FABIAN TOOK A sip of the scalding hot coffee and rubbed his knees, which, despite a double dose of paracetamol, ached like he’d run a marathon. Waking up that morning, he’d been unable to figure out why they hurt. But as soon as he discovered the bleeding abrasions, the memories came flooding back.
Neither the wounds nor the persistent tenderness bothered him. Quite the opposite; they were among the few things he had going for him right now. A reminder that last night’s exertions with Sonja on the floor of her studio hadn’t been a dream.
She’d finally told him everything, filling in the gaps in the narrative of what had taken place during those fateful days when she’d left him for her new man. It had been a hard telling, for both him and her. That there had been some kind of trauma had been clear to him. But that she’d been buried alive, trapped in her own work of art The Hanging Box, was hard to take in, though it did explain why his colleagues had insisted on confiscating the wooden box for forensic examination.
It also explained her sudden aversion to her own art. Even why she’d waited for him in the studio, of all places, and until tonight, of all nights, had been explained; she’d been informed by the police earlier in the day that they were done with the box and that she had five business days to come and collect it before it was sent off to be destroyed.
And yet, the thought alone made him feel unclean. As though the whole night was tainted because they’d lain there, wrapped up in themselves and their own anxieties, allowing themselves to feel pleasure while their son spent his first night in police custody. It wasn’t like him, and it definitely wasn’t like Sonja.
‘Well, well, what do you know. Mr Risk is first to arrive again.’ Molander looked around as he entered the conference room. ‘Who’d have thought it?’
‘Happy to be keeping you on your toes,’ Fabian replied, playing along with a smile.
‘Though you do look a bit pooped. Late night?’
‘A bit. There’s a lot of work to be done.’
‘Yes, there certainly is.’ Molander put a stack of documents down on the table and took a seat. ‘So no “private excursions” today, then, I take it?’
‘Actually, yes, but not until this afternoon.’
‘Theodor again?’
Fabian nodded. ‘And what about you?’ Theodor was the last thing he wanted to talk to Molander about.
‘Are you crazy? How can I fit in personal escapades with all of this going on?’ Molander gestured around the room.
‘I was actually thinking about last night, whether you had a late one. It was Gertrud’s birthday, wasn’t it?’
‘Eh… Right…’ Molander seemed to shudder briefly. ‘I’m sorry, what was that? My mind was elsewhere—’
‘Gertrud, your wife. I noticed on Facebook that it was her birthday yesterday. I hope you took the time to celebrate and didn’t spend the whole night working.’
‘Oh, right… Well.’ Molander forced out a smile and laughed mirthlessly. ‘Hope springs eternal, I suppose. I’m afraid I have to disappoint you. Luckily, Gertrud knows what to expect – she knows what I’m like when we’re in the middle of an investigation.’
‘Voilà! I told you so,’ exclaimed Tuvesson, who arrived together with Klippan and Lilja. ‘They’re here. Perfect. Let’s get cracking. Unless you were in the middle of something.’
‘Not at all,’ Molander replied. ‘We were just discussing our workload. And while we’re on the subject, I can tell you I spent the whole night in the lab, cross-matching all the samples we’ve collected from the crime scenes. And I did that even though, as Fabian rightly pointed out just now, yesterday was Gertrud’s birthday.’
‘So you’ll be sleeping on the sofa, in other words,’ Klippan said, and he started to plug in his laptop.
‘I happen to have a very understanding wife, so I think I’ll be all right.’
‘And what did you discover?’ Tuvesson asked.
‘That Fabian was right about the investigations being connected and not the work of several perpetrators with different motives, but rather of one single person.’ He held up one finger. ‘Fabian, you don’t have to look so surprised. Even you have to get it right sometimes.’ He flashed Fabian a smile and a quick wink before turning back to the others. ‘It turns out that we have unwittingly been collecting DNA traces in the form of skin fragments, hairs and saliva from a single person present at all three crime scenes.’
‘Does this mean we can technically link this person to the murders of Moonif Ganem, Lennart Andersson and Molly Wessman?’ Tuvesson asked.
Molander nodded. ‘And most likely Evert Jonsson, too, though in that case I’ve only managed to match one fingerprint from the cocoon with one from the laundry room.’
‘This is amazing news. But why are we only discovering this now, when the evidence has been in your lab the whole time?’
‘There are several reasons for that. The DNA results have only just started to come in, and no one seriously considered the idea that it might be a single perpetrator until yesterday, when Fabian—’
‘Yes, we did,’ Lilja broke in. ‘We just couldn’t figure out a motive that fitted.’
‘Exactly. And given that, I didn’t prioritize cross-matching all the prints and samples we’ve collected. But sure, blame me, if it makes you feel better. Go ahead. As though I have twenty-five – or why not twenty-six? – hours a day to work.’
‘I actually do think a large part of the blame for this belongs to you.’ Tuvesson closed the door. ‘That’s not to say you, and the rest of us, haven’t gone above and beyond in the past few weeks. But in all honesty. Wouldn’t you agree that it’s a bit peculiar that it’s only now, after four murders, that we realize this isn’t one-offs but rather the work of a serial killer? A serial killer who is probably busy planning a fifth murder.’
‘I don’t know about peculiar.’ Molander shrugged. ‘I’d say everything about these cases has been and still is extraordinarily peculiar. Everything from the different methods to the choice of victims. Take the timings, for instance. Evert Jonsson suffocates in his cocoon sometime around 25 May—’
‘Ingvar, I’m—’
‘Would you let me finish, please. Then almost twenty days go by before Moonif Ganem is centrifuged to death. Three days later, Molly Wessman dies of poisoning, the same day Lennart Andersson is stabbed to death in front of a crowd of witnesses at Ica Maxi.’ Molander threw his hands up. ‘So no, given the circumstances, I would actually be inclined to say we’ve been pretty quick and efficient.’
‘I’m fully aware this investigation is unlike anything we’ve seen and that the NFC, despite us being a priority, didn’t give us the results of the DNA analyses until now. But the fingerprints, for example – you’ve had access to those the whole time.’
‘Yes, but as I just said, we haven’t—’
‘It’s not about what our theories have been. Or about how busy you happen to be or how many hours there are in a day. I have laboured under the assumption that you continuously cross-match everything you get, without me having to ask you to. Especially under these circumstances. Who knows where we might have been today if you’d realized a week ago that one of the fingerprints from the laundry room in Bjuv was also found in Molly Wessman’s flat?’
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘You don’t have to say anything. We all make mistakes and we all miss things. It just normally doesn’t happen to you. It leads me to wonder why now. Are you having problems at home? Has something happened that makes it difficult for you to focus on your work? Should I request additional resources?’
‘No, no, I’m fine. Perfectly well.’
‘Are you sure? Because I understand if you’ve been running on fumes for too long and need a break. I just need to know what I’m working with here.’
Fabian watched Molander nod like a dog with its tail between its legs. Had his own sins finally caught up with him?
‘Listen, I suggest we move on,’ Lilja said, turning to the others. ‘One thing I’m wondering is if there’s just one perpetrator, he must be considered well organized and prepared, to say the least, right? So isn’t it strange that he’s leaving so many prints behind? Losing a hair here and there, fine. But saliva, fingerprints and whatnot. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Are you saying it’s part of a bigger plan?’ Tuvesson said.
‘No idea.’ Lilja shrugged. ‘But if it isn’t, he’s incredibly careless.’
‘Or maybe he’s overconfident,’ Fabian put in. ‘Since the murders are so different from each other in every respect, there’s no incentive to connect the cases. On that, I agree with Ingvar – it’s not surprising we haven’t until now.’
‘Besides, he hasn’t exactly been running around leaving prints everywhere,’ Molander said. ‘Only in the laundry room and at Evert Jonsson’s. If you don’t want to leave any DNA behind, you basically have to walk around in a diving suit.’
‘And another thing,’ Lilja continued. ‘If there’s no underlying motive, then why do it at all? And why the disparate methods and victims?’
‘If I had to guess, I’d say it’s part of a game.’
‘A game?’ Tuvesson turned to Molander.
‘Sure, why not?’ Molander shrugged.
‘But I don’t understand. What do you mean, a game?’
‘It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s just in it for the kicks, and the more varied the murders, the more thrilling. Right? For him, I mean.’ Molander was met by querying looks. ‘Whatever, I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘It was just a thought. I have nothing to back it up.’ He waved his hand dismissively. ‘So, let’s move on.’
‘Yes, we have quite a few things left on the agenda,’ Klippan said. ‘And who knows. Maybe we’ll find some answers in here.’ He opened his laptop.
Fabian was surprised to find himself nodding. Not at Klippan, but at Molander, of all people. He’d managed to hit the nail on the head, but had almost immediately tried to back-pedal. As though he’d just realized he was the only member of the team who truly understood the perpetrator. Maybe he could even relate to him.
‘Klippan, what are you showing us?’ Tuvesson checked her watch.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?’ Klippan said, without attempting to hide his annoyance.
‘I’m sorry, forgotten what?’ Tuvesson said.
Klippan sighed. ‘That I’ve been going through every single CCTV tape from Ica Maxi from the week before the murder of Lennart Andersson and that I’m supposed to share my findings. You know this. I was supposed to do it yesterday, but Evert Jonsson got in the way, so I think we should get it over with right now.’
‘I understand, but I would still prefer if we could hold off until tomorrow, or at least later this afternoon. Because we have a few other things to discuss. Then I have to go see Högsell and let her know the charges against Eric Jacobsén and Assar Skanås need to be completely reconsidered.’
‘No, I’ve waited long enough. I think we should just get this done.’
‘Klippan, all due respect to you and your hard work, but I’ve decided that—’ Tuvesson was cut off by her phone. ‘This is Astrid, in the middle of a meeting. What’s this about?’
Fabian and the others watched Tuvesson grow increasingly pale as seconds turned to minutes. She said almost nothing at all until it was time to hang up.
‘He has struck again.’ She swallowed hard in an effort to maintain her calm. ‘The bastard has done it again.’
‘Oh my God.’ Lilja heaved a sigh. ‘Who’s the victim?’
‘Ester Landgren, the little girl you saved from Assar Skanås just a few days ago.’ Tuvesson was unable to hold back her tears.
‘What? What are you talking about?’ Lilja shook her head as though to convince herself she’d misheard. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Yes. I don’t know what to say.’
‘But why would he… What had she done to… I don’t understand.’
‘When did she die?’ Molander asked. ‘And how?’
‘From what I’m told, she’s been dead for hours.’ Tuvesson wiped away her tears and took a deep breath to compose herself. ‘Her parents only realized about an hour ago that she wasn’t asleep, she had drowned.’
‘Drowned?’ Lilja exclaimed. ‘What the fuck? She can’t have drowned in her own bed, can she?’
‘I know, but we have to wait and see what Flätan has to say. According to her parents, water came out of her mouth when they tried to wake her. And like you were saying, Fabian, this is too spectacular and different from the other murders for there not to be a connection.’
‘But? I don’t understand,’ Lilja said, fighting down her feelings. ‘Can someone tell me what Ester Landgren, an innocent little girl, has to do with our killer?’
‘Irene, I don’t know. That’s what we have to find out,’ Tuvesson replied. ‘All I know is that we have to catch this sick bastard before he kills anyone else. Ingvar, I want you to go over there and process the scene, and this time I assume I don’t have to remind you to cross-match whatever you find with what we already have.’
‘Of course.’ Molander immediately started to gather up his folders.
‘Irene, you talk to the parents, and Fabian, you keep on Flätan, even if he’s not done yet. Klippan, you’re in charge of knocking on doors and taking statements from the—’
‘No.’ Klippan shook his head.
‘What do you mean, no?’
‘I’m not going door to door. At least, not right this minute.’
‘Why not? What’s the matter with you?’
‘And the same goes for the rest of you. You’re all staying here until I’m—’
‘Bloody hell, Klippan!’ Tuvesson walked up to him and fixed him with a level gaze. ‘I’m in charge of this investigation!’
‘That may well be,’ retorted Klippan, his face bright red and his voice strained. ‘But right now, I don’t give a shit and I’m telling you and everyone else that you are going to stay seated for another fifteen minutes and you’re going to listen to what I have to say.’