Stalker (31 page)

The central kitchen of the NBA on Kungsholmen in Stockholm smells of boiled potatoes. The cooks are standing at their stoves dressed in protective white clothing and hairnets. The sound of a slicing machine echoes off the tiled walls and metal worktops.

Erik asked Nelly to go with them to meet Irina Kaliova. It could be useful to have a female psychologist on hand when the woman finds out that her sister had been a victim of the sex-trafficking industry before she was murdered.

Irina is dressed like all the others, in a hairnet and white coat. She’s standing by a row of huge saucepans hanging from fixed hooks. She’s staring at a display panel with a look of concentration, taps a command and pulls a lever to tip one of the pans.

‘Irina?’ Joona asks.

She lifts her head and looks inquisitively at the three strangers. Her cheeks are red and her forehead sweaty from the steam rising from the boiling water, and a strand of loose hair is hanging over her brow.

‘Do you speak Swedish?’

‘Yes,’ she says, and carries on working.

‘We’re from the police, the National Criminal Investigation Department.’

‘I’ve got a residence permit,’ she says quickly. ‘Everything’s in my locker, my passport and all my documents.’

‘Is there somewhere we could go and talk?’

‘I need to ask my boss first.’

‘We’ve already spoken to him,’ Joona says.

Irina says something to one of the women, who smiles back. She puts her hairnet in her pocket, then leads them through the noisy kitchen, past a row of food trolleys and into a small staffroom with a sink full of unwashed mugs. There are six chairs around a table with a bowl of apples at its centre.

‘I thought I was about to get the sack,’ she says with a nervous smile.

‘Can we sit down?’ Joona asks.

Irina nods and sits on one of the chairs. She has a pretty, round face, like a fourteen-year-old. Joona looks at her slender shoulders in her white coat, and finds himself thinking of her sister’s white skeleton in the grave.

Natalia used the name Tina as a prostitute, and she was murdered and buried like so much rubbish because she was alone, had no papers, and no one to help her. She was used up by Sweden, and afterwards wasn’t even worth the cost of proper identification.

There’s nothing so hard in police work as having to inform a relative about a death in the course of an investigation.

There’s no way to get used to the pain that fills their eyes, the way all the colour drains from their faces. Any attempt to be sociable, to laugh and joke vanishes. The last thing to go is an effort to appear rational, to try to ask sensible questions.

Irina gathers together some crumbs on the table with a trembling hand. Hope and fear flit across her face.

‘I’m afraid we’ve got bad news,’ Joona says. ‘Your sister Natalia is dead, her remains have just been found.’

‘Now?’ she asks hollowly.

‘She’s been dead for nine years.’

‘I don’t understand …’

‘But she’s only just been found.’

‘In Sweden? I looked for her, I don’t understand.’

‘She had been buried, but couldn’t be identified before, that’s why it’s taken so long.’

The small hands keep moving the crumbs, then slip on to her lap.

‘How did it happen?’ she asks, her eyes still wide-open and empty.

‘We’re not sure yet,’ Erik replies.

‘Her heart was always … she didn’t want to worry us, but sometimes it would just stop beating, it felt like an eternity before it …’

Irina’s chin begins to tremble, she hides her mouth with her hand, looks down and swallows hard.

‘Have you got anyone to talk to after work?’ Nelly asks.

‘What?’

She quickly wipes the tears from her cheeks, swallows again and looks up.

‘OK,’ she says, in a more focused voice. ‘What do I have to do, do I have to pay anything?’

‘Nothing, we’d just like to ask a few questions,’ Joona says. ‘Would that be OK?’

She nods, and starts picking at the crumbs on the table again. They hear a metallic sound from the kitchen and someone tries the door.

‘Did you have any contact with your sister while she was in Sweden?’

Irina shakes her head, her mouth moves slightly, then she looks up.

‘I was the only person who knew she was heading to Stockholm, but I promised not to say anything. I was young, I didn’t understand … She was very stern with me, said she wanted to surprise Mum with her first wages … Nothing ever came, but I spoke to her on the telephone once, she just said that everything would be all right …’

Irina falls silent and drifts off.

‘Did she say where she was living?’

‘We haven’t got any brothers,’ she replies. ‘Dad died when we were little, I don’t remember him but Natalia did … and after Natalia had gone, there was just me and Mum left … Mum missed her so much, she used to cry and worry about her weak heart, and said she just knew that something terrible had happened. So I thought if I could find my sister and take her back home, then everything would be fine … Mum didn’t want me to leave, and she was alone when she died.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Joona says.

‘Thank you. Well, now I know that Natalia is dead,’ Irina says, getting to her feet. ‘I suppose I suspected as much, but now I know.’

‘Do you know where she was living?’

‘No.’

She takes a step towards the door, clearly keen to get away from the whole situation.

‘Please, sit down for a moment,’ Erik asks.

‘OK, but I need to get back to work.’

‘Irina,’ Joona says, with a dark resonance in his voice that makes the young woman listen. ‘Your sister was murdered.’

‘No, I just told you, her heart—’

Irina’s coat catches on the back of the chair, dragging it backwards with her. As the truth sinks in, she loses control of her face. Her cheeks turn white, her lips quiver and her pupils dilate.

‘No,’ she whimpers.

She leans back against the worktop, shakes her head, fumbles across the front of the fridge for something to hold on to. Nelly tries to calm her down, but she pulls free.

‘Irina, you need to—’

‘God, no, not Natalia!’ she cries. ‘She promised …’

She grabs hold of the handle of the fridge, and the door swings open as she falls, dislodging a shelf full of ketchup and jam. Nelly hurries across to her and holds her slender shoulders.

‘
Nje maja ciastra
,’ she gasps. ‘
Nje maja ciastra
…’

She curls up in Nelly’s lap and tries to hold her hand over her mouth as she cries, screaming into her palm and shaking uncontrollably.

After a while she calms down and sits up, but she’s still breathing unevenly between sobs. She wipes her tears and clears her throat weakly, trying to control her breathing.

‘Did someone hurt her?’ she asks in a ragged voice. ‘Did they hit her, did they hit Natalia?’

Her face contorts again as she tries to hold her tears back, but they run down her cheeks.

Joona takes some napkins from a pack on the worktop and hands them to her, then pulls a chair over and sits down in front of her.

‘If you know anything at all, it’s very important that you tell us,’ he says sternly.

‘What could I know?’ she says, looking at them in confusion.

‘We’re just trying to find the person who did this,’ Nelly says, brushing the hair from Irina’s face.

‘You spoke to your sister on the phone,’ Joona goes on. ‘Did she tell you where she lived, or what her job was?’

‘There are those men who trick girls from poor countries, who say they’re going to get good jobs, but Natalia was smart, she said it wasn’t anything like that, that it was real. She promised me, but I’ve been to the furniture factory … no one there had heard of Natalia,
durnaja dziau
ˇ
tjynka
… They’re not employing anyone, haven’t done for years.’

Her eyes are red from crying, and tiny red spots have appeared on the fair skin of her forehead.

‘What’s the name of the factory?’ Erik asks.

‘Sofa Zone,’ she says blankly. ‘It’s out in Högdalen.’

Nelly remains seated on the floor with Irina, stroking her head and promising to stay with her for as long as she wants. Erik exchanges a quick glance with Nelly, then walks back out through the noisy kitchen with Joona.

Margot Silverman is sitting in front of a computer in the investigation room, looking at Erik’s recording of Rocky’s hypnosis again.

His large head is drooping forward as he describes his visit to the Zone in a languid voice. He talks about the dealers and strippers, and the fact that he thought he could pick up some money there.

As Margot listens her eyes drift along the walls of the room. The victims’ patterns of movement are marked in three different colours on the large map.

Every place, every street where they could have come into contact with the preacher is marked.

On the screen, Rocky shakes his head as he says that the preacher smells of fish-guts.

Margot sees the pin in the map marking Rebecka Hansson’s home in Salem.

Serial killers usually stick to their home patch, but in this case the locations are spread out across the most densely populated metropolitan district in Scandinavia.

‘
The preacher snorts back some snot, then starts to speak in a really high voice
,’ Rocky says, breathing unevenly.

Margot shudders, and watches the big man squirm on his chair and howl with angst as he describes the way the preacher cuts the woman’s arm off.

‘
It sounds like when you stick a spade into mud
…’

After the discovery out in Skogskyrkogården, no one doubts that the preacher is the serial killer that they’re all looking for.

She knows it was Joona who persuaded Nils Åhlén to order the body to be exhumed. It would have been much easier if she could work with Joona openly, but Benny Rubin and Petter Näslund are backing up Adam, resisting his involvement.

Margot doesn’t have the authority to let Joona join the investigation, but she’s sure as hell not going to stop him from conducting his own inquiries.

Rocky shakes his head and his shadow moves across the glossy Playboy pinup on the wall behind him.

‘
The preacher chops her arm off at the shoulder
,’ Rocky gasps. ‘
Loosens the tourniquet and drinks
…’

‘
Listen to my voice now
,’ Erik says.

‘
And drinks the blood from her arm … while Tina lies bleeding to death on the floor … Dear God in heaven … Dear God
…’

Inside Margot’s womb the baby moves so violently that she has to lean back and close her eyes for a while.

The preliminary investigation is proceeding systematically according to established routines, but no one really believes that’s going to produce results in time.

The police have knocked on doors and questioned many hundreds of neighbours, they’ve examined all the footage from surveillance and traffic cameras around the crime scenes.

Unless Rocky returns to Karsudden Hospital soon, so that Erik can question him properly, they’ll have to make a public appeal for information about him.

Margot switches the video off, and has a strong feeling that she’s being watched, so gets up and closes the curtains over the window looking out on to the park.

She opens her bag and takes out her powder compact, looks at herself in the little mirror, and puts some more powder on. Her nose has got shiny and the rings under her eyes look darker. She reapplies her lipstick, blots her lips on a letter from the National Police Board, adjusts her hair, then calls Jenny on Skype.

She can see herself on the screen, and as the call is connected she undoes one button on her blouse and moves backwards slightly so that her cheeks are framed better.

Jenny answers almost immediately. She looks cross but attractive, with her messy black hair tumbling over her thin shoulders. She’s wearing a washed-out vest and the little golden heart is shimmering against her neck.

‘Hi, baby,’ Margot says quietly.

‘Have you caught the bad guy yet, then?’

‘I thought I was the bad guy?’ Margot says.

Jenny smiles and stifles a yawn.

‘Did you call the bank about that ridiculous charge?’

‘Yes, and apparently there’s nothing wrong with it,’ Jenny replies.

‘That can’t be right.’

‘So call them yourself.’

‘I just meant … OK, never mind … It’s so irritating when they deduct payments for … oh, what the hell.’

‘What did you want?’ Jenny asks, picking at her armpit.

‘How are the girls?’ Margot asks.

‘Fine,’ Jenny says, glancing off to one side. ‘But Linda’s still a bit down. She needs to learn to make new friends … she’s far too nice.’

‘Being nice is a good thing, surely?’ Margot points out.

‘But she doesn’t know what to do when her best friend says she’s got fed up of her. She just gets upset and sits and waits.’

‘She’ll learn.’

Margot would like to be able to tell Jenny about the investigation, about the meaningless hatred and her feeling that the preacher is close by, watching them all.

She feels worried for herself, because she keeps forgetting all the things that normal people know, and the fact that she’s going to have a baby, and that people can be happy and secure.

‘You look nice,’ Margot says, tilting her head to one side.

‘No, I don’t.’ Jenny grins, then yawns loudly. ‘Right, I’m going to carry on watching a repeat of the Stockholm Horse Show.’

‘OK, I’ll call again later.’

Jenny blows her a kiss and ends the call, leaving Margot looking at her own face. Her father’s nose and those thick, colourless eyebrows. I look like someone’s aunt, she thinks. Like my dad, if he’d been a woman.

The suspicion that there’s something wrong between her and Jenny is snaking its way through Margot’s head when Adam Youssef comes into the room and opens the window facing the park.

He’s been in a meeting with Nathan Pollock and Elton Eriksson from the National Murder Unit in an attempt to prune the list of potential perpetrators and help move the preliminary investigation forward.

‘I had Pollock as one of my lecturers when I was training,’ Margot says.

‘Yes, he said,’ Adam replies as he sits down and leafs through a bundle of papers.

‘Have you got the new profile there?’ Margot asks.

Adam runs his hands through his thick hair in frustration.

‘They just keep repeating things we already know …’

‘That’s how it works, setting up things that seem obvious as the parameters,’ she replies, leaning back.

‘The murders are characterised by a high degree of risk-taking, forensic awareness and excessive brutality,’ he reads. ‘The victims are women of child-bearing age, the crime scenes are the victims’ homes … The motive is instrumental and the violence probably expressive.’

Margot listens to the generalisations and thinks about the fact that Anja’s list of names has grown even longer.

Considering that Sweden is the most secular country in the world, she can’t help thinking that there are an awful lot of priests and preachers.

They’ve now got almost five hundred people with direct connections to various faith organisations in the Stockholm area who match the general profile.

This investigation has ground to a halt, she finds herself thinking once more.

If only they had one sighting, just one decent piece of information to go on.

They need to bring things into focus.

There isn’t enough time to check out more than five hundred men. Given the murderer’s momentum so far, the video of his next victim could appear at any time.

In order to limit the search as things stand, we need to add in some uncertain parameters, she thinks. Previous violent crimes, for instance, or personality disorders.

‘There are forty-two men who’ve been suspects in other cases, nine have been convicted of violent crimes, none for stalking, none for murder, and none for brutality that bears any resemblance to our serial killer’s,’ Adam says. ‘Eleven have convictions for sexual offences, thirty for drugs …’

‘Just give me someone to shoot,’ she says wearily.

‘I’ve got three names … none of them is a perfect match, but two of them have been investigated for crimes of violence against more than one woman …’

‘Good.’

‘The first one is a Sven Hugo Andersson, a vicar in the parish of Danderyd … the other one’s a Pasi Jokala, he used to be active in the Philadelphia Church, but now he’s got his own congregation, known as the Gärtuna Revivalists …’

‘And the third one?’

‘I’m not sure, but he’s the only one of these five hundred who has a documented personality disorder that matches the profile. A twenty-year-old diagnosis for borderline psychosis. But he’s got no criminal record, doesn’t feature in either police or social service registers … and he’s also been married for ten years, which doesn’t fit the profile at all.’

‘Better than nothing,’ she says.

‘Anyway, his name’s Thomas Apel, and he’s the so-called stake president of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, out in Jakobsberg.’

‘We’ll start with the violent ones,’ she says, and stands up.

Adam goes to his office to call his wife and tell her he’s got to work late, and Margot stops in the kitchen, looks in the cupboard and pops Petter Näslund’s packet of jam biscuits in her bag before she walks out.

Adam’s account of the perpetrator profile has made her think about stalker and serial killer Dennis Rader, whom she wrote an essay about when she was training. He used to call the police and media to tell them about his murders. He even used to send the police objects he’d taken from his victims.

In his case, the perpetrator profile was completely wrong. They had been looking for a divorced, impotent loner whereas Rader was married, had children, and was active in both the church and the scouting movement.