Marked for Life (7 page)

Per came back and Jana looked suspiciously at the large measures in the glasses he put down on the table.

“How strong?” she said.

“A single.”

Jana glared at her dining companion.

“Okay, okay, a double then. Sorry.”

Jana accepted his apology. She sipped her drink and made a face at the dry taste.

Somewhat later, when they had emptied the contents of the glasses, and Per had insisted on ordering two more, the conversation had turned into collegial bickering about morality and ethics in the world of law. After having discussed various stories about much-publicized cases and lawyers of doubtful reputation, the conversation turned to the problem of tired lay magistrates.

“I've said it before and I'll say it again, the lay-magistrate system should be radically changed. Instead of political nominees they should appoint people who are interested in law and justice,” said Per.

“I agree,” said Jana.

“You want people who are dedicated. After all, their votes on the magistrates' bench are decisive.”

“Absolutely.”

“Now two adolescents in Stockholm have lodged an appeal on the grounds that one of the lay magistrates had a snooze during the court proceedings.”

“Yes, I heard about that.”

“It's simply not acceptable that we have to incur the expense of a retrial just because a lay magistrate dozed off during the court hearing. He should be docked his pay. Unbelievable,” said Per.

He took a gulp of his drink, then leaned across the table and gave Jana a serious look. Jana met his eyes. Serious too.

“What?” she asked.

“How are you getting on with the Hans Juhlén murder?”

“You know I can't say anything about that.”

“I know. But how's it going?”

“It's not going at all.”

“What's happening?”

“You heard what I said.”

“Can't you tell me a little? Off the record?”

“Drop it.”

“Is there some dirt there?”

Per smirked at Jana and his eyebrows went up and down.

“Bit of a dirty story there, right? There's usually some dirt when it's about bosses.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“I interpret your silence as a yes.”

“But you can't do that.”

“Can't I? Cheers, by the way!”

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

Wednesday, April 18

JOHN HERMANSSON FOUND THE BOY.

Seventy-eight years old and a widower for five years, John lived at Viddviken, a little village by the coast, five kilometers from Arkösund. The house was really too large for the single man and needed far too many hours of maintenance. But what kept him there was his love of the natural surroundings. Since his wife had died, he had trouble sleeping. He usually woke up very early in the morning and instead of lying in bed he would get up, regardless of the weather, and go for a long walk. Even on a chilly morning like this. He had stepped into his Wellingtons, pulled on his anorak and gone out. The sun had just started to rise and was spreading on the frosty grass in the garden. The air felt damp.

John passed the gate and decided for once to skip the forest and walk down to the sea instead. It was only a couple of hundred meters to the shore and the rocks facing Bråviken Bay. He walked down the narrow gravel lane to the water. The gravel crunched under his feet.

He followed the narrow lane that turned off to the right and after the two big pine trees he reached the sea. The water was like a mirror in front of him. That was unusual. There were usually high waves in the bay. John took a deep breath and could see it as he exhaled. Just as he was about to go back, he caught sight of something strange by the shore. Something silvery that glistened. He went closer to the ditch and bent down to look. It was a gun and it had blood on it.

John scratched his head. A bit farther away, the grass was red. But his eyes fastened on what lay next to that, under a fir tree. A boy. He lay with his face down with wide-open eyes. His left arm was bent at an unnatural angle and his head was covered in blood.

The nausea came quickly and John breathed heavily. His legs failed him and he had to sit down on a rock. He was unable to get up again, just sat there with his hand over his mouth and stared at the dead boy.

In his heart he knew that this horrific scene would be etched in his memory.

Forever.

* * *

The alarm reached the Norrköping Police at 05:02.

Thirty minutes later two patrol cars turned down the gravel lane at Viddviken. Another five minutes later the ambulance came for John Hermansson who was still sitting on the rock by the sea. A man who was delivering newspapers had noticed the old guy and asked him if everything was okay. He had pointed at the dead boy and then rocked back and forth and made a strange mumbling noise.

Just after 06:00 yet another police car turned down the lane.

Gunnar Öhrn had hurried across to the ditch closely followed by Henrik Levin and Mia Bolander. Anneli Lindgren came directly after them with a bag containing the tools necessary for a technical investigation of the finding place.

“Shot,” Anneli noted and put on her latex gloves.

The boy's lifeless eyes stared at her; his lips were dry and cracked. His hooded sweater was dirty and discolored by the coagulated blood. Without a word she pulled out her mobile and phoned the medical examiner, Björn Ahlmann.

He answered after the second ring.

“Yes?”

“There's a job for you.”

* * *

It couldn't be prevented. The news flash from the TT national wire service about a young boy having been found murdered near Norrköping spread at an incredible speed to all the media in Sweden, and the Norrköping police press officer had calls from a dozen journalists who wanted more details. Since it involved a minor shot to death, the entire nation was engaged, and on the morning TV shows various criminological experts expressed their views. They had found a weapon near the body. Many people assumed that the boy was from criminal circles, which sparked discussions about the level of violence among today's youth and its consequences.

When the phone rang with the news, it woke Jana Berzelius from her sleep. She got out of bed and decided to take a brisk shower to wake herself up. Since she had a bit of a hangover, she would much rather have stayed in bed. It was Per's fault. They ended up having three drinks, more than she could handle. And before that they had shared a bottle of wine with their meal and ignored the advice about drinking one glass of water for every glass of something stronger.

After the refreshing shower she took a pill for her headache and allowed herself a few moments, her hair still wet, to lie stretched out on her bed. She counted slowly to twenty, then got dressed, brushed her teeth and looked for a packet of peppermint-flavored gum. After that, she was ready for the meeting at the police station.

“We are here to summarize what we know about the boy who was found dead out at Viddviken this morning.”

Gunnar used a magnet to put up the photo on the whiteboard before going on.

“Anneli, who is still out at the scene, said that the boy had been shot and that he died sometime between 19:00 and 23:00 on Sunday night. According to her, the broken vegetation indicated that the boy had been in movement and judging by the injuries to the body, he was shot from behind.”

Gunnar took a sip of water and cleared his throat.

“At present we don't know whether the victim has other injuries or was sexually assaulted. The autopsy will show that and the medical examiner has given his word that he will put together a report as soon as possible. We hope as soon as tomorrow. The boy's clothing has been sent to forensics.”

He got up from the chair.

“We are still combing the area around the murder scene, but as yet we haven't got any footprints or anything else from the perpetrator. The only thing that we are relatively certain about is that the dead boy at Viddviken is the same boy who was seen on that security camera footage from Östanvägen.”

“And the murder weapon?” said Henrik.

“We don't know exactly yet. What we do know is that he was shot and a weapon was found near him. But the weapon has not been confirmed as the one that killed him. What we are certain about is that the weapon found near the boy was a Glock, and Hans Juhlén was killed...”

“...with a Glock.” Henrik filled in the sentence.

“Exactly. The serial number is as yet unknown. I have sent the weapon to the national lab which will examine the bullets still in the gun. If they match those that killed Hans, we will have reason to suspect that this boy was somehow involved in Juhlén's murder. We've taken his fingerprints too.”

“And?” said Mia.

“They matched. The handprints and fingerprints in Hans Juhlén's house match the boy's,” said Gunnar.

“So he was there,” said Mia.

“Yes. And my first guess says that he...”

“...is the murderer.”

Jana mumbled the words and felt a creeping sensation along her backbone. She was surprised at her own reaction.

“...is the murderer, exactly,” Gunnar made clear.

“But, what the hell, kids don't murder people. Not just like that. And especially not here in Norrköping, not in Lindö. I think it's extremely unlikely that he could have done it, or done it alone,” said Mia.

“Perhaps. But for the moment we don't have anything else to go on,” said Gunnar.

“But then, what's the motive?” said Henrik. “Would a child send threatening letters to a head of department at the Migration Board?”

“It's up to us to find out whether the boy is the murderer or not. And we must find out who killed the boy,” said Gunnar, breathing heavily.

“But who is the boy?”

“We don't know that yet either. Nor do we know why he was in Viddviken or how he came to be there. At any rate, he hasn't been lying in the water, that much is clear. He was on the shore but his back was turned against the sea,” said Gunnar.

“He was running away from somebody,” said Henrik.

“It seems so,” said Gunnar.

“No tire tracks?” said Henrik.

“So far, we haven't found any, no,” said Gunnar.

“So he came by boat, then. And the perpetrator must have been onboard,” said Henrik.

“But we can't exclude the possibility that he got there by car or some other means,” said Gunnar.

“Witnesses?” said Mia.

“None. But we are checking the entire coast from Viddviken to Arkösund.”

“But still, who is he? The boy,” said Henrik.

Gunnar took a deep breath.

“So far he isn't in any registry that we have. But, Mia, I want you to check through all cases of missing children. Check new ones as well as old, even those where the period of possible prosecution has expired. Get a photo of the boy and talk with the social services, check schools and youth clubs. We might have to ask the public for help,” said Gunnar.

“Via the media?” said Henrik.

“Yes, but I'd rather not do that. There would be such a...how can I put it?...such a circus.”

Gunnar went up to the map on the wall and pointed out the finding place.

“This is where the body was found. So we're looking for some sort of a boat or vehicle that passed Viddviken on the water between 19:00 and 23:00 Sunday night.”

He moved his hand upwards across the map.

“We've put in a unit to go door-to-door there, and there's a dog patrol going over the immediate area.”

“What shall we do about Kerstin?” said Jana. “If you can't get me more evidence, I'll have to release her early tomorrow morning.”

“Perhaps she knows who the boy is?” said Mia.

“We must also ask her about her husband's financial situation,” said Gunnar.

“Ola, make sure you have scoured his bank accounts. Private, savings account, investments, you name it. Check them all.”

Ola nodded in response.

“Henrik, interview Kerstin again. We haven't finished with her. Not yet,” said Gunnar.

CHAPTER
FOURTEEN

IT HAD HURT.
She knew it would. She had heard
it
through the walls. But she didn't know it would hurt so badly.

One of the grown-ups had told her to follow him into the dark storeroom. There he had tied her hands behind her back and forced her head forward. With a sharp piece of glass he carved her new name on her neck. It said KER. From now on that was what she would be called, that was who she would become and remain so forever. While the man with the ugly scar gave her an injection, he had conveyed to her that she would never be hurt again, nothing would happen to her now. At the same time that the sense of calm spread through her body, a strength also grew within her. She didn't feel fear any longer. She felt powerful. Undefeatable. Immortal.

The grown-ups let her stay in the storeroom with her hands tied so that she wouldn't touch her wound until it had healed. When she was finally let out, she felt weak and cold and had no appetite.

The girl tried to see the carved letters in a mirror but she couldn't. She put her hand on the back of her neck. It stung; the skin was still sensitive. A scab had formed and the girl couldn't help fingering it, but then it started to bleed. She was angry with herself and tried to stop the bleeding by applying pressure with the sleeve of her sweater. But the red stains on the cloth grew larger each time she pressed it against her neck.

She looked at her arm in front of her. The stains were large and she turned on the tap and held her arm under it to try to get rid of the blood. But it didn't help, it only got worse. Now the sleeve was bloody and wet.

She leaned against the wall and looked up at the ceiling. The glow from the round lamp was weak and there were dead flies inside the glass globe. How would they punish her now? She wasn't meant to touch her neck. That's what they had said. The wound had to heal completely. If you touched it, it would look much worse. Ugly.

She slid down to the floor with her back against the wall. The break was soon over; she couldn't stay much longer in the toilet. How long had she been on the island? A month? Perhaps several months. The trees had at any rate lost all their leaves. She had thought that the golden-brown leaves were so lovely. At home she had never seen a tree that changed color like that. Every time she stood to attention in the yard, she wished she could cast herself into the piles of golden leaves. But she never could. She was only allowed to fight. All the time. Against the wiry boy Minos. And even against Danilo. He was bigger and stronger than she, so she hadn't been any match for him. He tried not to hit her too hard, but eventually he had to. If you didn't fight, you got beaten, beaten a lot, so Danilo hit her. At first he tried to be careful, a light thump and a slap. But then the man with the ugly scar had lifted him up so violently by his hair that he pulled some clumps out.

She had tried to defend herself; she had attacked Danilo with kicks and blows, but nothing helped. In the end Danilo had punched her so hard with his fist that he split her lip. It was swollen for three days. Then it was time for the next fight. This time she was pitted against another boy who was one year younger than her. When he deliberately aimed a blow at her painful lip, she became furious and slammed the boy on his ear so hard that he collapsed onto the floor. She kept on kicking and punching him until the man with the scar stopped her. Then he smiled. He pointed at his eyes, his throat and his crotch.

“Eye, throat, crotch,” he had said. Nothing else.

The girl heard the bell ring. It was time for the next lesson.

She wrung out her wet sleeve as tightly as she could. The water dripped onto the floor and formed a little puddle. She stretched out her hand to rip off some paper and wiped up the water. Then she got up and flushed the paper down the dirty toilet.

She rolled up her sleeve a little to hide the bloody stains, unlocked the door and went out.