The Beige Man (3 page)

Andersson shook his head. “According to the ME, she had been dead for between two and three hours before she was found. And he estimated that she was approximately twelve years old.”

“Has anyone reported a girl of that age missing?” Birgitta asked.

“No. She was wearing a T-shirt, nothing else. The rest of her clothes were in a heap beside her in the cellar. The only thing we know is that she was white and blonde. The probable cause of death is strangulation.”

“A sex crime?” Hannu asked.

“The ME thought that was likely. They won’t get around to looking at her until this afternoon; they’re short staffed, apparently.”

It was a well-known fact that the medical examiner’s office in Göteborg had been understaffed for a number of years. They had great difficulty in filling available posts. If anyone asked Superintendent Andersson why that might be, he was clear about his
opinion: no one in their right mind would voluntarily work for Professor Yvonne Stridner. She might be regarded as one of Europe’s most skilled forensic pathologists, but he didn’t care. To him she was one of the most terrifying women on the planet.

“What happened to the bastards who mowed down Muesli?” Jonny asked.

“They’ve gone up in smoke! We’ve found no trace of them, but the dog teams are carrying on with the search today. They’ll be going through the holiday village with a fine-tooth comb,” Andersson replied.

“Hopefully their balls will have frozen and dropped off by now,” Jonny said in a voice dripping with sincerity.

“It was minus sixteen in the small hours. I’m sure several things will have frozen and dropped off.”

This provided some small measure of consolation.

“Is there a connection between the car thieves and the murdered girl?” Andersson wondered aloud.

His team didn’t require much time to think about that before collectively shaking their heads. Tommy Persson expressed everyone’s thoughts. “It was pure chance that we found the girl so quickly. The dogs were trying to track the car thieves when they found the body. If they hadn’t, she could have been lying there undiscovered for a long time.”

“Exactly. And the guys in the car can’t have hidden her in the root cellar. They didn’t have time,” Birgitta pointed out.

Tommy Persson nodded. “The girl can’t have been in the trunk of the BMW because there was a folded up stroller in there. The body could have been in the back seat, but why would the two guys have bothered to move it in that case? They had every reason in the world to get away from the car as fast as possible, otherwise they wouldn’t have gotten very far, and we would have found them.”

“If the girl’s body was in the car, then surely the owner wouldn’t have reported it stolen?”

“Not necessarily. I mean, once the car was stolen, he had to report it. He might have planned on saying that he had nothing to do with the body, and putting the blame on the guys who stole the car.”

“They didn’t have time to move the body,” Birgitta said again.

Most of the team were inclined to agree with her.

During a relatively brief period of thirty minutes, the two boys had stolen a car, driven at least five kilometers at high speed toward the lake at Delsjö, run down a pedestrian, set fire to the car and managed to get far enough away to make it impossible for the dogs to find them. No, they wouldn’t have had time to conceal a body, Irene concluded.

“Have we any idea who these boys might be? Is anyone on the wanted list?” she asked.

“I thought you could look into that,” Andersson said.

He glanced around his team. As usual when he was thinking, his fingertips beat a tattoo on the surface of the desk. Once he had made his decision, he slapped down the palm of his hand and said, “Irene, Tommy and Hannu will take the hit-and-run. Try to confirm the identity of the victim and check out any possible suspects for the theft of the car. Contact me as soon as you come up with anything. Birgitta, Jonny and Fredrik, you take the girl. Same thing there: contact me as soon as you know who she is.”

He linked his fingers, turned his palms outward and stretched them until his knuckles cracked.

“I’ll keep an eye on door-to-door inquiries and collate the witness statements that come in during the day. Not that I think we’ll get very far, but one of the residents in the apartment complex on Töpelsgatan might have seen something. Then it’ll be the usual goddamn puzzle as we try to sort out what goes with the hit-and-run, what goes with the murdered girl and what’s totally irrelevant.”

Andersson sighed deeply, and Irene could hear the whistling from his windpipe as he breathed out. This cold weather was no good for his asthma.

In five weeks he would be moving over to the cold cases team. It was a relatively new initiative, and its brief was to try to cast fresh light on old investigations before the statute of limitations ran out. Superintendent Andersson hadn’t a clue when it came to computers and the latest DNA technology, but he was an excellent homicide investigator. Irene thought he would be a great asset to the cold cases team, and she also believed he would be very happy there during his final years as a police officer. But she would miss him, particularly in view of who his replacement was likely to be. There were strong indications that it would be Acting Superintendent Efva Thylqvist from the drugs squad; everyone knew she had applied for the post. Irene didn’t know her, but she had heard plenty about Thylqvist and sincerely hoped that the rumors were exaggerated.

T
HERE WERE VERY
few reports of absconders from juvenile detention centers and prisons in Västra Götaland. Most of those who had run away over Christmas and New Year were back. At this time of year it was too cold to make a bid for freedom unless you had somewhere to go. Those who were planning to make a break for it would wait until spring. Their desire for liberty increased as the temperature rose outside.

“We have seven possible suspects, all of them already on the wanted list,” Irene said.

“Do any of them look particularly interesting?” Tommy asked.

Irene quickly scrolled through the list on her computer screen. “Grievous bodily harm … contributing to the death of another person … robbery … vandalism … a whole range of drug-related felonies … We’ve got the lot here. It could be any of them.”

“Or none of them.”

“None of them?”

“It could be two petty thieves who have never been arrested, which means they won’t have a record.”

Irene nodded and sighed loudly. “In that case it’s going to be hard work.”

“Yep. Might as well start with the names we’ve got.”

They divided the names between them. First they would try to form a picture of the runaways using the information already available in the system. If they found anything interesting, they would go out together and start looking. It wouldn’t be a good idea to meet any of these guys alone. They were often armed and hung out with like-minded associates.

Hannu was trying to establish the identity of the hit-and-run victim. He stuck his head around the door and said he still hadn’t managed to get in touch with Torleif Sandberg. A patrol had been sent to his apartment, but no one had answered the door. Nor had anyone reported him or any other male missing during last night or this morning. The probability that the dead man was the retired police officer was growing stronger by the minute.

A
FTER LUNCH
I
RENE
and Tommy went through what they had found.

“We can eliminate Mijailo Janovic right away; he’s one meter ninety-three and powerfully built, so he doesn’t fit the description. However, his pal Janos Mijic does. They disappeared from Fagared at the same time, on New Year’s Day. Mijailo is nineteen years old, and was in for grievous bodily harm and attempted murder. He sliced open the belly of a guy from a rival gang. The victim survived, but only just. It was probably a drug-related fight, but neither of them was prepared to admit to that, so Mijailo was given quite a lenient sentence: two years and three months. Janos is his trusty shadow. Wherever Mijailo is, that’s where Janos is, too. They’re the same age
and claim to be cousins. Which isn’t true, because for one thing, Mijailo is a Serb and Janos is a Croat. This fact doesn’t seem to bother them. Janos is of slight build, one meter seventy-eight. He could fit the description of our rapper. Except for what I said before: wherever Mijailo is, that’s where Janos is. And Mijailo was not one of our car thieves,” Tommy said.

“So it’s not them,” Irene agreed.

“Nope. However, Tobias Karlsson could be a person of interest. He also absconded from Fagared, but only last Friday. Five days ago. He fits the description. Nineteen years old, and he already has a record as long as your arm. Serious drug offenses, grievous bodily harm, and … there you go! Stealing cars. Several, in fact.”

“Pretty advanced for his age. Definitely of interest.”

“Absolutely. His mother lives in Tynnered. Thinks the police are persecuting her son just because he holds certain strong political views. We live in a free country and everyone has the right to their own opinions: that’s what she yelled out in court the first time he ended up there. The charge was extreme violence and racial harassment. The victim was a young immigrant who ended up scarred for life. Before that Karlsson had only been involved in stealing cars, but at the time he was too young to be charged.”

“A Nazi,” Irene said.

“Of course.”

“Shaved head? Tattoos?”

“The whole package,” Tommy replied smugly.

“In that case it’s not him.”

“What?”

“A Nazi doesn’t dress like a rapper.”

Tommy looked slightly put out, but had to admit she was right. Everything else had fit, and he hadn’t thought about what the car thieves were wearing.

“That leaves just one name on my list: Niklas Ström.
Nineteen years old, ran away from Gräskärr exactly one week ago. According to my contact, he had problems with some of the other boys in the institution. He’s gay, and that’s not popular with those who sympathize with people like Tobias Karlsson. Niklas couldn’t cope with the bullying.”

“Why did he tell the others he was gay?”

“He didn’t. It was obvious. He was charged with violent rape. The victim was a boy the same age who sustained severe injuries. In his defense, Niklas said that he was under the influence of drugs and couldn’t remember a thing. He got eighteen months.”

“How come the sentence is always harsher when the victim is male?” Irene broke in.

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

Tommy merely shrugged in response.

Irene started to go through her list. “I also have one guy from Gräskärr and two from Fagared. The one from Gräskärr is Björn Kjellgren, known as Billy. Eighteen years old, went down for breaking into several houses and cars. A full-fledged little thief. One meter seventy-four, slight build. Strawberry blond hair that he wears in dreadlocks. Nothing unusual about that these days, but definitely worth noting, bearing in mind the rapper connection. A bit of a loner, apparently. He disappeared the day after Niklas Ström. According to the person I spoke to, he was inspired by Niklas’s departure. None of the staff thinks Niklas and Billy were friends.”

“But Billy is the first one we actually know is a rapper,” Tommy pointed out.

Irene smiled teasingly at him.

“It’s not that simple. Both of my boys from Fagared also have the hip-hop vibe.”

“Did they go missing at the same time?”

“Yes, last Friday—five days ago. They’re friends, and they’ve known each other since they were toddlers. They’re both in for
serious drug offenses. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to put them in the same institution. One is fully Swedish, the other is half-Jamaican, born in Sweden to a Swedish mother. Fredrik Svensson; he’s twenty-two and has Rasta braids, but they’re long and reach halfway down his back. The car owner should have noticed them.”

“You’d think.”

“Fredrik’s pal is Daniel Lindgren. He’s twenty, and he’s been selling drug for years. He also went down for illegal possession of a firearm. According to the investigating officer, he’s regarded as some kind of hit man for Fredrik Svensson’s gang.”

“So we’re looking at a gang? Organized drug dealing?”

“Yes. In broad terms both of them fit the description, but when it comes to Fredrik Svensson, he’s got those long Rasta braids. Plus his skin color is quite dark. Daniel Lindgren is one meter seventy. He’s not well built, but is very keen on working out. I suppose he’s got his image as a hit man to think of. The question is whether he could be described as slight.”

“I think you ought to have a word with the owner of the BMW. He might remember things more clearly by now. I’ll carry on with our absconders,” Tommy said.

O
N HER WAY
to the elevator, Irene bumped into Hannu Rauhala, who was heading in the same direction.

“The medical examiner’s office called. They found a bunch of keys in the hit-and-run victim’s pocket. I thought I’d try them in Sandberg’s door,” Hannu said.

“Brilliant. That would save a lot of time,” Irene replied.

The owner of the BMW was Alexander Hölzer. He was in his apartment on Stampgatan, just a few hundred meters from police HQ. Irene decided to walk; it would be quicker than driving around trying to find a parking space.

A large removal truck was parked in front of the building.
Two men were loading a white leather sofa into the back. Irene glanced inside and noted that Hölzer’s furniture definitely hadn’t come from IKEA. Not that she had expected anything else, given that the stolen car was a BMW 630i. There aren’t too many families with young children driving around in those.

She found the nameplate on the third floor and rang the bell. It wasn’t really necessary as the door was open, but it’s always best to be polite. It’s important to make a positive first impression and to create a good relationship with the witness right from the start. These basic rules in the art of interrogation would turn out to be somewhat wasted on Alexander Hölzer. Irene waited politely at the door for quite some time. Just as she was running out of patience and was reaching out to push the door, it was yanked open. She was confronted by an overweight man in his fifties, dressed in a red golf sweater with a prestigious logo on the breast, black chinos and noticeably elegant shoes.