Third Voice (39 page)

Olivia picked up both Stilton and Abbas in her car. Stilton looked pretty haggard, but Olivia had seen him looking far worse. But his breath reminded her of that homeless guy.

Abbas smelled freshly showered.

Not much was said in the car on the way to Mette’s. Everyone understood that something decisive had happened. Stilton knew about Mickey Leigh and presumed that it was about him, in one way or another.

So did Olivia.

She’d received a call from Mette after the raid on Jackie Berglund’s flat and the discovery of Sahlmann’s laptop. It had taken a while for her to digest the fact that Mette had told Lisa and Bosse about her break-in. But she’d understood.

Abbas was the one who knew the least. So, on the way to Mette’s, Stilton did what he’d been dreading. But he wasn’t entirely sober.

‘Mickey Leigh is in Stockholm,’ he said.

They were near Orminge and not too far from Mette’s house. Stilton knew that, so he could keep the conversation short.

It was to be very short.

‘I know,’ Abbas said.

‘How do you know that?’

‘I called Jean-Baptiste yesterday and asked how things were going. He’d said you’d spoken.’

‘Yes, I didn’t want to tell you just then.’

‘Well, you probably had your reasons.’

‘Yes.’

So it was forgotten. Stilton hoped. But you could never be sure with Abbas, maybe he stored things up in a corner of his secretive brain for later when he needed them.

But now it was said.

Olivia parked some distance away from Mette’s house. There were already a few other cars there.

‘Who do you think is here?’ she said.

She soon found out as she approached the gate and a group of people came trooping out through Mette’s front door. Lisa Hedqvist, Bosse Thyrén and four other people. Mette’s core investigation team. They’d met two hours ago. When Lisa hugged Olivia she saw how tired she was.

‘You look tired.’

‘I’m going to go home and sleep now,’ Lisa said.

The larger delegation proceeded on down towards their cars, while the smaller one headed onwards towards the open front door. No one was there to greet them so they carried on into the kitchen. The mood had been more cheery all the other times they’d been to the house.

Mårten was standing in the kitchen in a dark-blue dressing gown. Alone. When they came in, he gestured towards another room without saying a word. He looked tired too. When they went in, they saw Mette standing in front of a large dining table. She was wearing a light, airy top and a pair of black silk trousers. There were piles of paper on the table. Emails. Faxes. Reports. Everything looked orderly, just as Mette liked it when she worked.

‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Sit down.’

The trio sat down on various pieces of furniture. Stilton ended up in a dark armchair that had lost its padding around about the time of the Korean War. Mette picked up a virtually empty water jug from the middle of the table.

‘Mårten!’ she shouted towards the kitchen and Mårten appeared in the doorway. Mette held out the jug towards him without a word. He took it and disappeared again.

‘We went through Bengt Sahlmann’s laptop last night,’ Mette began. ‘I will be summarising what we found. You are welcome to ask questions, but only ones of substance.’

The trio peered at each other. Who would dare to ask anything after that?

‘Firstly, some technical information. I don’t know how up-to-date you all are. Olivia might be pretty au fait with this having been on her way to becoming a police officer, but I’m not sure how much Tom remembers – it probably wasn’t common back then. And I’m not sure that Abbas knows much about this in particular.’

Mette maintained a very strict tone. It was clear that she wanted their full attention. Olivia also noted the ‘on her way to becoming a police officer’.

But she let it go.

‘So, here are the details,’ Mette continued. ‘Via a chat tool, such as Yahoo Messenger, someone in Sweden makes contact with people in another country who provide various sexual services. Let’s say that person is called Bengt. He orders what he’d like and then he makes use of the service via a webcam. In real time. This is a practice that has been growing in recent years. A couple of months ago, a man from Malmö was found guilty of ordering sexual abuse of children in the Philippines that he accessed online.’

‘Disgusting.’

Olivia made the comment. It wasn’t a question, but she couldn’t help herself. Mette continued.

‘This Bengt can also communicate via the webcam about what is going on at the other end. For this service, he pays a certain sum to an American money transfer service called XOOM, which then sends the money on to the people performing the sexual services.’

‘So you can sit in your own country watching live porn being streamed from another country?’

Stilton wasn’t sure whether this was a question of substance – it was rather more rhetorical. But Mette was kind enough to say yes. She knew that Stilton had been out of the game for a few years.

‘If the police get tipped off about such activities, and they turn out to be criminal, they can follow the transfers from Bengt’s account to XOOM and on to the end recipient. Thus far, the theoretical part. Now let’s turn our attention to the real-life Bengt Sahlmann and his laptop.’

Mette was still standing up. She hadn’t lost her tempo for a second. Everyone started suspecting where this was going and was grateful for the freshly refilled water jug that Mårten brought in.

‘We have found transfers to the United States using XOOM on Sahlmann’s laptop. We’ve also found email conversations between him and Jean Borell confirming that the payments have been for orders of sexual services abroad.’

Mette picked up a piece of paper from the table.

‘This is an email reply from Sahlmann to Borell: “Hi, Jean. Ordered a BDSM session as per request.”’

‘BDSM?’

‘It’s an abbreviation of bondage, discipline and sadomasochism, a very particular type of sexual practice. One party is dominant while the other is submissive. The end point for the last transfer was to an account in Marseille.’

Everyone looked over at Abbas, as discreetly as they could. He just carried on staring straight into Mette’s eyes.

‘So we can surmise that these two gentlemen ordered and witnessed a pornographic act streamed live from Marseille, a so-called BDSM session.’

Mette had agonised over this during the night. How was she going to present this to Abbas? She knew she had to do it. She’d woken Jean-Baptiste and asked for some information without going into detail about why she wanted it. Finally she’d decided to be as factual as possible. Facts. The truth. She knew that Abbas would respect that.

And accept it.

And he did.

Thus far.

‘So now let’s leave Sahlmann’s laptop for a moment and look at what we know about the murder of Samira Villon,’ Mette continued.

She picked up a couple of pieces of paper from the table.

Emails from the French police.

‘Mickey Leigh is an English porn actor living in Marseille. He is apparently known as The Bull. According to Jean-Baptiste, you are the one who found this information, Abbas?’

Abbas nodded almost imperceptibly. Stilton hoped that Mette didn’t know how Abbas had got this information.

‘Mickey Leigh engaged in some sort of pornographic act together with Samira Villon. It took place the day after Sahlmann’s payment reached Marseille. After said act, Samira disappeared. Some time later, Mickey Leigh shows up here. He has been arrested in absentia.’

Mette reached for the water jug for the first time. A few beads of sweat had started to form on her face. Olivia hoped that she was going to sit down soon. She did not want to witness her having another heart attack.

‘Summing up, then,’ Mette said and sat down. ‘This can lead to a number of possible theories. I will present the one I believe is most plausible.’

Suddenly her tone had changed. The magisterial sternness had eased off: she’d trundled through the facts and now it would be more personal, less speculative. Now she’d discuss the situation with a group of people to whom she accorded a great deal of respect.

For different reasons.

‘I think that Bengt Sahlmann and Jean Borell witnessed the killing of Samira Villon, in real time, during the sexual act they’d ordered in Marseille.’

The room fell silent.

Mette brushed her hand over the tablecloth. She understood the silence. She knew it was necessary. She herself had sat quietly for several minutes with her team of investigators at dawn – perplexed, stunned, repulsed. She knew it might take some time.

It was Stilton who finally broke the silence.

‘You think they sat and watched a murder being committed? Right in front of their eyes?’

‘Yes.’

‘And kept schtum about it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Maybe they’d even ordered the murder?’ he said.

‘We’ve discussed that. There are rumours flying about on the Internet about something called “death sex online”, allowing people to order and watch murders in real time, but there haven’t been any reports of such cases so far.’

‘This might be the first?’

‘No. The payment made by Sahlmann is within the normal range for online porn. There would certainly have been a different sum for online sexual murder.’

Olivia poured herself some water. She thought about the sick situation they were discussing – as though it was a question of money. Mette continued.

‘I think it’s more likely that something went very wrong during the sexual act and that they became witnesses to a murder. Involuntarily.’

‘And that means they’ve also seen the murderer,’ Stilton said. ‘Mickey Leigh.’

‘Something he knows, of course,’ Olivia said.

‘He also sent a very threatening email to Bengt Sahlmann, in English. It was found in the trash folder. Leigh was very clear about what he would do to Sahlmann and Borell if they contacted the Swedish police.’

‘So they didn’t?’ Olivia said.

‘No, and there were probably more reasons for that than Leigh’s threats. Not least for Jean Borell. It would hardly benefit his organisation if it came out that he’d witnessed a murder during a sex act that he himself had ordered.’

‘But how does Mickey Leigh know about Sahlmann and Borell? How could he send an email to them?’

A question of substance, Stilton thought to himself. And Mette agreed.

‘We asked ourselves that too but I don’t have any answer to that yet. He might have been able to access their names
with the account details in some way. Shall I continue with my theory?’

‘Yes,’ Abbas said.

That was the first word he’d uttered since they’d stepped into the house.

He wanted to know.

‘I think the following happened – and please, take this for what it is, just what I think. I’ve got proof of some things, not all. After Samira is murdered, Leigh dismembers her body and hides the different parts outside Marseille. She’s found. But there are no clues leading to Leigh. Then Abbas and Stilton arrive in Marseille and start asking questions about the murder. To whom, I don’t know.’

‘Philippe Martin.’ Abbas said it like just any other name and went on: ‘He told me about that act you mentioned and who was there other than Samira.’

‘Mickey Leigh,’ Mette said.

‘Yes.’

‘So you said you were from Sweden?’

‘Yes.’

‘OK. So if we assume that Leigh finds out about your meeting with Martin and then discovers that you are meeting with the French police – you met Jean-Baptiste, I assume?’

‘Yes.’

‘In the city.’

‘Yes.’

‘So you can assume that Mickey Leigh suspects you are also from the police and starts thinking that those gentlemen in Sweden who witnessed Samira’s murder went to the police anyway. Despite his threatening email. So then he acts.’

‘And travels to Stockholm?’ Olivia said.

‘Yes, to get rid of the two witnesses. When he arrives, he discovers that one of the witnesses has already been murdered. Sahlmann. So he murders the other witness, Jean Borell. And in addition to that, he stole a couple of computers from
Borell’s office to get rid of any information about what Borell had witnessed.’

Suddenly Mette looked very tired. Olivia presumed that she hadn’t slept much more than Lisa.

‘You’re tired, Mette,’ she said.

‘Yes, but we’re almost done. There is only this left.’

Mette picked up a small bundle of paper.

‘What’s that?’

‘Emails from Sahlmann to Borell threatening him with two things. One was to bring down Albion, his company, by publicising things about the Silvergården nursing home.’

‘I knew it!’

Olivia almost leapt up from her chair. She’d been correct! At least in part!

‘Yes,’ Mette said. ‘You were certainly on the right track. Sahlmann was incredibly upset about his father’s death and threatened to disgrace Borell.’

‘But you said he threatened him with two things,’ Stilton said.

‘The other was to reveal what they’d seen online.’

‘Samira’s murder?’

‘Presumably. Which just shows how desperate he was.’

‘And in so doing gave Borell a real motive to kill him,’ Stilton said.

‘Yes,’ Mette said. ‘Absolutely. There’s just one problem. Borell was in India when Sahlmann was murdered. We’ve checked his travel schedule. Flights, hotel, meetings. He was in Delhi that night.’

‘He needn’t have committed the murder himself,’ Stilton said. ‘He may have hired someone to do it for him.’

Or been protected by someone very alert. Very much at the forefront of things. Very concerned about his master’s love, Olivia thought to herself.

They discussed Mette’s theory a while longer, seeing that it might well be correct.

‘Now I’m exhausted,’ Mette suddenly said.

She got up from the table with some effort. Olivia was close to helping her up. Everyone went out into the hallway. Mårten joined them and put an arm around his wife. Olivia and Abbas went out through the front door. As Stilton was on his way out, Mette pulled him aside. She waited until Olivia and Abbas had gone out into the garden.