Marked for Life (26 page)

“How are you getting on with the investigation? I've got a feeling it was wrong to let you take care of this,” he said.

“It's going fine,” she said briefly.

“Have you charged anybody?”

“Yes. For the death of Thomas Rydberg. But our suspicions about the perpetrator Lena Wikström are based on assumptions and a few witness statements. She hasn't confessed to the murder of Rydberg yet. As the prosecutor I'm concerned about actually making the charges stick and being able to prove anything.”

“And then you've got Juhlén, the boy and the containers. How many murders are we actually dealing with here?”

“It's unclear. We haven't counted all the victims yet. The state of decomposure of the bodies is making it difficult.”

“So there will probably be dreadful statistics in other words?”

“Yes.”

“Oh heavens above. An enormous murder case to unravel, involving multiple victims, perhaps the largest ever in this country...”

Torsten got up and rolled his shoulders to release some tension.

“Gunnar Öhrn isn't entirely convinced that you're on the right track as far as Lena is concerned.”

“He isn't?”

“No, he thinks she's keeping back some important information, but not that she is the brains behind this horrible business.”

“Has he said that?”

Torsten nodded.

“And he thinks you're a bit too silent to be the investigating prosecutor,” he said.

“Oh, indeed?”

“Yes, it might be a good idea to take the lead a bit more.”

Jana gritted her teeth.

“Okay.”

“Don't take it so personally.”

“No, it's all right.”

“Good.”

He patted her on the shoulder before moving along to his office on his stiff legs.

She disappeared immediately into her own office and closed the door behind her. She would have to have a talk with Gunnar!

* * *

Gunnar Öhrn leaned back in his office chair and rubbed his eyes. The press conference was over and the reporters had asked an overwhelming number of questions about the salvage work. But the press officer, Sara Arvidsson, had only revealed that the police didn't want to comment on anything specific. It was only a question of time before the media fathomed the extent of the crimes and got hold of the pictures of all the dead bodies found in the containers. Then it would no longer be possible to answer as evasively. He had a strange feeling that he was being observed, and he twisted round on his chair.

Jana Berzelius stood in the doorway.

“Oh, you gave me a fright,” he said.

“I have been informed that you think I am weak as the investigating prosecutor,” she said.

“I...”

She held up her hand and cut him off.

“It would be more suitable if you made your constructive criticism known to me directly, instead of talking to my boss,” she said.

“Torsten and me, we're old colleagues.”

“I know. But if it's about me then you ought to talk with me first. Not with him. So you think I'm doing a bad job as the prosecutor in this investigation?”

“No. You're not a bad prosecutor. I just consider that you ought to be more active than you are. You seem to be absent and... I don't know...perhaps not really committed.”

“Thank you for your opinion. Was that all?”

“Yes.”

“In that case I'll say what I really came for.”

“Which is?”

“I want to check out an island.”

“Why?”

“I have received some information that something is going on there that has to do with the investigation.”

“Such as what?”

“That's what we will have to find out.”

“What's the island called?”

“I don't know exactly. It's somewhere off Gränsö Island.”

“How do you know something's going on there?”

“I received a tip.”

“Hang on a moment. You got a tip about an island you don't know the name of. From whom?”

“Anonymous.”

“So you've had an anonymous tip about an island?”

“Correct.”

“When did you get it?”

“An hour ago.”

“How?”

Jana swallowed.

“It doesn't matter, I got a tip,” she said quickly.

“Was that when you got that cut on your forehead?”

“No, that happened when I was out running,” she said, hiding her throbbing index finger behind her back.

“And you've no idea where the tip came from?”

“No, it was anonymous like I said.”

Gunnar became silent a moment, and looked at Jana.

“Did it come from a man or a woman?”

“The voice was deep, so presumably a man.”

“And how come this man contacted you and not the police directly? How did he know you were involved and get your number?”

“No idea, all I know is that we ought to check out that island.”

“But I want to know why. And what can we expect out there? Perhaps it's a trap? A criminal gang that wants to sabotage the investigation? We're on the track of something enormously nasty here, Jana.”

“Listen,” she said. “This is the first time I've received an anonymous tip and I take it very seriously, and you should too.”

He nodded slowly and sighed.

“Okay,” he said. “I'll send Henrik and Mia.”

“I'll go with them. Then I'll be a more active prosecutor,” said Jana and went straight out.

CHAPTER
FORTY-EIGHT

Friday, April 27

HENRIK LEVIN, MIA BOLANDER
and Jana Berzelius drove out to the archipelago in silence. Jana looked at the barren landscape. The closer they came to the coast, the more the rocky landscape dominated the view outside the car windows. When they arrived and got out of the car she could breathe in the fresh sea air.

Arkösund was a small coastal locality which attracted tourists who come by car as well as those with boats. There was a service center, a general store, a gas station and several boat-building firms. A hotel had recently opened and there were a couple of pubs and restaurants to choose between. A town bulletin board announced the upcoming First of May celebrations to be held in the village. A bonfire was promised as well as a traditional procession with torches from one of the harbors for visiting boats. A fireworks display and a speech, evidently by a local politician, would end the evening. The bulletin board also had a poster with a picture of a musician and the details of when he would be performing at the local outdoor theatre. The lines from the flagpoles chattered in the wind. Though the boat season wasn't in full swing yet, already three plastic boats were by the jetty.

Jana looked across the marina and could see a short man walking toward them with one hand on his cap to keep it from blowing away. The man introduced himself as Ove Lundgren and said he was the harbormaster. He was the man who kept an eye on all the moorings and did the regular maintenance work for all four small marinas. He had on rubber boots and a wind jacket. His face was tanned and weather-beaten. He helped the three of them onboard a Nimbus boat he had borrowed for the day. He talked warmly about the archipelago boat lines while he maneuvered the boat between the high waves.

“There are lots of islands out here,” he said. “And I'm not sure but I think that your Gränsö Island is a couple of nautical miles off the Kopparholm Islands. For fifty years it was forbidden to visit the islands, it was a restricted area and only the army was there. But we're going even further out.”

“Are we?” Mia squeaked, and took a firm grip of the railing so as not to slide back and forth on the seat in the choppy sea.

The boat went quite fast and passed several islands, some of them with gigantic summer houses that belonged to various business leaders and people who had inherited property. Ove knew the names of all the owners.

The islands became more spread out and the grand buildings now lay way behind them.

Mia was feeling seasick and doing her best to smother the impulse to retch. Her skin became pale and clammy. She gulped in the sea air and looked straight out over the railing at the horizon.

They passed several islands. Big and small. Some were deserted and barren. Others were inhabited and full of birds.

She felt some dry heaves and tried to squelch her nausea. She closed her eyes for a brief moment and when she opened them, she saw Jana opposite her. Jana wasn't bloody fucking bothered at all by the rough sea. Mia muttered to herself and turned her head away. She wasn't going to let Jana see her discomfort. Hell no.

* * *

After following the charts for a couple of hours they had reached the open sea. Finally they caught sight of a relatively large and tree-covered island that Ove pointed out named Grimsö, and he steered in that direction. When they got close to the rocks he slowed down.

Mia lifted her head to see the island better, but because of all the vegetation and especially the fir trees it was impossible to say whether there were any buildings there.

Ove saw a rock jetty and expressed his surprise that anybody had bothered to build one this far out in the archipelago. He maneuvered the boat to the side of the jetty and helped Henrik and then Jana and Mia to climb out.

Mia still had her hand over her mouth and as soon as she got off the boat she vomited.

“Let's go,” said Henrik. Mia waved in an attempt to say
You go ahead.

“You go on, I'll look after her,” said Ove.

“Shall we?” said Henrik, and Jana nodded in answer. They climbed up the rocks.

“So you got a tip?” he said to her after a while.

“Yes,” said Jana.

“Totally anonymous?”

“Yes.”

“Weird.”

“Mmm.”

“And you've no idea who it was?”

“No idea.”

Henrik took the lead along a narrow path and they walked in silence through a grove of trees and thick brushwood. The path opened up a little and then divided into two. They chose the path that looked the most used, and turned to the right.

Henrik had his hand on his holster, looked around several times and listened intently for any sound. The trees thinned out as they went down the path, and when they went round a large rock they caught sight of a house.

Jana stopped and immediately took a step back. She was terrified.

Henrik stopped too with a surprised look on his face. He looked at her, then at the house, then back at her again.

“What's the matter?” he said.

“It's okay,” she said and her facial expression immediately became its old self again.

She walked past Henrik with determined steps. She saw that he raised his eyebrows and felt how he watched her as she strode toward the house.

She had a weird feeling in her body, as though she was shut in behind some thick glass, as if she had stood still and watched herself walk up the gravel path to the house...as if her body reacted but not her being.

Her legs were taking her in the direction of the house.

Mechanically.

Then suddenly she had the urge to rush forward and yank open the door. Something about the house was familiar to her. It was... What was it?

She came to a halt.

Henrik stopped too, right behind her.

She looked up at the house and felt an equally strong urge to turn around and run back to the boat. But she couldn't do that. She had to control herself now. She looked down at the gravel and picked up a few of the small stones. In her memory some vague images appeared and she saw now how, as a little girl, she had struggled with her small feet in the gravel. And she remembered how painful it had been when she fell on it. She held the gravel in her open hand, looked down at it and then squeezed it tightly with her fingers. She clenched her hand so hard that her knuckles went white.

Henrik cleared his throat.

“I'll go ahead,” he said and walked past her. “Stay here. I'll make sure it's safe first.”

He walked quickly across the grassed area and stopped a few meters from the front steps. He noticed no movement inside the house. He walked slowly up the rotting wooden steps, pulled out his gun and knocked on the door with its peeling paint. He waited but there was no answer.

At the side of the house, rainwater dripped into an overflowing barrel from a crooked and rusty drain pipe.

He walked all around the house and stopped at every window, but couldn't see a living soul. But he did discover a barn a bit further away.

He signaled to Jana then disappeared behind the corner in the direction of the red barn.

She stayed where she was for a few moments with the gravel in her hand. Silence surrounded her. Her muscles relaxed, the blood came back into her hand and she let the gravel fall to the ground. She slowly walked up toward the house and stopped in front of the steps. Then she went to the side of them, closer to the cracked wood-paneled façade, and crouched down by the base of the building to look in through a dirty, narrow cellar window. She saw a small room. The ceiling was low. There was a workbench along one side, two shelves with cardboard boxes and newspapers. Some stairs, a stair railing and a little stool.

Like a pressure wave, another memory came flooding back to her. She immediately realized that she had been inside there. In the dark. And somebody had been inside there with her.

Who was it?

Minos...

“Have you found anything?”

Mia Bolander had arduously made her way along the gravel path. Her earlier face, so pale, was now bright red. She must have run to catch up.

Jana got up from the cellar window.

“Where's Henrik? Has he checked the area? Is he inside the house?” Mia said.

Jana had no desire to talk with Mia. And she certainly didn't want to examine the area with her or anyone. Another unsettling feeling welled up inside her. In some inexplicable way she felt an enormous need to protect the place. To drive Mia and Henrik away. They had no right to be here. It was her house. Nobody else should go inside. Nobody should nose around here. Nobody. Only her.

Mia came closer.

Jana tensed her muscles and lowered her head. Made herself ready to defend.

To fight.

Then Henrik came running. He ran in panic with eyes like saucers and his mouth half open.

When he saw Mia he shouted as loud as he could: “Call for backup! Get everybody here, everybody!”

* * *

Phobos was barely nine years old, but even so he was an old hand.

He washed the bend of his arm with soap and water. Then he used gravity to get the blood to the right place. He swung his arm and clenched his fist. Sat down on the floor and tied the compress hard.

The needle hit his vein with the angular filed edge upwards. It was the same vein, the same procedure, in the same room, in the same building. As usual. Everything was as usual.

He drew the syringe handle back and saw the dark red and thick blood flow into the syringe. He immediately released the tie around his arm and slowly injected the rest of the drug.

When there was one unit left in the syringe, he started to feel it. It wasn't the same feeling. He immediately pulled the needle out of his arm. Two drops of blood ended up on his trousers.

The last thing he remembered was that he shouted out with an unrecognizable voice. His heart rushed. His head spun round. Suddenly he couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't feel. The pressure over his chest was enormous. He gasped for air. Tried desperately to stay awake.

Slowly, slowly he came back.

And when his vision returned, he saw
Papa in front of him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Papa said and hit him hard on the cheek.

“I...”

“What?”

Yet another slap.

“I just wanted to sleep,” Phobos mumbled. “Sorry...Papa.”

* * *

The grave was oblong and looked like a ditch. The children had been cast down there like animals. They lay there in several layers, tightly packed together and covered with what was presumed to be their clothes.

“There are about thirty skeletons,” said Anneli. “But here are also bodies that have been buried about one year.”

From the bottom of the ditch she looked more like an archeologist than a forensics expert. She had come by helicopter as had most of the other police officers and forensics who were now on the island.

The house was being examined in great detail.

“What do we do?” said Gunnar, overcome by resignation, from the edge of the ditch.

“Every skeleton must be taken up one at a time, examined, photographed, weighed and described,” said Anneli. “The bodies must be taken to the pathology lab.”

“And how long will that take?”

“Four days. At least.”

“You've got one day.”

“But that's impossible...”

“No buts. Make sure you get help and do it. We must act quickly now.”

“Gunnar? Can you come here?”

Henrik Levin came out from the barn and waved toward his boss with both hands.

“And call Björn Ahlmann right away. Make sure he prepares the lab immediately!” he said over his shoulder to Anneli while he strode across toward the entrance to the barn.

It was damp inside and it took a while for his eyes to adjust to the dark. He blinked a few times before he could look around.

What he saw, confounded him.

A gym. About 100 square meters.

Gunnar let his gaze sweep the premises. A rubber mat on the floor, a banister along one side and a punching bag hanging from the ceiling. In one corner lay ten-kilo weights on top of each other with a thick rope next to them. On the left was a shabby storeroom with old furniture and next to that a door which looked as if it hid a lavatory. At the far end was yet another door with a lever tumbler lock. Here and there, rain water had seeped in and together with the dirt on the floor formed brown pools. It smelt of fungus.

“What the hell is this place?” he said.

* * *

Jana Berzelius had come to the interior staircase in the house. She stopped there a few moments. She felt nauseous, uncertain. Should she go up and look or not?

“Just don't touch anything,” said police officer Gabriel Mellqvist who was standing by the entrance.

Something about his facial expression seemed to question her actions, but Jana pretended not to notice.

The house was deserted and would soon be examined by the forensic team. She knew that. She also knew that she really shouldn't be inside there. But still she quickly went upstairs. On her way up she noticed that there were hardly any dust or spiderwebs on the banisters, and she had the impression that somebody had been in the house recently. She shivered as she turned to the left at the top of the stairs, and entered a large room. The planks of the wooden floor were damp and had warped. Four single beds with steel frames were placed close to each other. The mattresses had holes with batting coming out and rat droppings everywhere. A broken lamp hung from the ceiling; the walls were a sad gray color.

Jana's gaze fastened on a chest of drawers next to one of the beds. She went up and pulled out the top drawer, which was empty. Then she pulled out all the others, and they were empty too. Then she used both hands to pull the chest away from the wall as quietly as she could. She leaned down and looked at the wall. Two faces were scratched on the wallpaper; they showed a man and a woman. A mama and a papa. Carved by a child's hand.