It dawned on him that Ingalill was a psychopath who had developed a fixation on him. But was that really what it was about? Lately, most of her threats had intimated that he would also die alongside his family.
“You and me a couple? You’re out of your mind woman!” He burst out laughing.
Without batting an eyelid Ingalill Segelström slapped Börge on the face.
He responded with such brute force that she had to put her hand against the wall to steady her fall.
Her face turned bright purple with anger. “You’ll regret this!” she screamed. “I didn’t come here alone, you know! He’s coming to beat the shit out of you. He’s a real man, not like you, you bloody coward! First he’s going to take care of your little wife here and then give you a taste of your own medicine!” she screamed.
Börge Svenson laughed out loud.
“Your family will pay!” she said, eying Ingrid and Viktor. “You can’t mess with me!”
Ingalill left the house, slamming the door behind her.
He stood paralyzed in the hallway, incapable of speech or movement. The walls were closing in, he couldn’t breathe.
Ingrid asked Viktor to go to his room. “Pappa and Mamma need to talk for a little while before we eat.”
She waited until they were alone.
“Who is she?” said Ingrid.
“Nobody important,” he answered dismissively.
It was painful to remember. He rubbed his forehead to ease the tension. The situation had spun out of control the moment Ingrid picked up the telephone.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m calling the police of course. That woman threatened us. You should call them but I guess you’re too much in love with her to do it!”
He had tried to wrestle the phone from her. As she went into the dining room to make the call he followed her and hit her so hard that she staggered several steps backward and struck her face hard against the glass cabinet.
It all happened so fast. She had demanded explanations and then asked about Pamela McGavin as well. She was fed up with his secret life.
This time she had gone too far. He didn’t have the stomach to face the truth about himself and confront reality. It was his life. He didn’t need to explain himself to anyone.
She had accused him of polygamy and demanded that he leave the house and never return. How could she ask him to leave his own home? She had definitely gone too far. She had tried to intrude into his private life. Who the hell did she think she was? What right had she to question him?
Things had taken an unexpected turn. Ingrid hadn’t given in to his threats. She was determined to find out who the woman was and report them to the police.
Eventually he lost his temper. He went on the offensive and beat her and kicked her until she was seriously injured, bleeding to death… It was too late…
He rubbed his face nervously. He felt defeated. It was all over. From now on it didn’t matter what happened. If he was sent to prison or received psychiatric treatment. The odds were stacked against him.
Nothing had turned out as he hoped. This time his father couldn’t magic away what had happened. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and flinched.
He had realized the game was up when he learnt that he would be undergoing a psychiatric evaluation. It was obviously his father’s last-ditch attempt to stop him from going to jail. But, sadly, his father’s intervention wasn’t to save him but to save his own skin. Harald Svenson would do anything to prevent the family name from being disgraced.
Börge had thought a lot about the consequences. His head would roll. He was a dead man. No one would have anything to do with him from now on. Who would want to associate with a man who was guilty of murder or had received psychiatric treatment? So why go to the trouble of being classified as a psychopath?
What was the alternative? He considered suicide. What was there to live for if he couldn’t enjoy life?
It had been a very painful process, especially when he learnt that his Pam had been in Sweden and didn’t want to meet him. According to Tallén, the lead investigator had wanted to interview him about his first wife but he had refused. If there was to be a hearing he wanted to meet Pamela McGavin first. But her answer came as no surprise. On that one point she was very clear. Pamela McGavin declared that she never wanted to see him again.
He was disenchanted at the way he had been treated even though Tallén had assured him it was all in his best interest.
“Look at the psychiatric examination as an advantage,” he had insisted.
The bloody man was another of his father’s lackeys. But he wasn’t the only one. All those bastards would get their comeuppance. He would get even. Many heads would roll after this courtroom scandal.
The dreaded day had arrived. Everyone would know who he was. Everyone would know that Börge Svenson, son of Harald and Gunnel Svenson, was accused of murder.
Tallén assumed that he would take the underground passage between Kronobergs Prison and the security room inside the courthouse, but why should he hide himself like any other repentant prisoner? Tallén was so damned wrong.
No. He would walk in through the main entrance of the courthouse with his head held high. He would look directly into the camera. He had nothing to be ashamed of.
He had one agenda. His parent’s world would break apart. He would speak openly about everything they had tried to do to erase his guilt. He would name all those bastards who acted like puppets and did everything his father ordered them to do.
“Are you sure about this?” asked Tallén one last time.
“I don’t want to discuss it again!” answered Börge.
Tallén had an unpleasant feeling in his stomach.
Two police constables accompanied them to the car that was waiting outside the prison.
THE PRESS MOVED IN A WAVE to the main entrance as soon as they heard about the change in plans. The crowd ran down the stairs when they saw the black police car pull up outside. There was a huge commotion. As well as journalists there were many members of the general public who were curious to see the defendant with their own eyes.
Two plain clothed police officers climbed out of the car. One of them stopped at the open door and waited until Börge Svenson was ready to get out.
Flashes from clicking cameras dazzled his innocent blue eyes. Journalists raced forward with their microphones. Photographers excitedly snapped picture after picture.
Lorena Pascalini – who wasn’t going to miss this event – elbowed herself forward and thrust a microphone into his face as he surveyed the crowd arrogantly.
“Did you murder your wife?” she asked eagerly.
Börge Svenson approached Pascalini’s photographer to make sure he got a good close up shot.
“No!” answered Börge while he stared straight at the journalist. “I’m innocent of all charges.”
Suddenly there was a sharp squealing sound from a motorbike that braked abruptly followed by a thunderous bang. The photographer staggered and grabbed hold of the person next to him. The crowd shoved, trampled and stumbled over each other, looking for cover. Some screamed, others stared in shock, unable to express any emotion.
It was chaos.
The photographers propelled themselves forward to get closer and take the best pictures. A few bystanders lifted their phones into the air to take blind photographs. In all the excitement a black-clothed figure dropped a Magnum revolver and squeezed through the crowd. The police fought in vain against the violent mob pushing and screaming, some to get away and others to get closer and see what had happened.
It was all over in a few seconds.
“Bloody hell, bloody, bloody hell!” screamed a policeman.
Börge Svenson lay lifeless on the ground. He had been executed by a single shot to the head.
“How the hell did this happen?” shouted the policeman.
The MC driver waited with the engine roaring. The black-clothed figure leapt forward and landed with a thud on the pillion and they drove off at high speed, turning right towards Kungsholmsgatan and disappearing like an arrow into the distance.
Tallén was in shock. He stared down at the body.
Pascalini’s photographer had managed to take photos of the assailant and when he looked at them he could see that the driver had long blond hair. He assumed that the person seated behind was a man.
NOBODY MOVED A MUSCLE for a number of seconds. Sanna leapt onto her feet and raced out of the courtroom followed by Thorén, the messenger, and Kalle and Javier. Blom was conspicuous by his absence. He had intended to show up later in the day.
AS THE BIKE APPROACHED Klarasjörampen heading towards Centralbron at high speed, the black-clad rider made a phone call.
“It is done!” said the rider with a strong French accent.
Once the pre-arranged signal sounded, indicating that the message had been received, the figure smashed the phone against the motorbike. So far everything was going according to plan.
Before the bike turned right into Kornhamnstorg the pillion rider looked over his shoulder. Although a siren could be heard in the distance there was no sign of a police car. The figure flung the various parts of the mobile into the air and folded the SIM card in half and put it into his pocket.
SANNA HEAVED HER way through the crowds. Uniformed police had sealed off the crime scene and now had the situation under control. Svenson’s lifeless body was covered with a blanket. Sanna crouched down and lifted it away from his face. His head lay in a pool of blood and there was a bullet hole between his eyes. She stood up and looked questioningly at the policeman who had escorted Svenson.
“It all happened so fast. I… we… had no idea what was going on.” He dried the sweat from his forehead.
“What the hell happened? Who did this?” she shouted.
“A motorbike appeared from nowhere. We have the weapon but don’t know what either of the riders looked like. However, one of them had long blond hair.”
Sanna’s face turned deathly pale.
“How tall was the suspect?”
“About one metre ninety – taller than me anyway.”
That ruled out Ingalill. She couldn’t be taller than one metre seventy.
“There was an accomplice. He or she was waiting on the bike with the engine ticking over.”
Sanna nodded. It wasn’t hard to work out what had happened afterwards. She went over to Tallén who looked as if he was about to faint. She was about to say something but quickly changed her mind. Tallén seemed too shaken. She would never be able to extract any useful information from him.
THE BUSY ROADS didn’t make their getaway any easier. They bobbed and weaved through the traffic. Suddenly, in the midst of all the chaos, a woman appeared in the middle of the street wheeling a pram and talking and laughing on her mobile phone. The motorbike driver panicked and slammed on the brakes, making an evasive manoeuvre to avoid her. The bike gyrated onto the wrong side of the road.
“Merde, merde, putana!” screamed the driver while his passenger fought to stay on the back. They changed direction and continued along an empty bus lane.
A police siren whined in the distance. At Skeppsholmen they slowed down and drove at normal speed to avoid attracting attention. Before turning into Södra Bankogränd they looked back again to make sure that nobody was in hot pursuit.
Just past Stortorget they pulled into a narrow lane. They jumped off the bike and tore off their clothes and wigs, stuffing everything into a container for recycled clothes. They undressed in silence but every now and then gave each other knowing glances to assure themselves that so far the plan was working.
The sirens approached. A couple of backpackers paused on the bridge to watch as a procession of police cars with blinking blue lights sped past onto Skeppsholmen.
The pair walked briskly towards a Viking Line ship moored at Slussen and disappeared.
SANNA FELT SHATTERED. It felt so unreal. All their work was wasted. Svenson no longer had to answer for his crimes.
Kalle rushed over.
“We’ve a few witnesses who saw everything close up. Plus we have photos of the murderer!” said Kalle excitedly
“We also have the gun,” said Sanna dispiritedly. “But I’m sure there are no fingerprints on it.”
“Let’s hope we’ve got a close up of the attacker,” said Kalle who hadn’t lost heart yet.
Javier, Thorén and Tallén, who had been chatting amongst themselves wandered over to Sanna and Kalle.
“We’ve lost the bike,” said Javier in frustration.
Sanna stared at him blankly. She didn’t care anymore. Maybe she should take a long leave of absence and try to forget that Börge Svenson ever existed.
There was a heavy silence. It was as if the air had been sucked out of them.
“YOU WON’T BELIEVE what just happened Pamela! It’s outrageous!!!” screamed Jenny.
“Please Jenny, calm down… I can’t understand you. What’s happened?”
“He’s dead!” Jenny burst into tears. “They’ve killed him! They’ve killed him!” she gasped, swallowing and sniffing.
Pamela felt an icy cold sweat break out over her entire body.
“Who’s dead?”
“Bööörge!” stammered Jenny.
Pamela sat down. She turned deathly pale and her whole body shivered. She leafed through her notes to check what she had written for plan B. There were a few ideas but nothing concrete. In her confusion she read her list again and again to make sure she wasn’t inadvertently responsible for Börge Svenson’s death. Thankfully, she realized that she didn’t even have the phone number for the person she had been planning to contact. She breathed a sigh of relief.
“Please Jenny tell me what happened,” said Pamela.
“All I know is that he was shot outside the court entrance. Can you imagine? He didn’t even get a chance to defend himself…” Jenny blew her nose and composed herself. “Are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m still here. It’s just that I don’t know what to say. I can’t take it in. Can I call you later?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll keep you posted.”
SHE HAD BEEN PACING the streets for hours with no particular destination in mind. She slowed down and looked around. Ingalill was outside the Dubliners at Hötorget. Taking out a mirror from her handbag, she adjusted her hair, painted her lips red and strode into the pub.
She sat down on a high stool at the bar.
“What would you like?” asked the bartender.
“A pint of bitter… Oh, and by the way, a whisky too.”
She smiled contentedly.
The barman allowed his gaze to drift down towards her breasts.
She blushed and did up the top button of her jacket.
“Where’s the ladies room?” she asked without looking at him.
“Straight ahead and to the right,” he said with a serious expression, shaking his head.
She grabbed an empty cubicle. Safely inside, she unbuttoned the jacket and reassured herself that the gun hidden in her bra wasn’t visible. Her skin was clammy with sweat and she could feel the weapon sticking to her breast. She removed it, dried it thoroughly with toilet paper and placed it into her handbag. Then she washed her face with cold water in the basin.
She had been called as a witness. Her first reaction had been to decline but of course, that would have been impossible. Anyway, this could turn out to be the perfect opportunity to satisfy her lingering desire for revenge. Testifying meant being in the same courtroom as Börge Svenson and it would be a good time to get even. She procured a gun through her contacts in the underworld, which wasn’t hard as long as you had the money. She had considered the consequences but she knew she would kick herself if she missed this chance. What happened next, only time would tell.
Ingalill looked at her reflection in the mirror above the washbasin. She powdered her face, touched up her lipstick and returned to the bar.
She downed the whisky in one gulp and drank half the beer.
“I’m celebrating,” she said cheerfully.
The man nodded. He looked at her curiously. Ingalill smiled smugly.
“One more round,” she said displaying her empty glass.
MARIA WENT DIRECTLY HOME. She sat on Alva’s bed hugging her daughter’s photograph album to her breast. She removed her long black wig listlessly and placed it beside her. She had been called as a witness and had been forced to look like Susanne Aldhamo. Nobody was allowed to see her new appearance.
She stared listlessly into space. Her face was pale and drawn. She couldn’t believe it was all over. The man who had murdered her daughter had been punished. It didn’t matter who had killed him or why. All she knew was that her daughter’s death had finally been avenged. She had intended to wait until the verdict was returned and then put her plan into action. She had considered several alternatives. Wherever Börge ended up she planned to visit him and finish him off with her own hands. Afterwards she would decide her own destiny. She had been dead for a long time, anyway. She stopped living the day she saw her daughter’s frail, lifeless body on a slab in the mortuary.
A group of teenagers laughed outside on the street. A dog barked at a passing cyclist. Suddenly the heavens opened up and heavy rain rattled against her window.
She lay on the bed and fell into a deep sleep.
HARALD SVENSON WALKED SLOWLY towards Norr Mälarstrand. He sat down on a bench by the water and glanced despondently at the mobile in his hand. He dismantled the phone and threw the pieces in to the water, one by one.