EVEN THOUGH THE Hallberg-Rassy was a relatively large yacht, it nimbly zigzagged out of the Råå Marina, and after leaving the harbour turned into the wind and hoisted its mainsail.
Shielding his eyes against the sun high above him, Fabian stood on the north pier, about a hundred feet away, watching the boat with intense interest as the crew trimmed the mainsail until it stopped luffing and took over from the engine, almost like magic.
He’d spotted the beautiful yacht the moment he’d climbed out of the car, and now couldn’t take his eyes off it. He’d met the owners late last night during his search for Hugo Elvin’s boat, and they’d told him they were heading over to Humlebæk on the Danish side as soon as the weather improved and after that they were planning a night sail up to Gothenburg.
It felt like a sign, and somewhere deep inside he decided he was going to give in to his children and invest in a yacht once things had calmed down.
He picked up the box that contained the contents of Elvin’s desk drawer and started walking towards his late colleague’s abandoned old wooden boat, which sat alone in its cradle. So far, there was no sign of Hillevi Stubbs, which was remarkable. She was almost never late. On the contrary, she had a habit of arriving long before everyone else. He’d lost count of how often, back when they’d worked together in Stockholm, she’d expressively rolled her eyes at him because the second hand had ticked past their agreed meeting time.
On the other hand, it was a thirty-minute drive from the police station in Malmö, and she’d made it abundantly clear she had neither the time nor the inclination to come out, and had only agreed to meet because it was him asking.
Stubbs was far from easy to deal with, but he had no other options. She was efficient and indisputably one of Sweden’s best forensic scientists, and he’d reached a point in his investigation of his colleague, Ingvar Molander, where he could no longer carry on alone.
He needed someone to run things by, someone from outside the Helsingborg team, if only to make sure he’d met the burden of proof before he laid his cards on the table. Besides, it was beginning to feel increasingly important to ensure the work he’d done wasn’t lost in case something happened to him.
Not that he was looking over his shoulder every second. But at the same time, there was no getting past the fact that Molander had killed Elvin when he realized his co-worker had been on the verge of blowing the whistle on him.
With the box under his arm, he climbed the ladder propped against the transom of the boat, only to find the dumpy Stubbs stretched out in the cockpit, lapping up the sun.
‘There you are,’ he said, and stepped onto the boat.
‘Where else would I be? Late?’ she countered without opening her eyes.
‘No, why would you be?’
‘That’s almost as incisive a question as “Why am I here?”.’ She opened her eyes and sat up. ‘Yes, I puzzled out that this is Elvin’s old boat,’ she went on before he could get a word in. ‘And I’m fully aware you want me to go over it, just like I did his flat. But why?’
‘I think maybe you should just see for yourself.’ Fabian pulled out one of the two blue keys he’d found in Elvin’s desk drawer and walked over to the door leading down into the cabin.
‘Now, I don’t want to disappoint you, but I’m not here to see things. That’s not why I took time off and drove all the way out here. I did it so I could make you understand that you have to let this go. Believe me, nothing in Elvin’s flat suggested his death was anything other than suicide. Aside, of course, from what might generously be termed your far-fetched science-fiction theories.’
‘Actually, you’re wrong about that.’ Fabian carefully inserted the key into the lock and turned it. ‘But we’ll get back to that.’
‘I feel like you’re not hearing me. There’s nothing to get back to. I have countless shootings to deal with down in Malmö, and unless I’m misinformed, you just found yourselves a new case out in Klippan. And yet, here you are, grieving an old colleague, asking me to examine his boat.’ She threw up her hands. ‘I mean, you do hear how that sounds, right?’
‘I certainly do.’ Fabian pushed the double doors apart and disappeared below decks. ‘That’s why we should get started right away. I have a team briefing in an hour and a half.’
Stubbs heaved a sigh that was no less loud than it was long, before finally climbing down after him. ‘I already knew you were a pain from when we worked together in Stockholm, but my God, you’re like a stubborn two-year…’ She trailed off as she looked around the cramped cabin, where every available surface was littered with stacks of folders, pictures and notebooks, labelled plastic containers and evidence bags, electronics bristling with cables of every colour known to man, a computer flanked by a whole collection of external hard drives, a microscope and various other things. The room was so cluttered it was impossible to move without knocking things over.
Fabian flicked a switch to turn on a number of small lights that illuminated the whiteboard, which was covered in photographs and notes, and the piles of documents around the computer. It was exactly the reaction he’d been hoping for and he waited silently while Stubbs took it all in. After a few minutes, she finally turned to him.
‘All right. Let’s hear it.’ She moved a pile of books from one of the berths and sat down.
Fabian made room on the table in front of her and took out a series of black-and-white pictures of a woman in a summer dress walking towards and climbing into the passenger seat of a Saab.
‘Until the summer of 2007, Molander was having an affair with this woman. Her name was Inga Dahlberg and she was his next-door neighbour. But over a year before the relationship ended, Molander’s father-in-law, Einar Stenson, had become suspicious and gone so far as to follow them and take pictures, which you are looking at.’
Stubbs studied the pictures while Fabian got out a crime scene report.
‘Stenson died on 21 April 2007, in the kitchen of his rural home out by Ringsjöstrand. According to the investigation, the local police concluded that it was a tragic accident. Stenson supposedly slipped on the freshly waxed floor and fell headlong onto the pulled-out dishwasher rack, where a knife had been placed point up in the cutlery basket. But if Elvin and his notes are to be believed, it was no accident, and after looking into it myself, I’m inclined to agree. Four months later, Inga Dahlberg was killed in what became known as the Ven Murder.’
‘She was the one screwed to a wooden pallet that floated all the way from the Rå river to Ven?’
Fabian nodded.
‘I seem to remember that someone was convicted for that.’
‘You’re thinking of Danish rapist Bennie Willumsen, who was terrorizing the Swedish side of the sound at the time. Apparently, the brutality of the crime was so similar to his MO that once he was finally apprehended, he was charged with the Ven Murder too. The only problem was that Willumsen had an alibi for that day and was therefore cleared of all charges.’
‘Fine, so he offs his father-in-law to keep his affair secret, I’m with you on that. But why kill her?’
Fabian shrugged. ‘Maybe she was sick of sneaking around and threatened to talk unless he left Gertrud.’
‘Gertrud. Is that his wife?’
‘It is indeed, and at this point you’d think he’d calm down. The problem had been done away with, so to speak. But three years later, in the summer of 2010, he strikes again. I had just moved down here and was in the middle of investigating a case with victims from my old primary-school class.’
‘Yes, I heard about that. It must have been horrible.’
Fabian nodded and paused for a second before pushing on. ‘The thing was that the attempted murder of Ingela Ploghed, who was also one of my old classmates, was different from the rest.’
‘In what way?’
‘Nothing big, just enough for me to notice. She had been kidnapped and put through a forced hysterectomy to have her uterus removed. In this case, too, the MO matched the other murders fairly well. The only difference was that she was raped before her surgery, which didn’t happen to any of the other victims.’
‘And what did the rest of the team think?’
‘No one ever agreed with me, and Molander was particularly vocal in his opposition, for obvious reasons. And once the perpetrator had been identified and locked up, the whole thing was forgotten. At least, I thought it had been. As it turns out, though, Hugo Elvin was watching Molander and had started his own investigation, the results of which ultimately got him killed and are now spread around in this cabin.’
‘And you think you can back this up with evidence?’
‘I assume everything I need can be found here.’ Fabian spread his hands. ‘And I’m hoping you’ll agree to help me go through it.’
Stubbs looked around. ‘There’s certainly a lot of stuff in here. But that’s not to say any of it is binding. If it had been, wouldn’t Elvin have acted on it and gone public?’
‘Maybe he was about to.’
‘And what’s to say Molander doesn’t have an alibi? Just like this Willumsen. I mean, that would instantly make the whole case against him fall apart.’
‘As a matter of fact, he does have an alibi for the day Inga Dahlberg was murdered. He was celebrating his anniversary with Gertrud in Berlin that weekend. But take a look at this.’ Fabian pulled out the binder with Berlin written on the spine and flicked through it until he found a printout of two boarding passes. ‘These prove that he flew from Berlin to Copenhagen and back again with just enough time to commit the murder.’
‘That’s good, but is it good enough? If I were to play devil’s advocate, I’d say it might not have been Molander who bought those tickets. It might have been someone else who was out to set him up. But let’s assume it was him. That he even went so far as to check in. That doesn’t prove he got on the plane. And even if he did, it might have been for a different reason than to kill Inga Dahlberg.’
‘Absolutely, you’re right. It’s not watertight. But I’m completely convinced that with your help, I can find more than enough to have him locked away for life. Take this, for example.’ Fabian held up a translucent figurine no more than two inches tall in the shape of an owl. ‘It looks just like the crystal owls Gertrud collects. But it’s made of plastic and Elvin has drilled a tiny hole in the base just big enough to fit a microphone with a transmitter and a battery.’
‘I had no idea he was into DIY.’
‘Nor me. I actually think he stole the idea from Molander himself because he used the same audio software.’ Fabian walked over to the computer, turned it on and clicked his way to the last of a long series of recorded audio files. ‘This was recorded at 11.49 last night, when I happened to be here.’ He clicked the triangle symbol and the time marker started to move across the screen.
‘Hold on a minute. What did you talk about?’ Molander could be heard saying. ‘Gertrud, I said wait!’
‘Ingvar, you’re scaring me.’
‘I want to know what you talked about!’
‘I’m going to have to ask you to calm down.’
‘I am calm! I just need to—’
‘No, you’re not! And besides, it’s late. We’ll have to discuss this some other time, because I’m going to bed in the guest room. And I would appreciate it if you would respect my privacy.’
‘I’ll give you all the privacy you want, as soon as you tell me what in God’s name Fabian Risk was doing here!’
They heard Gertrud sigh.
‘If you really want to know, he was here because I asked him to come over. And I did that because he and I were going to try to come up with an idea for surprising you at work this winter for your birthday. There’s no need to look so incredulous. You’re turning sixty, after all. And as you know, I don’t like doing things at the last minute, so I’m actually well under way with plans for a big party for all your friends and colleagues. But I guess it’s not going to be a surprise. Not any more. And now if you excuse me, I’m going to bed.’
They heard Molander clap his hands together. Once, twice, three times, in slow motion.
‘Wow! A stunning performance. You’re quite the actress. I almost believed you.’
‘Whatever do you mean? Invar, what—’
‘You’re lying! Don’t you think I can tell when you’re lying? I want the whole truth, and until you give it to me, you’re not going anywhere!’
‘What truth are you talking about? The one about what our anniversary trip to Berlin was really about? Is that the truth you’re referring to?’
‘I don’t see what our trip to Berlin has to do with—’
‘Oh no? Are you sure about that?’
‘I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about, and if you think you can get out of this by changing the subject—’
‘Ingvar, I don’t know what you’re up to.’ Gertrud’s voice was breaking. ‘But I know one thing. If anyone’s being dishonest here, it’s you.’ They heard her burst into tears. ‘Oh my God, and you’re supposed to be my husband…’
‘Gertrud, hold on.’ Molander’s voice was sounding more distant. ‘Gertrud, don’t walk away from me. Don’t you walk away when I’m talking to you!’
They heard a door slam shut. Then silence.
Fabian looked up from the computer and waited for a reaction from Stubbs.
‘Have you made sure she’s okay?’
‘I called a few times this morning, and she finally replied with a short text asking me to leave her alone and saying I should contact Ingvar if I have any further questions.’
‘She’s afraid, and no wonder. The easiest thing for her to do right now is to stick her head in the sand and pretend like none of this happened.’
Fabian nodded.
‘On a different note,’ Stubbs continued, turning to Fabian. ‘I’ll admit I was nodding off up there in the cockpit and might have misheard, but I thought I heard a car parking nearby just a few minutes before you came. That wasn’t you, by any chance?’
‘Probably.’
‘So you drove right up to the boat?’
‘Yes. Why?’
Stubbs closed her eyes and shook her head. Then she was on her way out, and before Fabian could get up to the cockpit, she’d already climbed down the ladder and was jogging towards his car, which was parked a stone’s throw away.
He was about to call out after her and ask what she was doing, but then the penny dropped and he hurried towards the stern instead. Suddenly, his fateful mistake was so glaring it hurt.
How long?
The question echoed through his mind as he ran towards the car. When he got there, Stubbs was already on her back, pushing her head in under the rear of the car. A vague worry had been building inside him for a while, and over the past few days it had grown in strength like an approaching storm. And even so, the thought hadn’t occurred to him.
He couldn’t say how long he stood there waiting before Stubbs was finally done and got back on her feet.
‘Just as I thought,’ she said tersely.
He felt every word like a slap in the face. Four blows in quick succession.
She held out the small black plastic hockey puck. ‘I honestly don’t know what you were thinking.’
He stared at the battery-powered tracker in her hand, and the question that had echoed in his head since she climbed off the boat reached a crescendo.
How long?
How long had it been there?
How long had Molander known?