THE LIGHT AT the intersection of Tågagatan and Drottninggatan turned red, as though it were completely out of sync with the rest of the intersections. But Fabian, who was already ten minutes late, accelerated, forcing the other drivers to slam on their brakes as he burned through the intersection and turned down Bogseraregatan in Helsingborg’s North Harbour.
The moment he’d ended the call with Stubbs, he’d contacted Tuvesson to tell her he wasn’t going to be able to make the morning meeting. She’d wanted to know why and had, to his surprise, not accepted his explanation about needing to be with his family.
Even when he’d insisted, she hadn’t let him take so much as a half day off. What’s more, she’d reprimanded him for being so absent lately, pointing out that he’d overslept as recently as the day before and was now asking to stay home even though the investigation was in a critical phase. That Lilja hadn’t showed up either and wasn’t answering her phone had done nothing to improve Tuvesson’s mood.
The conversation had gone on for quite a while, and he’d come close to telling her. But with all the questions and explanations, there hadn’t been time. It would take hours, maybe days, to persuade her to consent to an arrest. In the end, he’d seen no other option than to lie to her face and promise to come to work just so he could get off the phone.
By then, he’d already been late, and if he knew Stubbs, she wasn’t the type to hang around, so she’d likely already entered the property. He could only pray Molander was too busy with the Hallberg-Rassy to have time for anything else.
Fabian parked his car and hurried out towards the piers and jetties of the North Harbour Marina on foot, past the restaurant where every table was occupied by holidaymakers in sleeveless shirts and pastel shorts.
He spotted the Hallberg-Rassy about fifty yards further on, moored alongside a pier. Granted, only the mast was visible, but he instantly recognized the double set of spreaders and the radar and anemometer at the top. The rest of the boat was hidden behind crime scene barriers that blocked off parts of the pier.
Fabian pulled out his police ID, pushed through the inevitable gaggle of rubberneckers standing around with their phones at the ready, stepped over the police tape and walked up to a uniformed officer, who led him in behind the privacy barriers.
Close up, any similarity between the Hallberg-Rassy and the rest of the boats in the marina was gone. The once white hull was still smeared with dried blood. The mainsail had been taken down, but only hastily tied around the boom. The same was true of the blood-spattered genoa that lay loosely rolled up on the foredeck.
It was a gloomy sight, and by rights the boat should be destroyed as soon as they were done with it. But that would never happen. It was too valuable and, at the right price, any number of buyers were bound to be willing to ignore its past.
One of Molander’s two assistants was in the cockpit, dressed in full protective gear, picking up things from the floor with tweezers. The other, also wearing full protective gear, was taking pictures of the body parts lined up in a row on a folding table shaded by an umbrella before packing them into coolers.
Molander was busy, too, but not with the yacht. Instead, he was standing next to the van with the top half of his protective suit tied around his waist and his eyes glued to his phone.
‘Ingvar,’ Fabian called out.
Molander looked up from his phone and turned to him.
‘It’s only me,’ he continued, and he caught himself waving to his colleague, which he normally almost never did. He had to act natural. At least he wasn’t walking too fast.
‘Don’t sell yourself short.’ Molander managed a smile. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure? I thought you were tied up in the morning meeting with the others.’
‘We had to push that back. Apparently Tuvesson can’t get hold of Lilja.’ Fabian stopped in front of Molander and focused all his attention on returning his smile. ‘So I thought I’d stop by and make sure you’re not standing around playing Murder Snails during work hours.’
Molander laughed and pocketed his phone. ‘I wish.’
‘I thought you loved this stuff.’ Fabian gestured towards the Hallberg-Rassy. ‘Shouldn’t this be right up your alley? And speaking of which, how are you getting on?’
‘Is that why you’re here? To ask how we’re getting on?’
‘Among other things.’ Fabian looked over at the assistant in the cockpit, who was disappearing into the aft cabin. He was playing for time. It didn’t matter how, but he had to keep Molander busy for as long as possible. ‘I would obviously be interested to know if you’ve secured any forensic evidence against Milwokh.’
‘No need to fret. I’m sure we will both secure and take care of the evidence.’
‘I couldn’t be further from fretting.’
Molander chuckled. ‘That’s what you say. But it’s not what I see.’
Did he already know Stubbs had gone in?
‘But I’d say it’s as expected,’ Molander went on.
‘Pardon?’
‘You were asking how we’re getting on.’
‘So you haven’t found anything that stands out, something that could point us in the right direction?’
Molander shook his head. ‘But who knows what might turn up. We’re far from done.’
‘How long do you think you’ll be?’
‘How long is a piece of string? Speaking of which, maybe we should get back to doing our respective jobs. That is, after all, how we can be most useful.’
‘Right now, this is my job. I’d appreciate it if you could show me what you have so far.’
‘A person can appreciate many things in this world. I, for example, would appreciate an answer to the question of what that could possibly achieve, other than wasting precious time.’
‘It might be that I see something you don’t.’
‘I hardly think so. But if you have nothing better to do, who am I to stand in your way?’ Molander turned to the assistant on the pier. ‘Fredrik! Could you give Fabian a quick run-through of what we’ve found?’
‘Absolutely! I just have to get these sent off to Flätan!’
‘No rush. Fabian seems to have all the time in the world. See you.’ Molander gave Fabian a curt nod before turning towards the van and reaching for the handle of the driver’s door.
‘Hold on, where are you off to?’
‘To Kjell & Company on Bruksgatan,’ Molander said without turning around. ‘I’m sorry it’s not somewhere more exciting.’ He opened the door. ‘The camera’s memory card is full, you see, and—’
‘Maybe Fredrik could do that instead?’
Molander let go of the door handle and turned around. ‘And since when are you in charge of how my staff and I do our work?‘
‘Unless I’m misremembering, you were the one who went on and on about the importance of you and me working together if we were to have a shot at arresting Milwokh and having him convicted. Is it really so surprising that I would prefer to be shown your findings by you rather than your assistant?’
Molander said nothing, just stood there, as though he could see right through Fabian and knew exactly what it was really all about. ‘Of course,’ he said finally, and nodded. ‘You’re right. Let’s get it over with right now.’
Fabian was just about to reply with a smile when his phone went off in his pocket.
‘Don’t you need to take that?’ Molander nodded towards his trousers.
Luckily, it was his iPhone, which was why he decided to pull it out, and when he saw it was Stubbs, he put the phone to his ear as quickly as he could to block the screen from view. ‘Yes, this is Fabian.’
‘If you’re wondering why I’m not calling the other number, I can only say it’s because doing so is completely pointless, since you never pick up.’
‘I’m sorry, who am I talking to?’ He could feel Molander’s eyes burning a hole in the side of his head and his only option was to turn to meet them and try to look genuinely confused.
‘Is this a bad time?’ Stubbs said. ‘Is it because you—’
‘Oh, it’s you. Hi,’ Fabian broke in. ‘Would you mind if I called you back later, in, say, an hour?’
‘Is it Molander? Are you with him right now?’
‘You might say that, yes. So, like I said, I would prefer if we could talk about this later, when I’m done here.’
‘No, this can’t wait,’ Stubbs replied. ‘So you listen to me and don’t you dare hang up. You hear me? Don’t. Hang. Up.’
‘Fine, but make it quick.’ Fabian shrugged apologetically at Molander, who was now staring at him as though he had no difficulty seeing through his charade.
‘I’ve found the forensic evidence. Do you hear me, Fabian? I’ve found—’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know if I’m—’
‘The evidence against Milwokh! It’s all right here in front of me in an old freezer compartment.’
‘Right, so you’re saying—’
‘Exactly. So just arrest him. There’s no reason to wait.’
‘I see.’ Fabian nodded and smiled at Molander.
‘And I found Gertrud, too.’
‘Right, well, what do you know. And? Was everything all right with that?’
‘I’m afraid not. The bastard has trapped her in a root cellar, and the problem is that I can’t get down to where she is.’
‘What? I don’t understand—’
‘Fabian, the only thing you need to understand right now is that you have to arrest him. Not in a few hours or a little while, right now.’
There was a click in Fabian’s ear as she hung up.
‘Yes, okay, agreed,’ he said, still holding his phone to his ear. ‘I understand, sounds good. Bye.’ He put his phone back in his pocket without taking his eyes off Molander.
So Gertrud hadn’t left him. She’d been thrown into a root cellar the moment she became a liability. The handwritten letter had just been one more smokescreen so no one would go looking for her.
He almost couldn’t believe it. Not even of Molander. That a person could just sacrifice his own wife like it was nothing.
Neither of them spoke. But it was clear. The looks and the silence carved the situation in stone, hardening it into a memory that would haunt them both forever.
Molander knew. He had figured it out. Maybe not exactly who had broken into his property and found the forensic evidence. But he’d worked out that Fabian wasn’t working alone and now he was busy considering his options. You could almost see it in his face, in his eyes, which although they were still fixed on Fabian were nevertheless turned inward, busy searching for a solution. A way out.
Fabian had nothing to ponder. The moment he had both longed for and dreaded was finally here, and it was up to him to make the first move. He was the one who was going to end the impasse by arresting Molander, his own colleague. He was going to handcuff him in front of his own assistants, in the middle of their crime scene investigation.
But it couldn’t be helped. In time, they, too, would understand. They and everyone else. They would see that no matter how strange it seemed to them, Fabian had right on his side.
If only it were that easy. In reality, it felt more like throwing himself off a cliff blindfolded, with no way of knowing how far he would fall or where he would land.
His handcuffs lay ready and waiting in his right jacket pocket. All he had to do was pull them out and ask Molander to hold out his hands. Maybe it would be exactly that undramatic, over in a few seconds. Now that he thought about it, Molander shouldn’t have any interest in causing a scene. He probably wouldn’t even require handcuffs, just an explanation and a hand on his shoulder.
‘Ingvar,’ he said finally, breaking the silence.
The rest all happened in the wrong order.
The first thing that hit him was how wrong his assumptions had been. The pain came several seconds later, radiating out from his solar plexus. Only then, as he stood doubled over with his hands pressed against his midriff, did he realize Molander had punched him as hard as he could and was now climbing in behind the wheel of the van.
Pain crackled inside him as he hurried towards the cab and he could almost see himself jumping off the edge of the cliff and hurtling through the air.
Without knowing how it happened, he caught hold of Molander’s leg and clung to it as though it were his last lifeline, trying to pull his colleague out of the cab despite kicks raining down on his hands and face. At the same time, the van door was slamming into his head, again and again, as though it had come to life and was taking Molander’s side.
He should have given up and let go. Remembered all the things he had to live for. All the things that really meant something. But he couldn’t. Despite the kicks that left deeper and deeper gashes in his forehead, despite the blood getting in his eyes and making it hard to see, he couldn’t let go.
Maybe because the pain wasn’t getting worse but rather, more distant. As though his body was tuning out all unnecessary distractions, the white noise, and encapsulating itself in the realization that if he let go of Molander’s leg, he would keep falling and lose everything.
He could hear the distant screaming of the two assistants. Whether it was because he was trying to make himself heard over their shouting or if it was just some kind of primal force, he would never know. But suddenly, he could hear nothing but his own roar, and moments later, Molander lay flat on his back on the asphalt in front of him.
He’d managed to pull him out of the van, and for a brief moment, he managed to register that his colleague was flipping onto his stomach in an attempt to get back on his feet, while his assistants tugged and pulled at Fabian from behind. But they were all too late. He had already lunged.
When he landed, he was on top of Molander. The struggle was over, and he pressed his colleague’s face into the asphalt with one hand while reaching for his handcuffs with the other.
‘Hey! Fabian?’ The assistant’s voice started as a vague murmur of disjointed words but quickly became clearer, as though his hearing was being reconnected. ‘Have you lost your mind?’ Soon after, he felt two hands start to tug at him again.
‘Let go of me!’ he bellowed, trying to fend them off and cuff Molander’s hands behind his back at the same time.
‘Bloody hell. What the fuck are you doing?’ said the other assistant, and the two hands became four and together they managed to pull him off Molander and drag him away across the asphalt. They didn’t let go of him until he drew his gun.
‘Listen to me,’ he said as he got to his feet, wiped the blood out of his eyes with his jacket sleeve and glanced over at Molander to make sure he was still on the ground. ‘Odd as it may sound, Ingvar Molander, your boss and my colleague, is suspected of committing a number of murders. I’m respectfully asking you to back away so I can arrest him. Okay?’
The assistants looked from the gun in his hand to Molander and back again.
‘What are you talking about, murders?’ one of them said finally. ‘Are you saying Ingvar—’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so. But this isn’t the time for questions. I can’t say any more about it right now anyway,’ Fabian replied. The blood kept getting in his eyes. ‘So I’ll ask you again. Back off and let me do my job.’
The two assistants didn’t seem to know what to do.
‘Back off!’ he roared, and he aimed his gun at them, which made them raise their hands above their heads and back away while he wiped the blood out of his eyes with his sleeve again. ‘There. Good. Now I want you to—’
‘Drop the gun!’ interrupted a voice that didn’t belong to either of the assistants or to Molander. ‘I said, drop it!’
He recognized it, but couldn’t place it until he turned around and saw Tuvesson approaching with her own gun held firmly in both hands.
‘Astrid, calm down,’ he said, raising his free hand. ‘Let me explain.’
‘I want you to drop your weapon! And I want you to do it now!’ Tuvesson stopped about ten feet from Fabian with her gun pointed straight at him.
‘For fuck’s sake, would you let me explain—’
‘Just do what I say or I’ll shoot!’
Fabian put the gun on the ground and shook his head. ‘This is a mistake, Astrid. Just so you know. Your biggest ever.’
‘Oh yeah? I’m the one making a mistake?’ Tuvesson nodded. ‘Interesting. So you’re not the one who’s been pursuing his own agenda over the past few weeks, completely neglecting our biggest case ever? It’s not a mistake when you point your gun at the coastguard one day and your own colleagues the next?’
‘Astrid, I can explain,’ Fabian said, while Molander started to get up. ‘If you would just let me…’
‘I don’t know how many times I’ve told you we work as a team,’ Tuvesson cut him off. ‘That we’re honest with each other and share our thoughts and ideas. And yet you continue to lie to my face again and again. You say you need to look after your family but in reality, you’re somewhere else. Or like now, when you promised to come straight to the meeting and instead you drove over here. Yes, you don’t have to look so surprised. I’ve been watching you recently, via a GPS tracker on your car, and it’s been interesting, to say the least.’
‘Are you done?’ Fabian said, mentally going over the last few days in an attempt to understand what it meant that the tracker had been Tuvesson’s and not Molander’s.
‘I don’t know. I’m asking you. Am I? Because honestly, I have no earthly idea what this is all about.’
‘It’s about Molander. Simple as that,’ Fabian replied. ‘He’s not who you think he is. The truth is, he killed both Hugo Elvin and his—’
‘Elvin?’ Tuvesson broke in. ‘Killed? What are you talking about? That was suicide.’
‘No.’ Fabian shook his head. ‘It was just made to look like it, and I’m afraid Elvin’s not Molander’s only victim.’
‘Hold on a minute. Are you seriously standing here accusing Ingvar, a member of our team, of having—’
‘Astrid, if you think I’ve been distracted and you’ve suspected me of having my own agenda, you’re absolutely right. Ever since Elvin’s funeral, I’ve been working on my own investigation, of Molander. An investigation Elvin himself started a few years ago.’
Tuvesson shook her head as though she were unable to take in what he was saying.
‘I swear,’ Fabian went on. ‘I wanted to tell you. But I couldn’t. Not until I had enough proof, and I didn’t, not until just now. Astrid, he’s killed at least five, probably six people. I was about to arrest him when you arrived. Call Hillevi Stubbs if you don’t believe me. She’s been helping me and can confirm every word I’ve just said.’
Tuvesson’s face was ashen and she was holding her gun as though it were the only thing keeping her from falling over. ‘Is this true, Ingvar?’ she said, turning to Molander. ‘Is what he’s saying true? Ingvar, answer me? Is it?’
‘Both yes and no. It’s true Elvin started his own secret investigation. But it wasn’t about me, it was about Fabian, because he suspected Fabian was the one who drugged Ingela Ploghed, his old classmate, and cut out her uterus, which later caused her to commit suicide. He brought it up with me several times, but unfortunately, I didn’t take him seriously until he died.’ Molander swallowed. ‘Don’t ask me how, but somehow Fabian must have found the case file.’ He shook his head and looked as though he was about to burst into tears at any moment. ‘It’s just awful. Elvin was one of my best friends.’
‘Astrid, come on,’ Fabian said. ‘Surely you don’t believe—’
‘You stay where you are!’ Tuvesson shouted at Fabian.
‘For fuck’s sake! He’s just making stuff up! Can’t you tell—’
‘I said shut up! Not another word!’
‘Making stuff up?’ Molander threw his hands up. ‘Why would I make stuff up when I can prove he killed both Elvin and Ploghed?’
Tuvesson looked from Molander to Fabian and back again, still clutching her gun.
‘Think about it,’ Molander continued. ‘Fabian’s been here for two years. That’s as long as any of us have known him. Two years, which coincides with when all these problems began. Right? I don’t know how much you know about his history in Stockholm, but two of his closest colleagues there died under mysterious circumstances. Just a few months later, he moved down here. And then there’s his son, who’s in custody in Denmark on suspicion of being a member of the Smiley Gang?’
‘But Ingvar, I don’t understand? Why didn’t you say something?’ Tuvesson asked. ‘If you knew about all these things, why didn’t you say something?’
Molander turned to Fabian, swallowed, and then looked back at Tuvesson. ‘Gertrud,’ he said finally, his bottom lip trembling. ‘I said she left me, but that’s not true. It’s Fabian… He’s taken her.’ He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. ‘So what was I supposed to do? You of all people should know how much I love her.’
Tuvesson thought about that for several seconds before finally nodding. ‘So that’s why you called in the middle of the night, both last night and on Sunday?’
‘What? What do you mean, called?’ Molander said before realizing Tuvesson had turned to Fabian, who was nodding.
‘Astrid, how long have we worked together, you and me?’ Molander went on. ‘It must be fourteen, fifteen years. Right?’
‘Sixteen this August,’ Tuvesson replied, turning back to him.
‘We’ve been colleagues and friends for almost sixteen years.’
‘Yes, we have.’ Tuvesson nodded and fixed him with a level stare. ‘And yet I’ve never been able to fully trust you.’
‘What? Why wouldn’t you be able to trust me?’ Molander spread his arms.
‘That’s a good question. But I haven’t, now that I think about it. Not ever.’
‘Astrid, when haven’t you been able to trust—’
‘Get back down on the ground, face down, arms and legs out.’
‘Are you serious? Are you going to—’
‘Ingvar, I’m begging you,’ Tuvesson cut him off, looking like she was fighting to hold it together. ‘Don’t make this harder than it already is.’
Molander thought about it for a moment before finally gritting his teeth and lying back down. Tuvesson nodded for Fabian to go over and handcuff his arms behind his back.
After everything Fabian had been through, it went surprisingly smoothly and when he was done, he and Tuvesson pulled Molander to his feet and started to walk him towards the car park in silence.
No one spoke. Not even Molander’s assistants. It was as though every word they might need had suddenly gone missing, replaced by silence. A vacuum-like silence that spread to everything around them. To the tourists who suddenly stopped chattering and the cars that stopped passing by on the street. To the dogs that were no longer barking and even the gravel underneath their feet, which no longer made a sound. It was as though the world was holding its breath.
The sound that suddenly broke the stillness made them all stop and turn to each other.
Three different sounds from three different pockets at once.
Fabian and Tuvesson pulled out their phones.
The message was from Lilja and had been sent to the whole team, including Molander. It looked like it contained quite a lot of information. But Fabian only needed to see the words Milwokh and Tivoli in the subject line to know Tuvesson was going to have to take Molander back to the station by herself.