text:
DESPAIR
LOURDES DAZA-GILLMAN

Translated by Amanda Fletcher
Swedish original title: Vanmakt

Copyright © 2016 Lourdes Daza-Gillman

All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

ISBN: 978-91-982820-4-7

Cover draft: A. Nyman, L. Daza-Gillman

Layout: Jimmy Söjkvist

Photography © Ivan Daza

First published in English 2016

For more information about the author visit:

Lourdes-dazagillman.com
Facebook: Author Lourdes Daza-Gillman
Dear reader!

My ambition is to stimulate your thoughts and feelings, not just invite you to enjoy a reading experience. For most of my adult life I have been interested in human survival issues, and my writing has been hugely influenced by concerns relating to women's vulnerability in society. My books reflect this fact. They are the result of research that I began in the early 1970's while living in London. It was then that I put my thoughts into words for the first time in an academic thesis about women's' life experiences and the injustices they face around the world.

Due to a variety of circumstances I ended up in Sweden – a country where, according to the law, men and women are considered equal. However, it didn't take me long to realize that, even here, female vulnerability still exists.

A lot of water would flow under the bridge before this story was transformed from an academic paper into a novel. I felt compelled to draw attention to the domestic violence that exists all around us, every day. I had no choice but to rise to the challenge and attempt to write a captivating trilogy on this serious subject.

Although self-publishing is not a new phenomenon, it involves a lot more than just writing a book. Nothing is served on a silver platter, it takes hard work and dedication every step of the process. The technical and practical skills I have accumulated along the way are immeasurable.

In particular I would just like to say how pleased I am that you are holding a copy of DESPAIR in your hand. If you like the book, please spread the word. Tell your friends and colleagues during the coffee break at work or on social media, and help me gather as much interest as possible. I would also appreciate it if you could write a little note on my Facebook page after you have read it.

I sincerely hope you will like the book!

Please report any errors to me at:

Lourdes.dazagillman@gmail.com

#

# Prologue

SHE LIES FLAT ON THE COLD stone floor. Her face feels like fire – a burning pain that has invaded her whole body forced her to surrender. Her strength has betrayed her – she is powerless. She wants to raise her head and swallow, but can't.

"Viktor... hide!" She cries out but her voice is too weak. The words disappear down her throat, carried by the tide of warm blood flowing through her body. She gulps again and again to stop choking. She can't move her jaw and her head is pounding as if her heart has been transplanted into her skull.

A sense of utter helplessness overwhelms her. But she doesn't care what happens to her. Her only concern is for the boy – all she can think of is his terrified face.

"Viktor, hide! Hide!" She shouts as loudly as she can.

She sees the boy in front of her.

Viktor had screamed and cried incessantly in a desperate attempt to stop what was happening, following his mother as she ran from room to room, clinging to her legs to shield her from the blows, as if he wanted to protect her – follow her and not be left alone.

He kept beating and kicking her. There was nothing she could do but run. She had to get him away from Viktor – he mustn't take it out on the boy as well.

"Viktor was there, he was there... No, no...oh no..."

Her eyes are bruised and swollen. She cries but her tears are rivulets of blood.

"Get up, you whore! Too tired to run, are you?" He jeers. His clothes are soaked with blood, his white shirt stained red. He breathes heavily.

"I'll help you get up, you stupid bitch! Let's see how much more you can take. You haven't had even half of what you deserve!"

She lies there mute and rigid as a corpse. But the anger in his voice is deafening. In his right hand he holds a bloody, blunt weapon that looks like a baton.

For five long minutes he towers above her in malicious silence. Then he raises his arm as if to strike her again, but stops. He stares, confused, at the bloody weapon in his hand and in an almost mechanical motion, places it on the kitchen table.

He is unsure, agitated. Gasping, he tries to catch his breath.

"I'm not done with you yet! Not a bloody chance!" He takes a couple of steps closer, bends down to grab her arm and then yanks her up roughly from the floor.

A loud crack.

With a sweep of his arm, as if brushing off something unpleasant, he suddenly lets go, the corners of his mouth turned down in a grimace of distaste.

The man stands still. His expression is hard to describe – a combination of surprise and revulsion.

He hesitates. Uncertain. The woman before him, drenched in blood, is almost unrecognisable. He is still breathing heavily – panting as if he had been running for miles.

He straightens up. The anger is still in his eyes, but he is shaken and confused. He tilts his head towards the kitchen door as if looking for somebody or something. Then he turns on his heels and walks calmly out of the room and out of the house.

# Home Sweet Home

THE SUMMER EVENING WAS bright and clear except for a few thin clouds that partly shielded the sun.

It was a quiet suburb with elegant villas, many of which had large garages for two or three cars. The gardens were well tended with freshly mown lawns and sculpted hedges. Through the gates you could see that a few houses had children's play areas with swings, sand boxes and climbing frames. At this time of day the gardens were empty. Abandoned toys lay scattered on the grass and the children were probably inside eating supper. It was evident that the residents of this suburb were prosperous and financially secure.

THIS AFFLUENT NEIGHBOURHOOD was now the scene of a large police operation. Inspector Kjell Östberg, from Unit 1012 of the Roslagen police division, was the first officer to respond to the emergency services which had received a phone call just before six o'clock reporting a domestic dispute at 117 Skogsvägen, a residential area in Djursholm.

The police inspector immediately instructed two uniformed colleagues to search for a man who, according to eyewitnesses, was covered in blood and was last seen heading off in the direction of the woods. He also informed them that the attacker was wearing a white shirt and black trousers and was probably armed.

Police cadets Samir Mohamed and Monica Lindh, who were also members of the same unit, were asked to take witness statements.

Östberg and a colleague began sealing off the crime scene.

The two cadets immediately busied themselves with their assignments, moving separately among the crowd of onlookers to question those who were standing nearest the crime scene and jotting down their accounts into their notebooks as accurately as possible.

THE COMMOTION ON THE NARROW street had quickly escalated and several police cars were now parked near the exclusive property.

Due to the circumstances and nature of the crime, Östberg immediately contacted Sanna Johansson of The National Police Force. But since she was apparently tied up with another case he contacted his old acquaintance, Criminal Inspector Kalle Karlsson. He knew that Karlsson and Johansson worked in the same team.

Two police community support officers stood chatting outside the front door, which was wide open. Others were speaking to eyewitnesses who had congregated a few metres from the police barrier tape.

Samir Mohamed spoke to a witness who described the suspect as a Swedish male, approximately 1.90 metres tall with short blond hair. Everyone agreed that he seemed extremely dangerous.

Rumours of the incident spread quickly among the local residents and a stream of curious onlookers began to gravitate towards the scene. Some gathered near the freshly trimmed hedge surrounding the house and chatted among themselves; others stood completely still, staring at the Svenson family property.

Half an hour later, when they had finished interviewing a number of witnesses, Samir Mohamed and Monica Lindh met up again to swap information over what they had heard and determine if there was anyone else left to question. After a brief run-through of the witness statements it became clear that descriptions of the man's appearance were unspecific and varied according to who was asked. It was hard to decipher exactly what the witnesses had seen or thought they had seen since nobody had the same version of events. The only thing everyone agreed upon was that the man's face and clothes were covered in blood and that he was possibly injured.

Samir Mohamed talked to two female eyewitnesses who were finding it difficult to agree on exactly what had occurred and kept interrupting each other. One of the women claimed she had seen the victim's husband coming out of the house, while the other woman flatly contradicted this – the person leaving the property didn't bear any resemblance to Mr. Svenson.

Other witnesses who had overheard the discussion chatted among themselves, eagerly debating which of the women was right.

A DARK BLUE CAR driving at full speed pulled in between two police cars. It was a tight squeeze. There was barely enough space left for another vehicle to park.

A woman aged about thirty-five, dressed in a white striped shirt and jeans struggled to squeeze through the car door, scratching one of the cars in the process.

"Damn – just what I need... " She fumed at the grey Volvo parked next to her. "It looks like Kalle's car," she muttered to herself. "Well, it's his fault for parking like an idiot..."

As she hurried away, she looked back at the Volvo and realized it wasn't Kalle's car after all. "Oh bloody hell!" she exclaimed and continued towards the house.

As she strode towards the house, even though it was still warm, she threw on a thin beige summer jacket. It had been a trying day so far. She had just completed an investigation report that was due to be handed in that afternoon.

Sanna Johansson was a competent and respected criminal inspector. She had become renowned for her skill at recreating the sequence of events in the investigations which she had been in charge of.

Unlike most others in the police force, she bypassed the standard career route of rising through the ranks. Besides her polis training, she also had master's degrees in law and criminology.

The justice system had fascinated her from an early age. She also recognized you needed a sound background in criminology to understand the connection between evidence and how judges interpreted the evidence in cases involving violent crime.

She had chosen to study law and criminology because she wanted to campaign against the violence directed towards women and children, the subject on which she had based her thesis. She had been given the opportunity to work with well-known criminologists and lawyers who, admittedly, didn't have the slightest interest in domestic violence. Nevertheless, their knowledge and experience gave her valuable insights into violent crime.

She was a potential candidate for a more senior post but preferred to work close to the scene of a crime and do her very best to make sure the perpetrators were locked up.

"So, what happened here?" she asked Karlsson, who appeared to have been waiting for her to arrive. As he strolled towards her he brushed his fingers through his blond hair and straightened the fringe that kept falling onto his forehead. He was wearing a white shirt under an unbuttoned dark grey blazer and black corduroy trousers.

Kalle Karlsson had already reviewed and compiled the data for the preliminary investigation at 117 Skogsvägen in Djursholm and instructed the photographer, John Steward, to take photographs and film the murder scene.

He glanced down at Sanna Johansson who at 1.75 metres was ten centimetres shorter than him. His normally twinkling brown eyes were serious and thoughtful. After a few seconds, Karlsson opened his mouth to reply, but the words stuck in his throat.

Too impatient to wait for him to speak, Criminal Inspector Sanna Johansson turned on her heels and continued into the house.

"Not again... Will this ever end?" she muttered under her breath.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about the hallway of the elegant villa at 117 Skogsvägen: out-door garments hung on hooks and an assortment of shoes lay on the floor. The majority probably belonged to the husband and wife but there were also several pairs that would fit a child of about five or six years old.

Sanna Johansson continued into the living room. It was spacious with large windows facing the street and a back door leading to the garden. Sunlight had burst through one of the windows and was illuminating half of the room.

"No money problems here," she mumbled to herself. She gazed around the room from one object to the other but saw nothing of interest. However, she made a mental note of the stylish Italian design furniture with its smooth, clean lines.

She continued into the next room through dividing doors that separated the open plan living room from the dining room.

This room was also elegantly furnished. There was a glass cabinet on the right hand side and through its doors she could see the display of expensive porcelain and crystal. On the left hand side of the room was a dining cabinet on top of which stood a large blue Chinese vase with five large white gladioli.

Sanna's attention was drawn to an animal painting hanging above the cabinet and as she went closer she realized it was a work by Bruno Liljefors. It was a decorative piece that would have seemed more appropriate in the home of a hunter.

An antique clock on the wall near the kitchen entrance struck 6.30. The dining room table in the centre of the room was set for three people. However, unlike the living room, here there were signs that a struggle had taken place.

The white tablecloth had been dragged to the side and part of it was draped on the floor. Someone had grabbed hold of it in panic.

Overturned drinking glasses lay in a puddle of water on the table. A vase had toppled over, spilling its contents onto the Persian carpet. The chairs were in disarray around the table – one of them had a broken leg and was lying on its side.

Sanna noticed a broken pane in the glass cabinet. On closer inspection she could see a clump of bloody hair caught in some of the glass fragments.

She recorded these details in her notebook and since there was nothing more of interest she decided to continue to the next room.

Sanna stopped dead in her tracks and her heart sank.

The large room was a scene of dreadful carnage. There was blood everywhere, including the floor and kitchen counter. Another broken chair lay sprawled on the floor. Vegetables, salad, bread and the contents of an upturned casserole dish were piled in a sorrowful heap on the stove.

Under the kitchen table lay the body of a woman. Her slender form was twisted and broken like a rag doll that had been tossed on the floor like an unwanted toy. Her clothing was torn and she was covered in blood. The woman's upper torso, arms flung to the sides, was twisted to the left and her lower body was twisted in the opposite direction. Her limbs were like inanimate, mutilated objects. Her long, stockinged legs were lacerated below the knee and saturated with blood.

Sanna Johansson approached the victim and froze. Time stood still and she found it hard to regain her sense of equilibrium. Finally, she took a deep breath and moved towards the body.

The victim's face, partly hidden by her shoulder length light brown hair, was swollen, bloody and distorted beyond recognition.

Sanna Johansson leaned closer and studied the woman's battered features. Her left eye was blood soaked, the eyebrow sliced open.

Sanna took a deep breath. "What kind of monster is capable of doing something like this?" She felt an overwhelming urge to run out of the room. She felt helpless. Her face turned white and she clenched her jaw to stop herself from screaming in fury.

KARLSSON WAS TAKING A BREAK outside when he heard that Johansson was on her way. He had intended to forewarn her, but the words wouldn't come when the time came. Where would he begin? What could he say?" "Prepare for the worst." How would she have reacted? Would she have left immediately or been furious at him? No, he decided to let her see for herself – with her own eyes.

Now he regretted not having warned her before entering the house. But there was no point in grumbling now.

Sanna Johansson would know what to expect. There was no need for Kalle to find appropriate words or explanations. In the five years that they had worked together they had dealt with countless criminal assault cases of senseless brutality and today's events were not particularly unusual.

Each case seemed more vicious than the last. Aggressive men who had no sense of humanity. They could beat up a woman so recklessly that she would either die at the scene or on the way to hospital. And in some cases, children were attacked while trying to protect their mothers.

Kalle had followed Sanna to the sitting room but after a few minutes he returned upstairs to continue his examination of the children's room.

"I thought you'd finished," said Östberg. He was in the couple's bedroom, which was perfectly tidy.

Kalle and Östberg had been looking for the child upstairs. In similar circumstances children usually hid in a closet or under the bed – anywhere where there was enough space for a tiny body.

"There's nothing here," said Östberg as he checked under the king-size bed.

Meanwhile, Kalle was preoccupied with a pile of drawings on the boy's desk. One in particular caught his attention. It depicted a child clinging to a woman's leg. Above the woman was a speech balloon with the words "MAMA" inside. Kalle ran his hand through his hair. Instinctively, his thoughts turned to his own family. He was thankful for the harmonious relationship he shared with his partner, Mia, and their two children, Liza who was six and Pontus who was two years older. He sighed and continued with his work.

Another drawing portrayed a child hiding under a bed – the child's eyes were huge, out of proportion to the rest of the face. "Maybe he was trying to show how frightened he was," murmured Kalle to himself.

"What did you say?" shouted Östberg from the other room.

"Nothing, I was just thinking out loud." He photographed the drawings and put them back exactly how he had found them.

The two men went back downstairs to exchange notes.

Kalle lingered for a moment to wait for Sanna but when he saw her in the kitchen he decided to wait by the front door instead.

FIFTEEN MINUTES AFTER Sanna had arrived at the house, the pathologist made his entrance. He appeared somewhat flustered. Arne Falk was an unassuming man in his fifties. He was so lacking in distinguishing features that it would be difficult to pick him out in a crowd. His hair was short and blond with a few grey hairs at the temples. If there was anything about him that could be considered appealing, it was his clear, kind blue eyes. He strode purposefully into the room, buttoning up the white overall that partly covered his customary grey suit as he walked. Over his shoes he wore blue plastic protective covers.

Even though he had seen a lot in his professional career as a pathologist, he recoiled at the scene that confronted him. He stood there for a few seconds and made a mental note of the situation as if he could take in the entire scene with just a glance. Without taking his eyes off the victim he put on a pair of latex gloves with mechanical efficiency.

Arne Falk nodded in greeting to Sanna Johansson, who by now had noticed his arrival. They turned their attention back to the battered woman's body.

"What happened to you, little girl?" said Arne Falk. He was composed and it was quite obvious that he was used to seeing victims who had ended up in this terrible state.

"The animals that commit this type of crime should be locked up for good!" he whispered softly.

Although Arne Falk had already certified the woman's death he touched her very gently as a mark of respect.

"I'm sorry, but I must lift your head a little to get a better look."

The pathologist worked in deep concentration. Sanna remained crouched beside him. They worked in silence. The two of them had worked together on so many criminal investigations that they had an almost telepathic form of communication. Words were unnecessary.

Falk showed Sanna the victim's injuries and, after inspecting the wounds more closely herself, she jotted down the details in her notebook.

Their professional relationship had begun ten years ago when they worked together on a rape case. Sanna Johansson was a newcomer to the homicide squad and Arne Falk was impressed by her curiosity and commitment to learning medical terminology. For the most part, she used the correct vernacular when she spoke to him. He ended up making Sanna into one of his projects – a disciple, so to speak. But, even though with time Sanna had become quite familiar with the medical terms for injuries common in this type of crime, she sometimes demanded an explanation or asked for more in-depth information, and Arne would instruct her in a calm, professorial manner.

Sanna gave him a long, inquiring look and without further prompting he began to explain.

"The victim's jaw is dislocated – her mouth won't close." He demonstrated this to Sanna by moving his index finger up and down under the woman's jaw.

"Several of her teeth are broken, mainly in the upper jaw," he continued, opening her mouth so that Sanna could see for herself.

Arne Falk completed his preliminary examination in fifteen minutes.

"Okay. As far as I'm concerned, the body is ready to be transported to pathology. Are you coming too?"

"No, I'm going to stay a while," answered Sanna. She had planned to resume her inspection of the rest of the house, but couldn't bring herself to leave the dead woman's side.

Arne Falk paused when he saw Kalle by the front door. They exchanged a few words, then Falk continued in the direction of the ambulance crew who were waiting for orders to transport the victim.

"Thanks for waiting, but you can go now," said Falk politely. "We've called the coroner's van and they're going to take the woman to pathology," he added, proceeding on his way.

Sanna realized that the body would be moved at any minute and made sure that she had recorded everything of interest.

All of a sudden, she heard a sound behind her. She had been certain she was the only person left in the room. She turned abruptly towards the kitchen door but to her surprise there was no one there. "That wasn't my imagination," she thought. "Is there someone hiding behind the door?" She felt compelled to investigate the sound, which had definitely come from somewhere inside the kitchen.

Sanna stood up and resolutely made her way towards the doorway.

There was a noise behind her again. This time it was louder and came from the cleaning cupboard.

Irritably she moved towards the cupboard and opened the door slowly, half expecting a petrified cat to leap out.

What she saw stunned her.

A child of about five or six years old was hiding amongst the cleaning equipment. He was sitting in foetal position with his head in his hands. His whole body was trembling.

Sanna was speechless and unable to move. She took a deep breath and tried to sound calm.

"Hi." She spoke softly, letting the word linger on her lips. She moved closer and leaned towards him. He was as pale as a sheet of white paper. She tried to say something but the words wouldn't come. She sat down on the floor.

He seemed oblivious to her presence.

"My name is Sanna and I'm a policewoman...you don't need to be afraid anymore," she continued tentatively.

She paused and waited patiently for a response. She wanted to give him time to recover but the terrified child was in another world. He stared impassively into space and every now and then his frail body shook convulsively as if he was shivering from the biting winter cold.

Sanna knew she had to handle this carefully. Children in similar situations sometimes reacted in unpredictable ways. Most were apathetic and would shut themselves off completely. In these cases the best approach was to move them to a place they felt secure. But there were other, more complex cases, where children became hysterical and out of control.

Sanna watched him sadly. She reflected on how it must feel to be alone without siblings to turn to or bury yourself in their arms.

"I know you're frightened, but nobody can hurt you anymore. It's just you and me. Please come with me...What's your name?" She gently laid her hand on his left arm. Her voice was very low, almost a whisper.

The boy still didn't answer.

Sanna wondered how long he had been here – confined in this narrow, cramped space. Had he seen everything? Or had he been hiding in the closet all the time? The harrowing scenes that she had witnessed would be distressing for any child, whatever the circumstances, and in this case it was the boy's own mother who was the victim. It was inevitable that this child would be seriously wounded – not physically, but psychologically traumatised.

They sat there together. There was a familiarity about it all. She could picture herself as a child cowering under the stairs with her siblings, dumbstruck with fear, frightened and defenceless. She felt the same way now, sitting here with this terrified boy.

She couldn't discern any reaction in him, but she hoped that her presence was in some way comforting and that he didn't feel quite as isolated and abandoned as he had only a few moments ago, before she found him.

They sat there together for ten long minutes. She was waiting for him to finally speak, or show some kind of reaction. But time passed and it felt as though they had been sitting there forever. There was no point in waiting any longer – she would have to do something.

"Can you walk?" She gently took hold of his cold arms, and tried to lift him so that he would stand on his own. He made no attempt to resist but remained silent and withdrawn.

"Come, I'll help you up. We'll get out of here – okay?" His frail body was stiff and unyielding. She placed her jacket around his shoulders and held him against her body tenderly like a mother comforting her young.

KALLE INSTINCTIVELY RETURNED to the kitchen when he heard Sanna's voice, but what he saw stopped him in his tracks.

"Where did he come from?" He was both concerned and surprised. "We looked everywhere," he pondered. He strode hurriedly out of the room to contact Patricia Nikita and ask her to find out if the boy had grandparents who could come and take care of him.

In any case, Patricia Nikita would be at the crime scene in a few minutes.

Kalle followed Sanna outside to help with the child, but she turned her back and made it quite clear she didn't want him to interfere.

"Has anybody contacted his relatives? Is anyone coming to fetch him?" asked Sanna in a slightly irritated, impatient tone.

Kalle looked at Sanna for a few seconds before answering. Recently, he had been paying close attention to how she behaved in situations like this involving children. He noticed that she was becoming more and more emotional whenever she came across a distressed child.

Over the years, Kalle Karlsson and Sanna Johansson had developed a strong professional relationship. He felt that with their combined expertise and experience they complemented each other perfectly.

However, when he first found out that they would be working together he had been apprehensive, because he had heard that Sanna Johansson was rather standoffish. She wasn't lacking in ability, but many of her colleagues claimed that she looked down on them. Rather quickly, however, Kalle discovered the opposite was true. Sanna was knowledgeable, objective and responsive. And what he liked best was when she showed appreciation of his skill and ability to analyse criminal cases. He came to the realization that she could be perceived as arrogant because she liked to keep herself to herself.

"Yes, one of the neighbours – a woman – said that there was a boy in the family," he answered. "His name is Viktor. I've already contacted Patricia Nikita. She called the boy's grandmother about ten or fifteen minutes ago and, from what I understand, she will be here at any moment."

Before Kalle could finish his sentence, an elderly woman burst on to the scene screaming in panic:

"Where's my daughter? Where is she?" The woman pushed her way through the mob. "What's happened to her?"

The crowd of curious onlookers on the other side of the police barrier tape went silent. Some were openly sympathetic, others lowered their eyes as a mark of respect.

Sanna, approached the woman, still holding Viktor in her arms. The boy was like a lifeless doll and didn't react to his grandmother's presence.

The woman caught sight of the child and hurried forward, pulling the boy from Sanna's arms. She caressed him tenderly, laid his head on her shoulder and spoke to him affectionately.

"Sweetheart, what happened? Where's Mummy?"

Sanna touched the woman's arm and signalled that she should be quiet. At the same moment, she shouted to Patricia Nikita who had just arrived.

Patricia Nikita was a police assistant, a young woman of twenty-five. She was the person responsible for liaising with social services or with a victim's closest relatives.

Sanna signalled to Nikita who rushed forward and gently took the boy from his grandmother's arms. Sanna turned around to speak to the victim's mother whose eyes were following the child anxiously.

"Come Viktor, let's take a little walk, just you and me...." Patricia implored him with her smooth, soft voice. She had kind eyes that exuded compassion.

"You're cold," she continued. "Here, this will warm you up." Patricia gently stroked the boy's back with the palm of her hand, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and gave him a hug. "Is that better?" she asked, Viktor didn't respond and continued to languish in his secret world.

SANNA JOHANSSON led Viktor's grandmother to a more secluded spot, away from curious eyes, where she could talk to her in private.

"I'm Criminal Inspector Sanna Johansson. I understand that you are Viktor's grandmother."

"Yes... Kristina. My name is Kristina Borelius-Montana and I am Ingrid's mother," replied the woman cautiously. She stared at Sanna. Her face was pale and her eyes were wide with terror. "Where's Ingrid?" Is she badly hurt? Have they taken her to the hospital?" Her voice cracked as if something within her was breaking apart.

Sanna studied the attractive elderly woman. She was elegantly dressed in a marine blue dress with a matching jacket that was buttoned up to her neck. She estimated that the woman was about sixty-five years old, and guessed from her dialect that she came from Ångermanland.

THIS WAS NOTHING NEW. Sanna Johansson had been in this kind of situation before, but it always felt like the first time. It was always hard to know where to begin. How could she explain to the woman that her daughter was dead?

Sanna rubbed her palm across her face and gave Kristina Borelius-Montana a long, troubled look.

"Is it serious? How serious is it, ANSWER ME!"

Sanna knew that she would have to break the dreaded news. She would have to tell her that her daughter hadn't survived. She gently held Kristina Borelius-Montana's arms and looked at her for a moment, unsure.

"Ingrid was very badly beaten...she didn't make it". Sanna felt a lump in her throat. She continued: "Ingrid is dead."

Kristina Borelius-Montana opened her mouth in a silent scream that seemed to come from her innermost. She covered her face with her hands. When she lifted her eyes again they were filled with tears. There was such desperation in them that they cut straight into Sanna's heart.

"Where is she? I want to see her!" exclaimed the woman, as she gripped Sanna's arms and shook her. She was completely beside herself. "Are you sure it's my daughter you are talking about?" she continued. "Have you identified her? Are you sure it's Ingrid Svenson!" With a jerk, she let Sanna go.

Sanna pressed her lips together and nodded.

"Who did this?" she cried in anger and disbelief.

A hush descended upon the inquisitive neighbours milling about the crime scene as they turned their gazes towards the house where Kristina Borelius-Montana and Sanna Johansson stood.

"We don't know...yet..." answered Sanna weakly.

"NO, NOOO, NOOO, what am I going to do? It can't be true, it can't!" She hid her face in her hands.

Sanna Johansson opened her mouth to say something but the words wouldn't come. She couldn't think of anything reassuring to say. She wished there was something she could do to comfort this heartbroken mother. Sanna bit her lower lip – her eyes watered, but she managed to stave off the tears.

"DO YOU HAVE A NEW FILM for the camera?" Lorena Pascalini asked the photographer who was struggling to catch up with her.

"No, I've got a digital camera with me," answered Manuel Riviera. His voice was strained and he was having trouble catching his breath. The sweat dripped down his forehead and his heavy clothing didn't help matters. The photographer couldn't keep up with Pascalini who moved quickly and with ease. "Camera roll?" he murmured sourly.

On her way towards the Svenson house, Pascalini stopped to ask a woman what was going on. The woman mumbled something and pointed to the kitchen window. The journalist thanked her and quickly moved on, pushing her way through the crowd.

"Try to take pictures over there on the right hand side of the house, especially inside the kitchen!"

Without bothering to answer, the photographer barged forward. He attempted to climb the fence but promptly changed his mind when he saw a police officer walking in his direction.

"Damn! Shit! I can hardly see what I'm doing!" muttered Manuel Riviera under his breath. With the camera in his hands he stretched his arms upward and took as many shots as he could.

"Hmmm, ok, not so bad," he exclaimed after checking the results. He began to approach the cordoned off area. Click, click. He shifted back and forth from one side of the house to the other. Click, click, click. He looked at the images again and continued with his assignment.

Sanna, who had noticed the reporters, ordered a police constable to eject them from the area.

The journalist and her photographer were promptly stopped by the uniformed policewoman who sternly ordered them off the premises and was unmoved by Lorena's loud protests and obvious irritation.

Lorena Pascalini abruptly changed tactics – she had developed a number of different techniques to encourage people to talk. A couple of steps behind her stood a police cadet who had noticed her.

"Young and inexperienced," she thought.

She smiled a little flirtatiously, hoping that the man would be a bit more forthcoming than his colleague and that she would be able to coax more details out of him.

"I heard that the victim was the woman who lived here."

"There is a deceased person inside but I can't give out any details. You'll have to wait until the investigator releases his report on the case."

Unfortunately, it seemed as if she had misjudged the young man – her tactics made no impression on him at all.

"Has anyone else been hurt?" she continued, ignoring what the policeman had just said.

"How did she die? Was she assaulted? Did she die of her injuries?" she insisted as her inquiring eyes searched for someone more communicative.

Without waiting for the policeman's non-response she walked away and initiated a conversation with a woman who was chatting animatedly to a man standing next to her. Now and then he nodded to acknowledge that he was listening.

"Have you been here long?" Pascalini smiled warmly at the woman.

"No. Well yes...maybe," answered the woman, a little startled by the journalist and her photographer who was pointing his camera at her.

"This is awful!" continued the woman excitedly.

The man she had been talking to retreated as soon as he saw the camera.

Pascalini smiled to herself. Finally, someone who was keen to talk!

"I saw a man come out of the house. He was covered in blood and acting aggressively – I was afraid he would attack us." She breathed heavily and spoke with a stutter. "He stopped outside the door for a moment and then ran towards the woods."

The woman paused and looked around her. "I don't think anyone saw him after that."

"How much blood was there? Was he injured?"

"I think that there was blood on his face, hands and shirt... I wonder if he was injured." The woman looked inquisitively at the journalist even though she knew that Pascalini couldn't give her an answer.

"Was he armed?"

"Yes, he was!" she replied emphatically. "I think he was holding something shiny. Some kind of weapon maybe. Or was it the blood glistening...? I don't know."

Her words hung in the air.

"What did he look like?"

"Swedish! He was Swedish!" she replied firmly and glared at Lorena Pascalini, as if she had more to tell.

"Can you describe what he looked like in more detail?"

"He was approximately 1.90 metres tall, with short blond hair. He was wearing a white shirt stained with blood and black trousers. I'm pretty sure about that!"

"Could you tell how old he was?"

"Between fifty and fifty-five, I would guess."

"Can you tell me anything more?"

"No, I don't think so. That's about all I can remember for the moment. I'm far too scared to think clearly...."

"What's your name?"

"You're welcome to write down what I said, but don't want you to quote me!" replied the woman.

Lorena Pascalini took no notice and continued working her way through the list of questions she had jotted down in her notebook.

"Do you know if there is anyone here who is acquainted with the family? Who also saw what happened?"

"There were quite a lot of us here, but I don't really know who they were. I think I spotted the man who lives in the white house over there." She pointed to one of the neighbouring houses, which was a similar sized villa.

"Just one last question – the person who came out, was it Mr. Svenson?"

The woman glared at Lorena Pascalini as if she had asked a forbidden question.

"No, you know what...." She glanced at her wristwatch. "I actually have to go now. I'm late." And she hurriedly walked away.

"Was it the husband, the person who came out of the house?" shouted Pascalini. But the woman didn't reply. She was already several metres away and pretended not to hear.

Soon, TV reporters and journalists from other newspapers besieged the area outside the grand house clamouring for an official statement from the chief investigator.

"Savage murder – suspect on the run. _The police are releasing very few details about the brutal murder on 117 Skogsvägen in Djursholm. An eye-witness who spoke to The Evening Post describes how he saw the horrific scene through a window before the police sealed off the area._

Quote: - There was so much blood in the kitchen that I thought several people were dead in there.

Another eyewitness alleges that the man seen running from the house was Swedish and appeared to be behaving in a threatening manner. He is believed to be armed, possibly with a knife."

On the night of the murder, Lorena Pascalini read her report in the online edition of The Evening Post. A colleague gave her the thumbs up as he strolled past her desk. She smiled proudly, delighted that hers was the first report to be published about the brutal events in Djursholm. The article was illustrated with two photographs: the first was of the kitchen, which seemed to be in a state of disarray and you could just make out that someone was lying on the floor, and the other was a picture showing the façade of the elegant villa.

Radio, TV, as well as the daily and evening newspapers didn't waste any time getting their stories out. Outside on the newspaper racks at Pressbyrån, 7-Eleven and other shops, large headlines proclaimed:

"Mother of young child brutally murdered!"

# Distress

WITH LONG, RAPID STRIDES, Sanna ran upstairs to the fifth floor. She was out of breath and agitated. She rummaged impatiently for her keys among the countless items she had stuffed into her handbag. She stormed into her apartment at 11 Hökensgatan.

At seven o'clock, directly after the crime scene inspection, she had taken a long, brisk walk to wind down. It hardly helped.

She tossed off her poplin jacket and dropped it on the floor in a heap with her shoes, which she had hastily removed on the way to the training cupboard. She grabbed the boxing gloves that were lying there as if they were waiting for her.

Since childhood she had been taught to maintain good physical fitness. Markus, her brother, had stubbornly insisted on coaching her. He nagged her that she had to be able to defend herself. "No man will ever beat you," he repeated time and time again, like a mantra.

"Nobody will beat you!"

Markus was the one who had taught Sanna to box, hit and use different defence grips and positions. Her brother had trained her to be tough. He used to say – "I'm going to toughen you up."

Markus also taught her judo because he thought it was more important to be agile than strong. Sanna wasn't particularly enthusiastic about her brother's involvement – she was only a child then – but he refused to give up. He persisted until she could hit back with twice as much power.

Only then, when she hit him hard, was he satisfied. He took the hit graciously. "There, see, you can do it," he would say, grinning.

Over time, Sanna learnt a wide range of techniques, which she sometimes, and without warning, felt the urge to test on Markus when he was least expecting it.

The self-defence mechanism was in her bones. Markus' obstinacy hadn't gone unrewarded. Despite all the years that had gone by, his mantra still echoed in the back of her mind. She was determined to keep in shape and above all be strong – physically strong. But training routines weren't really to Sanna's taste; she hated repetitive activities and wasn't interested in training at work.

But there were other ways of solving the problem. As a creature of comfort she found it both more convenient and effective to store essential training equipment in her apartment. Then she could train whenever she felt like it.

BUT SHE WASN'T TRAINING THIS TIME. Her body was tense, her muscles ached, and her head felt as if it was going to explode. She needed to decompress. The anger and helplessness she felt made her skin crawl with pain...

Sanna grabbed the boxing gloves and put them on hurriedly. She turned towards the punching bag that hung from the ceiling in the right hand corner of the living room and began punching with tremendous, unrestrained force. The heavy bag swung back and forth like a pendulum. She punched again and again, her teeth clenched and her jaw protruding from the effort. For every blow that she delivered she grimaced as if her hands hurt. She punched and punched, as if she was determined to destroy her opponent.

Sweat ran down her forehead, her throat, her chest. After pushing herself for one arduous, exhausting hour, her strength began to fade. Short of breath, she bent down to recover. At the same time, she turned almost automatically towards the window. It was already dark outside. Sanna stood up and, with laboured movements, stretched her upper body. She looked at the clock hanging on the wall. It was already eleven o'clock.

Apathetically, she contemplated her boxing gloves and with a sigh of despondency began to remove them. She held her fingers and massaged her hands, grimacing with pain – this time she had neglected to put on her protective bandages.

She stood there and stared intensely at the punching bag. She felt trickles of sweat roll down her face and her body. "What now!" She took a deep breath and walked into the bathroom. She was still breathing heavily. She ripped off her t-shirt ferociously, almost tearing it, and continued in the same manner with the rest of her clothes. She climbed into the shower, turned on the tap and felt the cold water cascade over her trembling body.

She curled up in a foetal position in the corner of the cramped shower cabinet and wept loudly pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms tightly around them.

She remembered hearing her own mother cry for help. She could picture her running around the dining room table to dodge the blows aimed at her by the man in her life – Sanna's father. Her thoughts drifted back in time to her unhappy childhood and she hugged her knees and put her head between her legs. She wished she could switch off her brain and forget that she existed. Tears flowed down her wet cheeks. And the hours passed...

The telephone rang impatiently in the living room, abruptly bringing her back to the present. Her whole body jerked as if she had been awoken from a nightmare.

Disoriented, she managed to stand up and turn off the water. She had no idea how long she had been sitting in the shower. She grabbed the white towel that was hanging on a hook by the cabinet door and draped it around her body. She was freezing. Her natural red lips were almost blue and her skin mottled and discoloured.

Sanna climbed out of the shower and rushed into the living room, but the phone stopped ringing just as she picked up the receiver.

"This is Sanna Johansson! Hello?" No answer – she threw the receiver down irritably.

THE NIGHT WAS UNBEARABLY LONG. Sanna lay in her bed and watched the moonlight shadows move like dancing birds on the ceiling. The clock ticked slowly, she could hear each second – tick, tock, tick, tock...

# CHAPTER 1

## Searching for the truth

SANNA WHEELED HER BICYCLE slowly down the almost deserted street. It was five thirty in the morning and the birds were already awake and twittering, flying from tree to tree keeping her company on her lonely journey. A cool breeze cavorted playfully with her hair, occasionally tossing it into her face. She reached Centralbron, glanced at the clock and climbed onto the bicycle to continue her journey to Kungsholmen.

Ingrid Svenson's tragic death was constantly on her mind. There were so many unanswered questions gnawing away in her head. She had hardly slept all night and her eyes were slightly swollen from crying.

DETECTIVE CHIEF INSPECTOR Henrik Blom at the National Bureau of Investigation was a morning person. He loved the quiet moments in the office early in the day – it gave him a feeling of well-being. He was one of those people who talked a lot about himself. As soon as he had the chance – which was almost every day – he would extol the virtues of starting the day early, advice his colleagues eventually tired of hearing.

The wind had died down. Weak sunlight filtered through the office window. It looked like it was going to be a warm summer day.

Henrik Blom arrived at the Police Headquarters at seven o'clock. He strolled through the open plan office where other early risers were already at their desks.

A colleague ruffled through a newspaper.

"Good morning!" greeted Blom, waving half-heartedly.

"Morning," answered the man in a thick voice.

On his way to his office, far down the corridor, he passed the Criminal Inspector's office.

"You're already here?"

He stopped abruptly outside the door in surprise and looked at her in amazement.

Sanna belonged to the group of colleagues who never came into work early and definitely never before Blom himself.

"I know, I couldn't sleep, so I thought I may as well get up and come here," she responded without looking up from her notebook.

Detective chief inspector Henrik Blom was an unremarkable man of forty years old. He was quite stocky and moved slowly, like an old man. He laughed loudly.

Blom held rather conservative views on the role of the police force and voiced his opinions without inhibition.

"Good news that we found the perpetrator," he continued.

Sanna gasped. She closed her eyes firmly, cleared her throat and after a pause raised her head in irritation.

"What did you say?" When did this happen?"

"Shit! I had to hear it from him," she thought.

"Who caught him?"

Blom regarded Sanna. His lips curled into a lascivious smile that she didn't appreciate at all.

"Kalle said he would call you directly, so I thought you'd already been informed."

"Fucking Kalle," she thought. "I told him to contact me any time day or night."

"Who was it?" she asked tersely.

"Börge Svenson."

"I see!" Sanna got up from her chair and made her way to the bathroom. She remained there for some time with her hands on the washbasin, leaning towards the mirror. She turned on the tap and let the water run. After her long, sleepless night she could neither think clearly nor contain her irritation. Adrenalin was pumping through her body.

She was furious with Kalle! That was all she could think of. Actually, she was more than furious. She was incensed and he would certainly get to hear how she felt as soon as his ugly face made an appearance at work. But above all she was irritated by Blom. She hated his forceful demeanour and his laddish jargon.

She washed her hands and face. She took a deep breath and felt a little more relaxed. Ready to return to her office.

"Bloody Kalle – I can't believe he didn't call me," she continued to brood.

Of course, on an intellectual level she realized that this was a childish way to react. They would be meeting soon anyway and he was probably planning to tell her all about it then.

It was such a damn long night," she thought. She let out a deep breath, tried to pretend nothing had happened and got on with her work.

She flicked back and forth demonstratively through the pages of her notebook but found it hard to focus. Eventually she began to concentrate on certain pages.

Blom who had been observing Sanna from his room smiled contentedly. With a glint in his eye he turned his head towards the window. All of a sudden he realized it was turning into a delightful, sunny day.

Anders Segelström had described how upset Johansson had been when she left the crime scene and Blom debated whether she was the right person for this type of case. Sanna Johansson was the most experienced detective but he had doubts about her ability to cope psychologically. On the one hand he wanted to get rid of her, on the other hand he knew that he could really use her knowledge and experience.

For now he would let the matter rest but he would keep his eyes and ears open.

Blom was irritated by her stubbornness but what bothered him most was her tendency to point out when he was in the wrong. She clearly didn't realize who was boss.

Sanna was deeply engrossed in her notes and looked up puzzled when she heard someone stumble over a chair in the corridor. It was Blom.

"Kalle said last night that he would be in at 9.30 so I suggested that we had the morning meeting without him. Segelström, who was also there during the arrest can update everyone on the situation," said Blom on his way to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee.

Sanna nodded but didn't reply.

SANNA GLANCED AT THE TIME on her mobile phone. It was five past eight. She grabbed the receiver of the office telephone and punched in the numbers with her pen.

"Hi, Arne... are you busy?"

"Not particularly," he answered distractedly. "I'm on my way to the autopsy room..."

Sanna waited.

"You'll get my report any minute now... I sent it earlier this morning."

"Thanks! What's the cause of death?"

"Severe blood loss – epidural bleeding."

Silence.

"In her condition it was a blessing that she died," Arne Falk continued. "If she had survived, she would have been a vegetable."

"I see... When do you think we'll receive the full report?"

"That depends... that depends..."

"Do you have a lot to do?"

"It's not just that, it depends on what I find... but we should have the results within seven to ten days."

Sanna knew there was no point trying to speed things up. Arne Falk was a workaholic. She was sure he would deliver the report earlier if it were at all possible.

Sanna headed back to the investigation room. On the whiteboard she had drawn a map of the crime scene as she interpreted it – where the brutal attack had begun and where it had ended. She added some additional details to clarify her notes and continued in the same way with the rest of her observations, this time more intently.

"On the kitchen table there was a blood-splattered object – was that the broken chair leg? Did the attacker use it to hit Ingrid Svenson with?" she mumbled to herself.

The photographer had taken a whole series of shots that would be printed during that day.

Sanna tried to recreate the scene from memory. Every corner, every detail of the blood spattered kitchen, including fingerprints and footprints. It was important for her to create her own visual interpretation of how the actual events might have unfolded – how she envisioned the murder had been committed. Gruesome scenes played over and over in her head – the bloodbath was the result of uncontrollable rage.

DURING THE REGULAR MORNING meeting new criminal cases were reported and progress in existing investigations discussed. Blom reminded the staff about the importance of documentation.

Everyone listened, some shifted restlessly in their chairs.

"Haven't we heard this before?" whispered a man to the colleague sitting next to him.

His colleague sneered. "There is no such thing as information that isn't accessible to everyone in the investigative team," he whispered back.

Segelström informed the team that the suspected perpetrator was the victim's husband, a man called Börge Svenson. The arrest was without incident.

"As you all know we have limited resources, so we'll stick to four and a half people in the initial phase of Ingrid Svenson's investigation," said Blom.

"Who's going to work half time?" wondered Segelström.

"Monica will compile information received through tips and Mohamed will be responsible for document registration." He looked at Sanna. "But Sanna herself can decide how she wants to use the resources available to her."

Monica and Mohamed nodded slowly. Both of them were already working on other investigations.

Segelström continued to stare at Blom, waiting for an answer.

"Yes, that means that Monica and Mohamed will each work 25 percent," Blom said, giving Segelström a meaningful look.

"Kalle and Sanna will be both be in charge of the investigation."

Carl-Magnus Alkelius, the public prosecutor, has excused himself and assured us that he will be here tomorrow, so we will have to start without him. "He cleared his throat and leered at Sanna. " He, of course, is chief investigation officer with overall responsibility for the case."

Segelström sighed and writhed awkwardly in his chair.

"Segelström is our crime scene co-ordinator." Blom looked at the man kindly. "You, as usual, will take care of the technical stuff."

He gazed around the room at the participants and continued assigning responsibilities for other crimes that needed to be dealt with.

AS SOON AS THE MORNING meeting was concluded, all those involved in Ingrid Svenson's case made their way directly to the investigation room. Everyone had been at the murder scene the previous day so they were all familiar with the events and Sanna decided that there was no need to give out further information about the case.

Samir Mohamed and Monica Lindh were ordered to compile the witness statements they had taken at the murder scene and Anders Segelström was asked to follow up on the leads that had been secured.

Mohamed and Monica were content to nod their heads and leave the room but Segelström fixed his gaze on Sanna without batting an eyelid.

"Is there something that's unclear?"

Segelström shook his head and left the room.

Sanna watched him. "How's this going to work?" she thought.

John Steward, the photographer, stormed into the investigation room. "HERE!" he said and threw a stack of pictures and four CD's onto the desk.

"Thanks! Finished already?" Sanna grabbed the bundle eagerly.

"Yes, I had nothing to do last night so I stayed up and printed out the photos. Disgusting images!" he said, his face contorted in distaste.

She looked at him and nodded in agreement.

"I know..."

THERE WAS A MOUNTAIN OF photographic material to go through, over 1000 digital images, as well as printed copies of the photos Steward felt provided the most information. He had even classified these into a number of different categories.

Sanna prepared the whiteboard where the murder scene images would be displayed.

At the top of the board she wrote: "Ingrid Svenson 46 years old." She contemplated the words for a moment and then turned her attention back to the photographs.

Sanna sat down at the desk. It was going to be a long day. Each image would have to be put into some sort of systematic order. She began by numbering the photographs and then reorganized them until she achieved a relatively coherent sequence of events. This involved selecting the shots that best illustrated what had happened on the day of the murder.

Sanna's initial impression was that the viewer's experience was based more on how photographs were organized and classified than what they represented. To gain more insight she would have to methodically describe and identify the different elements in each photograph and how they were related to each other.

Her considerable experience with complicated murder investigations had taught her that the individual's perception of reality was important to provide as accurate a depiction of the events as possible – in other words, how the murder itself was committed.

Some of the images portrayed the victim from different angles. Others were detailed shots of the kitchen, where the photographer had enlarged specific areas of interest, such as blood spattered surfaces and objects. A few images simulated a sequence, which implied that the victim had fallen repeatedly, presumably managing to get up again and again to continue her escape.

Sanna studied the image of Ingrid Svenson's battered body sprawled under the table. The woman's position on the floor suggested that she had been dragged in different directions. Her clothes were bloody and torn. "What was he doing? Why did he persist in attacking her even though she was already dead?".

She picked up another photograph, this time of the victim's disfigured face. Next to the body there was a pool of blood.

One hour later she stood back and regarded the result of her efforts from a distance.

"Was he drunk or high on drugs?" she wondered. "No one in their right mind could possibly do something so sickening! Were they alone or were there others in the house?"

She studied the bloodied handprint on the kitchen table and floor and looked closely at a series of images showing possible fingerprints and footprints. How many people had been in the house? What did the footprints reveal? Jottings in her notebook as well as the recorded sequences helped her to highlight important observations.

"If somebody else committed the murder there has to be technical evidence..."

She held a close up photograph of a blood-smeared object that looked like a chair leg. "Could this be the murder weapon?"

She drew up a chair so that its back faced the whiteboard. She straddled her legs across it, leaned her notebook against the back of the chair and began to rifle through the pages. The chair leg had been sent to the National Criminal technical laboratory for analysis. She made a note to herself: contact Segelström about the blood-stained object.

The photographic display was nothing more than confirmation that the victim had found herself in a torture chamber. The blood-spattered kitchen was testimony to the fact that there had been a savage, violent battle.

Her thoughts turned again to the child. "Had he witnessed the devastating series of events?"

Sanna's expression changed – she remembered the moment she had found Viktor in the cupboard. A terrified, lonely boy struck dumb with fear. A deeply disturbed child who had been traumatized by the violence in a shocking and unforgiveable way.

She got up from the chair and approached the whiteboard, not looking at any photograph in particular, then turned around and walked slowly out of the room towards the coffee machine to fetch a café latte.

A colleague who was walking past greeted her.

She raised her eyes and nodded even though she hadn't seen the person in question. She was deep in thought with a barrage of unanswered questions swirling around in her head. She returned to the investigation room.

Sanna hadn't had time to contact the hospital. "Has he started to speak yet? Has he been able to describe what he saw?" She had to find out how he was.

"Viktor's behaviour is evidence enough that he witnessed something terrifying. The boy might have seen the whole thing from beginning to end. Let's hope he was hiding from the start." Sanna hoped that fate had been kind and spared Viktor from the horror, but the child's apathetic state suggested something else.

"You don't need to be a psychiatrist to work that out."

She rummaged briskly through the photographs looking for the footprints of a child.

"Nothing..." Sanna was more and more convinced that the boy hadn't been in the room. Nevertheless, there was no doubting the fact that he was in a state of shock that didn't appear to be temporary.

IT WAS TEN O'CLOCK in the morning. Wednesday was normally the day of the week when they both had lie-ins. It was totally out of character for Sanna to arrive at work before Kalle. She was somebody who never missed an opportunity to sleep a little longer in the middle of the week.

It was an agreement they had reached with their previous boss – Blom's predecessor. Sanna and Kalle worked day and night with complete disregard for their official working hours, and he would do anything to avoid having burnt out staff on his conscience as well as the unions on his back.

Sanna had come up with the brilliant idea of having a lie-in during the middle of the week, when and if their workload allowed it.

"Good morning!"

Kalle Karlsson burst jovially into the investigation room. He spotted the crime scene photos, which were already stuck onto the board.

"Well, well, you've been productive! Looks as if this investigation is well underway," he continued enthusiastically. "Did you come in early today?"

Sanna Johansson continued with what she was doing.

"Yes, I did," she answered frostily without turning to look at him.

Kalle regarded her quietly and tried to work out if he had done something wrong. Her unusual coolness was discouraging and he decided it was probably best to leave. "Maybe she's just having a bad day," he thought.

Kalle was half way out of the room when it dawned on him that she must have heard about the arrest of Ingrid Svenson's husband during the morning meeting.

"I called last night to tell you that we had the suspect in custody, but no one answered. And I couldn't leave a message because your message box was full."

She waited a moment and then turned around, back to her usual friendly self.

"Oh, I have to admit I thought it odd you didn't call – I was a little annoyed at you..." she leered at him to see how he would react.

After a moment's silence she continued.

"Yes, now I remember!" she gestured with her hands. "I didn't get to the phone in time. I was in the shower... I should have disconnected the fixed line ages ago," she said wearily.

Kalle nodded and gave her a feeble smile.

"Where did you find him?"

"It was Segelström. He joined up with Kjell Östberg's division while they were searching the woods. Most, if not all of them, had already heard about the horrific murder scene. Information spreads quickly – as you know... Anyway, about half an hour later, after they had combed the entire area with police dogs, they found him deep in the woods behind an abandoned hut, sitting calmly on a rock."

Kalle gathered his thoughts.

"His clothes and hands were covered in blood. So was his face. Apparently he didn't try and run or make any attempt to resist arrest."

"Lucky I wasn't there," murmured Sanna bitterly.

"Why?"

"I honestly don't know what I would have done if I'd seen the bastard. I probably would have..." She broke off suddenly. "Pity it wasn't him who bled to death..."

Kalle said nothing. He studied her, bewildered. At the same time, part of him sympathized with how she felt. The horrific scenes they had witnessed in the Svenson family kitchen could invite nothing but contempt.

When he began his career he believed that cases involving violence or murder were the same regardless of who the victim was or how the crime was committed. Over time he had changed his opinion. Domestic violence could not be compared to violence that occurred between adult men, for example. Women, and in some cases even men, were abused by the person they shared their life with and these cases couldn't be judged in the same way as any other type of abuse or murder. Moreover, children in the family were often affected, something that unfortunately was too seldom discussed.

For a time, when the police had been receiving additional training in how to deal with cases of domestic violence, the subject was discussed and debated fleetingly. It was then that Kalle and a few others began to change their attitude and gain greater insight into this phenomenon. He completely discarded his earlier beliefs. What characterized the abuse in close relationships was that it went on behind closed doors. It could continue over a long period of time and only end if the victim left their partner or was beaten to death. In some cases, the woman's situation became so desperate that she committed suicide.

What would he do if his own daughter became involved with a man like that? Would he follow the rulebook or react as any father would. How should a father behave? The very thought sickened him.

ON THE WHITEBOARD, Sanna rearranged a photograph of the victim's disfigured face.

Kalle approached the board and stood behind her.

"Disgusting! Hard to understand how anyone can do that to the woman they love?" he murmured, walking towards the photomontage.

"It makes no sense." Sanna put down the photograph and magnifying glass. She straightened her back and stretched her arms up into the air, clasping her hands together. She twisted her body, first to the right, then to the left and got up with a loud sigh.

Kalle stared at her and smiled to himself.

They studied the images in silence, the questions were endless.

"What really happened? What on earth provoked him to such an extent? Is he a psychopath, drug addict or alcoholic?" Sanna mused.

"No, I don't think so! He didn't show any such signs when we arrested him."

"Was he sober?"

"There was nothing to indicate that he was under the influence of alcohol or any other substance when he was arrested."

"No sign of drugs?"

"Nope! Nothing obvious. The police who found him said he seemed to be in charge of all his faculties. Anyway, we'll see what the toxicology report says."

Sanna remained standing with her back to the photo display – her gaze fastened on an indeterminate point.

"Does it matter?" she continued.

"What?"

"Does it matter what motivated him?"

"What do you mean?"

"The images speak for themselves. Here we have a brutally murdered woman and as far as we know there was nobody else in the house except Börge Svenson."

"He claims that it wasn't him who murdered his wife. That's what he said when we arrested him. At first he flatly refused to come with us to the police station."

Sanna looked at Kalle uncomprehendingly.

"Did he say anything else?"

"Yes, he claims that she was already dead when he got there."

"Bullshit!" She shouted louder and louder until her words echoed in the room. "That's absurd!" She let out a deliberate sigh. "Do you know when we'll get the results from Forensics?"

"No, I planned to call them today. I heard that they're swamped and because of holidays and staff shortages I doubt we'll get the results before next week."

"We'll have to take that up with the prosecutor, maybe he can pull a few strings and hurry things along," said Sanna with a twinkle in her eye. "By the way, I forgot to mention that Segelström will handle the technical stuff, since he is going to be our criminal technician. Blom decided that this morning at the meeting."

"Great, just what we need," said Kalle, smirking.

Sanna knew exactly what he meant.

"We'll have to hope that the prosecutor manages to pull strings," said Kalle, getting back to the subject. "You've probably heard that Börge Svenson's father is a lawyer."

"Hard to miss. And not just any lawyer..."

"The case could be given higher priority."

"Yes, we'll probably hear something tomorrow."

"What do you mean?"

"That's what usually happens when 'prominent' people" are involved. Sanna made a quotation sign with her fingers.

Kalle rolled his eyes.

"I've placed the pictures in the order I believe the events took place. As you can see, the attack began in the dining room," continued Sanna, pointing to a series of images showing the glass display case in the dining room. She had placed an arrow beside the broken pane of glass and the bloodied strands of hair caught in the fragments. To the left, there was a photo of a chair that had one leg missing and in the same image you could see the tablecloth that had been dragged halfway onto the floor.

Kalle looked at a series of kitchen shots. Intersecting arrows simulated the sequence of events leading up to the murder and how many people could have been in the room when it occurred.

"Damn, I can't stop thinking about what you said," interrupted Sanna.

"What did I say?"

"That he claims his wife was already dead when he came home!"

"Yeah, that's weird. Strange reaction to run off into the woods after returning home to find your wife dead. It's nonsense," agreed Kalle.

"Isn't it? How the hell could he say that? What do you think about Svenson's claim that someone else did it?"

Kalle fixed his eyes on Sanna.

"There's no sign of forced entry. We went through the whole house, primarily to ascertain whether anyone else was involved. The window locks were all intact. As far as we could tell there were no valuables missing... He said someone must have run to the back of the house."

Sanna ran her fingers through her hair and watched him, hesitantly.

"In that case the thief was extremely careful to lock up after himself, from the inside as well," continued Kalle.

They smiled knowingly at each other.

"Could it be a disappointed lover?" asked Kalle.

"Are you suggesting she had a lover?"

"Either of them..., somebody who had been jilted or felt shut out."

"And they murder their rival so viciously? No, I have a really hard time believing that in this particular case."

"Don't forget the Arboga murder..." pointed out Kalle. "The murderer acted with uncontrollable rage."

"Yes, that's an example of jealousy, but you can't compare that with the Svenson case."

"Hmm," said Kalle. "The witnesses who we talked to at the scene stated that only one person came out of the house. Svenson fits their description."

"According to the images there are two sets of footprints. They probably belong to Börge and Ingrid Svenson. There is no third person!"

"Are you sure about that? What's this?"

Kalle pointed to a footprint. It looked like a child's but the print had been partly trampled on by an adult. It was impossible to say whether it meant the boy had been caught up in the attack.

"Let's ask Steward to make an enlargement..."

"I'll contact Forensics and ask them to follow it up."

Sanna nodded decisively and made a note in her book.

Kalle stared at a photograph of the chair leg.

"I think this is the murder weapon," said Sanna.

"You mean one of the weapons."

"Yes, you're right, he probably kicked and punched her as well."

The attacker tortured her," said Kalle.

Sanna nodded and turned back to the desk. "We just have these left..."

There was a pile of photographs that still needed to be analysed spread out on the desk.

With a heavy sigh, Kalle approached the table, pulled up a chair and sat down, ready to continue work.

Sanna sat down opposite him and they began the arduous process.

"Do you think we'll find out anything we don't already know?" asked Kalle.

"Who knows, we mustn't miss anything... I particularly want to find out if there was a third person in the kitchen."

Kalle inserted a CD into his laptop.

"I still don't understand why the attacker used such aggression... We mustn't forget that there have been a number of violent robberies lately," continued Sanna.

"You mean organized burglaries of houses and apartments?"

"Yes, and even though everything points to Svenson just now, we still have to go through all the evidence to confirm or reject the theory that a third person was at the murder scene."

AFTER THREE HOURS INTENSIVE work she stretched her arms in the air and was just about to say something when the postman walked past the door.

"Where are you going?"

"I'll be back soon!" She ran out of the room.

Sanna returned a couple of minutes later with the preliminary forensic report in her hand.

"Here!" she said, placing a bundle of papers on the table. She left the room.

Kalle looked at the table. It was a short report.

At the preliminary forensic investigation, carried out on the day of the murder, Arne Falk, the pathologist, discovered fractures in the victim's skull as well as dislocation of the first and second vertebrae.

The pathologist concluded that the woman had died from catastrophic blood loss caused by internal bleeding from an artery – a so-called epidural hematoma. According to the pathologist this type of blood loss occurs very rapidly, and death would, in this case, have been unavoidable.

According to Arne Falk, this wasn't particularly unusual, especially considering the fact that there had been a long delay before the police and emergency services were contacted. The victim died at the scene on 17th June at 17.45.

THE POLICE AUTHORITIES realized that they couldn't go on withholding information from the general public about the brutal murder and they issued a statement announcing that a press conference would take place the next day at seven thirty.

Henrik Blom's curt manner turned out to be a blessing and the event went relatively smoothly.

For once Sanna approved of her boss's jargon.

He offered his condolences for the terrible fate that had befallen the young mother and at the same time pointed out that the sensitive nature of the case did not permit him to reveal any details.

"The forensic examination has begun and Arne Falk, the pathologist will confirm the exact cause of death in due course," continued Blom.

"There's a rumour that you have a man in custody already," said a reporter.

"We have apprehended one person but aren't ready to charge him yet."

A few routine questions followed. Lorena Pascalini raised her head from her notebook. "Are you satisfied that the person you have in custody is the murderer? Rumour has it that it's an open and shut case," she said in a tone that was characteristically self-assured.

"As I said earlier, we have apprehended a person and are waiting for the prosecutor's decision on whether he will be charged or not."

"What relationship does the suspect have with the woman?" continued Pascalini.

"I will not go into any details," insisted Blom.

"Is the suspect the son of a very famous lawyer?" persisted Pascalini.

Blom glowered at the journalist.

"I have no comment..., you'll have to be patient until we return with more information," he muttered, sweat starting to form on his forehead.

"Is it true that the murdered woman is the daughter in law of the famous prosecutor, Harald Svenson?"

Blom's grunting laugh was dripping with sarcasm, so was his reply.

"I know you want big headline news – all you're interested in is filling spaces in the tabloids..."

Pascalini had no intention of allowing herself to be bullied by a grumpy inspector.

"How should I interpret your answer? Is it a yes?"

"I repeat – we'll return with more information and convene a new press conference later this week." Henrik Blom concluded the conversation on a sour note and left the room with Sanna Johansson despite other journalists clamouring to ask questions.

BRUTAL UPPER CLASS MURDER!

"According to The Evening Post the brutally murdered mother of a six year old child is the daughter in law of a well-known prosecutor. Police confirm that they have detained a man for questioning but have not confirmed whether the suspect has any relation to the victim.

During the assault, the man stuck a knife into the woman's throat. It is however unclear if the act was committed premeditated or in anger. The prison sentence for murder is between ten years and life."

# CHAPTER 2

## The suspect

HE WAS SELF-CONFIDENT and eloquent and carried himself as if he owned the world. His behaviour was friendly and accommodating and most people considered him a very likeable man. Börge Svenson was born on the fourth of June, fifty five years ago, into a well-known and respected upper class family from Östermalm, Stockholm. His father, Harald Svenson, was a famous lawyer and senior partner at the esteemed firm, Svenson & Partners, who, despite his seventy nine years, still worked part time. Over the years, he had developed a formidable reputation for boldness and had been successful in the vast majority of his cases, which mainly involved financial crime. He was a powerful man with many influential contacts within the legal system.

On a personal or professional level, Börge Svenson had never taken advantage of his parent's influential position.

Due to the circumstances and his relationship with his parents he had resisted the temptation to depend upon his parents financially – not that he had ever really had the opportunity. He had built up his own wealth with his wife, Ingrid.

He lay on the hard bed with his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. He was in custody at Kronobergs prison in Stockholm.

In the sparsely furnished room was a bed and table. On the table stood an old TV and above it was a cupboard. To the left of the door was a washbasin and circular mirror. Börge Svenson barely noticed anything in the room. His thoughts had transported him back in time. He closed his eyes and imagined he could hear the voices of his parents as they waited for him in the sitting room. He was sixteen again.

"Börge, can you come and sit here with us? We need to talk," his mother had said.

Börge didn't answer. He took off his coat and shoes and washed his hands in the guest cloakroom. He continued towards the sitting room with butterflies in his stomach.

When his parents wanted to talk to him it always meant something serious was up. He wondered what he had done wrong this time.

Gunnel and Harald Svenson informed him of their plans. They had decided on a radical change in his life. Although the high school term had just begun, Börge was to go to England the following week.

In keeping with family tradition he was being sent to boarding school. But unlike his father, who had studied in Oxford, Börge was to attend a school in Manchester. They felt that their son needed a change of environment with stricter rules. The school they selected had a reputation for strict discipline and unruly pupils were controlled with an iron hand. Börge would learn his lesson once and for all – as his father had put it.

Börge received the news angrily, but with sadness too. He didn't really understand what the move would involve. How would he cope living in a foreign country without friends or family? Even though he had wanted to run away from home on countless occasions, living alone so far away from his parents was not exactly news he welcomed.

HIS TIME IN MANCHESTER HAD BEEN tough but educational. He had learned more than his parents had anticipated. They had wanted him to be put in his place and understand the difference between right and wrong. However, the transformation Börge actually experienced was not what they had bargained for.

When Börge informed his parents that he had decided to continue his studies in Manchester they responded to the news with dismay.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air. He could still remember the icy atmosphere in the room and the anxiety he felt. It was as if the end of the world had been announced.

Harald Svenson, who hadn't said a word for five minutes, slammed his fist down on the table with such force that the expensive antique Chinese vase toppled over and landed on the floor in a thousand pieces.

Gunnel barely glanced at the broken vase even though it was one of her favourite pieces. She was still trying to process the unexpected news. She stared at Börge as if seeing him for the first time.

"What did you say? I must have misheard you." Another long silence followed.

At first she thought it was a joke. She must have misunderstood. But Börge's deadpan expression suggested otherwise.

"No, you heard correctly. I'm planning to continue my studies at the university in Manchester and have already applied to an economics course," Börge repeated emphatically.

"Are you out of your mind? What kind of nonsense is this? Do you really mean to tell us that you're not going to study law?"

Their eyes met. The two of them were engaged in a battle of wills. It was the first time he had stood up to his mother without being afraid of her reaction.

He felt he had no alternative but to take the initiative and explain his intentions. He was determined. He wanted to make it quite clear that he was the one making the decisions now.

He had expected a showdown with his parents sooner or later and planned to bring up the subject when the timing was right. But out of the blue his parents had pre-empted things and revealed their plans for his career.

It was clear they had never given a moment's thought to what he might be interested in or acknowledged the fact that he hated anything to do with the law profession. He was sick and tired of dining table discussions about various court cases.

In their wildest fantasies Mr. and Mrs. Svenson couldn't have imagined that Börge would be such a disappointment.

During his stay in England, Börge's personality had undergone noticeable changes. He had matured. The draconian disciplinary measures practised at the boarding school in Manchester had forced him to learn how to defend himself, to become physically and psychologically strong.

Börge Svenson was no longer the boy that his parents could push around. He was nineteen years old – an adult in the eyes of the law – and he had the right to decide over his own life. The days when he would submit to their demands were well and truly over. From now on he would be making his own decisions.

It was his future at stake. He had been rehearsing this speech over and over again. How he would present his future plans to his parents.

Börge smiled to himself. It was a period of his life he remembered with pleasure, when he had decided to become his own master, his own boss.

His smile faded. The estrangement from his parents still upset him. After thirty-six years he still hadn't shaken off those teenage memories and liberated himself from the guilt. He was haunted by the fact that choosing another career path had indirectly contributed to his failure.

His thoughts drifted even further back in time to his childhood.

As a child, Börge had felt unloved, with narcissistic parents who basically only had time for themselves. It was a period in his life he would rather forget. His schooldays were no better. He felt he had been treated unjustly. Because Börge had found it difficult to adapt to school he had been classified as a problem child.

He remembered his strict upbringing. His mother would point with her fingers to indicate what he should or should not do as well as how it should be done and in which order. He could still hear her critical voice in his ear. Why was it so difficult to please her? His father was no better. "Little one," Börge mimicked his father's voice. There was always an undertone in how Harald Svenson spoke to his "little one". It was as if he took it for granted that Börge wouldn't understand what he was saying.

His parents had drawn up a set of rules, which included strict evening curfews and instructions on how to keep his room clean – rules that worked very well while he was a child. The rules themselves were acceptable and he had no trouble obeying them, in the main because insubordination had negative consequences. It could mean withdrawal of his weekly pocket money allowance or curfews that sometimes involved several weeks of "house arrest".

The problems really began when he reached puberty and his punishments became more frequent.

He was like a prisoner in his own home.

His parents' excessive punitory measures soon instigated an unwelcome but understandably negative reaction from Börge. He began to behave in an unpredictable and aggressive manner, never showing remorse or any sign of wanting to change. He was in desperate need of help but instead of contacting the school counsellor or suggesting he see a psychiatrist, his parents continued with their harsh methods of discipline.

His teenage years had been quarrelsome and problematic and despite his social status, he had befriended a gang of hooligans who far too often ended up in conflict with other teenage gangs. On one occasion the police had been called in. Things reached a head. Even though he knew that he would soon have to suffer the consequences, he chose to continue hanging out with his shady gang of friends since it made him feel powerful.

LIFE IN MANCHESTER WASN'T always that bad. Some days he felt happy. But there was an underlying sadness that wouldn't go away.

It had been hard at the beginning. Not just because it was a foreign country. It was difficult adapting to the regime of boarding school and making new friends at the same time as getting used to another culture and language – not to mention the disgusting food he was forced to eat.

But time passed quickly. He had no choice but to try and acclimatize himself.

However, one small consolation, all things considered, was that he was not alone, there were other teenagers in the same situation as him. This realization in some way helped alleviate his suffering.

In accordance with his parents' wishes the boarding school had very strict rules and the penalties were harsh and wide ranging. The older pupils were more feared than the teachers. They had a certain hierarchical status and were assigned the task of assisting the teachers as well as keeping the students under control. They were known as _beadels_ and were responsible for the welfare of the younger pupils, cultivating respect through violence and punishment.

To begin with, Börge had ignored them, but their controlling behaviour and constant violation of his privacy finally began to irritate him. He ran out of patience and found himself in conflict, not just with the _beadels_ , but also with other cocky pupils like himself.

Despite the challenging school environment he smiled at the memory of those years. He viewed it as part of the package, so to speak.

He also remembered many good times in Manchester.

The girls! He had enjoyed himself with all those girls. He felt like a prince in their company. He knew exactly how to handle them, how to get those creatures to succumb.

A spider on the ceiling distracted him. It was spinning its net to trap its prey. "Poor devil." He gazed around the room. "There's hardly anything to catch." He grinned.

That's how the world works. It is divided into two camps: The rulers and the ruled. He belonged to the former camp made up of those who, like spiders, methodically and patiently stalk their prey.

Manchester, Manchester – his eyes glazed over in pleasure. He stroked his face, the movement was almost like a caress. He remembered his boarding school days so vividly. His friends and their escapades when they went out in the evenings to meet girls from the boarding school nearby. These assignations were exciting – even if they were pipped to the post now and then by the _beadels_ or one of the teachers and the customary punishment doled out. It was well worth it – yes, it had definitely been worth it. Everyone in the group agreed on that.

IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL, CLEAR summer evening and the stars were visible in the transparent blue sky. It was on such an evening that he met Pam. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

The memory of her aroused him. Her large, feline eyes that changed colour with the light – brown when in the shade and green under the blinding rays of the sun. Her long, reddish-brown hair that shone like copper against her shapely, narrow face. He had been in love with her. He loved to hold her and wrap his arms around her tiny waist. Her womanly figure drove him crazy and he couldn't imagine life without her.

But fate had a different agenda. She disappeared from his life more than twenty years ago, yet he still thought about her. He had never stopped loving her.

He sighed with pleasure. He felt the warmth flow through his body. He could picture her standing there, looking at him with her lovely, green eyes. Those eyes that had bewitched him when he saw her for the first time.

He smiled.

She was nineteen – a few months older than him. They were soulmates.

He lay on the spartan mattress in his prison cell with his hands clasped behind his neck to support his head.

His eyes gleamed with joy.

He would never forget life in Manchester. The time with Pam belonged to him alone. She was, and always would be, the woman of his life – his body and heart ached with longing for her. They had been so good together.

Börge Svenson's expression changed. He was caught up in an uncontrollable vortex of overlapping emotions.

He sat up and leaned against the wall.

Out of the blue, their relationship had taken an unwelcome turn.

It wasn't how Börge had imagined his life a few months earlier. He had been looking forward to growing old with Pam, his beloved.

The romance had ended suddenly. The woman who was destined to be his companion for life walked out on him without saying goodbye or leaving a note. She had simply vanished from his life.

He had asked himself the question countless times. Why did she leave? Everything had fallen apart after Pam, for reasons he couldn't remember, had fallen down the stairs.

She had injured herself so severely that he had taken her to hospital. She lost the baby, the longed-for child that would have cemented their love forever.

Börge's eyes glazed over and tears ran down his face. He buried his head in his hands.

Pam was haemorrhaging. There was no time to wait for an ambulance. He drove her to the hospital at top speed.

The emergency room was full when he staggered into the hospital with Pam in his arms. He looked desperately around and shouted for help.

A nurse ran towards him. She quickly mobilized other hospital staff and the doctor was summoned for immediately. This was a top priority emergency case. After a quick medical assessment Pam was transported directly to the operating theatre.

She was bleeding heavily from her uterus.

He slowly moved to the edge of the bed and rested his hands on his knees. He stared ahead, lost in thought, and dug his nails into his flesh as if he wanted to dig a hole in it.

At the hospital, the doctors had refused to talk to him and the nurses looked at him accusingly whenever they walked past the waiting room where he sat waiting impatiently for information about his beloved's condition.

The hospital staff whispered in his presence and he heard a nurse tell a colleague that the patient in the operating theatre had lost the baby – they were obviously talking about Pam.

He had tried to talk to them and find out what was going on. But all he received was a look of defiance. They completely ignored him, but why? Didn't they realize he was the child's father?

Did they think it was his fault? Impossible. Okay, he could admit that he pushed her a little but it was a complete shock when she had fallen and landed flat at the foot of the stairs. She had hit herself so hard that she fainted.

The memory tortured him. In his head he could still picture Pam lying motionless on the floor. He felt that same uneasiness now.

The Manchester period dominated his thoughts. It was as if it had all happened yesterday.

Two policemen had entered the hospital and made their way directly to a nurse who then turned around and pointed to him.

Börge could feel himself breaking out into a cold sweat.

He was reliving the anxiety he had experienced when the policemen had approached him and asked him to follow them to the police station.

He had refused.

He had appealed.

He couldn't leave while his beloved Pam was still in the operating room.

He had protested vehemently and demanded they give him a good reason. What had he done? What was he accused of?

The policemen ignored his outburst. They gripped his left arm firmly and dragged him to the car that was parked outside the hospital.

His fervent protests and threats during the drive to the police station had no effect whatsoever on the English policeman who sat beside him, silent and dispassionate. He had been aggressively thrown into a cell until an inspector could collect him for questioning.

A couple of hours later a policeman had unlocked the door and, with a hint of irony, apologized for the fact that he would have to remain in custody all night because the superintendent who would be questioning him had already gone home. He added that the interrogation would hopefully take place first thing in the morning, sometime between seven and ten o'clock.

They had given Börge a blanket and pillow.

The night in an English police cell had seemed endless.

Börge had brooded over his situation and tried to make sense of what had happened. Why had he been brought here?

He was absolutely convinced that he and Pam were soulmates. She understood him so well. She was always so happy and accommodating.

Of course there were irritating moments, wasn't that a normal part of any relationship? He didn't know why, but there were times when she drove him mad and he would lose his temper.

He tried to recall what had happened but couldn't think clearly. He couldn't remember what exactly had irritated him.

HE CLOSED HIS EYES and massaged his forehead. He was exhausted after his eventful day, and he decided to try and sleep.

He became conscious of the blue overall he was wearing. He had been obliged to put it on after his blood-stained clothes were confiscated.

He examined the prison blanket, turning it this way and that. The corners of his mouth curled down. He felt defeated. The pillow was filthy and he wondered how many heads had lain upon it before him. He threw it against the chair that was standing in the corner.

He sighed and laid back down on the uncomfortable bed, placed his hand behind his head and closed his eyes again. But thoughts of the day's devastating events prevented him from falling asleep. He began to panic.

"What'll happen when I'm questioned tomorrow?" he wondered. "Will they keep me locked up? It must all be a terrible misunderstanding. Pam has probably already told them it was her fault that she fell and that in fact I was trying to help by taking her to the hospital."

The hint of a smile flickered across his lips and he tried to sleep.

He could hear heavy footsteps approaching from down the corridor. A man cleared his throat. Keys rattled in the cell door lock and the door opened.

"Hello!"

A prison guard stomped in with a breakfast tray.

"You must let me know if there's anything else you need..." said the guard from Kronobergs Prison in Stockholm sarcastically.

# CHAPTER 3

## The witnesses

SANNA AND KALLE WERE exhausted after their long day spent reading through the preliminary witness statements and preparing the interview schedule.

They walked down the corridor to the investigation room, each holding a steaming cup of hot coffee.

Of the fifty people that Samir Mohamed and Monica Lindh had managed to talk to, ten had supplied plausible accounts of the evening's events and were selected for further questioning.

"As I see it, there are six eye-witnesses who we can count on to provide potentially interesting information – what do you think?" asked Kalle as he studied his notes.

"I agree, we can leave the other four until later if necessary," replied Sanna as she typed something onto the computer. "I'm curious about what Anna Cartagena has to say. Out of everyone who claims to have seen something, she definitely sounds the most credible."

Kalle nodded. "I'm most interested in Hugo Svensson. According to Monica he comes across as rather arrogant and sure of himself but he was very specific about what he saw."

They exchanged knowing glances and Kalle mimicked the man's supercilious manner.

"Watch out!"

Sanna slapped Kalle on the front of his shoulder. He had been balancing on the back legs of the chair and grabbed hold of the edge of the table to avoid losing his balance. Sanna watched the situation unfold with amusement and made an attempt to catch him as he toppled over.

Their roars of laughter drew the attention of other colleagues.

"What's going on?" shouted a man from the other end of the corridor.

We're working!" replied Sanna. "Ok, where were we?"

"You were about to put Hugo Svensson at number two on the list," answered Kalle, who couldn't stop chuckling.

"Right," said Sanna trying to regain her composure.

They continued in the same fashion with the rest of the witnesses. Forty-five minutes later the list was complete.

Sanna collected the folders that contained information about the people they wanted to question. She pulled out a tabloid newspaper that was buried underneath. A headline caught her eye and she flicked through the pages to Lorena Pascalini's article.

"Who's this witness?"

"What?" said Kalle, continuing to write in his notebook.

"Have you read Pascalini's article? She quotes a man whom she apparently interviewed on the day of the murder."

Kalle put his pen down and looked up, intrigued.

"Yesterday's Evening Post?"

Sanna nodded.

He stretched out his hand and Sanna passed the newspaper to him.

"I wouldn't pay too much attention to it. Pascalini likes to create headlines"

He began to read a section of the article out loud.

"There was so much blood in the kitchen that I thought several people were dead in there."

Sanna leafed through the police cadets' notes.

"No, I can't find anything... neither Samir nor Monica mention him..."

She glanced at the clock on her mobile. "I have to be at a meeting in five minutes. Find out who the man is."

"I'll try, but Pascalini can be a bit tricky," replied Kalle. "I doubt she'll tell us anything."

"Typical. She's always sniffing around trying to get information from us but when the tables are turned it's a different story."

Kalle nodded in agreement and they left the investigation room together.

ON THE WAY TO THE COFFE MACHINE Kalle took his mobile phone out of his pocket and called his partner, Mia, to find out if she wanted him to pick up anything for dinner that evening. When the answering machine picked up he remembered with a jolt of panic that it was his turn to collect the children from school. He ran to his office, grabbed his jacket and rushed to the garage to fetch his car.

"You look stressed!" commented a passer-by.

"I forgot I had to pick up the kids," said Kalle tersely.

"Oh dear! Now you're in trouble!" taunted the man.

Kalle took no notice. He started the car and drove off at full speed. It was only four thirty but the roads were already congested and as he approached Essingebron the traffic ground to a halt. He looked at the clock again and drummed his fingers impatiently on the wheel. "Damn!" The worst of it was that he had promised Mia he would fetch the children on time today. His mobile rang.

"Kalle Karlsson."

"Hello, this is Johanna. I just wanted to check who's picking up the children today."

"Me. I'm stuck in traffic. I'll be there in ten minutes, hopefully."

"Ok, good to know. See you soon then."

Kalle brooded over the call. Was he really that late? He looked at the clock again and frowned. Mia had warned him that the new headmistress was very punctilious. But he didn't realize she was this inflexible.

"With that woman, you have to show up when you say you're going to." Mia had said.

They had toyed with the idea of moving the children to an after-school club closer to home, but hadn't had time to look into it yet. They knew it wouldn't be easy since the queues were long and there was no guarantee the children would end up in the same place.

He smiled to himself. "I should be able to handle this kind of confrontation," he thought.

Life at home was well organized and harmonious. Mia and Kalle had fallen in love while still in high school and had moved in together despite their parents' objections. Mia was nineteen and Kalle had just turned eighteen. Two years later they decided to start a family. First came a boy, Pontus, and soon after that Liza was born. That was eight years ago and they were still deeply in love and very happy.

When he finally reached the school, Liza and Pontus ran to him. "Why are you so late, Dad?" pouted Liza.

IT WAS NINE O'CLOCK on Wednesday morning. Anna Cartagena had been called in for questioning and she was sitting on a hard chair in the bleak interview room. She appeared nervous and impatient, glancing repeatedly at the clock hanging on the wall to the left of the door.

Her shoulders were slumped and she had the air of a shy, insecure schoolgirl. She was one metre seventy tall and slimly built with short blond hair that was tightly combed back away from her narrow face, emphasizing her small, pinched mouth. Her blue eyes were vigilant, like a fearful animal on the lookout for predators. She wore a classic blue suit and clutched her handbag tightly to her body.

Sanna strode into the room. "Good morning. I'm Inspector Sanna Johansson." She shook Anna Cartagena's hand and sat down opposite her, dispensing with any additional formalities. She turned on the recording device and slid it across the table.

"Interview with Anna Cartagena of 25 Skogsvägen, Djursholm on Wednesday 19th June led by Sanna Johansson of the Stockholm Police Force and assisted by Samir Mohamed. The time is five past nine."

Sanna repeated Anna Cartagena's social security number and civil status. She noted that during her preliminary interview, the witness had informed the police that she had recently moved into the area and didn't know any of the neighbours or the Svenson family.

"You stated that you were near the Svenson family's house when the attack took place?" said Sanna in a gentle but firm voice.

"Yes, I could hear a woman screaming for help... The man who was attacking her was using very aggressive language..."

"I see. What time was this?"

"I was on my way home from work. So it must have been between five and five thirty, which is when I normally get home."

The woman's eyes flickered as if trying to avoid looking directly at Sanna. "You couldn't miss hearing the screams coming from the house. I thought it was a burglary so I was really scared."

"What did you do then?"

"The first thing I did was to contact the neighbours and tell them that something was wrong. Someone suggested I call the police, which I did directly."

"Did you see who was in the house?"

"I don't know the family who lives there. There was a man in the kitchen and it looked like he was attacking someone. I couldn't see who it was but after what happened now I know it must have been Mrs. Svenson."

"You say that you saw a man inside the house. Where were you standing? What room was he in?"

"I just told you – the kitchen."

"Can you describe this man? What did he look like?"

"I saw him when he came out of the house. He looked Swedish but apart from that I've no idea who he was."

"Do you think you would be able to identify him if you saw him again?"

Anna Cartagena leaned back in the chair and stared at Sanna.

"Do you think you would you be able to identify the man if you saw him again?" she repeated.

Anna Cartagena sighed.

"I don't know. Maybe. There was blood all over his face. It was very difficult to see who he was or what he actually looked like..."

Anna Cartagena felt a little uneasy. The inspector was looking at her suspiciously and yet she was trying as hard as she could to remember exactly what she had seen in the Svenson family's kitchen. She was doing her best to be as specific as possible.

They sat in silence. Anna Cartagena looked away to avoid Sanna's piercing gaze, which was unnerving her. "I don't have to sit here and be questioned," she thought.

"I've told you everything I can remember. Are we finished?" said the woman with such resolve that Sanna was taken aback at her sudden change of personality.

"Where were you standing?" continued Sanna.

"I was probably about ten or twenty metres from the house. The windows are big so it's pretty easy to see into the room from outside." Anna Cartagena blushed a little and discreetly wiped some sweat from above her lips. "I think it was the kitchen. It looked like it anyway..."

"Was there anybody else in the house? Did you see anyone else?"

"No." Anna Cartagena looked at the clock.

"Was there anybody else in the house?" insisted Sanna.

Anna Cartagena suddenly became more alert. "Actually," she replied: "I might be imagining it but I think I saw somebody running away. It could have been a child.

Sanna raised her eyebrows. She immediately thought of Viktor.

"Was the man you saw in the kitchen the same person who came out of the house?" insisted Sanna.

"I'm pretty sure it was. There was no one else in the house – as far as I could tell, at least."

"Was there anyone else in the area?"

"What do you mean?"

"Behind the house, for example?"

Anna Cartagena stared at Sanna. She was starting to lose patience.

"Börge Svenson is insisting that we have the wrong man and the attacker is still at large but if anyone else was at the house Anna Cartagena would have noticed." thought Sanna.

"Come to think of it, I did see someone at the back of the house."

"What was this person doing?"

"He was walking away. I remember he kept turning back to look at the house..." She drew her hand up to her mouth." I didn't pay much attention since I was more concerned with what was happening inside..."

Sanna jotted this down in her notebook. "Check for footprints behind house."

"What did he look like?"

The woman rubbed her forehead.

"I think he was between thirty and forty years old. He was tall and fit looking."

"Someone you've seen around before?"

Anna Cartagena smiled.

"I'm afraid I'm the wrong person to ask... I have a hard time remembering faces."

Sanna regarded the witness, wondering how she would react when confronted with the suspect during an identification parade.

Sanna thanked her for being so helpful and asked her to contact them if she remembered anything else that might be of interest.

"We'll get back to you later during the investigation," she added.

IN ANOTHER INTERROGATION ROOM, Kalle Karlsson was interviewing Hugo Svensson – a man in his fifties who claimed to be well acquainted with the Svenson family.

"Börge would never do something like that to Ingrid. He's incapable of harming anyone. How could you even consider it?" He frowned, leaning back in the chair with his legs and arms crossed. "This whole thing is completely ridiculous," he protested. "I can't believe you haven't released him yet. You've got the wrong person! You know that don't you? "

Kalle looked closely at his witness. Svensson appeared aloof and disinterested and expressed himself in an authoritative manner. His two-day's worth of well-groomed stubble and sporty casual Italian clothing softened his appearance somewhat and made him more boyish looking. An enigmatic smile seemed permanently glued to his face like the Mona Lisa painting. Kalle sighed inwardly and wondered what made him so convinced of Svenson's innocence. There was little consensus among other witnesses on the identity of the man they had seen leaving the house.

"In your statement you seem very specific about what you saw," said Kalle, raising his voice. "How close to the house were you standing when the murder was committed? Did you see who came out?"

Hugo Svensson thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. He shifted his position in the chair and repeated: "Murder?"

"YES. Murder!"

Hugo Svensson looked deflated.

"I mean... I was at least a hundred metres away and there were a lot of other people in front of me," he confessed. He took off his glasses and examined them against the light to see if there was any dust.

"And you are prepared to testify under oath that the man who came out of the house was NOT Börge Svenson?"

"Yes... well... no, not exactly... what I mean is that I know Börge very well and I have a very hard time imagining him as a wife beater," he replied with a deadpan expression.

"Mr. Svensson, you do understand, don't you, that the purpose of these interviews is to determine whether anyone actually witnessed the events that occurred in the Svenson family's house on the afternoon of the 17th of June? More precisely, between the hours of five and five thirty. Above all we need to establish if there is anyone who CAN **** provide us with a good description of the person WHO was seen leaving the house. We want eyewitnesses! Not people who know the family or..." Kalle was finding it difficult to keep his voice down. "Not just now anyway," he continued in a gentler tone. "By the way, are you related to Börge Svenson?" Kalle scratched his head.

"No, I'm not," answered Svensson. "But I do know the family very well. I've known Börge since we were children. We've been through a lot together. We've been friends as long as I can remember."

Kalle thanked Hugo Svensson for his help in coming forward as a witness and informed him that the police might contact him again since, as a close friend of the suspect, his testimony might naturally be of interest. "We would be very interested in talking to you again about the Svenson family." he added.

AT TWELVE O'CLOCK Sanna and Kalle met by the coffee machine. They had both finished interviewing their first witnesses. Although they were already exhausted, two more interviews were scheduled for that afternoon.

"I'm going to meet Elvira Abramson in three hours. I hope she has something valuable to tell me." Sanna was subdued. "How did it go?"

"About the same as your interview, I'm guessing..." Kalle sipped his hot coffee, grimacing as the scalding liquid burnt his mouth.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Judging by the look on your face things didn't go that well."

Sanna scowled at him.

"Too hot for you?" Sanna gulped her coffee down and threw the mug into the rubbish bin on the way out of the room.

"Yeah, what can I say – I'm a very sensitive chap," he answered playfully.

"Oh, so you're a sensitive chap are you?" repeated Sanna in the same jocular manner.

They walked to Sanna's room together and sat down in the visitor armchairs.

"Anna Cartagena claims she saw a man behind the house," began Sanna.

This news pricked Kalle's interest.

"Do you think Pascalini's witness saw him?"

"At present it is difficult to know what to believe."

"Directly after our conversation yesterday, I called Pascalini and left a message on her answering machine. I hope she calls back."

"Okay... I'll ask Segelström to take a look at the area behind the house," said Sanna.

The lines between Kalles' eyebrows deepened slightly as he nodded.

"We'll have to interview the other witnesses. Perhaps somebody knows who he is or saw him at the scene."

"Okay."

Sanna approached her desk. She picked up the interview schedule and sat down again.

Kalle moved his chair closer to hers.

"Elvira Abramson is next on my list – she's the Svensons' closest neighbour."

"I have Einar Melkerson. A widower who seems credible but is very old fashioned, which concerns me a little."

"Why?"

"Well, I talked on the phone with him. On the one hand he seems trustworthy but on the other hand he is very conservative, which could influence his views on how the upper class should behave, if you see what I mean."

"I see," answered Sanna thoughtfully. "It could be tricky if he gets defensive and withholds valuable information. We'll have to be strategic. Maybe we shouldn't take everything he says literally but try to read between the lines, so to speak. When are you meeting him?"

"He's coming at one thirty."

"I can sit in with you if you like. I'm a bit curious about him."

She stared at him intently. Kalle didn't respond.

"Only if you want me to. I just thought it sounded interesting. But I totally understand if you'd rather conduct the interview alone," explained Sanna, suspecting that Kalle was less than enthusiastic about her proposal.

"No, no, that's ok. I was just working out what I want to ask him. I wonder if he knows anything about the Svenson family."

"You'll think of something – you always do. I may pitch in with a few questions – if that's ok with you, of course."

HE WAS AN ELDERLY, UPRIGHT gentleman who walked with vigorous steps. His face was rough and weather beaten and his thick grey hair was combed back away from his forehead. He was almost one metre ninety tall and wore a grey, glen-check suit and a discreet matching tie. Slung over his right arm was a grey overcoat and in his left hand he clutched a pair of black leather gloves. The man approached the receptionist at the police station in Kungsholmen.

"Good day, I have an appointment with Detective Karlsson."

"Your name please sir?" asked the receptionist.

"Einar Melkerson."

She punched in a few numbers on the telephone.

"INSPECTOR Karlsson will be down in a few minutes," said the receptionist, pointedly. The inference wasn't lost on Melkerson, who stared at her but said nothing.

Seven minutes later Kalle entered the reception area. He shook hands with Melkerson and apologized for keeping him waiting. Melkerson looked at his watch.

As they rode the elevator to the fifth floor, Kalle explained that for the most part the questions would be routine and focus on establishing exactly what the various witnesses had seen on the day of the murder. He also informed Melkerson that Inspector Johansson would be sitting in on the interview. Melkerson listened intently as the pair strode down the hallway.

They arrived at the sparsely furnished interview room at the same time as Sanna. After the usual polite introductions, Melkerson turned to her and requested a coat hanger. Kalle pointed to a hook on the wall. The elderly man sighed and folded the overcoat inside out exposing the exclusive label, Götrich, stitched to the inside pocket. He then laid it over the back of the chair.

Sanna and Kalle exchanged looks.

The three of them sat down on the hard, uncomfortable chairs.

"Before we start, I feel I ought to mention that I know Börge Svenson's family well," said Einar Melkerson. "His father, Harald, is a very good friend of mine," he continued without taking his eyes away from Kalle. His expression was hard to read.

Kalle nodded and made a note in his book.

"I'm going to turn on the recorder," said Kalle, moving the equipment across the table towards the old man.

"Interview with Einar Melkerson of 11 Skogsvägen, Djursholm on the 22nd of June conducted by Inspector Kalle Karlsson of the Stockholm Police and assisted by Inspector Sanna Johansson. The time is 13:00.

"You say that you know the Svenson family?" began Kalle.

"Yes, that's correct. I know Harald Svenson very well. His original surname was Svensson, with two "s"." He looked at Kalle intensely. "Our families have consorted for generations. My late father Melker Eriksson and Pär Svenson, Börge Svenson's grandfather, were childhood friends. I also know Gunnel Nordstad, Harald's wife. Initially, Harald had intended to take her family name because Svenson had become such a common surname..."

He straightened his tie. "But, the thing is, even before the 1800's, Harald's grandparents had changed their patronymic name to be the family name, and then continued the patronymic tradition by changing their name to Svenson.

So the name Svenson has been passed down from generation to generation and all the relatives were, to say the least, actively opposed to such a change." Melkerson drummed his fingers on the table. "These days it seems as if everyone is called Svenson. It should be forbidden to take a patronymic surname... your family name is a reflection of who you are!"

Melkerson ignored Sanna and directed all his responses to Kalle. So far, the only time he had bothered to look at her was when he requested a coat hanger.

"Anton Nordstad, her late father, was close friends with Harald, whose parents also knew each other..." He paused. "They live in Östermalm now."

"Who lives in Östermalm?" asked Kalle.

Melkerson, making the most of this opportunity to delve into the Svenson family history and flaunt his expertise on the subject, continued without replying to Kalle's question.

"Maybe you don't know this, but Strandvägen used to be a rundown area. My parents lived in Malmgårdarna. You see, the area that used to be known as Ladugårdslandet only became fashionable after the 1800's. That's when it was renamed Östermalm. Families like the Torstenssons built their villas there." He tapped the table with his bony fingers and glowered at Kalle. "They were good friends of my grandparents." He leaned back triumphantly.

"I see. But we've gone a bit off track here," said Kalle offering the elderly man a cup of water.

"No thanks, I'm allergic to plastic." He cleared his throat and stretched his neck.

"Where were you on the day of the murder?"

"What do you mean?" answered Einar Melkerson with an edge of irritation in his voice.

"I mean in relation to the Svenson family house," explained Kalle patiently.

"I usually take Bobby for a walk at five o'clock and then I..."

"Bobby?"

"Bobby's my dog," he explained, looking intently at Kalle as if waiting for the next question. When Kalle didn't respond he continued:

"Anyway, I was out with Bobby and usually we head for the woods. I don't like walking my little one in areas where there are lots of people and cars – it's far too stressful." He paused and took a small white tablet from his pillbox and popped it in his mouth.

"Where was I?" he asked nonchalantly.

Kalle sighed inwardly.

"So, you went out at five o'clock to walk Bobby?"

"That's right. Anyway, on the way back our normal route takes us past Mr. and Mrs. Svenson's house. Their son, Viktor, likes to pet Bobby. Viktor wasn't there so I figured he was either busy or hadn't come home yet. I decided to check things out so I went to the back of the house to see if anyone was in the kitchen, but it was empty. I thought it was a bit odd since the young lass – Viktor's mother – is usually home cooking supper at that time. Then I heard shouting from inside. Very strange." He leaned in towards the recording device and repeated: "Very strange! In our family nobody ever shouts or raises their voice." He stuck out his chin and looked away. "It amazes me how the younger generation behaves these days..."

Melkerson fell silent, lost in his own thoughts, and stared at Kalle impassively.

"Did you see what happened inside the house?" asked Kalle. Melkerson was relating an endless stream of irrelevant details and he had half a mind to end the interview there and then.

Sanna, in turn, realized it would be pointless taking over. Melkerson evidently had no time for female detectives. She wrote a note and gave it to Kalle: _Let's take a break._

Melkerson noticed this and glanced at Sanna before continuing.

"Well... No, I don't remember."

Kalle felt he was losing control. The interview was going nowhere yet he couldn't quite put his finger on what the problem was. Was it Melkerson's habit of addressing him as if he was talking to a child or was it the way that he leered at Sanna every now and then?

"Let's take a short break and continue in five minutes. Do you want anything to drink – coffee, tea?" Kalle asked tersely.

"Yes, a cup of coffee would be nice – black with one lump of sugar, please."

Kalle and Sanna left the room.

"I feel like we are banging our heads against a brick wall here," said Kalle. "He's getting hung up on totally pointless details. This will take forever."

"No, it'll be ok," Sanna lied. "You can manipulate him. Ask direct questions and make him stick to the facts."

In truth she agreed with Kalle – the chances of this interview leading them anywhere were almost non-existent.

"The way he ignores you is really pissing me off," said Kalle as he strode towards the coffee machine. Sanna scurried to keep up with him.

"There's nothing we can do. He's treating me as if I have no business being here – or worse, that I don't even exist. I've been sworn at and called a "fucking whore" or "cunt" by working class yobs before but I tell you Melkerson's behaviour towards me is just as insulting."

Sanna's phone rang. It was the receptionist calling to say that Elvira Abramson had cancelled her appointment because she had eaten something that didn't agree with her and wasn't feeling well.

Sanna sighed.

"Problem?" asked Kalle.

"Not exactly. Elvira Abramson can't make it," said Sanna, who was more concerned with immediate issue of how to handle the old man.

"We have to focus on his statement and get as much information as possible. I have a feeling he knows something and is being deliberately evasive. Either that, or he doesn't know what to make of things himself," continued Sanna.

"I wonder if he really does have anything to tell us. My guess is that he won't reveal any family secrets. In his circles these types of family problems are brushed under the carpet. Plus he knows the Svenson family well... and wife beating... " He shook his head. "I hardly think that's something Melkerson would concern himself with."

While Kalle balanced a mug in each hand and made a concerted effort not to spill his coffee on the floor, Sanna sipped hers as she walked. They returned to the interview room where Einar Melkerson was waiting.

"Black coffee with one sugar."

"Thanks," answered Einar Melkerson, smiling. He placed the sugar cube between his lips and tentatively sipped the warm coffee.

"Resuming the interview with Einar Melkerson. Present is Inspector Kalle Karlsson assisted by Inspector Sanna Johansson. The time is fifteen forty-five."

"You said you heard someone screaming inside the house. What did you do then?"

"Did I say that?"

"Yes, you did. Would you like to listen?"

"No, that won't be necessary."

"So, what did you do?" insisted Kalle.

"I craned my neck up to see who was making so much noise. I saw people running – a man chasing a woman perhaps, but I couldn't hear what they were saying. I don't hear that well anymore." Melkerson tapped his hearing aid to indicate that it didn't work that well.

"Just then Bobby started to bark – he usually barks when something's up. I didn't want to expose him to any danger so I left."

"Did the man have a weapon or something he was using as a weapon?"

"I really don't know. Everything happened so fast... it was over in a flash..."

"If you were so close – as you claim – you must have seen who was inside."

"Yes, of course I did. It was them. Börge and his wife..."

"You're sure it was Mr. and Mrs. Svenson?" asked Kalle.

"What do you think?" Melkerson stared at Kalle in a threatening manner.

"I don't think anything, I just want to make certain that you're in no doubt about what you saw."

"You'd better believe it," replied the man. "I have nothing against the young lass but she was one of those so-called liberated women..." As he emphasized the words "liberated women" Melkerson looked Sanna directly in the eyes for the first time and pointed in her direction.

"What do you mean by a so-called liberated woman?" asked Kalle, observing Sanna's reaction.

"One of those women who work and don't care about their families, of course."

"You think it's wrong for women to work?"

"Yes, I do." Melkerson shifted in his chair. He leaned forward and began drumming his fingers on the table again. "In the old days they were real women! Real women who recognized their responsibilities and the importance of their role in the family."

"Are you insinuating that Ingrid Svenson was a bad mother?"

"Not exactly... well, in some ways, yes." The man spoke slowly and carefully enunciated his words.

"So, as far as you're concerned it was just a matter of time until Ingrid Svenson would be beaten to death by..." Kalle stopped himself just in time.

"No, that's not what I meant." He leaned closer to the recording device and repeated: "That's not what I meant! But honestly, men have to put up with so much these days. In my day women stayed at home and took care of the family – they did their duty!"

He opened the pillbox again and popped another tablet into his mouth. As he chewed his chin moved in an exaggerated fashion. He glared at Sanna.

Sanna glared back at him. She stood up suddenly and grabbed the water jug. She poured water into a plastic cup and slammed it down on the table in front of him.

"Here, drink. You need some cold water!" she ordered.

Melkerson, who had been watching her curiously, raised his eyebrows and gave her an icy stare. He took the cup of water and drank it obediently.

Kalle who had feared the worst breathed a sigh of relief.

Sanna stared at Melkerson. She was like a lion stalking its prey, preparing to attack. The silence was deafening.

Kalle was at a loss. He was usually very much in control during these interviews but this time he was floundering. He leafed through his notebook for a good leading question.

"Did you see the man leave the house?" he asked.

Melkerson jerked to attention as if he had just been awoken from a deep sleep. He cleared his throat.

"No," he answered hesitantly. "You see, Bobby was agitated and it was time for him to have his dinner. He usually..."

"I think we can end the interview here," interrupted Kalle before Melkerson could continue with his tiresome anecdotes about his dog. He glanced at his wristwatch. "It's five thirty."

Sanna passed him a note. Kalle read it and continued his questioning.

"I have one more question before we finish. Did you see anyone in the vicinity of the house?"

Silence.

"Did you see anyone in the vicinity of the house?"

"I'm thinking," Melkerson answered.

Kalle decided it was pointless to continue.

"Yes," said Melkerson at last. "Now that you mention it, I think there was someone snooping around the house," Somebody I've never seen around before."

"What did he look like?"

Melkerson said nothing.

Kalle rubbed his forehead impatiently.

Melkerson sighed and looked at the ceiling. "Hmm," he said. "I can't really remember. You see, at that moment, I was picking up Bobby's poo," He said and drummed his fingers on the table.

"But maybe you remember something about him. Anything at all. Was he tall, short, young, old?" insisted Kalle.

"Yes, now I remember. He was probably a young lad around fifty or so," his lips curled into a nervous smile.

"We are very interested in finding out more about this man. So if you remember anything else we would be very grateful if you could contact us immediately," said Kalle.

"Of course."

Kalle followed the witness out of the room and thanked him for agreeing to be interviewed.

In the hallway, Melkerson enquired whether the police had apprehended the suspect. Kalle told him that they had someone in custody but added that he couldn't divulge any details before an arrest warrant was issued.

"Someone I know?" asked Melkerson, who already knew full well that Svenson was sitting in a police cell.

"As I said, we haven't completed the preliminary investigation."

After the meeting Sanna strode to her office, slamming the door behind her.

It had been a peculiar meeting. On his way back to the office Kalle contemplated what to do next. He had been taken aback by Sanna's reaction at the meeting. Maybe he should give her time to calm down. On the other hand, proper procedure dictated that they should sit down together and review the interview.

He turned around and strode towards Sanna's room. He knocked lightly and pushed the door ajar.

"Coffee?"

"No!" she answered sharply, staring at him coldly. He immediately regretted his decision. To his relief she continued: "I think I need a glass of ice-cold water," she took a deep breath. "...But coffee will do."

They sat in the canteen. She drank a café latte with sugar and, as usual, he had a strong black coffee. Most of their colleagues had already left for the day.

"That was a long interview," said Kalle eventually.

"Yeah."

"He seems to know who murdered Ingrid Svenson."

"Yeah"

"A strange type."

"You can say that again!"

Sanna stared at the table and drank her coffee with stiff mechanical movements. She looked pale.

"Sometimes I wish I didn't feel such a heavy sense of responsibility for everything I do."

"What do you mean?"

"I wish I had the guts to throw water into that bloody old man's face!"

"For a second there I thought you were going to actually do it."

Sanna raised her eyes.

"Do what?"

"Throw water in his face, of course!"

"What a bastard! How could he say things like that? Doesn't he realise this is the 21st century? Although it really shouldn't surprise me – his attitude is probably fairly typical for men of his generation." Sanna massaged her forehead and closed her eyes. "It's what we're stuck with."

"Tired?" asked Kalle.

Sanna nodded. She was staring into space reflecting on the interview with Melkerson.

She lifted the empty cup to her lips. Kalle went to fetch more coffee for both of them.

"Sometimes I wonder how things were in the old days. I met my old Aunt Gunvor this weekend. She told me that their father gave her and her sisters away to other families who didn't have children of their own or needed help in the house. As if they needed a maid, so to speak."

"When was this?"

"Not that long ago. Apparently it was common practice in Sweden at that time! Gunvor was fifteen. My grandmother was born in December 1919, if I remember correctly. She was three years older than Gunvor, who in that case would have been born in 1921 or 1922, which means this was 1937. If her father – a pastor – could do that to his own daughters just think how much more prevalent it must have been among the uneducated or those on the peripheries of society. Can you imagine, in our beautiful country women were treated like livestock!"

"Is this true?"

"Yes. She was talking about her own childhood experiences. I was horrified to learn that my own grandmother had been treated in that way. How could that sort of thing happen here in Sweden?"

"Wasn't it just a way for them to get work experience?"

"I know that people did that in the old days, just like today. It's natural to want to help your kids find work. But that's not a good enough reason to give them away. Not in my opinion anyway." She took a last sip of coffee, crumpled up the paper cup and threw it into the waste paper bin.

He nodded, listening intently.

"Don't you think it's strange that people are hardly ever curious about their grandparents' lives," she continued. "I think it's important to learn as much as possible about our ancestors. To make a long story short, my grandmother died years ago and I knew almost nothing about her childhood. When I met Gunvor I realized it was a good opportunity to find out more."

Silence.

"As I said, my grandmother Anna was the eldest. Gunvor told me that she had escaped from a farm where she had been forced to work as a maid. The farmer – a much older man – wanted to marry her. He was a powerful figure and she was afraid that he would force her into marriage. So she ran away to Stockholm."

"Incredible that her mother could allow it."

"Yes, I know! I can't get my head around it. Bear in mind you never really know what goes on in other people's relationships and as you know, in those days women weren't worth a thing – either here in Sweden or in the rest of the world for that matter. It's incredible that you never read about it in any history book. As usual, everyone tries to paint a rosy picture about our country."

Kalle smiled and nodded in agreement.

Sanna got up and beckoned him to follow her.

Kalle stretched his arms upwards and moved his neck, first to the right and then to the left. He looked at the clock that was hanging on the wall.

"I've got to get home! Mia's going to a meeting and I promised to be home by six."

"Then you'd better hurry."

"Are you going home too?"

"You bet. After a day like this I don't even have the energy to think."

"See you tomorrow."

"Yeah."

FOR THE OTHER VICTIM the drama continued. Viktor's frail, defenceless body lay motionless upon the white hospital sheets – his condition testimony to the trauma he had experienced. His eyes were devoid of expression, staring blankly into space. One can only speculate as to the extent to which a child's mental state could be damaged by being forced to witness the murder of their mother.

Viktor's condition hadn't altered since Sanna had found him hidden in the closet. It was difficult to decipher or imagine what was going on in his head. Viktor was a six-year old child who was so traumatized that he was no longer capable of expressing any emotion.

ONE OF THE BIGGEST problems within the police force was its ageing computer system – particularly the lack of a national database.

Sanna dedicated her entire morning to a fruitless search through the criminal records register. Her primary goal was to find out if Börge Svenson was guilty of any previous crime. She checked all the relevant databases, including Vicklas, a sex crime register that had been shut down a couple of years ago. But there was no mention of him anywhere.

Sanna's next step was to contact a good friend of hers in the technical division. She picked up the receiver and punched in the number.

"Hello Robert, it's Sanna from NBI. How are things?"

Robert was one of the most competent computer technicians she had ever met, and known for his expertise in police databases. He was someone who almost always had an answer to her questions. She had no doubt that he would be able to dig out more information on Börge Svenson – if any existed.

He was the type of person who rarely bothered to initiate contact but whenever you called him he sounded as if he had been expecting to hear from you and always had a lot to say.

Apart from the chance to chat with a dear colleague, she liked the fact that a conversation with Robert always provided her with valuable information.

"Hi! No, not really. It's full on as usual." He had a dark, husky voice and a peculiar habit of accentuating certain vowels. "I've got a huge pile __ of reports to go through – abuse, theft and the whole works. Soon I'll lose track of what I'm doing. What can I help you with, Miss S?"

"Well, I'm investigating a murder right now. We suspect the husband but of course he's denying it."

"Hmm," said Robert.

"I can't pin anything on him. His name is Börge Svenson."

"Not another Svensson."

Sanna chuckled.

"No, not this time. This guy is related to the Svensons who own the well-known law firm."

"Whoops!" he said.

"What I'm wondering is whether any complaints have ever been made against him previously. The victim's name is Ingrid Svenson and the family lives in Djursholm. Wait a minute, I'll give you the address."

Sanna flicked through her papers and gave him the woman's address and social security number.

She heard Robert typing on the other end of the line and an occasional sigh of frustration.

"Let's see... No, Ingrid Svenson herself has never filed any complaints. However, somebody else made an anonymous complaint against him on behalf of his wife, but she denied it. It must have been a misunderstanding."

"Typical!"

"Yes, it's odd. Why didn't she follow through and let her husband get what was coming to him. This often happens. To be honest, I'm so used to it that I barely react any more when a woman withdraws her complaint saying she was confused or doesn't remember what happened. It seems as if women were raised to put up with anything. I read somewhere that abuse is always preceded by a process of psychological breakdown, a form of brainwashing _._ Do you get it? Brainwash! Until she believes that the abuse is her fault."

Sanna could picture his wild head of hair and broad face. He was a robust man with a rotund stomach and bushy eyebrows. Robert didn't take life too seriously. He was a thinker but nothing really seemed to bother him. He was always even tempered and composed and his personality instilled a sense of calm in others.

"What astonishes me the most," he continued: "is that in so many cases the woman actually defends the guy who abuses her. Do you get it? She defends the one who abuses __ her!"

His habit of accentuating certain words meant his voice resounded in her head long after a conversation was over.

At the other end of the line, Sanna remained silent – this was such a familiar story that she no long had the energy to comment on it.

THE PRELIMINARY FORENSIC examination report had arrived. After analysing traces recovered from the crime scene, the laboratory in Linköping had determined that there were four sets of fingerprints. Three belonged to adults and one belonged to a child. Two sets had traces of fresh blood and were deemed to be of relevance to the investigation. These prints were cross-matched with those of the deceased and the suspect. It was assumed that the third set of prints, which belonged to a child, were Viktor's but these results would be released later. No match was found for the fourth fingerprint. Even though this was probably an old print it would still be taken into consideration and followed up until a match was found, most likely within the family or with one of their employees.

Sanna could hardly believe what she was reading. "It's incredible that there were no other fingerprints – if someone else committed the murder, as the suspect claims, there must be evidence. People always leave pieces of evidence behind them. We have a problem here. Svenson claims that his wife was already dead when he returned to the house yet all indications point to him. We must find out if there is DNA evidence of a third person."

It was crucial to be able to reliably identify the chair leg as one of the murder weapons, but because of the nature of the evidence and its complexity it would be a while before the final results were received. It wasn't just a question of securing DNA matches but also finding fingerprints on the object.

In line with standard procedure, the suspect, Börge Svenson, had been swabbed and his saliva sent to the National Forensics Laboratory in Linköping to compare his DNA with traces from the murder scene as well as from other unsolved crimes.

Sanna's gaze rested on the name of the person who had carried out the tests, Bosse Sandell. He must be the new recruit. She decided to call him and ask a few supplementary questions about his analysis. She was also curious about the unfamiliar person with whom she would be working with in the future and wanted to introduce herself. She believed that it was easier to work with other organizations if you developed personal relationships with their employees.

"Hi, thanks for the DNA report! My name is Sanna Johansson from NBI. I am part of the investigative team working on the Svenson case."

"Which DNA report?" he answered abruptly.

"Börge Svenson's," answered Sanna, slightly taken aback by his tone of voice.

Sandell didn't answer.

"Hello, are you still there?"

"Yes. What do you want to know about his DNA report? Is something wrong?" he continued in the same hostile manner.

"No, everything looks fine. I just want to find out if Börge Svenson is included on any old DNA registers."

At the other end of the line, she could hear Sandell exhaling heavily.

"A DNA analysis provides a DNA profile in numerical form based on ten selected measuring points. As I'm sure you know, the physical DNA tests that come in for analysis are usually destroyed within one month. In rare cases we will keep them for up to six months if the person in question is still a suspect or has been sentenced to penalties other than fines".

"But...." Sanna tried to interrupt him.

Bosse Sandell ignored her and continued his monologue.

"During an investigation, A DNA profile ends up in the DNA Investigation registry, which is a database with DNA profiles from unsolved crimes. The profile is then compared with others." Sandell continued to babble without pausing for breath.

"Usually matches are reported automatically by comparing DNA profiles in the Track registry, Investigation registry and DNA registry. A match could consist of one or several matches between DNA profiles from the different registries."

"That's not necessary."

Sandell ignored her attempt to interrupt.

"According to the report from the Swedish National Laboratory of Forensic Science, there were no matches for Börge Svenson's DNA profile."

Sanna felt as if she had been mowed down by a tractor.

"Please don't hesitate to call me if you have any more questions," he continued. "But I have a massive work load and need to get on with other stuff now."

He hung up without saying goodbye.

She sat for a moment with the receiver still in her hand, stunned. She had just received a lecture on a subject she already knew a lot about. It appeared as if her new friend at the National Forensic Centre was more irascible than she was.

# CHAPTER 4

## The Svenson Family

THE ELEGANT LIVING ROOM was dimly lit. An elderly woman sat upright in a large English style leather armchair. This was Gunnel Svenson. Normally she would burrow deep into her favourite armchair with her feet resting on the comfortable footstool, but this evening was different.

She could hardly remember a time when she felt such emptiness. Her face was pale and drawn and she was staring at a framed family photograph that beautifully adorned the Gustavian-style desk to her left. Beside it were a number of other photographs taken at various intervals through the years.

The one she was staring at was from the 1950's when Börge was a child – an innocent child whose parents had high expectations for his future career.

Märta knocked gently on the door and entered the room with a telephone in her hand.

"It's Mr. Bristol. He says it's important," said the old woman. Märta was the housekeeper who came in for a few hours each week. Gunnel Svenson looked at her ambivalently.

Märta passed her the phone. Gunnel shook her head.

"Mrs. Svenson is busy at the moment," said Märta and hung up. She was tired of being courteous. The phone had been ringing constantly since her employer had returned home. The callers were mainly journalists but there were also a number of close friends and relatives.

"Dinner is served," she said.

"I'm not hungry."

"I've prepared your favourite dish – oven baked salmon."

Gunnel glanced at the clock. It was 7.15. She heaved herself out of the armchair and walked towards the dining room. She was an elegant, youthful woman who continued to work despite having recently celebrated her seventy-ninth birthday. She held a Masters degree in Business Administration and was the executive director of a consulting firm she had started nearly thirty-five years earlier.

Gunnel pulled out a chair and sat down at the long dining table that was designed for twelve people. She was used to eating alone.

"Thanks Märta. It smells delicious."

Märta smiled and poured her a glass of water.

"If there's nothing else you want me to do I'll go home now."

Gunnel nodded. "Thanks for today, Märta," she replied kindly.

By all appearances, Gunnel Svenson was a gracious and kind woman. However, under the surface lurked a heart that was cold and calculating. She had no patience for emotional drivel. As a child she had learnt to leave her feelings aside when it was time to make important decisions. The women in her family had always been practical. Her mother had drummed it into her that the most important factor to consider when choosing a husband was whether he offered financial security and a position in society. If you were lucky, love came eventually. It was also essential to marry someone of your own class. "Birds of a feather flock together" was one of her mother's favourite expressions.

However, there was a fundamental difference between Gunnel Svenson and the other women in her family.

Despite the family's social and financial status, her mother, in one way or another, had been dependent on her father. Gunnel believed that the women in her family lived like birds in a gilded cage and she had made a promise to herself never to end up in a similar situation.

She believed strongly that that guaranteed security could only be achieved through financial independence. She wanted the power to decide over her own life. That was why, before her marriage to Harald Svenson, she had insisted on signing a pre-nuptial agreement.

Half an hour later she finished her meal. She carried her plate, cutlery and empty glass into the kitchen and placed everything into the dishwasher. Then she returned to the living room.

Gunnel Svenson's character had been shaped by a combination of factors. She had witnessed the humiliation of her mother as she turned a blind eye to her husband's philandering. She was powerless to leave him or ask for a divorce. That would have led to a whole series of problems and changes to her economic and social circumstances.

Gunnel Svenson was determined to ensure that she would "be able to leave the bastard whenever she wanted to". She valued her freedom very highly.

It was 8.30 in the evening when she heard her husband's key in the front door lock. She didn't bother to look at the clock since this was the time he normally came home.

She had stopped asking.

He had stopped making excuses.

He went directly to the wardrobe in the hall and hung up his coat then removed his shoes and slid his feet into the slippers that were lying on the floor nearby. Without a word he continued to his bedroom to change out of his work clothes into something more comfortable. After a quick visit to the bathroom he made his way to the living room.

Harald Svenson was the same age as Gunnel, but life had left its mark. He looked older than his wife. But there again, perhaps he just looked his age, which was seventy-nine.

He stood at the doorway watching her. Although he sensed that something was amiss he entered the room in silence and sat down opposite her in his usual armchair.

The spacious living room in the grand, 280 square metre duplex apartment on Strandvägen occupied an area of approximately 60 square metres. Four French double doors faced the water and lush greenery of Djurgården and led onto a long balcony that circumvented the half-moon shaped room. The furniture was mainly from the Gustavian period but there were a few antique pieces from England and the room was filled with decorative items and objects d'art that included collector's items from China. Above the desk was a glass cabinet where the Svenson family liked to display their collection of antique ornaments, each worth over a million kronor, which, in accordance with insurance regulations, was only allowed to be dusted by staff hired by the insurance company itself.

The walls were adorned with valuable artwork. Hanging above the fireplace was a painting by Anders Zorn, called "Midnight," portraying a woman on horseback under the light of a summer moon.

On the right hand side of the room there was a chessboard with large ivory pieces that had been passed down through generations to the first-born males in the Svenson family. Harald wasn't particularly keen on chess but Börge had shown a slight interest in the game as a child and father and son would occasionally play together. During puberty Börge usually played with Hugo, a school friend since kindergarten.

After their son moved away from home, the chessboard became more of an ornamental piece – a symbol of the status conferred on its owner as the first-born male of his generation.

Next to the chessboard stood two comfortable leather armchairs. In the centre of the room there was an antique Chinese table and four matching chairs. Separating the Svenson couple between the armchairs was a smaller table.

Harald Svenson decided to break the silence.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Lots of things," answered Gunnel dismissively.

"Anything you want to talk about?"

"No, not really... None of this makes any sense. I refuse to believe that he's guilty. What's going to happen now?"

"What do you mean?" he replied with an irritated tone.

"You seriously don't understand what I mean?"

"No, I don't. But if you're thinking about Börge neither you nor I, or anyone else for that matter, is suggesting that he is guilty of murdering Ingrid. We have no idea who did it – nobody does!"

Harald Svenson's eyes narrowed. Frustration with his wife brought on heart palpitations and he struggled to catch his breath. It was one week since the murder and this was the first time he and his wife had spoken. When he saw how offended Gunnel was he realized he was begin unreasonable and changed his tone. He cleared his throat and shifted in the chair. He had lost control and regretted it.

The Svensons had a superficial relationship. Their daily lives lacked excitement. They were predictable and routine: work, golf club meetings, home. Evenings for the most part were spent reading – each of them silently buried in their own books.

They had been married for fifty-five years. On their emerald anniversary, which they had celebrated on the 1st of June, they had eaten dinner at the same place as usual – Operakällaren. Harald Svenson was a calculating, stingy man without a single romantic bone in his body. If Gunnel wanted a gift she was perfectly capable of buying it herself. They had written a pre-nuptial agreement and although they had been married for a long time their relationship lacked love and intimacy.

They had been sleeping in separate bedrooms for over twenty years. Gunnel had put up with her husband's snoring for long enough. She wanted her own space. A room where she could close the doors and be alone whenever she felt like it.

Her bedroom was large. On the left side of the room was a wardrobe with full-length mirrors. Inside was a row of shelves where she had carefully arranged her shoes; party shoes on one row and walking shoes, winter shoes and Wellington boots on the other. The rest of her wardrobe – dresses, suits and other items of clothing – was arranged into specific categories and neatly stored away.

ALTHOUGH THEIRS HAD been an arranged marriage it didn't create much of a stir within the immediate family. The Svenson and Nordstad families had a series of unwritten rules. One of these was that marriage should only take place between people of similar backgrounds. There was no coercion. No need to talk about it. The family members understood that nothing else was acceptable. It was a tradition grounded on the principle of social status and financial security involving people with solid foundations, who were unfettered by the pursuit of short-term gains and who enjoyed a sense of unassailable superiority regardless of what was happening in their lives at that moment.

HARALD AND GUNNEL SVENSON'S disappointment with their son reached its peak when he violated an important tradition, one that had been followed by the family for generations.

It was clear that Börge Svenson had no feelings for the family he was descended from. He had continuously disappointed his parents.

One particularly unforgiveable act was Börge's marriage to a woman neither Harald nor Gunnel approved of, who – in their eyes – was a mediocrity. A woman who came from a middle-class family with working-class roots. On the surface, money had improved the family's social standing but in Gunnel's eyes there was still a yawning class gulf between them.

The memory of that terrible day when they received the wedding invitation still left a bitter taste in her mouth. The mail was lying on the small table in the hallway and as usual she rummaged through the pile to see if there was anything for her.

"It appears that someone is getting married. Did you notice?" she had asked Harald who had just hung up his coat.

"No, I didn't. Who?"

Gunnel had stood there paralyzed, with the envelope in her hand, unable to say another word.

Harald was oblivious and continued into the living room to read the newspaper.

"I can't believe it!" said Gunnel eventually. "Here, read it yourself!"

She followed her husband into the dining room.

"Who is Karin Bengtsson? From Gothenburg?"

"I don't know. I don't know anyone by that name. Nobody that I care to remember anyway," answered Harald.

From that day on they decided to sever all contact with their son. This was the final insult.

The marriage between Karin Bengtsson and Börge was short lived. The couple divorced one year later.

The Svensons were delighted when they heard the news.

It was also a tremendous relief that there were no children involved.

Their reaction to Börge's marriage to Ingrid had been more positive. At least Ingrid came from a fine, upstanding family. On the other hand, what Börge did with his life was of no consequence to them anymore. The damage had been done. Börge was as good as dead to them. However, present circumstances were such that they were forced to take an interest in his life once again.

IN THE COURTROOM, Harald Svenson was a tough opponent who relished a good fight. At home, on the other hand, he was a different person. He shied away from confrontation and would do anything to avoid discussing serious issues – unwilling to take a position in potentially contentious situations.

He found himself in one of those situations now. He needed to establish where things stood and enter into a dialogue with someone close to Börge. There was nobody who fit that role better than his wife.

Gunnel Svenson looked at Harald impassively. She was tired of his indifference. Tired of his silence. Tired of this man who she hardly knew, despite all their years together.

She shook her head dismissively and went towards the balcony.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting a bit of fresh air."

"It's windy out there..."

"I'm suffocating in here – I need some fresh air..."

She opened the balcony door and stepped outside. It had been an unusually warm summer but the wind had started to pick up and heavy black storm clouds filled the sky.

Crowds thronged the quayside along Strandvägen but Gunnel was so preoccupied that she barely noticed. Her life was in ruins. She felt weighed down, her inner strength collapsing under the burden.

She studied her husband through the window. He appeared disinterested and unconcerned. Who was this man? It was inconceivable that they had been living together for so many years. The cracks in their relationship had widened to a chasm.

It was obvious that her upbringing was more of a burden than an advantage. The rules of etiquette that the Nordstad family adhered to were in direct conflict with her personal values. The financial independence she valued so highly accorded her the power to leave this man who was so unworthy of her. But her mother's constant assertions that the institute of marriage was sacrosanct and should be preserved whatever the circumstances had left a lasting impression on her. Gunnel Svenson was the product of a strict conservative family whose values had been built up through generations.

She went back inside and addressed her husband.

"It appears as if you and I have nothing to discuss. As usual, we see the world differently. Nevertheless, we really need to talk about Börge's situation. About what to do next."

He looked at his wife blankly.

"Like it or not, this seriously affects us. This is a critical situation – don't you understand that?"

Gunnel paused to catch her breath. She looked at him acrimoniously.

"I don't know how you feel but I really want to avoid false rumours spreading among our friends. I can't just bury my head in the sand and let people believe that our son is a wife beater, and even worse, a murderer."

Harald looked at his wife as if seeing her clearly for the first time. He cleared his throat.

"I've been thinking about it. Don't think for one moment that I haven't. This is a catastrophe that affects the entire family. We mustn't weaken under pressure and start doubting Börge's innocence. I believe – hopefully you do too – that now more than ever we have to present a united front to the outside world."

Harald removed his glasses and laid them on the table. "We must remain calm and try to steer the conversation. Flatly deny everything. Convince everyone that this is nothing but a witch hunt against the Svenson family."

"And what do you suggest we say?"

"As you well know, the police have no evidence against Börge."

"Are you sure?"

"Börge has categorically denied any involvement." Harald Svenson leaned back in his chair triumphantly.

"And you believe him?" said Gunnel condescendingly.

"Yes, of course I do! I can't afford to think anything else!" he answered angrily.

Gunnel returned to the armchair. She had been longing to discuss the situation and, contrary to expectation, Harald had obviously been giving the matter serious thought. Perhaps he even had a strategy.

There was no denying that her main worry was what people would say about her. Her reputation as a mother was on the line. She was enormously disappointed in her son – who, as usual, was just thinking about himself.

Although it wasn't the first time that their son had put them into an embarrassing position, what was happening now couldn't be compared to Börge's juvenile years. They had sent him to England in a last-ditch attempt to sever his contact with the gang of delinquents he was hanging around with.

"How is the child?" asked Harald.

"I don't know. I called the hospital and the doctor told me that Viktor is in a state of shock and it's impossible to communicate with him..."

"Are you going to visit him?"

"Is there any point? As far as I understand it he just lies there in his bed. He hasn't said a single work since being admitted."

"You should visit him," continued Harald.

"Come on now, you're just as responsible. If you think it's so important that his grandparents visit him then why don't you go?"

"Yes, I know but..."

"You're not suggesting that I should suddenly start behaving like a loving grandmother?"

"No, that wasn't what I meant at all. And there's no need to be so sarcastic."

"I'll see. I'm not promising anything." Gunnel hurriedly left the room and went to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. She took two huge gulps and poured the rest down the sink.

In truth, Gunnel had no feelings for Viktor. She had barely met him. The Svensons had maintained only limited contact with Börge's family over the years and since they had been married she had only been invited to the house on a couple of occasions.

On the whole they had accepted Ingrid's family. Harald had requested a background check on the family and he had been satisfied with the result. She came from a similar background as Börge. Ingrid's mother, Kristina Montana, had married into a prominent Colombian family. There was, however, one problem. Kristina was divorced and this was something Gunnel Svenson couldn't condone.

What bothered her most was the fact that she had never summoned up the courage to divorce her own husband. To strive for the individual freedom she advocated so strongly. Deep down she was still a slave to the codes, traditions and rules that her status demanded of her. Her views on independence were contradictory to her principles. Although she considered herself a liberated woman she remained trapped by the dictates of social convention.

IT WAS OBVIOUS THAT THE Svenson family's primary concern wasn't for their son's welfare. They were more worried about the impact this crisis would have on their social standing. There was no doubt that it would affect their social life – the question was: how?

They kept reminding themselves that their parental responsibilities had ceased long ago. Neither of them had any feelings left for Börge; he had been lost to them for years. Their indifference was almost shameful. Börge was in terrible trouble and they didn't feel the slightest obligation to help him. He was no longer their problem

However, there was a catch. In the eyes of the public, Börge was still their son. There was no escaping this fact, which was why Harald Svenson had enlisted the help of Ingmar Tallén – a prominent lawyer who had an enviable track record of success with the cases he took on.

# CHAPTER 5

## Technical evidence

SANNA SAT IN HER OFFICE reading the report from the National Board of Forensic Medicine.

The document was one hundred pages long and in a standard format, divided into four sections: external examination, internal examination, conclusion and death certificate.

The forensic pathologist had counted approximately 130 visible wounds on Ingrid Svenson's body, the majority of which were to her head, face and neck.

Death had occurred rapidly and was caused by severe blood loss – a so-called epidural haemorrhage.

Sanna returned to the summary at the beginning of the report where the forensic scientist stated that if the woman had survived, in all probability she would have been paralysed or in a vegetative state.

Sanna looked away briefly and rubbed her eyes. The report made for gruesome reading. The injuries Ingrid Svenson had received were more commonly associated with street violence among men. Of course, women were occasionally on the receiving end of assaults like this, but what was so unusual in Ingrid Svenson's case was the sheer number of injuries she had received.

Arne Falk stated that he had conducted an extended forensic examination together with a colleague, who in this case acted as controlling pathologist. During the examination internal bleeding was identified in several places including the lungs, pancreas, brain, neck muscles, eye sockets and left hip. Older injuries were also discovered on her arms and legs, including a serious injury to her right hip.

After examining Ingrid Svenson's medical history, compiled from data collected from various hospitals and clinics, the doctors were able to confirm that she hadn't sought medical help for any of these earlier injuries. The pathologist wrote:

"I'm amazed that she didn't see a doctor about this... it must have been very painful."

Sanna rested her face on her hand. She stared at the document. There would be a murder trial and the guilty person would receive the punishment he deserved. But the psychological trauma suffered by the victim was rarely talked about.

"How would it feel to be beaten so violently that you are powerless to stop it? Beaten until your body starts to shut down. Until your heart and brain give up..." Sanna frowned, straightened up in the armchair and put her feet on the desk. "What induces a person to attack someone who is so much weaker and incapable of defending themselves?" She laid the report on the desk and sank back down into the chair.

The case wasn't unique by any stretch of the imagination. Three years ago a woman was abused by her partner over a several-day period. Finally, her body just gave up. The brutality of the attack reminded Sanna of Ingrid Svenson's murder, except that in Ingrid's case the vast majority of injuries had been inflicted on the same day.

She picked up the report again and continued reading.

"Severe internal bleeding in the brain, several skull fractures, dislocated jaw. Knocked out teeth – two in the front of the upper jaw and two on the right hand side of the lower jaw.

Sanna closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead.

"Have you read the forensic report?" asked Kalle, as he marched into Sanna's office and sat down.

Sanna nodded.

"She must have suffered a lot. She was subjected to a long, drawn out attack that could only be described as torture. How would it feel to be tortured to death and not have the means to defend yourself? To be held prisoner in a room and realize that there is no way out. Can you imagine?"

"No, it's impossible to imagine," replied Kalle. "The tragedy is that Ingrid Svenson's case isn't an isolated one. I read a report about a woman who had been horribly abused. Later, she described her thoughts while lying there, paralyzed with fear, shaking and convinced she was going to die. Luckily she survived." He looked at Sanna intensely. "Last year seventeen women were murdered by their partners and even though the circumstances were different there were still a number of parallels with Ingrid's case."

Sanna nodded.

"You're right, but I believe that in many of those cases the man was either drunk or high on drugs. That's not an excuse but how can a man who is in full control of his senses and is to all appearances a normal, well-adjusted person commit such a horrendous crime?"

Kalle studied her and nodded slowly.

"The question is whether Svenson is innocent. After all, he does say..."

"What – that he found his wife dead?" interrupted Sanna.

BÖRGE SVENSON'S HEARING WAS held behind closed doors at ten o'clock on Friday morning at Stockholm County Court. Details of the hearing would remain confidential and not be released to the public.

The defence lawyer, Ingmar Tallén, requested that all information disclosed during the preliminary investigation should also be confidential. The ban was directed towards anyone present at the hearing.

The prosecutor took exception to this demand.

"I oppose such a ban."

Tallén went red in the face.

"I would like to request that my client's identity is protected," he said casting a glance in Börge Svenson's direction. "He is a respected citizen with no previous record or stains on his reputation."

The judge had a private word with the jury and five minutes later announced that he would grant the defence lawyer's request.

Not that it helped matters. All the circumstantial evidence so far indicated that Svenson was guilty of murdering his wife. Despite sustained attempts by Ingmar Tallén to prevent the arrest, Börge Svenson was remanded in custody. One of the judge's motives for the arrest was the risk that the suspect might tamper with evidence or hinder the investigation in some way.

Even though the evidence pointed to Svenson as the culprit, Sanna still needed witnesses from the murder scene to identify him as the person they had seen leaving the house. However, several witnesses had already modified their version of events and were unable to confirm the identity of the man they had seen.

Nevertheless, after several witness interviews the investigating officers were satisfied that they had a good deal of material to work with. Though, they were uncertain how much of this information could be used.

The most interesting witness so far was Einar Melkerson. He was adamant that he had heard the Svenson couple arguing in the kitchen. Unfortunately Melkerson had already left the scene by the time that the man, who they assumed was Börge Svenson, came out of the house.

The other credible witness was Anna Cartagena. She didn't know the Svenson family and this meant her account was more likely to be impartial. However, Anna Cartagena was also unable to identify the man as Börge Svenson.

There was another problem. During his arrest Börge Svenson insisted that the police had caught the wrong man – an assertion he stuck with. He claimed that he returned home to find Ingrid lying on the floor and that the blood on his clothes was evidence that he had tried to resuscitate her.

ELVIRA ABRAMSON, WHO HAD earlier cancelled her interview because of ill health, the same week that she had gone abroad on vacation, contacted the police to arrange a new meeting.

She was a woman in her early sixties, between sixty and sixty-five years old, short in stature and slightly overweight. Her twinkly brown eyes shone with joy. She seemed gentle and shy but there was also a hint of confidence and steely determination in her expression.

Elvira Abramson was one of the witnesses Kalle had seen talking to a journalist. She also lived opposite the Svenson family.

"Is there anything you would like me to explain before we begin the interview?" asked Sanna.

"How long will this take?"

"That depends, but it shouldn't be more than an hour."

The woman gazed at Sanna impassively and nodded.

"Interview with Elvira Abramson of 98 Skogsvägen, Djursholm on Wednesday 23rd June. The interview is conducted by inspector Sanna Johansson of the Stockholm Police Force and assisted by police cadet Monica Lindh."

Inspector Johansson switched on the recording device.

"Where were you in relation to the Svenson's house on the afternoon of the murder?"

"I was probably one of the first to arrive on the scene. After Mrs. Cartagena, of course, who was the one who contacted us and alerted the police. But, to get back to your question, I was standing a few metres from the left hand side of the house – I mean the kitchen side."

Elvira Abramson glanced at the jug of water on the table. Sanna leaned forward and poured her a glass.

The witness took a sip of water and continued: "Yes, as I was saying, to start with I was standing outside the kitchen window. Mrs. Cartagena pointed to a man coming out of the house holding something. It could have been a weapon. But to be honest, it was hard to see what it was. A baton maybe..."

"Who was he?"

"I just can't believe it! Whoever would have thought something like this could happen in our peaceful little neighbourhood? He must be an immigrant."

"What do you mean?"

"The man who did this couldn't possibly be Swedish."

"But you said earlier that he was definitely Swedish."

"Yes, I know, but I've been wracking my brains ever since trying to remember his face. Trouble is, I didn't actually see what he looked like." She paused. "Anyway... I've changed my mind. There's just no way a Swedish man could do this to his own wife!"

Sanna didn't like the fact that the witness had changed her original statement. She suspected that Elvira knew more than she was prepared to admit and decided to ask her a leading question.

"Do you think Ingrid Svenson's husband killed her? Did he beat his wife?" Sanna looked directly at the woman to gauge her reaction.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," exclaimed Elvira. "It wasn't him."

"So you're saying it wasn't Börge Svenson?" asked Sanna.

"Everyone at the scene seems to agree that the man who came out of the house was Swedish... and to be honest I didn't really pay much attention."

Elvira Abramson changed her tone, embarrassed at having raised her voice.

"Who thought that? Can you tell me their names?"

The witness stared at Sanna as if spellbound.

"Can you give me any names?" insisted Sanna.

"No, I can't. Just people, nobody special."

"I don't understand. People normally have names, don't they?" said Sanna, prodding gently to make her feel at ease.

"Yes, but I don't want to drag anyone else into this – it wouldn't feel right."

"You won't. We just want to find out what you saw. It's crucial to the investigation. Don't you agree that it's important to find the murderer? The life of a woman –Ingrid Svenson – the mother of a young child – has been snatched from her in the most brutal fashion."

"Yes, you're right. And that's exactly why I'm here. I really want you to find him..."

"Whoever he is?"

Elvira Abramson looked at her impassively. She examined her fingernails and fiddled with the ring on her left thumb. She looked up at Sanna and sighed anxiously.

"I really don't like this – not one bit."

Sanna waited.

"Ingrid Svenson had a friend who lives on the same street. I don't know which number, but I think she..."

Elvira paused again. She pursed her lips. "No, I won't say anything more. You'll have to talk to her. I'm not going to sit here and tell you what other people think. I've given you my version of what I saw and remember from that day."

"Yes, that's precisely the point of this interview. We want you to tell us YOUR version of events. What YOU saw and heard, including whether you heard other people say anything that might be of interest to this inquiry."

Sanna stretched her upper body and adjusted her shirt as she continued to stare at the witness.

"You and Mrs. Cartagena were the first to arrive at the scene; did you see anybody else in the vicinity of the house?"

The woman regarded Sanna intently.

"I didn't think about that. You're right. There was a man. I thought he looked familiar but I didn't pay much attention. I was more concerned with when the police were going to come. So was Mrs. Cartagena..."

"You said earlier that you recognized him?"

"I have a feeling that I've seen him around the neighbourhood."

"Can you be more precise about where you might have seen him?"

"That's what's hard, you see. I don't remember. First of all I thought it could have been at somebody's house, but now I'm not so sure."

"Can you describe him?"

"No... he was standing a long way away. The only thing I remember was that he had dark hair. Oh yes, another thing I noticed was that he was wearing black clothes," she added with a wry smile. "It's summer. Not many people wear black this time of year..."

Sanna often wore thin, black clothes during the summer. But she humoured her witness and nodded in agreement.

"Could it have been the same man who was interviewed in The Evening Post?"

Elvira Abramson shook her head. "No. The journalist didn't talk to him."

"What do you mean?"

"I saw her talking to one of my neighbours, but he turned up a long time after I did so it couldn't have been him," said Elvira Abramson decisively.

"Couldn't she have interviewed him before you?"

Elvira Abramson shook her head vigorously.

"Impossible. That would mean that he was standing NEXT to us since Mrs. Cartagena and I were near the kitchen window pretty much the whole time."

Sanna made a note of this.

Elvira Abramson gasped and pressed the palm of her hand to her mouth.

"Oh my goodness! What if he was the murderer?"

"Were his clothes covered in blood?"

"Oh no, sorry, here I am imagining things."

"Did you see his clothes?"

"No. He was a long way from the house when I saw him, but..."

"But?" repeated Sanna.

"I think he was waiting for something. He approached the house, but seemed to change his mind almost immediately."

Sanna glanced down at her notes.

"Do you remember anything else?"

"No, I don't think so."

Before ending the meeting Sanna asked Elvira Abramson whether she would be able to recognize the man if she saw him again. Her response was non-committal – she probably would be able to but couldn't guarantee it.

HER BLOND HAIR WAS TOUSLED and her ponytail hung half way down her neck. She was pale and looked tired. As she reached for the glass of wine her hand shook, splattering drops of liquid onto the kitchen table.

She stared at her mobile phone. They had agreed he should wait a few days before calling. Under no circumstances was she to contact him before that.

The days drifted by and the waiting became unbearable.

"Call, dammit! What the hell's going on?"

She crumpled up an old newspaper that was lying on the table and pounded it against the wall in frustration.

She had tried repeatedly to reach him without success. Maybe she should call one of his friends. She looked out of the window. It was dark outside. She was on her way to the hallway when one of her mobile phones began to ring. She ran back to the table and dived forward to reach it. It wasn't her main phone but a second hand one with an unregistered cash card that the thirty-five-year-old had given her.

"Where the hell have you been?"

"None of your bloody business! Where's my money?" demanded the man.

"What money?"

"Don't you dare try and double cross me – you don't know who you're dealing with!"

"You're not getting any money from me!" she shouted.

"You bloody bitch..."

"You're not getting anything from me. And I warn you, stop threatening me. You don't know what I'm capable of," she screamed. "They say that Svenson murdered her!"

"Yeah! Do you want specifics?"

"Yes, I want specifics! You were supposed to send me photos. I haven't received them yet."

"What photos?" asked the man, sounding genuinely puzzled.

"You won't get any money from me until I receive the photographs!" she added, slamming the phone down onto the table.

MIRIAM ASPLUND, WHO WAS described in Ingrid Svenson's diary as her best friend, contacted the police as soon as she returned from her trip abroad and opened the summons, which had come through the post. The call was forwarded to Sanna and a meeting was scheduled.

The two women sat opposite each other in the interview room.

Sanna began with the formalities. "Interview with Miriam Asplund of 5 Skogsvägen, Djursholm on Wednesday 26rd June. The interview is conducted by inspector Sanna Johansson of the Stockholm Police Force and assisted by police cadet Monica Lindh. It is nine thirty."

"How well do you know the Svensons?"

"I know or knew, Ingrid well. But I wasn't particularly friendly with her husband. Ingrid and I have been friends for twenty years. We studied computer science together at university."

Miriam Asplund shifted nervously in her chair. The police station was obviously one of the last places she wanted to be right now.

"I'm sorry but I'm having a hard time talking about this. I really want to help but I feel so sad." Her voice shook as she dabbed the tears from her eyes.

"I understand this is a difficult time for you but we need your cooperation. You are one of the few people who was close to Ingrid and we would welcome any information you can give us that might help our investigation," continued Sanna gently.

"I keep thinking about poor Viktor lying there at the hospital. I wonder what's best – that he doesn't survive or wakes up to this? What will he do without his mother? With a father who doesn't care about him?"

"Are you saying that Börge Svenson doesn't care about his son?"

"Börge is selfish, he only thinks of himself. Ingrid was devoted to Viktor. I know her mother is going to take care of him now, but she can only do so much..."

They sat in silence. Sanna wanted to give Miriam Asplund time to think.

"Ingrid was a very private person. She often seemed troubled. Something wasn't right but however much I tried to get her to open up, she never did." Miriam Asplund reached for the water jug and poured some water into a plastic cup. She stared at it for a few seconds and then slowly took a few gulps.

"Is there anything you can recall about their relationship?"

"What do you mean?"

"How they behaved towards each other when among friends and family?"

"I don't know. It's hard to say. He was always very social. On the other hand she was quite reserved when he was around. When she was alone she was much more animated and talkative. Even though she never discussed her home life we were never at a loss for things to talk about."

"Do you know if he was ever violent towards her?"

"No... I don't know. I wouldn't be able to stand up in court and claim that he was abusing her. In social situations he was very loving towards his family. If I hadn't known Ingrid before her marriage I would have thought they were very happy, but..."

"I understand. But even if he was very loving towards his family and Ingrid was generally very reserved, you would surely have noticed if she was injured or in pain. We have evidence that Ingrid was severely beaten on several occasions."

"Yes, I've also wondered about that many times. There were days when she made excuses not to meet. I remember one time in particular. We were going to meet some old university friends and she was really excited about it. We had been talking about it for ages. But the day before we were supposed to meet up she called me and said she couldn't come. I asked why but she never explained..."

Sanna gave her a long, serious look and nodded.

Miriam Asplund was troubled. She wanted to help them but realized nothing she had said so far was of much value. She had never liked the way he flirted with other women. He even had the nerve to leer at her even though she was Ingrid's best friend. What was he thinking? What was he trying to prove?

"Where were you on the day of the murder?" continued Sanna.

Miriam Asplund, who had been momentarily distracted by her thoughts, looked at Sanna in surprise.

"Excuse me, could you repeat the question?"

"Where were you on the day of the murder?"

"I was away on business in Canada. One of my friends called to tell me. It was such a shock – I just couldn't believe it. Not Ingrid. I called my mother to find out what had happened."

She burst into tears.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can go on. Talking about Ingrid is too upsetting."

Sanna agreed that there was no point in continuing with the interview. Miriam Asplund's distress was clearly preventing her from thinking straight.

"Please contact us if you remember anything..."

"I'm so sorry that I haven't been able to help with the inquiry. Hopefully once I feel better I'll remember something..."

SANNA JOHANSSON WAS PREPARED to leave no stone unturned in her efforts to find out what exactly had occurred in the Svenson family home. The investigation was going to take time, but she had no intention of letting Ingrid's murderer go free. However, to convict him they needed firm evidence. They had to gather as much information as possible, not only physical evidence from the crime scene but also details about the couple's private and social life.

At first, she had been convinced they had the right man. But the mystery man who kept surfacing – first in the newspaper article then in the witness statements – was confusing matters.

Sanna massaged her forehead and closed her eyes to think.

In cases involving abuse and murder it wasn't unusual for the killer to turn out to be a previous or current partner. But although the statistics reinforced her suspicions, only the technical evidence would disclose whether Börge Svenson was telling the truth. Or whether someone else really had murdered his wife.

Sanna frowned.

"Is Pascalini's witness the same man Anna Cartagena and the other eye witnesses saw hanging around the house? Did anyone else see him? Does Pascalini have a photograph of him?" The uncertainty irritated her.

# CHAPTER 6

## Confrontation

BÖRGE SVENSON AND HIS lawyer, Ingmar Tallén sat in the interrogation room. Tallén was not in the best of moods. The hearing had been a fiasco. He felt crushed, a complete failure.

Tallén had demanded that his client be released immediately. He was convinced that Svenson was completely innocent and that Ingrid Svenson's real murderer was still out there. He was well aware that the circumstances leading up to his client's arrest were incriminating, to say the least, but he believed that Svenson's social standing and unblemished record should be taken into consideration. A travel ban would have sufficed. At worst he should have been released on bail.

During the hearing the prosecutor presented photographs of the bloody shirt that Svenson was wearing when he was discovered in the woods on the day of the murder. According to the suspect, the blood had ended up on his clothes when, after finding his wife lying on the floor, he had lifted her up and cradled her in his arms. These images, however, were clear evidence that this just didn't add up. The splashes of blood left a pattern that would typically occur during an assault. In addition, Svenson's behaviour had been peculiar. Instead of calling for an ambulance and contacting the police – the normal reaction of an innocent person in the same situation – he had gone into the woods.

The prosecutor believed that Börge Svenson should be arrested and cited probable cause.

During the defence lawyer's argument, the prosecutor haughtily reminded Tallén, that they were in the middle of a detention hearing, not a murder trial.

Tallén was irritated at himself and demanded more details despite the fact that he knew full well this information would be revealed during the trial.

He had used all the resources available to him, urging the judge to impose a travel ban instead of placing Svenson under arrest. He had reminded the judge of the arrest rules described in chapter 25 paragraph 1987:1211. He also pointed out that Börge Svenson had no intention of fleeing the country or going underground.

The court wasn't impressed by Tallén's argument. They ruled that the suspect should be placed under arrest and charges brought within one month.

Harald Svenson was swift to react. His ostensibly charming and accommodating façade cracked as he bluntly revealed his dissatisfaction to Tallén.

THE TWO OF THEM SAT in the waiting room.

Börge Svenson had a hunch that this would be an arduous interrogation. Despite his well-rehearsed tough façade his glistening dark blue eyes betrayed an underlying sense of despondency and self-doubt.

The judge granted the defence lawyer's request that his client be excused from wearing the prison uniform.

Svenson was dressed in an exclusive Armani suit with a white shirt and red silk tie that he had probably carefully selected. He was undeniably a man of refined elegance who exuded an aura of self-entitlement.

"Don't forget the rules," said Ingmar Tallén to his client.

Börge Svenson sneered. He was resentful at being treated like a child. In the short time they had been acquainted Tallén had repeated the same instructions countless times: "Please limit your statements. Be consistent. Don't change your story."

Ingmar Tallén was about ten years older than Svenson. He had a slight build and next to his client he appeared shrunken and inconsequential. Despite this he cut a commanding figure, determined and self-assured.

Tallén had been disappointed to learn that the prosecutor was a man, so news that the interrogating officer was female lifted his spirits. He knew that Svenson was popular with the opposite sex.

A simple rectangular table stood in the centre of the sparsely furnished interview room. Around the table stood four chairs arranged in pairs on opposite sides. Tallén and Svenson sat on the side closest to the door. In the left hand corner stood another chair, upon which a police constable was already seated.

On the table was a recording device, a notepad as well as the standard water jug and plastic cups. The weak ceiling light cast a shadow across Börge Svenson's face accentuating his tired features.

Inspectors Johansson and Karlsson entered the room. Kalle adjusted the dimmer so that the ceiling light shone at full strength. Svenson got up hastily and stretched out his hand in greeting.

"Inspector Sanna Johansson."

Svenson couldn't take his eyes off her. He was dumbstruck, hypnotized by the intensity of her dark eyes. His gaze wandered downwards to her shapely breasts, concealed under a white blouse, and her tiny midriff. He imagined the curve of her body under the perfectly pressed suit.

Kalle was also intrigued by Sanna's smart new look. He had never seen this side of her before.

Svenson could feel a strange heat rising up through his body. His carefully prepared mental strategy for dealing with the interrogation was suddenly wiped out.

"Börge Svenson," he answered without moving his eyes from hers.

Sanna looked at him with indifference.

Kalle, who had noticed Svenson's interest in Sanna, cleared his throat.

"Inspector Kalle Karlsson," he said extending his hand towards Svenson, who turned to look at him and shook his hand without a word.

"The prosecutor rang this morning to apologize for his absence. He's in bed with a high temperature waiting for the doctor," said Sanna to Tallén.

"As you probably already know, I am the officer in charge of the investigation. The prosecutor will attend sporadically but will be here when necessary."

Tallén listened and digested her words. He knew this was standard procedure but still wanted to give it some thought. It was possible that the prosecutor's absence could play to his advantage.

"Do you have any questions before we get started?"

The two men shook their heads.

"Then let's begin," said Sanna. She turned on the recorder and moved it across the table closer to Svenson.

"Interview with Börge Svenson of 117 Skogsvägen, Djursholm. Present is Ingmar Tallén, lawyer for the defence. The interview is being held by the Stockholm Police Force on Thursday 30th June and conducted by Inspector Sanna Johansson assisted by Inspector Karlsson." She glanced at the clock on her mobile. "The time is 9.30."

Börge Svenson, who by now had regained his composure, was eager to get started. First and foremost it was important to be agreeable and present his most charming side.

The parties sat opposite each other. Nobody said a word.

Sanna stared deep into Börge Svenson's eyes. She was analysing him and preferred not to ask any questions until the accused began talking.

Svenson thought he heard the lawyer say, " _answer the questions and nothing else._ " But the silence made him uneasy. He was a verbal person. You couldn't teach an old dog new tricks.

Svenson talked about his family, the love he felt for his wife and son. He described what a wonderful mother Ingrid was and how Viktor was the most perfect son anyone could wish for.

Sanna listened impassively, but began to feel more and more irritated. "Is he trying to prove that he's an exemplary father? Or is he faking amnesia?" she pondered. Svenson's exaggerated pleasantries and contrived innocence were getting on her nerves.

The two inspectors sat there with deadpan expressions.

Tallén interrupted. "My client is innocent and should be released immediately. You're both wasting time and taxpayer's money. While we're sitting here the murderer is on the loose laughing at you," he grinned sarcastically.

Sanna continued staring at Svenson and didn't bother to acknowledge Tallen's outburst.

"All families have their issues," continued Svenson, with the hint of a smile. "But in the main we're happy," he assured them. He stared at Sanna as he spoke, as if they were alone in the room. "I know I'm not an angel, but I swear that my wife was already dead when I got home."

His eyes watered.

Sanna shifted in her chair.

Kalle watched Svenson closely, slightly vexed by the way he was being ignored. He felt superfluous, left out. The same way he had felt during the interview with Melkerson. Now it was his turn to be in the shadows. For the first time he understood how Sanna must have felt. It was a disconcerting sensation.

Kalle tried to figure out Svenson's strategy. The man was definitely flirting with Sanna. But why? Did he really think Sanna would be interested in him? He smiled to himself.

Tallén cleared his throat and glared despairingly at Svenson, who was behaving exactly how he had been instructed not to. Obviously he was deliberately ignoring his recommendations.

Börge Svenson was acting like someone who needed to get things off his chest. For some reason he wanted to convince the police that he had a happy marriage and in particular what a good and caring husband and father he was.

Sanna's patience was running out. She had listened for long enough. She had been hoping the interrogation would take another direction but, by letting him talk, at least she had learnt a little about the man.

"Yes, Mr. Svenson, I have to admit I'm very confused. Tell me, how does a man like you who purports to love his family so much commit an act this brutal?" She slammed a pile of photographs onto the table. "How could you treat your "adored" wife like this?" Sanna pointed to the grisly images of Ingrid Svenson's bloodied, lacerated face scattered across the table. "Help me here. You're pathetic!" she shouted. "I know your type. I've seen disgusting behaviour like this before but then it didn't end up in this this type of murder."

Tallén didn't have time to react. It all happened so fast. He was dumbstruck. The inspector's attack was completely unexpected, like lightening in a clear sky.

Svenson had a strange expression on his face. He sat in his chair, confused.

The atmosphere in the room changed radically.

Tallén turned red with fury. He tore off his glasses and glowered at the inspector.

"Your colleague seems to be convinced that my client murdered his wife," he said accusingly.

"It's remarkable that the inspector hasn't informed my client of the charges against him," Tallén continued, turning to look at Svenson who was sitting beside him speechless. "Börge Svenson has repeatedly said that his wife was already dead when he got home!"

He glanced at Sanna threateningly.

"How could you have missed such a crucial detail?"

He leaned back in his chair.

"Yes – so he alleges," she answered stiffly, brushing the dust away from her sleeve. "It is quite remarkable, don't you think?"

Tallén attempted a response but Sanna took no notice.

"We've heard Mr. Svenson's version of events. He's been speaking for almost 45 minutes and to the best of my recollection he hasn't once tried to explain why he left the house and headed to the woods."

Tallén lifted his finger to indicate he had something to say, but Sanna looked at him stony faced. She had no intention of giving him a chance to interrupt.

"The only thing we've heard is how much Svenson loves his wife," she added. "He obviously wants to reassure us that he was an exemplary husband!" She paused to study Svenson's reaction. He was nodding in agreement with every word she said. "I'm curious as to why a loving man like Mr. Svenson didn't bother to call either an ambulance or the police when he realized that his beloved wife had been murdered."

Both men on the other side of the table were silent. They looked at each other with uncertainty.

"Why hide in the woods if you're so innocent? And above all, why didn't you do everything in your power to save your wife?"

Börge Svenson took a deep breath.

"Surely the Inspector understands that in certain situations people react in the most unexpected ways. My client has already told you that he was trying to catch the man who had murdered his wife," responded Tallén, visibly agitated.

"He left the house. He didn't run after him or shout for help. He walked calmly into the woods. We have a number of witnesses who can back that up," said Sanna.

"I repeat! Under those circumstances anybody would become disorientated and act out of character," countered Tallén.

IT WAS NO SECRET to the inspectors that Ingrid Svenson and her son had endured a living hell. During the search of the crime scene they had discovered Ingrid's journal.

The journal was where she entrusted her innermost thoughts. It testified to the physical and psychological abuse that had tarnished their entire marriage. Unfortunately, the last entry was dated 20th December last year. In it she describes her desperation:

"... the only way out of this hell is to kill ourselves. Viktor and I can't continue to live like this. This isn't a life, we can't go on any more..."

There were fragments in the diary that Sanna had marked with post-it notes so that she could refer to it during the interrogation, and possibly the trial as well.

Ingrid had contemplated suicide a number of times. The only thing that stopped her was Viktor. She couldn't leave the one person who gave her life meaning.

In several of her diary entries she admitted how frightened and lonely she was. It was unthinkable that she would entrust her private thoughts to anyone else. She couldn't even talk to her mother or best friend, Miriam Asplund, whom she had known for many years, about the shameful things that had happened to her. The terror that was unleashed in the comfort of her own home remained a secret between her and the diary.

Ingrid Svenson couldn't summon up the will power to leave her husband. He was always full of remorse. After abusing her he would take her in his arms and repeat again and again how much he loved her and how life without her was unimaginable.

Sanna looked intently at Svenson, who had finally taken his eyes off her and was now staring at the wall, writhing uncomfortably in his chair. He ran his fingers through his short blond hair.

He turned expectantly to Tallén, but the lawyer paid no attention to him. He was furious. Svenson had completely ignored his explicit instructions to only speak in response to direct questions.

"Aren't you going to look at the photographs?" asked Sanna in the same sarcastic but controlled tone of voice she had been using for the last 15 minutes. It had felt like an eternity to Börge Svenson.

"Maybe you have a fresher and more vivid image in your head and don't need to look at our pathetic photographs?"

Kalle watched Sanna closely. He couldn't remember ever seeing her behave quite so aggressively when questioning suspects, even though she had always been a tough interrogator.

Tallén finally reacted. He protested. Loudly.

"That's enough! My client is innocent and I will not tolerate the tone the inspector is using here."

Svenson moved uneasily in his chair. He glared at Sanna but quickly looked away again.

"You're harassing me," he said indignantly.

Sanna was unmoved by the lawyer's objections and carried on speaking.

"Oh, I'm harassing you am I? Well, I'm so sorry – maybe you should report me to the police!" she said.

Sanna was trying to provoke him, ridicule him. The best way to get an arrogant man like Börge Svenson to admit his mistakes was through provocation. She wanted him to feel humiliated. That usually worked.

Power hungry men didn't like to accept defeat – especially not at the hands of a woman.

Sanna was convinced that sooner or later the real Börge Svenson would turn up. He would lose his temper and reveal what actually happened on the day of the murder.

"Maybe I will," he answered with exaggerated irony. He had a strange expression on his face. He narrowed his eyes and looked at Sanna threateningly.

For the first time Sanna could see the darkness hidden behind his innocent eyes.

The sly fox had caught him off guard – she had seen right through him.

How much did she really know? He was tortured with anxiety. It was an uncomfortable feeling. He didn't know what to expect.

"While you're harassing me the murderer is still out there somewhere. The man who killed my wife. I can't for the life of me understand why you keep insisting that I murdered her," he continued indignantly.

"Who do you mean? Who murdered her?"

"My client has already answered that question. He doesn't know who broke into the house and killed his wife. She was already dead when he got home! One thing is definite, Börge Svenson is innocent of everything he is accused of!"

Sanna stared at Tallén long and hard. She knew how he had reacted when the preliminary forensic report was presented. Nevertheless, he had the audacity to sit here and claim the opposite.

She turned her attention to Börge Svenson and studied him carefully.

He looked tired. His face was flushed and a layer of sweat glistened on his upper lip. He brushed his fringe aside and looked at her with an expression of resignation.

"I don't think you understand..."

"There's a lot I don't understand – tell me," answered Sanna, more gently this time. She poured water into four plastic cups and passed one to each of the participants around the table. She drank hers in one gulp. After refilling her cup she leaned back in the chair and looked at Svenson dispassionately.

"I just want things to be okay," he continued. "Most of all, I love my family." He paused and stroked his face with his right hand. He picked up the cup and took a sip of water. He looked thoughtful. He placed the cup back onto the table. "Ingrid can be difficult at times," he admitted dispassionately.

Tallén tried to catch his attention but Svenson was preoccupied with his own thoughts. The lawyer was afraid that his client was about to reveal information he was not yet privy to.

"That's enough! Let's stop now. We've been here for more than three hours and I would like to talk to my client." Tallén got up and gestured imperiously to Svenson.

Svenson sat there despondently with his finger bowed to his lips.

"You said that Ingrid could be difficult," coaxed Sanna.

The air had been sucked out of him. His world was reduced to this tiny room where there were just the two of them. Hers was the only voice he could hear.

"Tell me – I want to know." Her words echoed inside his head.

Just as Svenson was about to respond, Tallén, fearing the worst, grabbed his shoulder.

Börge rose from his chair with robotic movements and followed Tallén out of the room like a child who has been reprimanded by his teacher.

IT WAS ALMOST FIVE THIRTY when Kalle rang Lorena Pascalini's mobile. Once again he was directed to the voice mail service. He dialled another number.

"The Evening Post."

"This is Kalle Karlsson from The National Bureau of Investigation. I'm trying to get hold of Lorena Pascalini but she never answers her mobile or e-mail..."

"I see. She's on sick leave," answered the man dryly.

"Do you know when she'll be back?"

"No, sorry. As far as I understand she'll be gone indefinitely."

"What do you mean? I need to talk to her as a matter of urgency!"

"I have to go to a meeting now, but I can connect you to the head of department."

Kalle waited while the call was redirected.

"Aron Busch," said a gruff voice at the other end of the line.

Kalle filled him in. But although they talked at length, he didn't receive satisfactory answers to his questions. Busch's attitude was dismissive. He repeatedly assured him that they didn't have any more photographs. Apparently, Pascalini had insisted that her photographer delete all the images from 117 Skogsvägen threatening severe consequences otherwise. The only thing Busch knew for certain was that Pascalini had experienced a sudden nervous breakdown and nobody knew how long it would take for her to recover and return to work.

THE STAFF CANTEEN WAS CROWDED with hungry employees. It was twelve o'clock. Apparently, everyone at the police station on Kungsholmen had decided to eat lunch at the same time.

Sanna and Kalle were sharing a table with their colleagues, Javier Mendez and Allan Jonsson, who had almost finished eating. They were discussing an on-going murder inquiry. Although it wasn't actually a discussion. While Allan was proclaiming his views vociferously Javier listened quietly.

Allan Jonsson, who had grown up in Karlstad, was rather new to his position as a criminal inspector in the Stockholm Police department. He had long dreamed of a career as a criminal inspector, and his enthusiasm for the job was obvious, especially since this was his first murder investigation in his new position.

Within the police force there were significant regional differences in customs and culture. It was like the collision of contrasting worlds. Allan Jonsson spoke openly about his job during breaks, a habit that didn't often occur in Stockholm.

Javier Mendez had previously worked with Sanna and Kalle, but now he had found his feet he was handling his own investigations.

"He lived a double life, quite simply," said Allan enthusiastically. Javier was only half listening. He was a touch irritated because he didn't like discussing his activities during breaks; moreover, it was against the rules.

"I don't know," answered Javier impatiently, wishing that he would stop talking. But Allan didn't seem to care about rules or restrictions. In Karlstad there were no secrets among colleagues. It was neither strange nor unusual to discuss work during breaks. Often, during these conversations new angles were bandied about, which might not have been discussed at investigation team meetings.

"He was gay," continued Allan Jonsson.

"You seem pretty sure of that," replied Javier.

"Yup, it's not hard to work that out when you consider the state he was found in. He was raped and murdered by another gay man, obviously."

Javier looked at Allan and narrowed his eyes. This was not the right place to discuss the issue.

Sanna and Kalle listened in silence. Sanna showed no enthusiasm for the subject, but Kalle's interest had been piqued and he couldn't contain himself any longer.

"What murder are you talking about?"

"It's a case we're working on but we don't know much so far," answered Javier without lifting his eyes from his plate.

Allan cast a curious eye at Kalle. Finally someone was showing interest, or rather curiosity, and he welcomed the opportunity to put across his point of view. He liked to discuss cases and get new ideas from savvy officers in the department. Or perhaps he was simply the talkative type.

He leaned closer to Kalle and looked at him intensely.

"The victim was lying on his right side in the bed. His feet were tied together and his hands were bound behind him with a black leather strap," sneered Allan, straightening his fringe. "My theory is that he had either been having anal sex or somebody forced a hard object into his anus. I'll bet you anything it was a gay murder. I heard they like violent sex and that it's not unusual for gays to have sadistic sex toys – if one can call them that these days."

He grinned with a glint in his eyes.

"You think you know a lot about the sexual habits of homosexuals but your reasoning is flawed. This type of murder can even occur among heterosexual couples," objected Kalle.

In his opinion, Allan was a little too quick to jump to conclusions. He also sounded more than a little homophobic.

"As you must know, during an investigation, we have to explore different avenues of enquiry before speaking out with any kind of certainty about what could have happened," continued Kalle.

Allan looked at him sceptically.

"Sometimes, an investigator can jump to conclusions and believe they have an open and shut case, when in fact they have completely misinterpreted the information..." added Kalle. "Have you considered the possibility that this could be a hate crime?"

Allan Jonsson rolled his large blue eyes sceptically. What on earth did hate crime have to do with this case? That was the kind of thing you saw on the street with fistfights and the like. It was the last thing he would have thought of.

"That sounds highly unlikely," answered Allan in a patronizing tone of voice as he leaned back in his chair. "I don't think someone would rape a person of the same sex if they hated gays."

"Why are you so sure the murderer is a man?"

"Well, it can hardly be a woman!"

"Do you have any evidence?"

"No I don't," he answered. He was starting to become uneasy. He didn't like the way the conversation was going and decided to change track and started talking about other non-work-related subjects.

KALLE NEEDED A CUP OF COFFEE so after lunch he went to the automatic machine to get a café latte with sugar and a cup of black coffee. Then he headed for Sanna's office.

She sat with her back to the door and her legs stretched out on the desk. She recognized Kalle's quick, determined footsteps as they approached her room and turned around as he entered.

"Latte?"

"Sure, sounds good."

Sanna greeted Kalle with a smile. She was exhausted and her head felt heavy. She welcomed the chance to have a friendly chat.

"A strange case," said Kalle.

"Do you mean Javier's investigation?"

"Yes, it sounds like a sadistic murder..."

"I was thinking about it. I remember I worked on a similar case two year ago, when I was involved in a murder investigation in Gothenburg."

"Right, you mean the time you were incommunicado?" said Kalle with a glint in his eyes.

Sanna smiled and nodded.

"Yes, there were strict rules that we couldn't discuss the case with anyone except the investigative team."

"Right. Is that why you were so quiet during lunch today?"

"Yes, probably. Plus it didn't seem as if Javier appreciated Allan talking so loudly."

"That's true. I probably shouldn't have questioned him, but I was curious and really wanted to know what he was talking about. Since Javier has been in charge of his own investigations he doesn't talk that much to us."

"Hmm," said Sanna pensively. "We don't talk with him much about ours either..."

"Ok, I give up," said Kalle, waving his hands in the air with a jovial smile.

Sanna looked with amusement at Kalle who was slowly sipping his coffee. She had finished hers ages ago.

"Sometimes it's good to chat with colleagues about similar cases. A typical example is the Gothenburg murder case. There could be certain similarities." she smiled. "I mean, the discoveries we made then might be helpful in Javier's investigation."

"You mean Javier's and Allan's," said Kalle.

She nodded; in fact, she wasn't at all pleased that Allan Jonsson was working on a murder investigation of this type. He seemed to have absolutely no idea of the problems that could arise through being so open. What if Allan spoke about his job to people who didn't even work at the NBI? Moreover, she loathed people like Allan Jonsson who spoke in that condescending manner. He was definitely homophobic – and there were already more than enough homophobic officers in the police force.

"Are you going to tell them about the Gothenburg case?"

"Probably. But I think I'll raise it with Javier first. He can decide if he wants to talk to Allan or not." She looked at him for a moment. "You're welcome to join us."

Kalle's eyes brightened. He remembered being very curious about the investigation at the time but Sanna had refused to disclose any information.

Sanna Johansson was very rule conscious and believed that all regulations should be followed to the letter. They were there for a reason and people shouldn't risk violating them because, in the worst-case scenario, these transgressions could result in catastrophic situations that would be very difficult to set right.

"I can send him an e-mail and see how he responds. Let's see if he's open to being given a few leads. You'll hear from me if anything happens."

Kalle left the room feeling as if he had just received a long awaiting gift from Sanna. Finally he would learn more about the secret investigation.

# CHAPTER 7

## The forgotten victim

AFTER SPENDING ONE WEEK IN the intensive care unit at Karolinska University Hospital, Viktor was transferred to the children's psychiatric ward.

A group of doctors with different specialities and experience had failed to agree on a diagnosis. This meant that a decision on the choice of treatment was delayed.

A psychiatrist concluded that the child was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. With the right therapy there was a good chance he would recover.

Another doctor contradicted this finding, stating that the boy was in a catatonic state.

"I advise against giving the boy's relatives too much hope. From experience I know that patients in a similar condition seldom fully recover."

Because of the boy's condition he had been placed in a large room where there was space to provide an extra bed for relatives. Kristina Borelius-Montana, Viktor's grandmother, had been spending the vast majority of her time at the hospital. She was deeply concerned about Viktor, agonizing over how she would react and what she would say if Viktor asked about Ingrid.

Did he know that his mother was dead?

"God forbid if Viktor wakes up while I'm not here. What would happen if he asked for his mother?" Kristina's anxiety increased each day. "At least he'll see his grandmother," she thought. That was her only comfort.

Viktor was an extremely sensitive child who was almost completely dependent on his mother. He had little or no contact with his father and was also scared of him. Kristina wondered if there was any possibility of gaining custody of the boy, although she was well aware that the law would favour his father.

"Hi," whispered Sanna, knocking gently on the door at the same time as she popped her head into the room. "May I come in?"

"Yes, of course," answered Kristina with a polite but cheerless smile.

"How's Viktor?" asked Sanna as she walked towards his bed.

The top half of the bed had been raised to facilitate the boy's breathing. He lay there motionless with his eyes open.

"Hi, little man, how are you?" she asked, affectionately caressing the boy's forehead.

Viktor showed no sign of recognition.

Sanna took the child's small hands in hers. "Sweet boy," she whispered. "What do the doctors say?" She turned to face Kristina

"Not much. The doctors have so many different opinions that they're having a hard time deciding on how to treat him." Her voice cracked and the tears started to fall despite her efforts to stop them.

Sanna approached the woman and laid a hand on her back.

"How are you holding up?"

"Not so good. I've been here the whole time since Viktor was admitted to hospital. I don't know what to do – it's hard to cope alone."

"Is there anyone else – another relative?"

"Yes, there is, but my son has his own family to take care of." She dried her tears and blew her nose into a handkerchief. "They have two small children and my husband isn't much help. He can't handle it." She glanced at Sanna. "He isn't Ingrid's father. I remarried after the children left home."

Sanna nodded.

Kristina Borelius-Montana was previously married to Viktor Montana, a Latin American man who owned a consulting firm that dealt predominantly with Latin American IT companies.

For more than ten years Ingrid had devoted herself to her family. She had been a stay at home mother and housewife until the day she learned that her husband was having an affair. That very same day she contacted a lawyer and filed for divorce.

Now she was retired with little financial means. As a housewife she couldn't afford to save towards a retirement fund and now she survived on a very small state pension.

She didn't blame anybody. It had been her choice to stay at home with the children.

Viktor Montana had planned well. He had registered all his assets with his company, which, under Swedish law, meant that Kristina was left with very little money after the divorce.

She had been forced to take a number of part-time jobs in order to make ends meet. Since no company was willing to hire an inexperienced business major in her mid-thirties she had to satisfy herself with menial jobs.

However, Montana had continued to support the children financially and demanded that Kristina kept detailed records of how much money she needed and how it would be spent. He made sure the children didn't want for anything. For their sake he had also allowed Kristina to keep the villa and summerhouse.

They had two children, but the child who was closest to Kristina was Ingrid.

Sanna listened attentively.

"What do you mean, he can't handle it?"

"I don't know. My husband has a fragile disposition and I don't want him to get sick as well. I have enough to deal with as it is, taking care of Viktor."

Kristina glanced timidly at Sanna but tried to avoid direct eye contact with her.

Sanna looked thoughtful, but said nothing. She struggled to think of something comforting to say.

The women were silent for a few minutes.

Sanna walked towards the window, which overlooked an inner courtyard. She stood there for a while contemplating the view then turned around to look at Viktor.

"Has a curator contacted you?"

"Yes. She basically just informed me what was going on and that she would be in touch again soon."

Sanna was becoming emotionally involved in this case. She couldn't shut off her feelings just because the rulebook dictated it. She was first and foremost a human being – a person with feelings and a conscience. A person who knew what it meant to lose someone you loved under circumstances like this.

"I... I don't have anyone to take care of... I live alone. I would like to help you. I could relieve you for a couple of hours a day until we find someone else. Someone who can be here when you have to run errands," suggested Sanna tentatively.

"Absolutely not! You shouldn't need to concern yourself with my problems; you have your job to focus on. I've heard that the police are overworked as it is and have no private life... Thanks anyway, it was very thoughtful of you," answered Kristina gratefully, touched that someone had stretched out a helping hand when she most needed it.

"I have one day off every other week and occasionally I finish at five or six. I could come here... Actually, I could come tomorrow. I'll be here at nine o'clock. How does that sound?"

As soon as she got to work she would contact Patricia Nikita and ask if she would consider making an exception and help Viktor's grandmother a few hours a week.

In a flagrant breach of the rules, Sanna decided to continue her hospital visits. She was aware that a traumatic situation like this could have a negative impact on the mental health of the mourning relative and she felt she just had to help in whatever way she could.

Kristina graciously accepted Sanna's offer.

"I don't know what to say or how to thank you, you're really too kind..." She held Sanna's hand in a gesture of thanks.

AT EIGHT O'CLOCK ON Friday morning Sanna Johansson borrowed a children's book from the hospital library and took the elevator up to the ward.

The scene before her was unchanged. Viktor lay half propped up in bed with a vacant expression.

As agreed, Kristina wouldn't arrive before eleven o'clock.

Sanna sat on the visitor's chair next to Viktor's bed. She placed one hand in his and with the other she held the book.

"I'm going to read The Moomins. I hope you like it," she said, glancing at the book cover. "I read it myself as a child and loved it."

She began to read out loud.

She glanced at Viktor occasionally, hoping to see a reaction. She had been a little unsure before starting to read. She didn't know if he would be listening.

She had searched the Internet for information on catatonic states. On Wikipedia she read about cases where the patient could hear everything in their immediate surroundings. One of the conditions described was _locked-in-syndrome_ where a patient was conscious but couldn't move or communicate. Sanna didn't know if this was Viktor's condition but she hoped that, regardless of what had happened to him, he was aware of what was going on and listened when people spoke to him.

This wasn't new to her. It was routine. The problem in this case, however, was that she didn't have any idea what to talk to Viktor about. A children's book seemed a good solution under the circumstances.

As she read, Sanna cast her eyes back and forth between the book and the boy, searching for a sign – anything that might indicate he was listening.

She stared at his expressionless face.

Her thoughts involuntarily drifted back in time to a period she would rather forget – her childhood.

Her whole body ached with the memory.

A time when her daily life was filled with violence and abuse. Abuse that occurred in her own home. A father who was cruel and selfish – an iron-fisted man who relentlessly mistreated Sanna's mother.

Despite her valiant efforts she couldn't shake off the memory.

It was a memory that would never release its grip.

She loathed him. She could never forgive him for the damage he had caused her family.

Although he never laid a hand on them, he was culpable of inflicting even deeper pain. An invisible wound that couldn't be bandaged or treated by a doctor. Or transplanted like a decrepit organ.

The only treatment was to administer powerful drugs and many of these were considered narcotics – preparations that would anesthetize the patient's senses. It was an effective method of shutting off the victim's emotions.

The three siblings had been scarred for life but it was her younger sister Malin who was the worst affected.

Markus, who was also emotionally damaged, was often on sick leave. He took medication to treat anxiety disorders – drugs that were typically prescribed for psychiatric illnesses. He had never been able to work through his grief or accept that his health issues were caused by the trauma he and his siblings had experienced as children.

Sanna had fared better. She believed it was because she had confronted her past and allowed herself to grieve. She had made an effort to retrieve the memories she had deliberately relegated to the back of her mind. She realized how important it was to remember and relive the traumatic events that had shaped her childhood. The fear that was prevalent in their everyday lives and the mother who screamed in pain when Sanna's father hit her. The hours they had spent huddled under the stairs, in the wardrobe, or anywhere there was room for the three of them to squeeze into.

To process the time when she had found her mother lifeless in the bathtub, she had written a diary about what had happened during her childhood.

By reaffirming to herself what had happened she hoped, in her foolishness, to close the book forever one day. Put it in a locked drawer and never open it again. But life was never that simple. She didn't need the book to help her remember – the memories were there, in her soul, in every cell of her body.

The psychologist had repeatedly told her that forgiveness was an important step, but could someone who had never experienced trauma like hers really be in a position to judge?

There was a huge difference between academic theory and the reality of a situation. To see your own mother die under such circumstances was an experience not even a psychologist could fully comprehend or help anyone else come to terms with.

Markus, for his part, had been seeing a number of psychologists and psychiatrists through the years, with no noticeable results.

He had finally given up. All those years of fruitless treatments that had cost both time and money, and made him feel more and more demoralized.

But time had been compassionate. He was lucky enough to meet a woman who understood him. A woman who was patient and supportive, who nurtured him through his periods of depression, which would strike without warning. Despite years of treatment he still hadn't learnt to read his body's signals.

Markus stubbornly suppressed his emotions. He refused to talk about the day their mother died. He had blocked it out completely.

He never visited her grave. Whenever Sanna suggested he go with her he would come up with a range of different excuses.

THE DAY WAS CLEARLY ETCHED in her mind. It was a Friday, 22 years ago. The 11th of June. She had arrived home from school at three o'clock to find the front door unlocked. Sanna was surprised that her mother was already home because this was the day that she usually fetched Malin from preschool at four o'clock.

Sanna was transported back in time to that dreadful day. She remembered every detail; every word that was said, the exact sequence of events. The day when their lives changed forever.

"Hello! Anyone home?" she shouted from the hallway. The ominous silence. She walked through each of the downstairs rooms and continued upstairs, pausing in her bedroom, as usual, to drop off her school bag.

"Strange that Mummy forgot to lock the front door. Maybe she went to the store with Malin."

She had heard a splashing sound from the bathroom. The scenes were replaying in her consciousness as if it was happening again, here and now...

" _Are you in the bath?"_ she asked cheerfully.

"You're scaring me _,"_ she continued. But no one answered. She opened the bathroom door.

Her whole body froze.

The bathtub was overflowing with crimson water. Malin was cradling her mother's head close to her body and rocking her, as if comforting a child.

Sanna's eyes filled with tears.

Their mother's arm hung bloody and lifeless over the edge of the bath. _"What happened? MAMMA!"_ Screaming __ hysterically, Sanna tried to pull Malin away. The little girl was holding on so tightly it was as if they were clamped together. The little girl was beside herself mumbling: "Mamma's _hurting, mamma's hurting!"_

"Please Malin, I have to help her! Let go!"

Her mother's face was white and covered with bruises. When she touched her skin it was cold.

In a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, Sanna bound her wrists with a couple of towels and called for an ambulance.

"My mother is haemorrhaging... please come, please, please..."

Sanna was crying aloud now but she held her hand in front of her mouth to stop the sound coming out. But the memories continued...

Their mother had instructed them to ring the hospital directly if there was an emergency. She also told them that under no circumstances should they ever call the police. Those were their mother's strict orders. She had taken Markus to one side and showed him where she kept her black notebook with all the important names and telephone numbers.

Sanna never thought to question her mother's instructions.

A few years later, when she was eighteen, Sanna's grandmother explained that their mother's death wasn't an accident – as they had been led to believe. The truth was she had committed suicide.

At the autopsy the pathologist stated that death was caused by severing of the femur artery in the left thigh. The wound was deep enough to almost drain the body of blood.

Sanna found this information devastating. She should have paid more attention to where the blood was coming from instead of trying to stop the bleeding by bandaging her mother's wrists.

The pathologist also revealed that the woman had suffered years of physical abuse. During the examination he had discovered evidence of poorly healed broken ribs and old scars that were typical in abuse victims.

RAPID FOOTSTEPS APPROACHED Viktor's room from down the corridor and Sanna was jolted back to the present. She dried her eyes and picked up the book again.

"Hello," said Kristina, entering the room. "Sorry for being late but I had to go to the bank and pay some bills. How's it going?"

"Goodness, the time's flown," answered Sanna, smiling wistfully and lifting up the book to show Kristina. "I was reading a few pages from The Moomins."

"Do you know if Viktor's mother used to read to him? It might be therapeutic for him to hear something he's familiar with. What do you think?"

"Yes, you're probably right. But do you really think he's listening?" asked Kristina sceptically.

"Yes I do. If nothing else he'll feel less alone. It's far too quiet in here."

"Viktor has a rucksack at my place full of books. I used to read The Brothers Lionheart to him when I babysat. He loved that story." She smiled in Viktor's direction. "He used to wonder about Nangijala – you know, the land people go to in the afterlife... He asked whether he would meet Ingrid there when they died." She fought against her tears, drying them quickly as they fell.

"Yes, I know," said Sanna, pretending not to notice that Kristina was crying. "I've read it many times. It's a great story but very sad... It's certainly a comfort if you believe in life after death..."

THE DISTANT MURMER OF male voices grew louder as they neared Viktor's room. The door opened.

"Good morning!"

A doctor strode into the room. He went directly over to Viktor's bed and began to examine the boy's eye reflexes and pulse. Without a word he turned to Kristina, clearly wanting to talk to her in private. He glowered at Sanna, who was craning her ears to hear their conversation. She took the hint and decided it was time to leave the room.

"I must go now." She smiled at Kristina. "I'll be in touch soon."

A LONG STREAM OF CARS raced by. She leaned her face on the bus window, which was vibrating because of the uneven surface of the motorway. Sanna was riding the bus home. Her thoughts were still tormented by childhood memories. The forensic report hadn't affected the outcome. Social services had completely disregarded the pathologist's findings that the scars on her mother's body pointed to domestic abuse. Sanna and her siblings would continue to live with their father. He would be allowed to keep custody.

Their reasoning was simple. He had never physically or sexually abused the children. Nor was he responsible for their mother's death. She had committed suicide, and Sanna's father was inconsolable.

Sanna had hoped that, for once, the gods of fate would be kind to them. She didn't want to live with the man who had tormented her mother.

The authorities were supposed to have their best interests at heart. She didn't have to wait long before discovering that this wasn't the case. The law clearly didn't apply to everyone.

Sanna had sobbed and begged her grandmother to let them move in with her. And she had promised to do everything in her power to gain custody.

Sanna's grandmother had hired a lawyer. It hadn't helped. The lawyer explained that, according to the law, in circumstances where the mother was unable to take care of the children herself, custody was automatically awarded to the father. He was not accused of murder. She had committed suicide and, regardless of the circumstances leading up to her death, their father couldn't be prosecuted on such flimsy grounds.

Moreover, since their mother had never filed a complaint against him there was nothing that could be presented as evidence to implicate him in her death.

Sanna wondered if her father ever regretted what had happened.

She remembered with sadness how Markus had reacted. He had refused to talk to her about their mother's death. To her surprise he reminded her of their mother's insistence NEVER to involve the police or the social services. Those were her wishes and he for one was certainly not going to go against them.

Despite everything, the lawyer had agreed to sue their father for custody on their grandmother's behalf.

They lost the case. The authorities decided that Markus and her would continue to live with their father. Malin, who hadn't recovered from the shock of discovering her mother's body, would remain in hospital under observation.

Sanna had complained bitterly. She had wailed and screamed in anger. She had refused to live under the same roof as the man who was responsible for her mother's death.

In three years Markus would become an adult in the eyes of the law. This knowledge tortured her. She would have to live alone with her father until she herself came of age.

Eighteen terrible months went by. Finally, her prayers were answered. One day their father met a new woman and, out of the blue, decided that Sanna should move in with her grandmother. He was fed up with her going on and on about the subject.

Sanna packed her rucksack and moved out the same day.

She blew her nose and began to think more about the minors' situation. To allow a child to witness violence against their mother or other close relative should be considered a crime. That was definitely a cause she could imagine fighting for in the future.

# CHAPTER 8

## The thirty-five-year-old

A THIRTY-FIVE-YEAR-OLD man dressed entirely in black hurried through the entrance of a suburban apartment block and ran up the steps up to the fifth floor. His face was set in a sullen expression and his abrupt, determined manner suggested that he was in a very bad mood. Slightly winded, he paused for a few seconds in front of the door before ringing the bell.

No answer.

He rang again, repeatedly. Still no answer.

He started to pound the door with his fist. "Open the door Goddammit!"

A man passing by on the stairs mumbled incoherently.

"What did you say?"

"She's out of town."

"Right. And how do you know that?"

"My mother waters her plants," answered the man calmly as he approached the thirty-five-year-old. He was obviously not intimated by his attitude.

"Hmm. Do you know when she is coming back?"

"Nope."

"Where did she go? Do you know?"

"Haven't the least idea," he said with a shrug of his shoulders and left.

The thirty-five-year-old dug out a mobile phone from the inner pocket of his jacket and punched in a number.

"Yes?" answered a woman wearily.

"Where the hell are you? And where's my money?"

"Oh, it's you," she replied in the same indifferent tone. "I'm still waiting for the pictures."

He was almost exploding with anger but managed to control his outburst.

"The thing is – there aren't any pictures and..."

"Really? And how do I know that you've done the job then?" she interrupted. "You do realize that I can't give you money for something you haven't done," she continued calmly.

"I can give you information," he replied in frustration.

"No way. No pictures, no money... that was the agreement... Anyway, by now I'm sure you have all the information you need," she chuckled. "You must have read the papers. You've probably also heard stuff from your police friends," she said sarcastically.

"I get it. You want to rip me off!" He took a deep breath. "I warn you, nobody gets away with ripping me off!"

She hung up.

KALLE WAS ROCKING BACK AND FORTH on his chair when the phone rang.

"Karlsson," he answered.

"Hello," said a soft woman's voice with a lilt that was almost musical. "Am I speaking to Kalle Karlsson?"

"Yes. Who's this?"

"Oh, excuse me, I forgot to present myself. My name is Ludmila Karlsson," she giggled. "No, I don't think we are relatives... Just in case you were wondering."

"How can I help you?"

"Well, it's like this...I'm a friend of Börge Svenson and I would like to talk to you...I mean as a witness."

Kalle tried to recollect if he had heard her name before in connection with Svenson case. But nothing sprang to mind.

"Are you still there?" she asked impatiently.

"Yes. I'm looking at my calendar. I can meet you this Wednesday at 3 pm. Otherwise, it'll have to be next week, either Monday or Friday morning," said Kalle dismissively. He found it hard to take her seriously. He wondered if this was a prank call.

He heard the fluttering of papers at the other end of the line.

"I'm away next week but this Wednesday works. Is it okay if I come by at 3:30?

"Okay. I'll collect you from the reception downstairs," said Kalle. He put the phone down.

Through the glass partition he could see Sanna talking on the phone. He thought for a moment then picked up his phone and punched in a short number with the end of his pen.

"Hello Kalle," said Mohamed, who had seen his name on the caller id.

"Do you know anyone by the name of Ludmila Karlsson?"

A moment's silence.

"Should I?" asked Mohamed.

"She claims she knows Börge Svenson," continued Kalle, and he went on to describe how he had come into contact with her.

"I see," replied Mohamed, lingering. There was the sound of humming and shuffling of papers. "No, can't find anything on her."

ON WEDNESDAY AT 3:30 Kalle went down to the reception to pick up Ludmila Karlsson.

"Hello," said Ludmila Karlsson with a smile. She greeted him eagerly and closed both her hands around his. She was a curvaceous woman in her early forties. She was wearing light-blue jeans and an elegant, low-cut, cream silk blouse that exposed her well-formed breasts. Her blonde hair was brushed back and arranged in a well-groomed bun.

"What a beautiful day!" continued Ludmila Karlsson with a broad smile.

Kalle hadn't really given the weather a lot of thought.

He nodded and smiled politely.

"Do you want something to drink? Coffee, tea...?"

"Tea would be nice, thanks."

They walked over to the vending machine.

Kalle studied her. His first thought was she was very unlikely to be Svenson's lover. She was attractive but a completely different type than Ingrid.

They sat in the interview room and Kalle went through the necessary formalities.

"How do you know Börge Svenson?" he began.

She leaned back in her chair.

"Well!" she said and scratched her head. "That's a long story," she said and giggled.

"Give me the short version," said Kalle, watching her curiously. Her behaviour was beginning to agitate him.

"We met at work five years ago," Ludmila Karlsson spoke for about an hour as she described how they had become good friends while working together on several projects. In fact, they discovered that they enjoyed each other's company so much that, three years ago, they had begun a relationship.

Kalle nodded to indicate that he was following her story.

"Why are you only making contact now?"

"I have been away on holiday for three weeks..." she said.

Her mood became more subdued. "I visited him the same day I rang you to arrange a meeting."

Kalle shuffled through his Filofax and made a note.

"The reason I wanted to talk to you is because I'm completely convinced you have the wrong man."

"There is evidence that points to him."

"But come on, Börge wouldn't hurt a fly! Börge is the kindest man in the world..."

Kalle shut his eyes and scratched his head.

"You look tired," she said sympathetically.

Kalle ignored her remark and straightened up in his chair. She was being far too familiar with him.

"Did he ask you to contact us?" asked Kalle.

"Absolutely not! What do you think?" she answered indignantly.

"You said that you were in love with each other."

She nodded.

"My guess is that you're pleased Ingrid Svenson is out of the way.... As you know this is a murder investigation...and you as the lover..."

She feigned laughter.

"Are you crazy? How could you think that?" Her soft voice had darkened considerably. She stood up abruptly.

Kalle looked calmly at his watch.

"We will stop here. The interview with Ludmila Karlsson is terminated..."

"I have a meeting in ten minutes and still have a lot to prepare," he lied. He wanted time to digest the conversation with Ludmila Karlsson as well as try and uncover more information about her.

# CHAPTER 9

## A strange case

TWO DAYS LATER, JAVIER MENDEZ responded to Sanna's email suggesting a meeting. They decided to meet in her office. She forewarned him that she had promised Kalle he would be allowed to participate in the meeting. Kalle had a long-standing interest in the Gothenburg case now seemed like the perfect occasion to tell him about it too.

It was six o'clock in the evening. Most people had gone home. Sanna, Kalle and Javier sat in the old but comfortable chairs in her room.

Allan Jonsson had a young family and had left the office a long time ago. Despite the fact that their work schedules were flexible he always did a nine to five shift. After moving to Stockholm he had insisted on working normal office hours, something Javier definitely didn't approve of.

The aroma of steaming hot coffee filled the room and everyone was in good humour.

"Before we start I would like to mention that I have contacted our colleagues in Gothenburg and asked if it's okay for me to talk about the case with you. They agreed, as long as the information doesn't go any further than these four walls."

Kalle and Javier nodded in acknowledgement. Javier made a sign of a cross on his chest.

"Cross my heart," he mumbled.

"I don't know if what I'm about to tell you will be of any use in your murder enquiry. However, I do believe there are similarities between the two cases." She looked at Javier impassively. "What we discovered in Gothenburg might not influence your conclusions. We shouldn't just assume that it is the same murderer."

Javier shifted in his chair.

"Sanna, I thought you understood the way I work. We've worked together before and you know I always weigh up the different possibilities before drawing any conclusions," he answered, his annoyance palpable.

Sanna smiled politely.

"That's why I called this meeting. I'm not going to go into too much detail, just give you specific information that I believe will be helpful. If there are similarities with your investigation I suggest you contact the team in Gothenburg and ask them to examine the evidence more carefully."

"May I record our conversation?"

"No, I'd rather you didn't. By all means take notes and ask me if there's something you want to know more about or don't understand." She looked at Kalle. "It's understood, I hope, that you are welcome to ask questions as well."

"IT WAS A STRANGE CASE involving the sadistic murder of an ostensibly heterosexual man who was married with children. Police working on the investigation assumed that it was a homosexual crime and the homophobes among them laughed about it, saying: 'Let them kill each other.' I remember that one colleague allegedly said this as a joke. But I don't see how a statement like that can ever be considered funny. There are a number of bigoted officers in the police force, and I think it's disgraceful!"

Sanna paused to study Kalle and Javier's reactions. She had their full attention. They sat with baited breath, not realizing that Sanna was expecting them to comment. Eventually Kalle got the hint and signalled his agreement. Javier did the same.

"Anyway," she continued. "The victim was a man in his early forties. At the crime scene, a cottage outside Gothenburg, he was found in a similar position on the bed."

"What do you mean?"

"A similar position to the man in Javier's investigation," explained Sanna. "He was lying on his right side and his feet and hands were bound together with a black leather rope. At first we assumed that the killer had been having violent anal sex with the victim. But during the autopsy it was discovered that the man's anus had been sliced open, which could indicate that a hard object had been forced into his rectum."

She looked down at her empty coffee cup and threw it into the rubbish bin.

"The victim also had deep wounds on his penis. It was difficult to say if he had been skinned or if the killer had used a caustic detergent or something like that to inflict the injury."

Javier grimaced and pursed his lips.

"We had a number of theories. One theory was that the victim was a masochist who had come into contact with a true sadist. Another was that he was bisexual living a double life and had been the victim of a brutal rape. A third theory was that someone had discovered he was bisexual and that he was the victim of a hate crime."

Kalle nodded.

"We decided to investigate all these theories and find out more about the man's lifestyle and habits: where he worked, his circle of friends, the clubs he was a member of or frequented – anything that could give us more insight."

"What did you have to work with?" asked Javier, eagerly taking notes. This information was giving him a lot to think about. So far he had only really considered the hate crime theory but not much else at this stage. He was pleased Sanna wanted to share her experiences. This might help to kick start a new line of inquiry.

"I was involved in following up two of these theories: the one about him being a masochist and the one suggesting he was leading a double life. Working together with another colleague who was part of the investigative team, we began by contacting the victim's wife. We asked the standard questions. We wanted to know whether she had noticed any changes in her husband's leisure activities but she couldn't think of anything in particular. She said that her husband was very reserved and that they talked mostly about their jobs at home and seldom about what they did in their free time. She trained at the gym and even though she had tried to get him interested in joining, nothing ever came of it. He was involved in some kind of rock club but she didn't know the name."

"Nice couple," said Javier.

"However, she did mention one thing of interest. Once when she was going to leave her husband's jacket at the dry cleaners, she found a scrap of paper in his pocket. On it was a telephone number. She thought about the note for several days. Finally she couldn't contain her curiosity any longer and decided to call and find out whose number it was. A woman's voice at the end of the line answered: 'Maria.' She immediately stiffened and instinctively replaced the receiver."

"Whoops!" said Javier grinning.

"We got the phone number to this so-called Maria and called her repeatedly without success. We were always directed to her answering machine, which she seemed to ignore completely. On the one hand, her actions, or lack of them, made us suspicious. On the other hand, we realized that she might be out of the country and not picking up her messages. Eventually, two weeks later, we managed to get hold of her."

Sanna leaned back in her chair and placed her hands behind her head.

"She explained that she'd been away. Despite my colleague's aggressive manner she was very polite. However, she didn't have time to meet us because she was on her way to Miami and only passing by her place to pack a bag. Apparently the taxi was already waiting outside to take her to Arlanda airport."

"Did you meet her?"

"No, not then. We talked for a while on the phone and I took down her full name and address." Sanna smiled crookedly. "Her name is Susanne Aldhamo – Maria was her pseudonym."

"Aha!" said Kalle with a glint in his eye.

Javier pursed his lips and jotted down something in his notebook.

"She was going to be away for a week so we decided to meet the day after she returned." Sanna ran her fingers through her hair. "Anyway, finally we met the woman who by now had really sparked our curiosity. She was a beautiful, slim woman in her forties. She wore ankle length elegant black culottes and matching high-heeled pumps. She had long, curly jet-black hair. Her nails were long and well-manicured and the same shade of red as her lips. Maria, as she liked to call herself, lived in Stockholm. She was quite special – a woman who left a very strong impression. There was a magnetism about her. She was elegant, vivacious, detached – there are so many ways to describe her. When she looked at me with her dark, almond shaped eyes it felt like she was probing into my soul. It was hypnotic. She appeared self-assured but there was a certain sadness about her as well. I felt very uncomfortable in her presence."

Javier stopped writing and stared at Sanna.

"Is there something you want to ask?"

"I don't know, I'm thinking..."

"The Black Widow?" suggested Sanna with a smile.

Javier looked up surprised.

"You were thinking about the Black Widow...?" repeated Sanna.

"How did you know?"

"It's written on your forehead – B L A C K W I D O W," she replied, writing the words in the air.

Perplexed, Javier instinctively wiped his forehead.

Sanna was restless. She got up and walked towards the window.

After a brief pause, she turned around again to face her colleagues.

"She had an answer to all my questions. It was as if she had prepared her responses before meeting us. She couldn't remember being in Gothenburg around that time but admitted that she went there often through work. She was a professional sexologist and held seminars all around the country."

The men grinned at each other. Sanna shook her head and sighed.

"Can't you guys think about anything else? You're impossible!"

They sniggered.

"However, she had no recollection of ever meeting the victim. She suggested that he might have taken part in one of her seminars or wanted to buy her book, which would explain why he had her number. Many men contacted her – even when she worked as a coach."

The room fell silent. Sanna suggested they fetch some coffee.

"Do you have to be anywhere else?"

The men shook their heads. Sanna selected a cup of tea from the vending machine while the men chose coffee. They returned to Sanna's office.

"One thing I noticed when we visited the woman in her apartment in Stockholm was that on the table she had a collection of newspapers and clippings of articles on rape and domestic abuse. I picked up one of the cuttings and read it. It described a murder. Maria walked over to me and firmly removed the piece of paper out of my hands. She looked directly into my eyes and smiled politely. But I felt scrutinized, as if she was reading my thoughts. I can't quite describe how it felt. All I know is that I have never felt quite so uneasy. I asked why she was collecting these articles and she explained that her job demanded that she kept herself updated on sexuality in society."

"Sexuality?" repeated Kalle.

"Yes, I know, the article was discussing violence and sexual assault," explained Sanna.

"This mysterious woman had answers to all our questions. As a result we eliminated her from our enquiries."

"Is everything you're telling us in your report?" asked Javier.

"Of course!" answered Sanna, narrowing her eyes in irritation.

Sanna returned to her desk, moved some papers that were near the computer and sank down into her worn-out armchair. She had long refused to exchange it for a new one. She leaned back, lifted her legs and placed them on the edge of the desk.

"We checked out all the sex clubs in Gothenburg. It seemed as if sex was the only thing we dealt with. There were all types – most of which were clandestine."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Kalle.

"Clandestine is a Latin word that means secret," interjected Javier before Sanna could respond. "Illegal clubs," he added.

"We couldn't possibly visit them all," she continued. "Even if some team members thought it was necessary. Men, of course."

Sanna glowered at her colleagues, who felt they were being picked on.

"We decided to focus on sadomasochistic sex clubs. Nobody we met knew the victim, but, remarkably enough, we received a tip from one of the clients, who told us that there were a number of pretty good clubs in the southern part of the city and then purred like a cat."

She smiled.

"There were several clubs in this area, but we stopped by one called 'Katt'. Once inside we got straight down to business and without attempting to blend in, we talked to the waiter at the bar. He didn't seem to mind answering our questions and told us that he remembered seeing the victim talking to the beautiful Maria on a number of occasions. Of course I wanted to be sure we were talking about the same man. He wasn't absolutely certain it was him, but you couldn't help noticing the lovely Maria and he was pretty certain he had seen the man in the photograph with her.

Maria, was also our Maria so we contacted her again, but got nowhere, which was hardly surprising. She answered all our questions courteously but with uncanny self-control. I felt uncomfortable in her presence this time as well."

"What was her explanation?" asked Javier.

"That there are lots of men who approach her, particularly when she visits sex clubs."

Sanna leaned back and put her hands behind her head. She stared at the ceiling.

"The autopsy took a long time. Longer than usual, I remember. The pathologist's explanation was that it was hard to determine the cause of death. They also found drugs in his blood. We couldn't prove whether he had been using drugs himself or had been drugged by the murderer."

"Did you find any clues?" asked Kalle.

"No, nothing that led to a suspect. The only fingerprints at the crime scene belonged to the victim or the cleaner. One very strange discovery, however, a tiny piece of paper with a letter V was hidden inside the man's penis head. Why a V? What did it stand for? Was it the first letter of somebody's name? We speculated endlessly about whether the murderer was a serial killer who liked to play with riddles, but there were no similar cases, either in Gothenburg or the rest of the country.

"Until now," added Javier, scratching his chin.

"Maybe," said Sanna. "In the end we were able to conclude that the cause of death was asphyxiation. The murderer had probably used a cushion to suffocate him. To this day the murder remains unsolved. I'm not sure if there's anyone working on it at present."

Kalle regarded Sanna thoughtfully.

"I must add that my partner and I took part in one of her seminars. It was actually quite interesting. The aim was to increase our understanding of human sexuality. One thing I noticed was that she talked a lot about violence and sex: ' _Listen to your partner. When you feel the desire to make love make sure he or she really wants to have sex with you'_."

"I'm afraid we'll end up in the same situation," said Javier, looking a bit concerned.

"In what way?" asked Kalle.

"I'm thinking about the murder investigation I'm working on now... We've been on the case for some time, yet still haven't had any real breakthrough. I'm afraid that it'll soon be shelved and listed as unsolved case," said Javier with a resigned tone.

"Why do you think that?" asked Sanna.

"The murderer left no trace. He or she was very thorough and obviously knew how to cover their tracks. The crime scene was practically sterile." He sighed. "We've been given two weeks to come up with something that would justify continuing the investigation."

IT WAS FOUR THIRTY when Kalle Karlsson hung up the receiver and made a note in his Filofax. After a number of ifs and buts and Manuel Riviera's refusal to come to the police station he had finally managed to arrange a meeting with Lorena Pascalini's photographer. Half an hour later he drove into the city centre. He parked in Parkaden, a multi storey car park on Regeringsgatan, and walked towards the escalator that led down to the street.

Manuel Riviera was waiting for him outside Waynes Coffee on Kungsgatan. They greeted one another and then went inside the café. They ordered two café lattes and sat down at a window table. Manuel Riviera was a quiet man in his thirties who tended to speak in monosyllables. Kalle studied the photographer as he removed his hood and unzipped his grey jacket. The photographer's sporty attire made him appear younger. He wore baggy jeans and his sneakers, which must have been white one day, now had a grey tinge.

Kalle began to question him.

"When did you speak to Pascalini last?"

Riviera cast his eyes downwards onto the table.

"Well?" said Kalle.

"I've already answered that question," said Riviera.

"Listen, you need to start answering me no matter how many times I've asked the same question before. I agreed to your request not to have this meeting at the police station. I do want to know why you are so afraid of coming there though."

"I'm not afraid..."

"Okay, I don't have time to waste with you!" Kalle's patience had run out. "You'll be receiving a summons to attend an interview this week!"

Kalle got up to leave.

"No, wait!"

Kalle looked sternly at him and sat down again.

"Are you going to answer my questions now?"

Riviera nodded.

"I repeat. When did you last speak with Pascalini?"

"Yesterday..."

"I know there are no photos left. Why did you delete them?"

Riviera twisted uncomfortably in his chair.

"She doesn't want to tell me."

"But you know why. Which photographs was she so desperate to hide?"

Riviera sighed.

"The picture we published..."

"Don't mess me around! Do you think I'm an idiot? What other photos were there?"

Kalle's loud voice drew the attention of other people in the café.

The two men went silent.

Kalle stared at him but Riviera avoided direct eye contact.

"Tell me – which photographs were deleted?"

"The person in the photo contacted her," said Riviera finally. "He wanted to meet us and insisted that I bring the camera with me."

Riviera picked up his cup and took a sip. The coffee was already cold.

"He wanted to watch me deleting all the photos. He seemed satisfied with that."

"Of course you have backups," interrupted Kalle.

Riviera shook his head.

"You're not that dumb," added Kalle with a sarcastic smile. "You know perfectly well that we can get a search warrant and turn your office upside down if necessary?"

Riviera nodded.

"We can also turn your house upside down," said Kalle although he knew full well that if Riviera had kept copies they would be safely stored away somewhere other than his home or the newspaper offices.

Riviera nodded again.

"Where did you meet? What did the man look like?" asked Kalle.

Riviera turned pale and his expression changed completely.

"We couldn't see his face. He was wearing a balaclava and dark glasses. We met at midnight in a deserted tunnel near Södertälje. I thought he was going to kill us... we had to do what he asked."

Riviera wiped the perspiration from his upper lip.

"Well?" said Kalle impatiently.

"Pascalini and I had to go back and forth to different places. First we went to Mörby Centrum, and picked up a brown package from a specific dustbin. The package contained a mobile and a phone number on a piece of paper. We called the number and he instructed us where to go, giving us different sets of directions, until we finally arrived in Södertälje. From there we had to walk for half an hour until we arrived at the appointed place..."

"Ok, I get it," interrupted Kalle. "Has he contacted you or Pascalini since?"

"Both of us. He said that he was watching us and that next time we would get more than just a phone call," he sighed

"I want a copy of those photos by the end of this week... you can email them to me."

"I swear there's no back up."

Kalle looked at him harshly.

"We're done for today but I advise you to contact us as soon as you hear from him," said Kalle and walked out of the café.

He fished his mobile phone out of his trouser pocket and punched in a few numbers. "Arrange lawful interception on Lorena Pascalini and Manuel Riviera's mobiles and fixed lines."

"I'll do it right away," answered Mohamed.

# CHAPTER 10

## The Diary

SHE WAS BUSY READING the investigation report when the phone rang. Without taking her eyes off the page she reached over to pick up the receiver, which was buried among a pile of papers.

"Sanna Johansson," she answered.

There was silence at the other end of the line.

"Hello!" She looked up in irritation. Even though they had made a great deal of effort to call in the first place, people often lost their nerve at the last minute. An unnecessary distraction. But she really should be used to this type of behaviour.

"Hello, this is Kristina Borelius-Montana..."

"Oh, hello Kristina. I'm sorry I raised my voice but I thought you couldn't hear me," she lied.

"I heard you fine, I'm just a little tired..."

"What can I do for you?"

"You remember we talked about books that might interest Viktor and I mentioned that I had a rucksack filled with things he liked to have when he slept over. Anyway, I emptied the bag to see if there was anything I could take to the hospital and, to my surprise, there were the books Ingrid liked to read to him. I had assumed they would still be at their house." Kristina's voice trembled with emotion. "Anyway, I felt something hard at the bottom of the bag and when I looked inside I noticed that there was a little zipped pocket containing a black book – her diary..."

Silence.

Could Kristina have found Ingrid's diary at the house? It was unlikely. The crime scene was still cordoned off. The prosecutor had decided that access would only be authorized to those directly involved with the investigation.

In the case of complex crime scenes like the Svenson's house, it was important the forensic scientists were allowed unlimited access in case they needed to obtain a clearer picture of the circumstances surrounding the murder, or if the lab test results prompted further sampling at the crime scene.

As the situation now stood it was hard to determine when the house would be reopened to the family.

"Do you think it could be of interest?" wondered Kristina. "I thought it might help clarify what happened."

There was a great deal of uncertainty surrounding the brutal murder. Sanna had puzzled over so many aspects of this case. Although all the indications pointed to Börge Svenson as the murderer, she couldn't ignore his claim that Ingrid's death was actually the result of a botched burglary. This theory was proving a huge headache for the team, particularly Inspector Blom.

Sanna hoped that the trace analysis from fingerprints and footprints recovered at the scene by Anders Segelström from the technical department would provide evidence. He had also found an empty water bottle in a bush behind the house. The samples had been sent to the National Criminal technical laboratory in Linköping for analysis.

Was Börge Svenson guilty? Or had somebody else committed the murder?

Perhaps the answers lay in the diary Kristina had found.

"Yes, definitely!" she answered finally. "Thanks so much for contacting me. I would like to see it. I think it'll be a big help."

"I'm on my way to the hospital, but I can come by the police station and leave it at reception."

"Great. Ask the receptionist to call me when you arrive. I really want to read it as soon as possible." She paused. "By the way, while I have you on the line, I would like to arrange an interview with you as a potential witness. I want to learn as much as possible about Ingrid."

Silence.

"I could ask Nikita to stay with Viktor at the hospital for a few hours," she continued.

Kristina sighed.

"If you really think it's necessary, of course I'll help as much as I can," she said at last.

TWO DAYS LATER Kristina Borelius-Montana and Sanna Johansson met in the hospital canteen. Kristina wanted to stay as close to Viktor as possible. It was Thursday morning and the clock had just passed 9.55 a.m.

They sat in a corner, away from the other customers, each sipping a disgusting cup of coffee.

After the usual courtesies Sanna moved the recording device closer to Kristina and began the interview. Although this wasn't going to be a standard witness testimony, it was still important to record the entire meeting in case Sanna wanted to review the testimony later.

"Who was Ingrid Svenson?"

Kristina eyed her intently.

"Ingrid was a wonderful woman. She was a devoted mother and wife and a loving daughter. She was..."

"What was her profession?" interrupted Sanna.

Kristina tried to remember and assemble a montage of her daughter's life. Her maiden name was Ingrid Montana. She was a successful engineer who had worked for the same telecommunications company for many years. Ingrid's colleagues had praised her highly. She was well liked and respected.

Two hours later Sanna had gathered a good deal of potentially useful information. Her primary goal was to collect the names of anybody who could provide more details about Ingrid as a person.

"I don't know what else I can tell you. Ask me if there is anything you don't understand," said Kristina.

"There is one thing I would like to know and I do hope you won't take this the wrong way," said Sanna hesitantly. "Was there anyone else in her life?"

"Somebody else? I don't think I understand the question."

"My question really concerns both Ingrid and her husband. We have reason to believe that there may be other people who are complicit in her murder."

Kristina glared at Sanna.

"Do you mean it was planned?"

"No, but we have to be on the safe side. We must rule out every other possibility. It's quite normal to ask questions like this in this type of murder investigation."

"Ingrid was a loyal wife who would never dream of taking a lover," said Kristina, almost indignantly.

"What about Börge? Do you know if he had another woman?"

Kristina raised her eyebrows. "If Börge had a mistress?" she said with a wry smile.

"Did he?"

"Of course he had other women!" Kristina's expression hardened. "Can you believe one of his mistresses had the gall to ring Ingrid and threaten her?"

"In what way did she threaten her?"

"She said that if she didn't leave Börge she would regret it her whole life. She also told her that she should watch out for her son."

"When was this?"

"Quite recently. I don't know, maybe a couple of months ago. She must have mentioned it in her diary..."

THE CLOCK STRUCK ELEVEN FIFTEEN as Kalle Karlsson strode into his office and closed the door. He sat down in his armchair, leant back and reflected upon the meeting he had just had with the National Detective Chief. He smiled with satisfaction. He had been offered a position in the National Homicide Squad – a job he had dreamed about for some time. Yet, despite the good news he was also a little anxious. The National Detective Chief had been very clear in her message. As well as explaining what the job involved she also cautioned him that his frequent absences from work to look after one or the other of his children when they were sick hadn't gone unnoticed. Henrik Blom in particular had lodged a complaint and expressed reservations about his suitability. "Your workload is going to increase markedly if you accept this post," she advised.

"How will Mia react?" he mumbled to himself. Thoughts swirled around his head. He was in a difficult position. He really needed time to discuss the matter with her, but the National Detective Chief was expecting an answer from him within four days, having pointed out that he wasn't the only one being considered for the promotion.

He agonized over what he should do. He liked his present job, not least because he enjoyed working with Sanna, and it was difficult to imagine not having daily contact with her. Nevertheless, he accepted that it was time to move on and face new challenges.

SANNA LAY SLOUCHED ON the sofa clutching a black book. The only light came from a reading lamp. She stared pensively into the distance. Her face was white and her eyes were red and swollen. She shivered and pulled the red blanket over her. She glanced at the clock on the wall – it was 2.30 in the morning.

Sanna opened the book again. She wanted to digest what she had read so far, to find the answers she was searching for.

During the initial search of the property the police had discovered a journal. At that point, mainly because the last entry was almost one year ago, they assumed it was the only one of its kind. Sanna, like Kalle, had taken it for granted that Ingrid, for whatever reason, had decided to stop committing her innermost thoughts to paper.

The newly discovered journal continued to chronicle the physical and psychological abuse that had become part of her daily life.

The abuse was driven by Börge's excessive need to control everything she did – what she wore, and who she met or spoke to. He also monitored her text messages.

People who met Ingrid remembered her as a self-confident, intelligent and level- headed woman, but Börge always had something negative to say about her.

In the diary she described endless sleepless nights spent trying to find a solution, to understand the reasons for Börge's aggressive and dominant behaviour.

However, whenever she tried to rationalize the situation, she was always reminded of his loving side. He would come to her full of remorse and promise never to behave in that way again.

There were many questions, even more excuses. First she would hold him accountable then in the next breath she would exonerate him.

Ingrid convinced herself that he loved her, even though she realized he needed psychiatric help. However, she didn't dare suggest this to him.

A fragment from her diary on the 3rd of January:

"On New Years Eve we stayed home – he ripped off my necklace with such force that it broke. My neck was bleeding. It was hard to explain away. Börge doesn't understand and thinks that there's nothing to make a fuss about, but at the same time it was him who suggested staying home. He doesn't want to discuss the reason – that our friends would notice the wound. He claimed he had a terrible headache and couldn't face being among people..."

Sanna turned the page. She braced herself before continuing. The words were deeply troubling but she had to continue. She couldn't stop.

She was allowing herself to get caught up emotionally in the case. But she wouldn't let her feelings affect her judgement. She would base her conclusions on facts alone. Although the journal would probably be inadmissible as evidence she was hopeful that the information inside would lead her to potential witnesses. Sanna also hoped that Ingrid had visited a doctor for her physical injuries and that there was documentation confirming the abuse.

At one point in her journal Ingrid mentioned that she was seriously contemplating contacting a women's hotline. However, in the end she decided the consequences would be too great. It would mean involving the authorities and being confined to a women's refuge. Such a huge step would result in a number of changes to their lives that she wasn't yet prepared to deal with. She wasn't ready yet.

_"Sunday October 20_ th _at 22:00_

I can barely move or breathe, it feels as if one of my ribs is sticking out a little – maybe something is broken, hopefully it will heal by itself. I'm holding back the tears although I really want to scream out loud...

How could he throw the laptop on the floor just because he doesn't want me to finish a report that I have to deliver tomorrow morning? And how could he have so little understanding for the fact that sometimes I have to work late in the evenings as well.

What was going through his mind when he grabbed the computer from the floor and threw it straight at my stomach? I almost fainted – it hurt so much... I can't take it. I can't take this anymore!"

Sanna rubbed her eyes. She was tired but couldn't stop reading. "Just one more hour," she murmured to herself. It was 3.30 and she had to be up at seven o'clock as usual.

Ingrid was desperate to make sure that Viktor, who was in his bedroom, didn't get wind of what was happening in the study. This wasn't the first time she had been forced to block out the pain.

There were signs that the situation at home was upsetting Viktor. His preschool teacher had contacted her, concerned that the boy was unnaturally quiet and showing no interest in playing with other children.

Ingrid, as usual, made excuses to divert suspicion away from their home environment. Or maybe she was just trying to convince herself that nothing was wrong.

Sanna made a note – contact Viktor's teacher.

_"Monday 21_ st _October. I'm bleeding down there..."_

The day after he had thrown the laptop at Ingrid she had bled heavily and suffered a miscarriage. She was in the third month of her pregnancy, but hadn't broken the news to Börge yet.

This time she was forced to visit a doctor in case there were complications.

Sanna noted the date and the doctor's name – Samuel Aldén. She would request a doctor's certificate. This could be presented as evidence at trial.

Much rested on the fact that Ingrid always believed that Börge would change, that his anger would dissipate over time. She still loved him. He would say time and time again how much he loved her and that his life was meaningless without her. He would kiss her hands, her cheeks, her eyes. He would burst into tears and beg for forgiveness with his seductive blue eyes.

The diary described Ingrid's concern for Viktor. She wanted to spare her son the trauma of seeing her suffering. However, there were occasions when she couldn't help involving him. Sanna noted that on the 12th January, Viktor, who was only five years old, had been forced to take care of his mother. Börge had delivered a powerful blow to Ingrid's left ear, then walked out and left her lying on the floor. She felt as if the house was collapsing around her. Viktor had come down from his room to see what was going on and fetched a blanket and pillow so that his mother didn't freeze on the cold floor. He wasn't strong enough to help her get up on her feet.

When she woke up he was lying silently beside her with his tiny arms clasped around her stomach. He hadn't been crying but there was sadness in his eyes. He looked at her and said: _"He's stupid, I don't think he should live here with us._ Beside her on the floor was a bloody towel. Viktor had used it to dry the blood from her nose and ear.

Ingrid hugged him and tried to make light of what had happened, praising him for being so clever and taking care of her _: "Thank you sweetheart, I'm so warm and comfortable now."_ And they smiled at each other.

From that day on, Ingrid developed problems with her hearing. She also complained about tinnitus. Moreover, she suffered from chronic headaches that often kept her home from work.

The bleeding continued for a week and the pain was persistent. She felt dizzy and faint, almost nauseous, for several days. The swelling behind her ear was as large as a hazelnut.

All this she suffered in silence – no tears, no consultations with her mother or Miriam Asplund, who was her best friend.

Her only true confidante was her diary.

Eventually, long after the incident, Ingrid consulted an ENT doctor. She waited until the bleeding had stopped and the bruises behind her ear had disappeared.

The doctor was puzzled. How could she have suddenly damaged her hearing? Had she fallen or injured herself somehow? The X-ray also revealed small fractures in the bone behind the ear, which hadn't healed properly. He expressed astonishment that she had recovered so well. Even more astonishing was the fact that she didn't remember how she had injured herself. Ingrid described her embarrassment at not being able to provide concrete answers and admit the fact that she had been brutally beaten by her husband. The doctor may have assumed that she had been drinking so much that she passed out, possibly falling and hitting the side of her head.

Sanna leafed through the diary searching for the name of the hospital or the doctor.

"I'll ask Kristina whether she knows anything about this," thought Sanna.

It was impossible to be unaffected by Ingrid Svenson's story. The fate of a woman whose life was defined by her relationship with a man who treated her with utter contempt. There were only rare moments of true joy or happiness in her relationship with Börge Svenson. In the journal she described her feelings of guilt, her concern for Viktor and her inability to deal with the problem – to leave the marriage or report him to the police.

Deep down she knew that she had to save herself and her son but she lacked the resourcefulness to follow through. She agonized over what action to take and how to minimize the damage to her family.

On the 30th January she wrote: _"Death is the only way out for us..."_

Sanna read these words again. This wasn't the first time Ingrid had expressed suicidal tendencies, although she usually quickly dismissed such thoughts. She was caught in a trap. She would never leave her son. Moreover, Börge had threatened to kill himself if she left him. And then she would have his death on her conscience for the rest of her life.

13th April – _"A woman called Ingalill phoned. She said if I don't leave Börge I'll regret ever being born. She had the nerve to mention Viktor. Is she a psychopath? Or someone Börge has made promises to? If she calls again I'll definitely contact the police."_

Sanna sat up.

"Here we have it!" she exclaimed. "A lover."

Ingrid had always suspected that Börge was unfaithful and occasionally she had discovered him chatting on the Internet. Of course he had denied everything.

But why would Ingalill threaten Ingrid? Was the murder motivated by sexual jealousy?

Sanna frowned and drummed her pen on her notebook.

"Is she an accomplice to murder?"

She yawned loudly and stretched her arms into the air.

Sanna put the journal down and headed towards the kitchen to make some coffee. She was tired and needed to clear her head.

She put on the radio.

"Run for your life," sang Sara Varga.

Sanna turned up the volume and walked over to the window clasping her mug of hot coffee.

AT NINE THIRTY ON Friday morning Sanna Johansson took off her coat and walked directly to Kalle's office to discuss the journal. She suspected that there might be valuable information about Ingalill in Börge Svenson's study.

"Kalle isn't coming in today," said Blom in passing. "He's home with a sick child again."

Sighing, Sanna took out her mobile and punched in a phone number.

"Hello, this is Sanna. I need to go to the Svenson property... Kalle is off work today with a sick child. Do you want to come with me?"

"Hmm," said Anders Segelström

"What?"

"Yes, okay, I can come," he replied in a perfunctory manner.

"Good, shall I meet you in the garage?"

"Now?" he replied.

"Yes, the sooner the better."

Sanna suddenly felt uneasy going to the house alone with him.

She waited in the garage for ten minutes. Just as she had finally given up on him and started her car in irritation, she saw Segelström plodding slowly in her direction.

"What do you want to look at?" he asked as he strapped himself into the seat." I thought we'd gone through the crime scene with a fine tooth comb."

"In spite of that I want to check Svenson's computer."

"Why?"

"Just a hunch I have," she replied. Sanna had no desire to discuss her theory with someone who was obviously so determined to undermine the work she was doing.

Once at the crime scene Sanna headed straight for Börge Svenson's study, Segelström in tow. As she examined the contents of the desk drawers, Segelström stood watching her. Sanna scowled at him and sighed. She sat down at the desk and spun the chair around. Suddenly she spotted a black portfolio hidden behind a cabinet.

She smiled to herself.

"We can go now!" She held up her hands triumphantly displaying Svenson's laptop and a folder.

Segelström was silent.

Back at the police station the computer was immediately sent to Sabine Keikkonen at the National Criminal Technical Laboratory for mirroring or to create a working copy of the original. Although Sanna was in a hurry it was important to conserve the original documents. Mirroring of electronically stored information was a method of securing access to original data in the case of manipulation or similar falsification or altering of the contents.

In addition, Sanna often used copied data in reports. It facilitated her work when it was time to prepare the preliminary investigation protocol.

Two days later Sabine Keikkonen delivered the long-awaited results.

SANNA HAD BEEN WORKING intensively since she arrived at work at seven o'clock. She had woken up early, excited at the prospect of inspecting the contents of Börge Svenson's computer. As soon as she was seated at her desk she opened the laptop and began to establish an overview of its contents. Her main goal at this stage was to find out more about Ingalill.

The computer screen was open and her notebook lay on the desk. Inside was a diagram she had drawn illustrating how Svenson had arranged his file catalogue. She looked at it. What she had discovered was, to say the least, unexpected.

Sanna's astonishment intensified. In each folder she opened there were more and more sub folders. She quickly realized that the work would be more time consuming that initially estimated.

Börge Svenson had a folder entitled "Women." Inside were several subfolders named after various women: Alice, Mikaela, Tina and Alva. In each subfolder was an additional sub folder entitled "Analysis."

Sanna couldn't find a folder named after Ingalill.

The files contained detailed descriptions of Börge Svenson's intimate relationships with each of these women.

Sanna rubbed her eyes and leant back in the chair. She glanced at the clock on her mobile. It was twenty past nine. That explained her longing for a caffeine fix.

Börge Svenson was a methodical and well-organized man who desired complete control over his conquests.

His method of documenting these conquests was disturbing. She was aware that organized sexual predators often came from well-adjusted families. What characterized these predators was their ability to meticulously plan attacks that hardly left any clues. They would tie up and torture their victims before eventually murdering them.

"Have Svenson the same tendencies?" she mumble.

Unlike the typical sexual offender, Svenson made an effort to get to know these women intimately. What was typical for organized sexual offenders, however, was their skill in seeking out victims in places they couldn't be traced to.

She urged herself to stay calm and not jump to conclusions.

Sanna went to the kitchen to fetch a café latte. She returned to her office and continued researching Svenson's interesting women.

Why was there no information about Ingalill? A woman who Sanna knew existed and had been part of his life. Where had Börge Svenson hidden those folders?

JAVIER WAS AN INCURABLE romantic. He couldn't stop thinking about the enigmatic Maria. He hoped that she wasn't a figment of Sanna's imagination. Sanna's story about Maria had disturbed him. It was a strange sensation. He had fantasized about Maria so often that he felt he was falling in love with someone he hadn't even met. On reflection, Sanna was also an enigmatic woman. She had a curious way of looking at you. Or was he the only one who felt that way? He felt as if she could see deep into his soul. He sat up straight in his chair, dried the sweat from his upper lips and slapped his forehead. "Idiot!" he snarled.

Just at that moment, he heard a knock and Sanna popped her head around the door.

"We need to talk, I forgot to tell you something important!" she said excitedly.

He looked at her questioningly.

"You know, about the Gothenburg case..."

Without waiting for him to respond she turned on her heels and headed back down the corridor to her office.

Javier returned to his daydreams. He had searched for Maria in a number of online telephone directories. So far he had only managed to find her old contact details. Unfortunately, she had sold her apartment without leaving a forwarding address.

Her former neighbours had no idea whether she had remained in Stockholm, let alone in Sweden.

THE NEW INFORMATION recovered from Svenson's laptop had shaken up the investigation, which now demanded a new approach and strategy. On the one hand it was vital to find as much information as possible about Ingalill X. Had she followed through with her threats or was she involved in Ingrid Svenson's murder in another capacity? On the other hand, the incriminating material discovered demanded a broader perspective. This wasn't necessarily just a murder enquiry any more. Could Svenson also have been active in other parts in Sweden?

She had searched the crime register and other databases but found nothing at all on Svenson – not even a parking violation. She contacted her loyal friend Robert again, but although he had found snippets of information about an earlier complaint against Svenson, it appeared that Ingrid had withdrawn the charges. An admission of abuse wasn't exactly common in upper class circles and this would definitely have been an exception to the rule.

"Devastating secrets can lurk behind even the most dignified facades," she thought.

She decided to call Robert. He had access to most national databases. She had no idea how he managed it and anyway preferred not to think about it. She didn't care how he got his information as long as he came up with something.

"Hi Robert, it's me again," she said apologetically.

"Wow, you must be telepathic!" he replied cheerfully with his characteristic stutter.

"What do you mean?" asked Sanna in surprise.

She often had a strange feeling while talking to Robert. A sense of displacement. As if she needed to change frequencies in order to communicate with him. She should be used to it by now but still felt just as stupid every time she asked, "what do you mean?" and waited patiently for him to continue so that she could try and decipher what he was saying.

"I have NEWS." He cleared his throat demonstratively. "I've found out more about our man Börge Svenson."

"You have?"

"Yup."

"Tell me."

"This morning, I must have had dirt under my nails and typed in the wrong personal number. And guess what..." he laughed hoarsely. "Your Börge Svenson has been married before – in Gothenburg."

"What?" said Sanna. "Really?"

"Yup, and that's not all. There is a REPORT of ABUSE!"

"How is that possible?"

"I know what you're thinking," interrupted Robert. "This type of information should be accessible in the general personal records system... I can't explain, but that's just the way it is. He was married before and for some reason the information has been erased." He paused for breath. "It looks like you're dealing with a powerful person."

Sanna sighed.

"I owe you a big favour."

"Well, let me count up..." She could hear him mumbling. "Yup, you owe me big time..."

They chuckled.

"I know," said Sanna, faking contrition.

Robert printed out the material and sent it to Sanna. Two days later she read the twenty-page report listing a series of injuries a woman named Karin Svenson had sustained.

Fifteen years ago Börge Svenson had been accused of assault.

"Karin Svenson attended Gothenburg Police Station to file charges against her husband, Börge Svenson who assaulted her in their house at 46 Turegatan. Karin Svenson handed in a copy of the doctor's report, which confirmed the various injuries that she sustained during the assault. Because of the severity of the injuries Mrs. Svenson was admitted to hospital. The couple do not have any children."

For some extraordinary reason he was released on parole and the court sentenced him to pay a fine, rather than a compensation order, of 100,000 SEK to Karin Svenson for her hospital stay, medicine as well as the pain and suffering.

Sanna collected her thoughts.

"Why am I not surprised?"

She looked at the printed document lying on the table. Leaning forward, she placed her elbows on the table and rested her face in the palm of her hands.

If she wasn't exactly surprised, she was certainly bewildered. And what bewildered her most was the extent of Harald Svenson's power. Who else could it be? He must have used his connections to alter his son's records, to delete any information that could be considered potentially detrimental for a man of his social status.

She leafed through the papers again and registered important dates and details in her notebook.

Up until the moment she had learned about the blatant manipulation of the data records she had been absolutely confident that a trial against Börge Svenson would result in a conviction.

She was no longer quite so convinced.

SHE GLANCED AT THE CLOCK on her mobile phone and wondered if Kalle was still at work. Lately he had been going home a lot earlier than usual. For Sanna, leaving work at five o'clock constituted a short day. She missed their after work conversations although she understood his desire to be home early when his children were sick.

Armed with this new information on Svenson she made her way towards Kalle's office. She knocked gently on the door and was just about to turn back when she heard his voice on the telephone. He waved at her to come in and sit down.

"Hi Sanna!" he said as he jotted a few notes into his book. "Just learned that our mystery man has threatened Manuel Riviera again, but apart from that the bugging hasn't given us anything new. A waste of time and money.

We found some old telephone numbers that were traced to dead people... After he contacted Pascalini we managed to locate him but found the mobile in a rubbish bin."

She entered the room and slowly sat down.

"Hm, he knows how it works. Definitely a seasoned criminal," she sighed. "Stop the bugging. There's no point.

I've just discovered that Kalle was married before." She got up and slung a pile of papers on Kalle's desk.

"What?" he said, frowning. "How's that possible?" He browsed through the report. "This type of thing usually happens when people change identities, but even then not all their information is deleted."

"But he hasn't changed identity. He's only deleted the information that appears to be compromising," said Sanna. "Robert said that he saw a case like it a few years ago. A judge who had hired a male prostitute."

"Yes, with power you can do anything... All you need is the right contacts," he said with a wry smile.

Sanna agreed.

"We should investigate this... I can take care of it," he suggested.

"Okay. Maybe you'll need to go to Gothenburg."

"Yes. Let's hope she's still in Sweden."

"Perhaps she's changed identity," said Sanna pensively as she stood up to leave the room.

"Wait! Aren't you curious about my meeting with Ludmila Karlsson?"

"Who's she?"

Sanna sat up in surprise and listened to Kalle's story.

"Yet another woman," she said. "Have you put her name up on the board?"

"Yes, we'll see where it leads... I'll keep an eye on her," added Kalle.

AT EIGHT THIRTY ON Friday morning Sanna was on her way to her office following an early meeting with the prosecutor, Carl Magnus Alkelius in which they had set out their strategy for obtaining more resources. Alkelius had also informed her that the Prosecutor General had requested a meeting with him to discuss Börge Svenson's case. Both Sanna and Alkelius were curious as to why the Prosecutor General would want to involve himself with this particular case.

She was removing her outdoor clothes when the internal phone rang. For a moment she contemplated not answering it, but changed her mind.

"Sanna Johansson."

"Hi. This is Bosse Sandell from Forensics." He spoke tentatively.

Sanna sat down. She wondered what her 'dear friend' had to say this time. She glanced over at her cycle helmet on the visitor's chair. "I might need to put it on in case he's planning to give me a hard time," she thought.

"Hello," she replied.

The man at the other end of the line was silent and Sanna's patience began to wear thin.

"What can I do for you?" she asked finally.

He sighed.

"This may be a bit late, but when we last talked I was having a terrible day... To make a long story short, you happened to call at a particularly bad moment and I took out my frustration on you. It was quite unforgiveable."

Sanna listened keenly. She wasn't sure how to react.

"Yes, of course. We all have our bad days," she said, impressed that he had made the effort to call and explain.

"I want to apologize... I hope you understand."

"Of course. Thanks for calling to explain. No hard feelings," she lied. In fact she had been in a bad mood all day after talking to him. As a consequence he had been placed on her mental blacklist. His apology, however, was totally unexpected.

He thanked her and apologized again.

Sanna put down the receiver. She couldn't remember anyone, especially a man, ever apologizing to her for speaking out of line or delivering unwarranted personal attacks. Obviously, Bosse Sandell wasn't quite the awful person she had made him out to be. Although he really did need to learn not to bring his personal issues into the office. "Fair enough, I'll remove from my list of morons," she thought with a glint in her eye. One of the others on the list was Blom.

KALLE KARLSSON HAD one day left to decide about the new job. He chopped the carrots, tomatoes and onions and threw the ingredients into a frying pan. Once they were cooked he poured the mixture over the minced meat. It was five o'clock and time for the evening meal. These past few days he had been under a lot of pressure.

The timing was terrible. He hadn't had a chance to talk to Mia about the job offer because of her ill health. She had recently been complaining of continuous headaches and had finally gone to see a doctor.

His diagnosis hadn't really helped. He had ordered total rest and put her on sick leave, insisting that if she didn't take his recommendations seriously she risked burning herself out completely.

They talked a lot about it. Kalle tried to persuade her to stay home until she felt better, but Mia was managing a project that was entering its final phase and couldn't take time off work until it was completed.

To make matters worse, the children had started a new after-school club and needed more time to adapt. Not only did they have to get used to a new environment and staff but they also had to make new friends.

Should he confide in Mia? He had spent a lot of time brooding over the new job and was convinced it would be an interesting career move. Plus he would get a raise in salary.

"Pappa, I want ice cream!" said Liza.

"No, we're going to eat dinner first. Then you can have ice cream," answered Kalle. He glanced at the clock and realized Mia was late. He took out his mobile and called her.

"Hi, darling! I'm stuck in traffic. There seems to have been an accident. I can see police cars further down the motorway. Hope this doesn't take too long... Start eating, don't wait for me," said Mia.

"Okay, we'll do that. The kids are starving..."

"I'll be there as fast as I can."

Mia finally arrived home exhausted an hour later. "I think I'll take a Paracetamol and lie down."

This definitely wasn't the right time to discuss his career. Although he was excited about the new job he came to the conclusion that his family was more important.

He decided to turn down the offer. There would be other chances in the future when the children were older.

# CHAPTER 11

## Voices from the past

A MIDDLE-AGED WOMAN was standing at the reception of the Grand Hotel.

"Good morning, how can I help you?" asked the hotel receptionist.

"Good morning, I have a reservation. My name is McGavin – Pamela McGavin."

She presented her passport.

"Thank you," said the receptionist as he entered her details onto his computer. "Yes, madam, your suite is on the third floor. It has a view of the water, as you requested." He prepared the electronic keys and placed them into a small folder, then signalled the concierge to escort the woman up to her room.

The woman smiled politely. She was busy rummaging through her pocket diary and making notes.

The receptionist waited patiently. As he waited he studied the woman's well-manicured fingers. Her nails were painted soft pink, and she wore matching lipstick.

The woman looked up. He met the intensive gaze of her green eyes highlighted by the deep dark brown of her eyebrows. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

"Is that all?" she asked.

"Oh yes, sorry. Actually I was waiting for you. I thought you were busy."

She smiled. The receptionist informed her that the concierge would accompany her to the suite and that her bags were already on their way up. She looked back at him and smiled again, this time without warmth. She made her way to the lift.

Pamela McGavin was an elegant woman in her fifties. She wore a classic English style blue dress with a co-ordinating handbag and pair of low-heeled shoes. She exuded an air of refinement and spoke with an upper-class English accent.

The first thing she did when she entered the suite was to inspect every room. Satisfied, she returned to the living room and thanked the concierge for his help.

The sixty square metre hotel suite consisted of a spacious bedroom with a large double bed covered with a light green flowered quilt. In one section of the room was a group of chairs decorated with the same flower motif. In the living room there was a desk and two generous armchairs in the same style as the bedroom furniture. The bathroom was large with a separate bath and shower. All the rooms except the bathroom had chandeliers and English style reading lamps.

Pamela McGavin stood in front of the mirror above the washbasin and fixed her perfectly groomed hair. She walked towards the French windows in the living room. As she opened the doors a light breeze caressed her hair, brushing it away from her face. She lingered on the wide balcony and contemplated the view over the water towards Nybroviken and Strömmen.

Back inside she dug out the black book from her handbag and opened it at the letter S for Sweden, where she had noted down a series of names and telephone numbers. She walked towards the sideboard intending to make a couple of calls from the hotel's fixed line. She stared at the inside page of the book and after a couple of minutes closed it again.

A flurry of thoughts raced through her head.

She hurried into the bedroom and changed into a new blue outfit. She examined herself in the mirror, powdered her nose and reapplied her lipstick.

At the reception she asked for a map of Stockholm and without further delay left the hotel.

THIS WAS PAMELA McGAVIN'S second visit to Sweden. She had passed through Stockholm a year ago to attend a conference. During that brief visit she had attempted to confront the issue that had been haunting her for many years but in the end her courage deserted her.

This time the nature of her visit was different. She had come to Sweden to deal with an old errand and once it was completed she hoped it would finally give her the peace of mind she was searching for.

She sat on a bench at Blasieholmen, staring at the soothing waters. She tried to organize her thoughts and debated how to carry out her mission. Wouldn't it seem strange to be making contact now, after so many years?

There were a thousand reasons to forget about it, go back to the hotel, pack her bags and return to England without a backward glance. But there were just as many reasons to remain in Stockholm. Intellectually, she knew it was the right thing to do. This was a golden opportunity to straighten things out and seek restitution.

Twenty years had gone by. She had been unable to start again – remarry, have children or create the family that would make her life worth living again. She had been far too frightened. Terrified by the mere thought of ending up in the same type of relationship again.

Continuing to convince herself that she had moved on since that awful time was an absurd lie. She had struggled. The gods knew how much she had battled to erase the terrible memories that still stalked her. She had never broken free. Now she had a once in a lifetime opportunity to address the situation.

Before making the decision to come to Stockholm, she had given the matter a lot of thought. She knew that she would regret it if she didn't make contact with the police. That was the whole point. She could no longer lie to herself and pretend she had moved on.

Jenny Hammarlund had contacted her to tell her about the murder and how everyone in her circles was discussing the incredible allegations against Börge Svenson.

Pamela McGavin was surprised to receive a call from Jenny Hammarlund after so many years of silence. At first she didn't even remember who she was until Jenny reminded her about their time at boarding school. Jenny and Pamela were in the same class and even though they weren't close friends they had hung out in the same group. When Jenny heard about the murder she had immediately thought about Pamela. She knew that they had been a couple many years ago and assumed Pamela would be interested in hearing about the allegations against her adorable ex-husband.

The news certainly came as a shock to Pamela who had tried in vain to forget her marriage to the charming Börge Svenson. She received the news with dismay. Not because Börge Svenson was accused of murder but because the call had reawakened memories of a time she had fought so hard to erase from her mind.

PAMELA GOT UP FROM THE BENCH. She straightened her skirt and strode back to the hotel.

She dashed up to her suite, picked up the telephone receiver from the sideboard and dialled the reception. She asked to be connected to the Stockholm police.

The receptionist, was puzzled but didn't feel it was his place to pry. He connected her to the Kungsholmen police station assuming it could be a passport issue or something similar.

" _Välkommen till polisen_ _,"_ answered a telephonist.

"Good morning, I wonder if you can help me. I would like to speak to the person in charge of the Börge Svenson case."

"Do you have his personal number?"

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Do you have Börge Svenson's personal number?"

"I'm not sure what you mean?"

"His social security number... I'll connect you with the police division. Hopefully they'll be able to help you."

Pamela waited anxiously, half tempted to replace the receiver.

"Polisroteln, Stockholm – vad kan jag hjälpa dig med?"

"Do you speak English?"

"Yes. How can I help you?"

"I would like to talk to the person in charge of Börge Svenson's case, but I don't have his social security number..."

"I see. Would you please hold for a moment?"

The receptionist tried a few different numbers. Finally somebody answered.

"This is Sanna Johansson."

Sanna had already been informed that the caller didn't speak Swedish.

"Good morning. Are you in charge of Börge Svenson's case?"

"Yes..."

"My name is Pamela McGavin. I wonder if it would be possible to meet with you this week? I would like to talk to you about Börge Svenson as soon as possible. I'm leaving next week for Manchester."

Sanna knew that Börge Svenson had studied in Manchester but that was more than twenty years ago.

"May I ask what this is about? Before arranging a meeting, I would like to know the purpose."

"Well I'm afraid that would be quite difficult to explain over the phone. However, what I can tell you is that I know Börge Svenson very well. That's the reason why I would like to meet with you."

"I see. Let me check my diary." Sanna leafed through her Filofax. "What about Thursday at 2.30 here at the police station – is that okay with you?"

"Yes, but... would it be okay to meet earlier this week. I'll be leaving Sweden on Saturday and, if possible, I would like to meet with you a couple of times at least. I'm not sure one meeting will be enough."

Sanna's curiosity was piqued. What could be so important? She scrolled through a list of names in her head but couldn't recall having heard the name previously.

"Let me see. How about after work on Tuesday – around six o'clock? We could meet here at the reception."

They exchanged telephone numbers and Sanna gave her the address to the police station. She then rang Kalle, who was at home with a sick child.

"Have you come across someone called Pamela McGavin before?" she asked without bothering to say hello.

"Hi Sanna! No, I don't think so. Why?"

"I just spoke with an English woman. She claims to know Svenson well. I wonder who she is. And why is she turning up now? Why fly all the way from Manchester just to talk to us?"

"She's from Manchester?" asked Kalle in surprise. "Svenson studied there. Didn't he live there for a few years?"

"Yes, I know. I haven't heard her name before but all of a sudden I can't wait until Tuesday to meet her. I'll call you later."

"But..."

Sanna ignored his protests and replaced the receiver. She opened her Filofax and found Pamela McGavin's number.

It was ten o'clock on Monday morning. Sanna decided to alter her schedule and cancel a meeting she had booked for six o'clock that day. She called Pamela McGavin and asked if they could meet then instead.

Pamela McGavin agreed eagerly and suggested they meet at the Grand Hotel. It would be a lot easier for her since she was not that familiar with the city yet.

THE INVESTIGATION HAD become much more complicated than they had originally bargained for. As well as more time, they also needed more manpower.

The investigation team had gathered a great deal of material. The folders in Börge Svenson's computer would need to be thoroughly examined. Not only to find out whether there was any connection to the murder of his wife but also to see if any of the women knew the mysterious Ingalill or had any other information, which might help their investigation.

Börge Svenson's obsessive method of charting his conquests aroused suspicions that he could have abused more women.

Sanna had never encountered problems obtaining sufficient resources for previous investigations but this time she noticed that Blom was being a bit cagey and trying to fob her off with vague answers. She began to suspect that somebody was trying to prevent the team from delving deeper. Were there powers that were exerting pressure behind the scenes?

After several discussions with the prosecutor and Blom, she was eventually assigned two additional detectives: Javier Mendez and Allan Jonsson. Blom had insisted on placing Allan Jonsson in her team, explaining that the investigation that Jonsson was working on together with Javier Mendez was being suspended. Sanna had been instructed to show him the ropes. However Sanna didn't take the news well, she had refused to include Jonsson in the team, they were in a hurry and there was no time to spend schooling in a newcomer. After many ifs and buts she had finally gotten her way.

It was essential that she surround herself with strong individuals who worked well together – an ensemble of likeminded people. People who were engaged and took their job seriously. She didn't want to come across a man like Anders Segelström again.

The prosecutor needed another three weeks to prepare his case against Börge Svenson.

For his part, during the custody hearing, the defence lawyer had demanded that his client be immediately released. And that they should put out a search for the person who had murdered Svenson's wife.

Tallén objected to the new material discovered on Svenson's laptop being used as evidence in a trial. He was of the opinion that the case rested on whether Svenson had murdered his wife, not whether he had been a faithful husband or not. He knew the law was on his side. At the same time, however, he was apprehensive about the effects of a lengthy investigation on his client. Svenson's behaviour could be erratic at times and Tallén didn't feel he could be entirely trusted.

Stockholm County Court granted the prosecution another three weeks to prepare their case.

THAT FRIDAY, SANNA JOHANSSON called a meeting of the investigation team. It was one o'clock in the afternoon. Javier Mendez, one of the new team members sat beside Kalle Karlsson. On the other side of the table sat Sanna Johansson and the prosecutor, Carl-Magnus Alkelius. Henrik Blom arrived three minutes later and sat down on an empty chair beside Anders Segelström. Monica Lind and Samir Mohamed entered with coffee and cake.

"As you already know we have discovered potential evidence on Börge Svenson's laptop," began Sanna unceremoniously. "So far we have retrieved information about four women but are still looking for details on a woman named Ingalill. The files pertaining to the women are from different years so we can probably assume that he didn't meet them during the same period. In other words, he likes to focus on one woman at a time. Sabine Keikkonen from the Technical division has mirrored the original and made two working copies." Sanna surveyed the participants around the table. "Javier, you take Eleonor and Alice's folders."

Javier nodded.

She reached across the table and grabbed the last bun.

"Kalle, you take Tina and Alva."

Kalle paused and nodded tentatively.

"Is there a problem?" asked Sanna.

"That depends."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm in the process of following up on Svenson's ex-wife in Gothenburg and I'll be going there tomorrow. I hope I won't be away long but, as I'm sure you understand, it's hard to predict quite how the situation will develop."

"Okay..." replied Sanna. "Javier, depending on what information you receive after looking into women number one and two, could you also take Tina and Alva – we'll call them women number three and four. Afterwards we can discuss what to do next. Decide whether to concentrate on any of the women in particular. What do you think?"

"Okay," he said doubtfully.

Javier wasn't exactly thrilled about being reassigned to the Ingrid Svenson case. He was still fixated on the brutal male murder. What bothered him most was that even though the case had previously been allotted another two weeks he had been forced to close it down immediately. He was curious as to why the Svenson case was more important.

"Why is it so important to dig into his romances?" asked Blom, raising his eyebrows in puzzlement.

Sanna smiled sarcastically.

"Romances?" she replied fractiously. "I don't give a shit about his romances... what I'm interested in is whether these women can provide more information for the case and if they're okay. Don't forget that we are dealing with a very unstable man."

Blom glared at Sanna.

"I agree with Sanna," said Alkelius. "We can't rule out any information that may help us with the inquiry." He removed his glasses and laid them on the table. "The more information we have on Svenson the better our overall picture of who he really is and what he is capable of..."

Henrik Blom glowered.

Sanna looked at Segelström. He hadn't said a word throughout the entire meeting.

"Any matches on the fingerprints from the chair leg?" she asked.

Sanna was getting fed up with Segelström's air of indifference. She had been forced to contact Forensics herself although it was really his responsibility as head technician. She wanted to know if he had ever bothered to make the effort. She noticed that Segelström had become less cooperative since Blom had been appointed head of the investigation.

Segelström sat up straight and cleared his throat to speak.

"I talked to the fingerprint technician, Hans Söderman, at the crime lab yesterday but it seems as if the sample has been given low priority."

"Low priority?" exclaimed Sanna.

"That's what he said," answered Segelström with a shrug of his shoulders.

"I'll call him and find out what the problem is," said Sanna irritably.

The colour rose in Segelström's face and drops of sweat glistened on his upper lip.

"You shouldn't have to do that. I'll contact him directly after the meeting and remind him that we're in a hurry."

It was common knowledge that the staff at the National Criminal Technical Laboratory were very busy. During the summer the situation was always more chaotic than usual. But the present delay wasn't caused by lack of personnel or work overload. It was due to Segelström's blatant disregard of his responsibilities.

"Okay, thanks," she replied sourly.

He avoided her eyes.

"Tell him that the prosecutor is waiting for the results so that we can decide whether to charge Svenson or not. As you well know we can't hold Svenson indefinitely. You must be aware that his DNA alone isn't enough. We have to tie the trail to the murder itself!"

Segelström looked at her blankly.

"Doesn't he realize how important the fingerprint samples are to the investigation?" she thought. "Holding back such important information is both irresponsible and unprofessional. I'll have to have a serious talk to him if he continues like this."

Sanna consulted her notes.

"As I said earlier, I was hoping to find information about this woman named Ingalill in the laptop."

"Who's Ingalill?" asked Segelström.

"In her diary Ingrid mentions that she was threatened by a woman named Ingalill who also insinuated that her son was in danger."

"No surname?" asked Segelström.

Sanna was curious. Why was he suddenly showing interest?

"No, unfortunately that's all we have."

"Could she have something to do with the murder?" queried the prosecutor.

"Maybe she hired someone to murder Ingrid," said Blom, leaning back in his chair.

Segelström glanced at Blom. He was about to say something but changed his mind.

They all exchanged quizzical looks. There was silence.

"That's an interesting theory," said Sanna.

Blom looked satisfied.

"It's not beyond the realm of probability that the woman was in some way linked to the man seen behind the house. We probably shouldn't jump to conclusions but we should definitely keep our eyes open. The fact is that there is a woman who threatened Ingrid and an unidentified man that several people saw at the crime scene. Most likely it's the same man who threated Lorena Pascalini and her photographer. We've traced the call to their phones but the results were useless. The man used old mobiles to call and then threw them into the nearest rubbish bin.

"Has anyone done a trace on the call between Ingalill and Ingrid?" interrupted Blom.

"I've gone through the information we received from their telephone operator. There is no Ingalill. She obviously knew how to cover her tracks," said Mohamed.

Segelström scrutinized him and wrote down something in his Filofax.

"Yes, it's very simple. Purchase a disposable phone with no personal information through a shopping website and an unregistered prepaid card and the trace goes to the wrong person or no one at all," added Sanna.

Kalle cleared his throat.

"Yes, by the way, we also have a woman named Ludmila Karlsson who says a lot of good things about Svenson. Kalle, why don't you talk about your meeting with her?"

HARALD SVENSON had moved heaven and earth to get his son released after he was remanded in custody following the latest hearing. This time he was convinced that Börge would be freed.

The County Prosecutor contacted Carl-Magnus Alkelius and explained the situation in no uncertain terms. Harald Svenson was a very good friend of his and it was imperative that these ridiculous accusations be withdrawn as quickly as possible.

PAMELA McGAVIN AND Sanna Johansson were about to begin their meeting in the living room of her hotel suite. The women sat opposite each other in comfortable armchairs. Between them was a table.

There was a knock at the door.

"That must be room service," said Pamela.

A man wheeled in a trolley laden with muffins, croissants, a pot of hot tea as well as a jug of coffee and thermos of iced tea.

"What would you like to drink?" asked the waiter, looking at Pamela.

"Iced tea would be nice, but first... what would you like Inspector?"

"Tea for me please."

Tea or iced tea?" asked the waiter.

"Iced tea thank you."

The waiter asked if she would like anything else. Pamela McGavin declined, and said that she would get in touch if she changed her mind.

The man left the room.

They drank their iced teas and exchanged polite conversation. Pamela described her pleasure at discovering that Stockholm was even more beautiful than she had remembered.

Sanna was impatient to hear why she had contacted the police. What information did she have about Svenson that was so important?

"You must be wondering why I contacted you," said Pamela McGavin eventually.

Sanna nodded.

"What I'm going to tell you happened more than twenty years ago." She paused. "Actually, more than twenty five years ago..."

"Would you mind if I recorded this conversation?"

"By all means, absolutely."

Pamela was convinced that her story would in some way be relevant to Börge Svenson's trial.

Pamela began by telling Sanna about the phone call from Jenny Hammarlund, a Swedish woman who she had studied law with at Manchester University. She went on to describe her marriage to Börge. The miscarriage and the abuse. How she was unable to conceive again after he had beaten and kicked her in the stomach when she was pregnant. How she had gone into hiding for a very long time. The mere thought of meeting him again terrified her – she had no idea how Börge would have reacted if they had met again after the miscarriage. She described her indescribable joy when she heard that Börge had finally decided to leave Manchester.

Sanna didn't move a muscle. She sat stony-faced watching Pamela intently. She empathized with this woman's terrible fate. There were so many parallels with Ingrid Svenson's life. Sometimes it was like reading Ingrid's journal. Both women had been ensnared in Börge Svenson's destructive claws.

There was no doubt that Pamela McGavin's story could prove invaluable to the investigation. What she described confirmed Börge Svenson's brutality and it seemed likely that, should there be a trial, she would be called as a witness.

"I brought a number of documents that I assume could be helpful to your investigation."

Pamela McGavin handed over photocopies of her marriage certificate, which proved Svenson and Pamela McGavin' s marriage was recognized by both the church and the state.

She had even brought some wedding photographs. Pamela emphasized that Börge had insisted on a simple ceremony with no wedding reception afterwards. As far as he was concerned the only thing that mattered was their love for each other.

After the wedding, the young couple had stayed overnight at a luxury hotel, leaving for their honeymoon in the countryside the following morning. Pamela had been so in love that all she cared about was being together. She had also agreed to Börge's request to wait a while before telling their parents – more specifically, to keep Börge's parents in the dark. According to him, they were unreasonably strict and demanding and he didn't want her to be upset by their reaction. Pamela was very young, just nineteen, and she accepted without question Börge's explanation that he just wanted to enjoy his happiness with her and not involve his parents.

The women talked for almost three hours. There was a lot of information for Sanna to digest, some of which involved surprising revelations. She looked at her watch and turned off the recorder.

"Thank you Pamela. May I call you Pamela? Your story is definitely very helpful to our investigation. I have to prepare for a meeting tomorrow and I would also like to listen to the recording of our meeting again. I am most grateful that you decided to come to Sweden and tell us your story."

Sanna collected her belongings and did a last-minute check to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything.

"Can we meet again on Thursday as originally planned?"

"Yes, of course! As you know, this is my sole purpose for being here. Please don't hesitate to call me if you need more information or have any questions in the meantime."

AT FOUR O'CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON, Alkelius, Sanna, Kalle and Javier assembled in the investigation room. Segelström had already informed Kalle that he was held up in another meeting and would be late.

"Does anybody know where Blom is?" asked Sanna, looking at the clock.

Everyone looked at each other questioningly but said nothing.

"Okay, let's start..."

Javier began. "I've gone through the women's folders and according to what I can see there is nothing strange about women one and two. They seem pretty 'normal'."

"Normal?" repeated Sanna, who was in a playful mood.

"Yes, you know what I mean."

Sanna shook her head. She wasn't at all impressed with the way Javier Mendez expressed himself. He often had a condescending manner which seemed to infer that women lacked self-respect or were comfortable being perceived as inferior to men.

Javier had lived in Sweden his entire life. He was born in Malmö but after military service had moved to Stockholm and applied to join the Police Academy.

His parents moved to Sweden from Spain in the 1960's, a period when Sweden had announced to the world that they needed manpower and encouraged unlimited immigration to feed the demand from the Swedish industry.

During those years many other countries, including Australia and Canada, were offering a range of incentives to attract immigrant workers.

Javier's parents decided on Sweden because it was closer to Spain and afforded them the opportunity to travel back and forth to visit family as often as they wanted. As a child, Javier spent all his holidays in Spain. But as he grew older he found these trips more and more tiresome and once he turned eighteen he refused to accompany them anymore. He preferred staying with his friends in Sweden, most of whom were either native Swedes or first generation immigrants.

Sanna looked at him sceptically wondering if his Latin background influenced his view on women. However, she quickly realized that this was the wrong interpretation. Men's attitude towards women had nothing to do with their cultural background. It was a global problem. She was reminded of the protest song by John Lennon: _"Woman is the nigger of the World"_.

"What I mean is, they're women who like to be appreciated," he continued.

"And you don't like to be appreciated?" interrupted Sanna.

"Come on, that's not what I meant... What I'm trying to say is that most women like men who offer to pay for them," he sighed demonstratively. "Let's get back on track here! This isn't about me. I'm just talking about how Svenson described the women he met. He would use his charm to captivate the women he wanted to own, showering them with attention and seducing them with flowers and loving words. They allowed themselves to become totally subservient to his wishes and desires."

He looked intently at Sanna.

Javier had received criticism about his behaviour on previous occasions. He was well aware that he should think before speaking about women, especially when Sanna was present. Oddly enough, Javier usually responded to her criticisms good-naturedly and seldom protested. He was a touch macho, he knew that, but he didn't mean any harm by it. In fact, he believed in a true egalitarian society where men and women received equal treatment in all situations.

"I get it," agreed Sanna reluctantly.

"There are a lot of details about each woman but you can read everything in the report." He waved a bunch of papers in the air.

"I'm happy for you to continue as planned," she added.

"I don't think women one and two are that interesting. Not as far as I can tell from Börge Svenson's diaries anyway."

Sanna nodded sceptically.

Javier leafed through the report. He let his gaze wander around the table to make sure he had everyone's full attention.

"In each folder that Svenson assigned to his conquest there is a document named 'Conclusion'." Javier stretched his neck and scratched his throat.

"Well?" said Sanna impatiently.

"We're dealing with an ice cold, calculating guy. Börge Svenson dumped women one and two because they were too predictable. They weren't exciting enough. Women three and four are much more his type. He's attracted to intelligent women, independent minded women. Women who have clear views on life. He's seeking adventure and challenge. Effectively, the challenge was whether he would succeed in crushing their self-esteem." Javier took a plastic cup, filled it with water and drank the contents in one gulp. "That was the point of it all. He wanted to prove he could gain control. Prove to himself that he had power to subjugate these self-sufficient women.

He writes that if it was only about sex, he could go to a prostitute. Why bother to go to all that effort, putting on the charm and sending flowers or other romantic gestures. He compares women one and two to prostitutes. They were easy. Their only purpose was to satisfy him – he didn't even have to make that much effort."

Javier suppressed a yawn. He poured himself more water and drank it again in one gulp.

"Here on page thirty he says: _They're happy_ _if I pay the bill and in return I get laid..._ He adds a little aside in parentheses _– other types of sluts? –_ No, that didn't interest him at all." Javier stared at his report.

The room was silent. The prosecutor gave a gentle sigh.

"I suggest we take a break and get something to drink," said Kalle.

"Good idea," said Sanna.

She turned to Javier.

"Is there a lot left?"

"Yes. I'm not done with women three and four, but I still want to update you on what I've done so far."

The group made their way to the vending machine.

Kalle returned to his office to call Mia and let her know he was going to be a little late, but hoped to be home in an hour.

"I WON'T, I WON'T!" screamed Liza defiantly in the background.

"What's wrong with her?" asked Kalle.

"She doesn't want to go to bed," replied Mia wearily.

"I can excuse myself and come home now, if you want me to," suggested Kalle unconvincingly.

"Hm!" said Mia.

Kalle waited.

"Shall I come now?"

"No, its ok. She'll calm down soon. Come when the meeting's over," she said resignedly.

A quarter of an hour later the team reassembled, keen to hear the rest of Javier's insights.

"I think that we should follow two of the women. Woman number three, Tina, wasn't quite such a pushover. At first she was very obliging but changed her attitude when she realized what he was like. She stood up to him and wouldn't allow herself to be bullied. After spending the next two weeks quarrelling she dumped him unceremoniously and told him not to contact her again. She shut him out of her life completely. Apparently he wanted to have rough sex with her. He seemed to like it that way."

"Tina sounds interesting. Call her in for an interview," said Sanna.

"I was just going to suggest that," said Javier. "I've also been studying woman number four quite closely but need more time on her. She's a young woman in her twenties called Alva Aldhamo."

"Did you say Aldhamo?" interrupted Sanna. Aldhamo was an unusual name and if they were lucky she could be related to Maria.

"Yup. They met through Facebook. He called himself Alexander Razmik. He invited her to be a "Friend" and she accepted. Alex, eventually established contact with her through the Facebook message system and pretended to be interested in the same subjects as she listed on her profile: philosophy, psychology and gender studies. Alva had read a good deal of literature on the subjects. According to his notes, Svenson wanted to test his ability to communicate with young women. He had cultivated a number of female friends during his life but as a general rule had only gone after women of his own age. After getting in contact with Alva he became more and more turned on by the thought of seducing not just a young woman but also an independent minded young woman. That would be a very exciting challenge."

Javier paused for breath.

"After flirting with her online for about a month he suggested they met, saying that despite the large age difference they seemed to share the same interests. He told her that he was attending a lecture on gender studies at the university. In actual fact, he had noticed that she had sent an open invitation via the Internet about the lecture." Javier flipped forward a few pages in his report.

Blom shifted in his chair and sighed heavily.

"Strange man," said Alkelius.

"He turned on the charm. They met at the conference where Keith Pringle, professor of sociology, was holding a lecture. As far as I can gather, Pringle is a well-known figure. There were also a number of other professors giving seminars on a debated subject – _Men and Masculinity_."

Javier continued his appraisal in much the same manner. Börge Svenson felt it was a rather fitting subject. Afterwards, they began to meet more often and eventually he declared his love for her. Alva admitted that she felt the same way and didn't care about the age difference.

"Unfortunately I haven't been able to search for Alva Aldhamo in the personal records database," added Javier. "The system was down. Apparently, they were having problems with the new version and although it was only out of action for a few minutes I didn't have time to wait. Then I got tied up writing the report and haven't managed to get back to it."

"Is she related to Susanne Aldhamo?" asked Sanna.

"I don't know much about her mother or family in general. But as soon as I can access the database I'll check it out."

"Okay," said Sanna, making no effort to hide her disappointment. "When can we get more details about Alva Aldhamo?"

"If all goes well I'll report back in one or two days, when I've finished looking at woman number four."

"I look forward to it," interjected Sanna, making a note in her Filofax.

"Are we done?" asked the prosecutor.

"As you already know, Svenson's ex-wife contacted me. The one from Manchester," continued Sanna, ignoring Alkelius' question.

"Cool type," said Javier ironically. "It must be fun having so many women – where did I go wrong?" he continued.

"Now, now, Javier, no harem fantasies here," added Kalle with a smile.

"Okay then," he pouted.

Everyone laughed.

"Anyway, we had a very constructive meeting and I gained a lot of valuable insight into Svenson's brutality. I think I have everything I need from her but we're going to meet one more time on Thursday."

"Can you summarize your meeting?" said Alkelius.

"Yes, I was planning to do that... very briefly."

For the next twenty minutes Sanna described her meeting with Svenson's ex-wife, emphasizing the importance of her testimony if the case went to trial.

Sanna was acutely aware of the limited time frame. The prosecutor had been given strict orders that the investigation should be assessed as soon as they felt there were enough grounds to prosecute Svenson.

"We've plenty of material already but still need to wait for the test results on the suspected murder weapon," said Sanna.

"The chair leg?" asked Alkelius.

Sanna nodded.

"It appears that Segelström has other priorities, so I'm going to contact Forensics about it," said Sanna.

Alkelius made a note in his diary.

AFTER CARRYING OUT A quick examination of the child, the doctor confirmed that Viktor's condition was unaltered. He exchanged a few words with a nurse and introduced himself to Viktor's grandmother.

"Hello, my name is Andre Chaib," said the doctor to Kristina with a polite smile. "I understand you're Viktor's grandmother."

"Yes, I am," answered Kristina tensely.

The doctor looked at her curiously.

"I just want to inform you that we have had an in-depth discussion about Viktor's condition and have come to the conclusion that the best thing for the boy would be to move him to a children's psychiatric ward for therapy."

He waited for Kristina's response.

"There's not much more we can do here at the hospital. We'll get back to you with more details." He turned away to check the boy's pulse.

"Yes, by the way, I also wanted to mention that Viktor's father has asked if he can visit him." The doctor cleared his throat. "We're aware of the circumstances but since he hasn't yet been charged with a crime, there's not much we can do to stop him."

Kristina felt her blood boil. She looked angrily at the doctor but was powerless to react. The words stuck in her throat. She was paralysed. She stared at the doctor as if he was speaking a foreign language.

Andre Chaib noticed that Viktor's grandmother hadn't taken the news well. He wasn't sure if this was because the patient was going to be moved to another clinic or because of Börge Svenson's visit. He really didn't have time to deal with her.

He walked towards the door.

"We'll contact you soon to let you know which ward we decide to send him to," he continued, saying his goodbyes and leaving the room hurriedly.

Kristina didn't move. Her whole body shivered and she felt as if a bottomless pit had opened up beneath her. The doctor's unexpected announcement was hard to swallow. She needed to act quickly. She contacted Sanna the same day.

"What can I do to stop it?"

Kristina's fears that Svenson's unexpected visit would be harmful to Viktor seemed well founded. But they would have to come up with a more powerful argument if they were to persuade the authorities to deny the request.

Sanna knew that the law was on Börge Svenson's side. It was impossible to impose a restraining order on such flimsy grounds. A father had the right to see his child.

"I'll see what we can do, but even if I would like to, I'm afraid I can't promise anything," answered Sanna. "I'll contact the prosecutor immediately."

AS SOON AS SANNA PUT THE phone down she rang Alkelius to arrange a meeting as well as to discuss Kristina's anxiety over Svenson's impending visit.

Alkelius was too busy to talk and suggested that they meet later in the day.

"Damn! Why didn't it occur to me that this might happen?" she thought.

With a shrug she began to rustle through the papers on her desk.

"Here!" She picked up Ingrid's diary and leafed through the pages impatiently. "Viktor was suffering from 'dissociation' – that's what Ingrid wrote. Where is it?"

Because Viktor had been having repeated nightmares, Ingrid had taken him to a children's psychologist. He refused to sleep and was detached and listless.

The psychologist diagnosed Viktor's condition as 'dissociation', explaining that it was the body's way of defending itself from extreme psychological pain and an effective way to block out distressing memories.

According to the psychologist, dissociation has a healing and rehabilitative function and often occurs after a traumatic experience.

The child psychologist asked Ingrid if she could remember a specific instance that might have upset Viktor, since it was obvious that he was traumatized in some way. In these cases patients had a tendency to close down and go into a state of dissociation to protect themselves.

She suggested hypnosis as a way of establishing the root cause. Ingrid had refused.

"What's the psychologist's name?" She searched through the journal but for some reason Ingrid had never thought about mentioning it. Or perhaps it was a conscious decision.

In disappointment she turned to her laptop and began to Google the word "dissociation". There were several thousand hits.

She concentrated on Wikipedia's definition. This information would be helpful in trying to establish a restraining order against Svenson. The only problem was that she couldn't reveal the information contained in the journal until a trial was initiated against him.

Another drawback was that no reason was ever provided to explain why Viktor had ended up in this state. The psychologist didn't know that Viktor had witnessed violence at home.

SANNA AND ALKELIUS WERE in the lounge fetching coffee before heading back to Sanna's office for the last meeting of the day.

"I heard that Svenson has asked to visit his son," began Sanna.

The prosecutor looked at her guardedly.

"Do you know anything about this?" said Sanna.

"Now that you mention it... Tallén contacted me three days ago regarding the visit," replied Alkelius, a little embarrassed.

"When were you going to inform me about this?" she said crossly. "As long as I am head of the investigation I would like you to keep me informed of everything that goes on with the inquiry! If you think differently I would like you to tell me now." She leaned across the table towards him. "Either I'm responsible for the investigation or not – there's no middle ground here."

"I've never considered anything else, Sanna. I've had a lot on my plate lately and for some reason, completely unintentionally, I forgot to mention it."

He smiled apologetically. "It won't happen again, I promise." He paused. "But to be honest I didn't take the visit all that seriously."

Sanna nodded slowly.

"Kristina Borelius-Montana contacted me to beg us to do everything in our power to prevent his visit. Viktor's present condition should be good enough reason to stop a meeting between father and son."

Alkelius threw his arms up in air. "Sanna, you know we need more than that..."

Sanna was well aware that, in actual fact, a restraining order wasn't something that could be authorized on the basis of suspicion. It would have to be investigated in depth by several authorities, including the police and the prosecutors, who had a duty to investigate whether a crime had been committed – in this case against the child.

In addition, the social services would be contacted and asked to investigate the child's situation and whether he might need support and protection.

"Yes, I know. But I think we have to do something now. Svenson's visit could take place anytime. We can't wait for an inquiry. You must agree that a meeting with his father could damage Viktor's fragile health even more. Kristina Borelius-Montana's fears seem reasonable."

Alkelius watched Sanna quietly. "Why do you think the visit could damage him more?" he said finally.

"Only a catastrophic event could explain Viktor's apathetic state." She stared at the prosecutor keenly. "I'm afraid that Kristina is right. What if Viktor saw the murder with his own eyes? His father's visit could have disastrous consequences."

Alkelius looked doubtful.

"Well?" said Sanna, waiting for him to respond.

"Sanna, I must confess I don't think the visit will be detrimental, but on the other hand I don't want to risk having something like that on my conscience." He cleared his throat. "If you and his grandmother are right and the child did witness his father do something that distressed him, I will contact the County Prosecutor and suggest – I mean request – an immediate restraining order. But first, I'm going to contact Viktor's doctor and make sure that he agrees."

"Yes..." she sighed. "Anyway, you're the prosecutor. Unfortunately there's nothing more I can do."

She looked at him in earnest.

"I really hope you manage to stop his visit."

# CHAPTER 12

## A Woman

LATE IN THE AFTERNOON Javier Mendez sat in front of his computer, deep in thought. The only thing he knew about her was that she was 20 years old.

"Alva Aldhamo born..." he typed into the Personal Data file.

It wasn't long before the information he was looking for appeared on the screen. Aldhamo was an unusual name and the search only produced one result: Alva Kristina Aldhamo was born in Stockholm on the 1st of May twenty years ago, and died on the 8th of May.

_"Deceased? How?"_ he wrote in his notebook, and then scanned the rest of the available information. " _Father: unknown. Mother: Susanne Aldhamo – Susanne Aldhamo?"_ He stared at the screen. "Susanne Aldhamo," he repeated to himself. "I'll be damned! It's Maria!" he exclaimed triumphantly.

He noted down the necessary information and with his papers in hand Javier walked over to Sanna's office.

"One of Börge Svenson's ex-girlfriends is dead," he declared as he stepped into the room.

Sanna stopped working on her computer and looked up.

"What?"

Javier waved the papers he was holding.

"Who's dead? Can I read it?" Sanna reached for the papers. "Mm...we'll have to find out how Alva Aldhamo died. Find out the details."

"Yup!"

"How come she's still registered under her home address?"

"Yeah, that's weird. I'll head over and find out who's living there."

"Maybe Susanne Aldhamo?"

"No, I haven't been able to find Susanne Aldhamo's address, or her phone number for that matter."

Sanna looked at him in disbelief.

He had searched through all the available databases as well as the Internet but couldn't find an address or phone number for the notorious Susanne Aldhamo. He had tried both her real name and Maria, her pseudonym, which he presumed she used most of the time. She wasn't dead – at least not according to the Personal Data Register. She had obviously blocked the release of her contact details. However, the files didn't mention if she also had a hidden identity.

"I'll go over there and check it out... If we're lucky there'll be someone who knows the mother and can tell us where she lives. It's possible Susanne is subletting the apartment."

"Let me know as soon as you find out anything. I want to be there when you talk to Susanne Aldhamo".

Javier smiled and walked out. The knowledge that Susanne Aldhamo was the mother of one of Börge Svenson's women had put him in a good mood. He couldn't deny that he was excited to finally meet the mysterious Maria, who had occupied so much of his thoughts.

"HI! THIS IS SANNA JOHANSSON from the Stockholm Police."

"Hello Miss Johansson... Sorry I mean Sanna!"

Pamela McGavin wasn't used to referring to people she didn't know well by their first name, especially someone she'd only met once before. However, at their long meeting this week she had been tempted to suggest that they dispense with the formalities, so when Sanna pre-empted her she was relieved. She believed it would be easier to tell your life story to a total stranger under more relaxed circumstances.

"It's a pleasure to hear from you again – is everything alright?"

"Yes, thank you." Sanna wasn't interested in small talk and got straight to the point: "Did you bring the other documentation? You mentioned that you were hospitalized when you had your miscarriage?"

"Oh yes, I do have a lot of documentation here – my intention was to give it to you, so that you could make copies of the bits you find interesting, but for some reason I completely forgot I had it. I'll bring it to our next meeting. I would also appreciate a copy of the recording you made. I'm very meticulous, and would really like to have all the evidence regarding this issue. Is that possible?"

"Yes, of course, by all means. I'll copy it onto a CD."

THE WOMEN ARRANGED another meeting – this time at the police station. Sanna made copies of all the documents Pamela McGavin had brought. She had been thorough. Pamela didn't live in Sweden and the acquirement of other documents would mean unnecessary and complicated administrative problems. Sanna had even made sure that each copy was certified by two people, one of whom was her boss, Inspector Henrik Blom.

The meeting wasn't as long as the previous one – this time Sanna did most of the talking. She concentrated mainly on gathering more details about specific events and taking a thorough look at all the evidence Pamela had provided.

They promised to contact each other if they came across anything of importance and Pamela reiterated the fact that she was willing to be a witness at Börge Svenson's trial.

SINCE THE DEATH OF HER daughter Maria had dressed from head to toe in black. Her choice of attire was a constant reminder that she had a job to do.

It was eleven o'clock, and after her visit to the Stockholm County Court she felt tired and hungry. She intended to take a stroll along Norr Mälarstrand. Along the way she stopped at Cafe Eldkvarn, which had an enticing location at the water's edge. She bought a salad and a café latte and chose the table nearest the lake. She loved the view over Riddarfjarden.

She had just been attending a trial where the plaintiff was a young female rape victim about the same age as Alva was when she died. The photographic evidence of the woman's horrendous injuries had upset her.

She wrapped both hands around the warm cup and looked out at the horizon.

The victim at today's trial had been able to identify her assailant. She reminded her of Alva.

Alva had just turned twenty. Her life was beginning. She had recently moved into a small studio on Södermalm and she was over the moon about the prospect of choosing her own furniture as well as everything else that constituted being your own person and being in control of your own life.

Three years had passed since Maria's life had been drastically altered. Alva's death had left a deep hole. She missed her daughter's playfulness, her hugs and their regular telephone conversations. She had watched proudly as Alva was transformed into a mature woman. She had been looking forward to seeing her daughter become a fully qualified gender studies professor. But Alva was never given the opportunity to realize her dreams.

She had been struck on the back of her head with a blunt object and then drugged. The exact location of her rape and murder was unknown. A passer-by found Alva's severely battered body in a coppice in a suburb north of Stockholm.

Maria reflected upon how the event had steered her life.

At first, she had been hopeful that the police would catch Alva's murderer and he would receive the punishment he deserved. She would phone the investigators every day, until they got so tired of her nagging they began ignoring her calls. Maria was a woman who was uncompromising in her principles. She believed that free will and the ability to choose between right and wrong was something you were born with, and even if, in general, people were innately good, some people, due to their circumstances, ended up doing bad things. If somebody crossed the line and committed an act unacceptable to society she believed strongly in trying to empathize with them. These were the core values with which she had raised her daughter. But her generous, openhearted attitude towards her fellow humans changed dramatically when that man used his power to commit an evil act against her daughter.

Maria remembered the time when she was constantly in contact with the authorities. These memories were still painful. The police had focused on discrediting Alva, instead of putting all their energies into finding the culprit.

As far as Maria was concerned, society had robbed her of everything she believed in. Not only had the police failed to capture the assailant, they had also violated the reputation of both her and her daughter as decent law abiding citizens.

She was disappointed at how the judicial system had betrayed her. She had always considered herself an upstanding citizen. However, as a single mother, the authorities perceived her as a social problem rather than an ordinary member of society.

A ten-year old boy came running into the café and sat down at the table next to her, followed by a couple with a pram. The woman parked the pram and sat down next to the boy. The man was carrying a tray with an assortment of snacks. He resembled Alex – the Alex who had been suspected of Alva's murder but whom the police had been unable to locate. The similarity made Maria feel uneasy.

Maria brushed aside all other thoughts and focused her attention entirely on the recently arrived guests.

"I'll go and get some water," said the man with a Skåne accent.

There was a pause before the woman responded.

"Roger!" she shouted. "I want some water too."

"Sure," he replied.

Maria shifted her gaze back to the water, and resettled into her thoughts.

She was reminded of how the police had looked upon Alva's relationship with Alex. Because her daughter had died under relatively unusual circumstances, Maria was branded an unfit mother who was unable to control her child, implying that it wasn't surprising how things turned out. After all, she had been cavorting with a foreigner, someone who wasn't even registered in the Personal Data Files.

The bizarre and contradictory behaviour of the police had, at first, struck her as an absurd way to handle a murder investigation. But she soon realized that they were completely serious. The odds seemed to be stacked against her. The police insisted that Alva had been hanging around with a bad crowd and even began speculating that she was a drug addict because of traces found in her blood.

Nine months later, the head of the investigation advised her that the case was being suspended due to lack of technical evidence.

When she heard the news her reaction was muted. She had long since come to terms with the fact that the police would never catch Alva's killer. During this period she realized she would have to solve the case herself.

Time went by but she couldn't forget how they had treated her. Their attacks were like a slap in the face. Despite being aware of her financial situation and Alva's academic success, they implied that it was very common for single mothers to raise problem children.

She reproached herself for being powerless to prevent the horrendous death her daughter had faced. She should never have taught Alva to believe that people were fundamentally good-natured.

After the police informed her that the investigation was being terminated, Maria was forced to re-evaluate the situation and come up with a new strategy to ensure justice for her Alva. What motivated her more than anything was the desire for revenge. She wanted him to pay for what he did. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. She vowed never to put the case to rest until she had found the perpetrator – the man who had murdered her daughter.

AT QUARTER TO SEVEN on Wednesday evening Sanna turned off her laptop and dug out Ingrid Svenson's journal, which she had placed at the back of the drawer on the left hand side of her desk. She stared reluctantly at it. She had hoped to finish reading it during her office hours but that was impossible. There were other important elements of the investigation that demanded her attention during the day, when it would be easier to get hold of the people she needed to talk to.

As soon as Sanna arrived home she changed into her training gear, drank a large glass of water and headed out for a run. She needed to clear her head.

But the journal continued to dominate her thoughts, and the normally relaxing exercise routine failed to fulfil its purpose. After half an hour she turned back. She showered, made herself a large Chai latte and brought out Ingrid Svenson's journal. She sat down in her favourite armchair and opened the notebook.

After a few hours heavy reading she was exhausted and longed to put the book away and go to sleep even though it was only ten o'clock.

She put her hands together and stretched her arms up in the air with the palms of her hands extended toward the ceiling.

"Twenty more pages and then I'm stopping," she convinced herself.

14th of April: _"Received a phone call from an English-speaking woman called Pamela McGavin-Svenson. She said she knew Börge very well from her time in Manchester. We made arrangements to meet on Wednesday when Viktor is with his Grandmother. Börge is away all week..."_

"What?" Sannas heart sank. She straightened up in the armchair, but remained seated with both her feet on the floor. "She met Pamela McGavin!!"

During their meeting, Pamela explained that she was in Sweden on a business trip. When she had found out through an old schoolmate from Manchester that Börge Svenson had remarried she felt duty bound to contact his new wife and inform her that their marriage had never actually been dissolved. They had lived together for two years, but Börge's constant, uncontrollable violence towards her had eventually driven her into hiding.

Pamela admitted she had been uncertain how to react when she found out Börge had remarried, despite him still being officially married to her. She had been intending to warn Ingrid about her husband's violent tendencies. About his aggressive nature and the abuse which she had endured for so long.

In her journal, Ingrid compared Pamela's story to her own relationship with Börge. It was as if he was re-enacting his earlier marriage – the same old excuses and declarations of love, the same words and phrases.

Pamela McGavin admitted that her primary motivation for contacting Ingrid after all these years was because she hoped there was still time.

"Leave the bastard before its too late!" she had implored. "Börge is extremely unpredictable, and it's very hard to figure him out or anticipate what he'll do next." She admitted that she would have preferred to avoid this meeting, but her conscience got the better of her. It wouldn't be right to remain silent. She would never have forgiven herself if something terrible had happened when it was within her power to prevent it.

After the meeting with Pamela, Ingrid had decided to confront Börge. She deserved an explanation. Apparently their marriage was a sham because Pamela McGavin-Svenson and Börge Svenson had never filed for a divorce.

24th of May: _"After dinner on our way to the living room I asked Börge if he knew Pamela McGavin from Manchester. He glanced at me and left the room without commenting and went up to the bedroom. He said he had a terrible headache and wasn't in the mood for idiotic questions. He also told me that his previous life was none of my business."_

Ingrid Svenson had gathered the strength to confront Börge again, but every time she was about to mention it she lost her nerve.

Ever since the day she first mentioned Pamela he had showed a radical change in attitude. He was dismissive, reticent and more easily provoked than usual. However, the main difference was that instead of lashing out, which would have been his normal reaction, he would skulk off to his study and say that he didn't want to be disturbed.

15th of June: "It's gone too far! That woman called and threatened me again. I can't wait any longer. He has to do something and stop her contacting me. He has to talk to her. He should know I'm ready to call the police.

He can't keep on refusing to talk about Pamela McGavin. I'm tired of his lies."

Sanna stared at the text. This was Ingrid's last diary entry. She put the book down onto the table, got up and walked over to the window. The street was deserted. Every now and then she heard the distant sound of a car passing by on one of the side streets. A newspaper delivery van was parked outside one of the buildings. The morning sun filtered through the branches of the tree onto Sanna's window ledge.

Sanna looked at the black book again. Her head was filled with a thousand thoughts. Pamela McGavin had spoken to Ingrid, and yet she hadn't mentioned it. "Maybe she forgot," she said to herself. "She had so much else to tell me anyway." Sanna went to the kitchen and switched on the kettle. The worlds of two women with similar fates had collided. One had left her husband. The other had agonized over the decision – until it was too late.

"Leave the bastard before its too late," Pamela had implored.

Sanna needed to find out more about this woman called Ingalill who had threatened Ingrid.

There were no more entries after the 15th of June. Two days before she was murdered.

"Perhaps this had provoked his anger? Was it his motive for killing her? Is it yet more proof that he was responsible? Was Ingalill also involved?" pondered Sanna.

She picked up the book again and sank back in the armchair. She looked tired and sullen. She drank the cold tea with mechanical movements.

# CHAPTER 13

## The Lost Child

"HELLO THIS IS SANNA JOHANSSON," she answered. There was a crackling sound on the line and she strained to hear the voice at the other end. It sounded as if the call was coming from abroad.

"What did you say?"

She stared at the receiver perplexed.

"I'm sorry, can you say that again?"

The colour drained from her face.

"She was fine yesterday," said the woman. "How could we have known she wouldn't wake up this morning," she continued, clearly distressed.

"I don't understand... she must have been ill," said Sanna.

The woman was silent.

"Why didn't you contact me earlier, as soon as she became ill? Why am I only finding out about this now, when it's too late?" she shouted.

As she got up from the chair Sanna felt faint. She took slow, deep breaths to calm herself and walked towards the door. Her head was spinning and she couldn't think clearly. She turned the key in the lock and leaned against the door trying to collect her thoughts. Should she call Markus?

Markus had a highly sensitive temperament and she would have to be careful when breaking the news to him.

She glanced at the clock. It was ten past nine.

"Markus is probably at work now," she thought. "I'll call later instead."

She didn't dare think about the consequences.

In a daze, she picked up her jacket and small leather rucksack as well as her helmet. She left the office at Kungsholmen without a word.

Sanna drove her Harley-Davidson through the heavy traffic, oblivious to the other vehicles on the road. She turned towards Sankt Eriksgatan and squeezed her way through the long line of cars that were honking their horns impatiently. Two cars had crashed and were parked at the side of the road, their drivers locked in a debate about the damage to their vehicles. Sanna paid no attention. She felt removed from her surroundings. She was completely alone. Malin had left her without saying goodbye.

"Look where you're going!" growled a man, giving her the finger.

She was on her way to see Malin, the little sister who had withdrawn into her own silent world ever since the terrible day that had left none of them unscathed.

She continued to Uppsalavägen and paused before turning off towards the E4.

At just three years old, Malin was the one who had been worst affected. She was struck down with a psychological disorder known as apathy, which, from a medical standpoint, was incurable. After six months at a treatment centre, she uttered a single word, "mamma" and the doctor, encouraged by this development, reassured Sanna that the treatment was giving results and that it was just a matter of time before she would recover.

"Give it time, Sanna. Your sister will get better," he had said.

But as the weeks went by it was clear that the doctor had been optimistic in his assessment. Malin barely said another word until one Saturday several months later when Sanna was reading aloud to her from The Brother's Lionheart. All of a sudden Malin said "Mamma" again. This time the doctor was more circumspect and conceded that it was unlikely to be a sign of improvement. From that day on Malin never spoke another word.

Sanna's mobile rang. At first she was tempted to ignore it but she changed her mind and decided to see who was calling. It was Kalle. She put the mobile back into her jacket pocket and soon afterwards heard the beep, indicating that he had left a message.

Sanna had ridden her motorbike to Uppsala so many times she could find her way in her sleep. She continued towards the Kungsängsleden exit until she reached Kungsgatan. She parked her bike and sat there for a while to collect her thoughts.

The mobile rang again. It was Kalle.

"Sanna," she answered indifferently.

"Hi Sanna, I've tried to call you several times," said Kalle. He sounded agitated.

Sanna didn't know what to say. She had left the office without telling anybody and now she would have to explain herself or at the very least tell him if she planned to be back to work that day or not.

"How are you?" he asked. Sanna was normally very communicative with him so he knew that her reticence could only mean one of two things – either she was angry at him or there was some personal issue that she didn't want to talk about.

"I have an errand to take care of. It can't wait, I have to do it today," she replied curtly.

"Is it to do with work?"

"No, it's private but must be done today," she replied.

Kalle wanted to ask more questions but he couldn't force her to talk to him if she didn't want to.

"Are you ok?" He felt foolish continuing to press her.

"Not really, but it's nothing I can't handle. I'll be in tomorrow, Kalle. Tell Blom that I need to take time off today." She hung up.

She revved the engine again and continued her journey towards Uppsala University Hospital.

She was led through the long corridors of the closed psychiatric facility until they reached a room that reminded her of a church. The hospital staff had decorated a quiet room with candles for this sombre occasion. Inside, lay her sister, Malin, her body covered by a white sheet.

Sanna asked to be left alone. Malin was finally at peace. Her expression was serene and composed, a frozen snapshot of a life that had come to an end. She held Malin's ice-cold hands and pressed her face tightly against hers. She began to cry uncontrollably.

"Dear Malin, why did you leave me? What am I going to do now? How can I go on without you?"

Since the terrible day her mother died, Malin had never recovered. She had existed in her own secret world. However, there had been moments when she seemed happy. Sanna and Malin had a special routine. As a little girl Malin would stretch out her hands and stamp her feet excitedly in anticipation of the flowers and chocolates that Sanna would bring on her regular weekly visits. She would hold the flowers in her arms while she munched the chocolate. When she had finished eating Sanna would place the flowers in a vase and sit down beside her and read aloud. She had continued to read to her through the years, even when Malin was no longer a child.

It was their ritual. A routine that Sanna had unwittingly created and which afforded the sisters moments of relative happiness. Although Malin's body language became more restrained as she grew older, the sequence was always carried out in the same order.

Her body was cold and stiff, but Sanna hugged her close. As if she could still feel the young woman's breath against her cheek.

Malin had lived for twenty-five years.

"You'll be with Mamma now," she said. She looked at her sadly and the tears ran down her cheeks.

She remained in the room for more than forty minutes while the nurse waited patiently for her outside. They walked through the corridors in silence. Birgitta was Malin's nurse and respected Sanna's desire to be undisturbed. Everyone who took care of Malin knew the reason she had ended up there. They knew the entire story.

"I have to think about the funeral," said Sanna.

"We've been talking about that. If you agree, we would like to help organize the funeral," said Birgitta tentatively.

Sanna looked at the nurse with her red, swollen eyes.

"What do you mean?" she asked. She had a lump in her throat. Birgitta put her arms around her and held her close like a mother with her child.

Birgitta was a gentle, caring woman in her sixties with a kind, soothing voice. By virtue of being Malin's nurse for many years she had also developed a close relationship with Sanna, who was the only family member that visited regularly.

"Thank you Birgitta, but you have already done so much for us – for Malin."

"It was nothing, as you know," she said. "I hope you understand that we feel like part of your family. We would very much like to help you with this last..."

"I understand," interrupted Sanna. "You can't imagine how grateful I am for your support at a time like this..."

"We're here for you Sanna... you're not alone." Birgitta paused. "You must know that we love Malin very much."

"Thanks. Your words are a great comfort to me."

Birgitta hugged Sanna again.

The women went their separate ways, after deciding that Sanna would cover the majority of the funeral expenses. Sanna had insisted on it.

MARIA WAS THE TYPE OF PERSON who didn't care what other people thought. She had her own values and convictions. She would not let herself be influenced by the traditional rules of society. She valued her own moral compass and sense of determination. Even though she didn't believe in marriage, she had a strong sense of family loyalty. She had made the decision to be a single mother. Even as a teenager she had questioned the importance of a man in her life. She was more interested in having children than a relationship. The more she delved into the subject the more she discovered that everything revolved around traditional norms and structures. On the one hand she was against marriage; on the other hand living together in a partnership provided no security whatsoever.

Maria herself had grown up in a single parent family. Her mother had left them when she was seven. She had taken nothing but her toothbrush and disappeared from their lives without a word. Her father and she got along just fine. They were a good team.

Everything she did in life was well planned and motherhood was no exception. However, she was unprepared for all the obstacles that lined her path. Society seemed to prioritize childless heterosexual couples that opted for artificial insemination. Heterosexual single women and lesbians were treated like second-class citizens. The climate for single women was so tough she had even considered getting herself inseminated overseas.

Early on in the process, she had the impression she was one of the few enlightened single women out there. But she soon realized that there were many others who had similar views. She gathered together a group of like-minded women who supported each other and made the situation more bearable.

When she finally became pregnant through artificial insemination she was over the moon. Her dream had come true. She gave birth to a daughter named Alva who became her pride and joy. She felt fulfilled. For nineteen happy years she watched her daughter grow and develop into a fine young woman. But then the unimaginable happened – her daughter's life was snatched away in her prime.

Thoughts of Alva always filled her with a sense of calm. They had been perfect together. They could talk about anything; they were alike in so many ways. Alva was responsible, outgoing and easy to communicate with. She always wanted to learn new things. But her kindness and belief in the goodness of mankind had ultimately led to her demise.

KALLE KARLSSON KNOCKED gently on the glass door to her office.

"Are you busy?"

"No, come in."

Kalle entered and sat down in Sanna's favourite armchair. He looked exhausted.

"How's things?" she asked.

He shrugged his shoulders.

"How did it go in Gothenburg?"

"Not very well. Badly, in fact."

"Tell me."

"She wasn't at all interested in meeting me. She said that she had already spoken to the police and that everything I need to know is in the files. She didn't say much the entire meeting."

Kalle had been visiting Karin Bengtsson – Börge Svenson's second wife, who had moved to Gothenburg following a difficult divorce from Börge. After three years of continuous abuse she realized that leaving him was the only solution.

To begin with she went into hiding. However, since she was a person who believed in facing up to her problems, after a month of indecision she finally decided to hire a lawyer and begin divorce proceedings.

Karin Bengtsson listened to Kalle's persuasive arguments for why her witness testimony was so important, but she stood firm. "I don't want to hear about Svenson. It's a closed chapter in my life. I have closed a book that I decided never to open again."

An uncomfortable silence had ensued. Kalle hoped that she would finally relent and start to cooperate.

"While I was there, a boy rushed into the house. It was her adopted son. He was around eleven or twelve. Then I had what I thought it would be a brilliant idea. If I talked about Viktor, perhaps I could appeal to her maternal instincts. But when I mentioned him, do you know she did? She smiled!"

"Really?"

"Yes – a weird smile that I had a hard time making sense of. It was a strange reaction. She said she was glad that she never had a child with him. Apparently, according to Svenson, since she was unable to have children she wasn't a real woman. She believed that Svenson would find happiness with the woman who gave him a child. Of course, that's not how things turned out...

After a pointless one-hour meeting she finally admitted that she couldn't care less what Svenson has done or what happens to him.

She then asked me to leave since she assumed that the meeting was over."

"What's the next step?" asked Sanna.

"I'm writing a report..." He rubbed his eyes. "I think we have enough material to include this part of Svenson's life in the preliminary investigation report."

Sanna nodded slowly.

Kalle looked at Sanna and shrugged his shoulders. "If we're lucky the prosecutor will call her as a witness."

"Yes, definitely. We've got enough material. Plus, we mustn't forget that this part of his past has been erased – maybe by him." Sanna leaned back and placed her hands behind her neck. "We would never have found out about this if Robert hadn't been able to access all those databases."

Kalle sighed. He looked troubled.

"How are things going there?"

"We've got the DNA footprint results back but are still waiting for the results from the chair leg. I haven't heard from Forensics and Segelström seems to be otherwise occupied."

"I can try and contact them," said Kalle.

"Yes, good idea! Segelström should do it but we can't wait forever for him to get on board."

Kalle gave a half smile.

Sanna looked at her notes. "I think Svenson should be tried for child abuse. Viktor has been exposed to extreme psychological abuse – he may never recover after the murder."

Kalle stared at her.

"Before I forget," he said suddenly. "A few days ago I contacted the National Criminal Technical Laboratory about the footprints we saw on the photographs. They said they don't have the resources to deal with it just now so we'll have to wait.

Sanna raised her eyebrows.

"Have they said when they can deliver?"

"No, they couldn't say. It wasn't clear if the person who was returning from holiday could take care of it."

"I see. Maybe we can wait for the answer. It's more important to get the chair leg analysis back."

"I'll talk to Hans Söderman at Forensics today. We were in the same class in high school, so that might help a bit."

"Let's hope so."

Kalle pinched his ear lobe and winked at her.

"Getting back to Viktor, do you think we'll be able to prosecute Svenson?"

"Let's wait and see. There are two important aspects to the case. First of all, Svenson should be convicted of psychological abuse, in which case Viktor stands to receive some kind of financial compensation. I'll check which laws can be applied to ensure that he also goes to prison."

"Interesting," said Kalle.

"Secondly, we need to prevent Svenson from regaining custody after he's served his sentence."

Kalle looked at her sceptically, "If he's convicted."

"What do you mean? Do you think he'll get off?"

"You never know. With his contacts it's possible."

Sanna frowned.

"I don't even want to think about it," she said. "Anyway, according to BrB 3:5, the laws governing medically determinable psychological impairment would apply and it shouldn't be hard to get a certificate from Viktor's doctor, Andre Chaib, proving that. However, what I am a little concerned about is that Alkelius won't agree. He's the one who ultimately decides whether to bring it up at trial."

"You know, I seem to remember that in November 2006 a change was made to the law. Children who have witnessed violence at home now have the right to a special form of compensation through the Swedish Crime Victim Compensation and Support Authority," declared Kalle.

"Yes, although then it's the state that pays. I think Börge Svenson should be the one who pays. That's more than fair. He's the one responsible, not the state."

"I agree."

"I think it's important to acknowledge what this really means. It's wrong that the state pays since it mitigates the abuser's responsibility."

Sanna looked at the clock.

Kalle got up to leave.

"There's one more thing," said Sanna. "We must focus our attention on the woman who threatened Ingrid and find out what the hell her surname is." She leaned back in the chair. "I've been reading Ingrid's journal. On June 15th Ingalill called and threatened her again. Ingrid was upset but determined to confront her husband."

"I see. That's just a few days before she was murdered."

"Yes, she died on June 17th," interjected Sanna.

Kalle frowned. "No one saw a woman leaving the house, but I'm starting to be suspicious about the man who was seen outside that evening. He threatened Pascalini and her photographer. What if it was someone Ingalill hired? I don't understand why we can't trace the phone call between her and Ingrid."

"It's so irritating. Ingalill must be pretty good at covering her tracks," she added dryly. "And now we have this mysterious man who can't be identified either. It's hard to tell if we are beginning to crack this case or whether it's getting more complicated. I also found out that Ingrid met Pamela McGavin."

"Really?" said Kalle.

Sanna nodded and smiled.

Sanna's phone rang. Kalle waited, but left the room when he realized it would be a long conversation.

JAVIER STARTED THE ENGINE of his car after yet another unsuccessful day. He had visited Alva Aldhamo's old address several times. Nobody seemed to know whether her apartment had been rented out second hand or if it was empty. On the fifth floor there were two apartments – one was Alva's and the other belonged to somebody who was seldom in Sweden. Javier had also rung the neighbour's doorbell but it was the same every time – nobody answered.

He surveyed the property for an hour and toyed with the idea of giving up and returning to the police station. He was only too aware that there was no time to lose.

Once back at the police station, he helped himself to the cup of coffee he had been craving and returned to his desk to continue his examination of Börge Svenson's computer.

After a couple of months, Börge Svenson started to go out with Alva more regularly.

He began to show his true nature.

Alva didn't agree with his point of view on many issues and before long, the situation became untenable.

Javier eagerly resumed his reading of Börge's diaries. He wanted to know all about his relationship with Alva Aldhamo. Luckily, Börge Svenson was obsessed with detail and had transcribed their conversations word for word.

"Women are supposed to indulge their men sexually," he said.

"I don't agree. Both sexes have a responsibility to satisfy each other. It should be mutual," argued Alva.

The young woman had firm views about the nature of relationships. She announced that she could never get involved with a man who expected women to conform to his demands.

Alva's views had vexed Börge but he kept his feelings to himself.

"I'll show her. She'll be so satisfied that she won't be able to complain. The bloody bitch!"

These words were written three years ago, on May 5th.

Javier checked the date of Alva's death. May 8th of the same year.

He frowned, puzzling over what Svenson had meant.

He punched in Alva's social security number and searched for her name in the unsolved crime register. He didn't have any idea what he hoped to find there.

"Is he guilty of yet another murder?" he wondered.

Alva Aldhamo had been brutally raped and murdered. Her killer had never been caught and the case was suspended after nine months.

This wasn't particularly unusual. There were many unsolved murder cases and a large proportion of rape prosecutions were thrown out due to lack of evidence. The attacker either denied the allegations or the victim couldn't identify him. There were countless examples and Alva's case was certainly no exception.

SHE TRIED TO CLOSE THE DOOR but he was too quick. He shoved his foot inside the doorway and barged his way in. He grabbed her by the hair with one hand and with the other he held a knife to her throat.

"I told you not to play games with me," said the thirty-five-year old, panting.

"I've told my brother," she gasped.

"Oh I'm so scared," he scoffed.

"He knows that you've been threatening me!" she said in a strained voice. "If anything happens to me you'll end up in jail."

He pulled her hair harder, forcing her to look at him.

"It's good you told him. Now I can get money from him. He probably isn't so keen on the police getting involved."

He pushed her aside and stared at her menacingly. She was pale and trembling. She had no doubt that he was capable of anything – especially if the situation affected him personally.

"The mission wasn't to murder Svenson's wife... you were only supposed to..."

"Shit happens!" He shrugged his shoulders.

"What really happened?" she whispered.

He glowered at her, not sure where to begin. He was about to reply when his mobile rang. He glanced at the screen and moved away from her to take the call.

"Yes," he answered. "NOW? Can't it wait?"

She strained to listen to the faintly audible voice of the gruff male caller at the other end of the line.

"Ok, don't scream, I'm coming now!" He shoved the mobile in his pocket.

"I'm not done with you!" he muttered as he disappeared through the door.

EVERYTHING MARIA DID WAS carefully planned. Nothing was left to chance. And she was doggedly determined to complete any task she set her mind to.

She leaned back and rested her head on her hands. Her face showed no emotion. Nothing would stop her from completing this project. She picked up the plan from the table and checked her "to-do list".

Maria knew that there were risks attached but this was the most important project of her life. Even if she ended up paying the ultimate price.

It all started when they told her the murder investigation was being suspended. From that moment on she pledged to take the law into her own hands.

The first thing she did was to create a project outline mapping the current situation: her ability – both physical and mental, external help requirements, knowledge of the subject, the different tools available as well as the usual questions one asks before starting a project, such as: what, how and when, finances, obstacles and so on.

She pondered. This was a large, complicated undertaking, one that would have to be divided into different stages. The first step would be to look at similar murders. The most important thing was to stay in control and play her role to perfection. She had no one else to count on but herself.

SANNA HAD LISTENED AGAIN AND AGAIN to the recording of her conversation with Pamela McGavin. She was satisfied. Combined with this testimony, the documentary evidence that she had handed over to the police would confirm that Börge Svenson was a man of fluctuating moods.

She ran through her notes one last time and made sure there was nothing missing.

She put her feet up on the desk and leaned back on the chair. Pamela McGavin had contacted the police and told them her story. Sanna wondered if she had met the real Pamela McGavin. Were there still details of her life she had kept secret?

Sanna lifted the receiver and made a few calls.

"Hi Amanda! It's Sanna Johansson from NBI. Am I disturbing you?"

"Well, hello Sanna. It's been a long time."

Amanda Burgos was an old work colleague who now worked for Interpol.

After chatting for a while Sanna asked Amanda whether she could find out more personal information about Pamela McGavin. She provided her with the relevant information and Amanda promised to call her contacts at Scotland Yard and get back in touch as soon as she found out anything.

Sanna hung up the phone and looked at the CD that was lying on her desk. It was a brand new sound recording of Pamela's testimony. She picked up the disc and headed for Samir Mohamed's office.

"Sanna!" shouted Kalle as she passed his rom.

She stopped in his doorway.

"You're in a hurry," said Kalle with a smile.

"No, I'm not. I just wanted to leave this CD with Samir." She brandished the disc. "I'm going to ask him to make three copies. It's Pamela McGavin's testimony."

"Oh yes. How did it go?"

She walked into Kalle's room and plonked herself down on the visitor's chair.

"Very well..." Sanna grinned. She rested her hands behind her neck. "A three hour meeting. You can listen to it when I get Samir's copies. There are a lot of similarities with Ingrid Svenson's life. One thing that's bugging me is why they had no contact with his parents."

"Didn't they?"

"No. She said that Börge refused to talk about them. It seemed as if he was afraid of them."

"Is that what she said?"

"Yes, she had given it a lot of thought. Mainly because they both came from the same class. She assumed that the Swedish upper class was as conservative as the English and preferred their progeny to intermarry. Her parents had insisted on meeting Börge Svenson's parents and wondered why everything was so hush-hush when it was obvious he came from the right background. But Börge had been adamant on this point. He quite simply didn't want anything to do with his parents."

"Upper class nonsense," said Kalle sourly.

"Yes, I know. Although I don't think she meant it like that. She was just being honest. Without sounding snobbish, she explained that the upper class in England tended to hang out together. She also told me that her parents often called to find out how she was. But in Börge's case there was literally no communication."

"Actually, I've been thinking about that," said Kalle.

"What do you mean?"

"About Svenson's parents not seeming to care about him. Do you know that they haven't once visited him in prison?"

"No, it hasn't occurred to me. Is that true?"

"Yes, there's a guy there I know. I talk to him now and then. In passing I asked him how their eminent guest was behaving. He told me that Svenson keeps to himself and doesn't talk to anyone. He reads books or listens to music."

"I didn't give it much thought..."

"What?" asked Kalle.

"About the fact that he had no contact with his parents. It isn't that unusual for people to be estranged from their families."

"No, I guess not," said Kalle.

"I'm curious though. Why do you think he was?"

"I remember that Ingrid wrote something about that in one of her journals as well," added Kalle.

"Really?"

"Yes. I think it was in her first journal, which was written about three or four years ago. Around the time they met or got married." He scratched his head. "She writes that his parents had severed contact with him since he had decided not to study law."

"Yes, but initially it was because of his behaviour. Things got worse when he decided not to study law. Apparently his parents wanted him to take over his father's position in the company and obviously he couldn't do that if he didn't have the right qualifications."

"Yes, that's possible. He told Ingrid that he hated law and that it was the last thing he would ever do."

"Strange."

"Why?"

"Since Pamela is a lawyer."

"Not just her. Tina Hedströmer is a lawyer too."

"Was that why?"

"What?"

"Why he wanted to destroy them..."

They were silent for a few seconds.

"That was the case with Tina anyway," thought Sanna. The question was whether he had also chosen Pamela McGavin because she was a lawyer. Two women with a profession he hated. On the other hand he had married two other women who weren't lawyers and who he still wanted to destroy.

IT HAD BEEN RAINING ALMOST the entire morning. The time was eleven thirty and Sanna had just returned from lunch. She was standing outside her office chatting with a colleague when her phone rang.

"Hi, it's me," said a jolly female voice.

"Hi Amanda! Have you got something already?"

"Yup, you bet I have! I found a police report filed involving a woman called Pamela McGavin-Svenson who was born the same year as the woman you talked about. The report was made by John Braun, a consultant at St. Mary's Hospital and describes a brutal assault. However, there's no complaint from Pamela McGavin herself."

"I see... John Braun," repeated Sanna. "Could you give me his details? Does he still work at the hospital? I might need to contact him."

"I can find out."

"Thanks, Amanda! This is really helpful. Can you get me a copy of the report?"

"Already on its way! I should get it later today. Once I receive it I'll send it on to you."

"Thanks, you're my hero!"

AT SIX THIRTY ON Thursday evening Kalle and Sanna left the office. They had a regular date once a month when they would either have dinner together or go to a pub to chat and do their best to avoid talking about work. Usually the rest of the team would join them but this time everyone else was busy. Since Kalle hadn't been at work much lately Sanna had suggested they have a beer somewhere. Kalle agreed enthusiastically.

"Where shall we go?" he asked.

"I don't know. What about Terreno's Vinotek?"

Kalle looked at the clock. "If we can get in. It's usually pretty full."

"I know, but if we're only having a drink at the bar it should be ok."

"I'd prefer somewhere where we can have a beer..."

"You're right, me too."

"They headed off towards Lokal, a bar on Scheelegatan.

They chatted amiably for fifteen minutes before Kalle broke the rules.

"I can't help myself."

He looked at Sanna, who was draining the last drops of beer from her bottle.

"What?" she said, in a relaxed tone.

"What do you think he'll say about Pamela McGavin?"

"Damn, Kalle. You're impossible," she said with a smile.

"I know, I'm sorry. But after listening to the recording of your meeting with Pamela McGavin I've been wondering what Svenson will say."

Sanna studied the empty bottle of beer and asked him if he wanted another one.

He shook his head.

She ordered a pint of Bitter Ale and paid with her Visa card.

"Hm... I'm not sure whether there's any point in questioning him about her. I talked to Tallén yesterday about it and guess what...?"

Kalle didn't flinch.

"Börge Svenson wants to meet her," she grimaced. "That bloody man wants to meet the poor woman. She's terrified of him."

"What did you say to him?"

"I wanted to tell him to go to hell." She gulped her beer. "I didn't, of course. I just said there's no chance of that happening."

"What did he say?"

"Exactly what I expected. That Svenson won't answer any questions about her unless he meets her first."

"Hm."

"It doesn't matter. He'll have to answer questions in court anyway. I don't think we should question him about Pamela McGavin or Karin Bengtsson for that matter. All the evidence will be presented in the courtroom and in due time he'll have to explain himself. In the meantime we have to ask him about Ingalill."

"Right."

"I was hoping to find information about her on his laptop," continued Sanna.

"Yes, I thought that was strange too. Maybe we didn't search his study well enough."

"We'll have to go back and look again," said Sanna, gulping down the rest of her beer.

# CHAPTER 14

## Discovery at Skogsvägen

JAVIER LUMBERED out of his room and down the corridor. He was exhausted. He had spent a long time thinking about how Svenson like to methodically record his experiences with the women he met. He was particularly curious about why he had only documented four women.

He wondered if they were getting the whole picture. As time went by he became more and more convinced that they must have missed something in Svenson's study. He returned to his room, picked up a file and made his way to Sanna's office with renewed energy.

"Why do you think that Svenson only kept a diary on four women?" he said, getting straight to the point.

"Good you brought that up. I've also been thinking about that," replied Sanna without looking up from her computer screen. "Especially since we know of at least two more women. I'm very anxious to find out more about Ingalill. It's strange that we haven't found anything on her."

She looked at him with sudden interest.

"Maybe there's another computer or more files somewhere... It's unusual for a person like that to suddenly change their routine," he continued.

"Let's check Svenson's attic, or the rest of the house again if necessary. There must be at least one more computer somewhere. If we're lucky maybe we'll find some information stored on other media as well," answered Sanna.

Javier nodded in agreement.

"Take Anders Segelström with you. He's supposed to be working with the technical stuff." She regarded Javier thoughtfully. "No, wait. We'll all go together. I'll contact Kalle."

"Okay." Javier drummed enthusiastically on the doorframe.

AT HALF PAST EIGHT ON Tuesday morning Sanna Johansson and her team assembled in Svenson's villa, poised to search every nook and cranny.

"We'll split up." She surveyed the team members. "Javier and Anders, you search the study and Kalle and I'll search the attic. Any questions?"

Javier headed off towards the study, Segelström in tow.

Kalle and Sanna made their way up to the attic. It wasn't just any attic. It was a large space of about one hundred and fifty square metres with a varnished parquet floor and large windows that flooded the room with light, making it seem cavernous. At the back of the room was a large snooker table with cues, balls and chalk. To the left hung a dartboard and in the corner was a stereo. Below one of the windows was an English style desk with matching leather armchairs. To the right was an antique cupboard, also from England. Sanna walked over to the cupboard and Kalle went to the desk.

"Damn, it's locked!" exclaimed Sanna.

Kalle was concentrated on his assignment. He opened the middle drawer of the desk and dug his arm inside.

"Wait..." he groaned, smiling to himself. "Look here." In his hand he held a key, which he had found buried at the back of the drawer.

"Try this," he said, approaching Sanna with a triumphant grin.

"Great!" said Sanna as she unlocked the cupboard door.

They stood there staring at the contents. In the upper section were two shelves stacked with DVDs and a card index file as well as various types of files and storage media arranged in chronological order.

Javier and Segelström came upstairs empty handed.

"Nothing down there. How's it going here?" Javier stopped in his tracks at the sight of Sanna and Kalle digging in the storage boxes.

Javier and Segelström approached.

Without a word Javier grabbed one of the index files. Segelström ran his eye quickly down the names on another one. He looked over his shoulder, then selected a file and headed over to a quiet corner of the room.

"He's probably got files on everyone," said Javier who had already leafed through the files. "Here's Ingalill!" he declared, inserting a disc into a DVD player that stood on the desk.

The three others approached.

It appeared from the recording that Svenson had been filming Ingalill in secret before meeting her. There were a number of sequences filmed on various occasions and in different locations.

"Good," said Sanna. "Maybe here are the answers we've been looking for. Let's hope this will tell us why she threatened Ingrid."

She glanced at the index file.

"Let's check the rest of the material."

Kalle and Sanna continued examining the contents of the index files.

Segelström, who had been standing behind Javier, moved forward to examine the film more closely.

Javier walked back to the cupboard, hoping to find more information on Alva Aldhamo.

It was clear that Svenson had spent a great deal of time and effort describing in detail each woman he had been in contact with. He used a variety of methods to connect with these women. He put announcements into the newspapers. He was a member of a number of single clubs and chatted frequently on the Internet. He also joined social networks such as LinkedIn, Facebook, Instagram and Twitter where he could gather more information on the women he was interested in.

"We're dealing with a skilled predator," said Sanna, perched on the edge of Svenson's desk. "Everything indicates that he was in full control over what he was doing.

"Could he have murdered more women?" asked Javier.

Kalle glanced at Javier. That was something they would definitely have to investigate.

Kalle, Javier and Sanna carried out the evidence material, which was to be impounded. Segelström seemed to be otherwise occupied.

"Segelström, do you feel like helping out?" said Sanna dryly.

"Sure," he answered in embarrassment.

BACK AT KUNGSHOLMEN Sanna rang Sabine Keikkonen at the National Criminal Technical Laboratory and requested a review of the log file on Svenson's laptop.

"Save all the information that has anything to do with women, whether its e-mail or chat!"

"Ok, will do," interrupted Keikkonen with her Finnish accent.

The following day Keikkonen contacted Sanna and suggested limiting the analysis to the women who he had been in frequent contact with, otherwise the investigation team would have several hundred pages to go through, which would be impossible to handle.

Sanna agreed. She should have thought of that herself.

SHE REFLECTED ON how the character of the investigation had been flipped on its head. The discovery at the Svenson's house added a new dimension, requiring another type of approach. She could never have anticipated just how complex the investigation had become. It appeared as if their prime suspect was not just a cold-hearted wife killer but also a pathological offender.

Sanna contacted the prosecutor, Carl-Magnus Alkelius to find out if he was going to be at Kungsholmen that day.

Under normal circumstances the prosecutor would be expected to meet the investigation team every day or operate in conjunction with them. But Alkelius had learned that Sanna Johansson was an excellent team leader, who could be completely relied upon to manage the investigation, so he decided to let her get on with it. Anyway, he had plenty of other things to do.

The rest of the team, including Inspector Blom gathered in the investigation room at Kungsholmen.

"We have a lot of new information and will need more time and more resources," began Sanna. "I suggest that we begin by finding out if Svenson has any connection to the murder of Alva Aldhamo." She gazed around the table at the participants.

"Can you expand a little more on that?" asked Alkelius, glancing at the boxes stacked in the corner of the room.

"Let me continue," countered Sanna. "Alva Aldhamo's case will have to be reopened on the basis of this new information. Svenson's diaries reveal that he met her the same day she was murdered."

"And you're sure about that?" asked Alkelius.

Sanna glowered at him.

"Did you get my latest report?" interjected Javier quickly before the issue became a point of discussion. He was aware that Sanna was under a lot of stress due to the short deadline they had been given by the Chief Prosecutor to complete the preliminary investigation. That in itself was strange. He was also aware that Sanna expected everyone in the team to keep themselves regularly updated.

"I see," said Alkelius and leaned back in his chair. "I have to admit I haven't had time to read all the documents you sent."

The other members of the team looked at him aghast that he hadn't even bothered to read up on the investigation he was responsible for.

"Javier, do you have an extra copy of the report?" said Sanna calmly, doing her utmost to exercise restraint.

"Yes, I have a spare copy in my room. I'll fetch it."

"Thanks!" said Alkelius, a little flustered.

Sanna had been planning to grill Alkelius but decided not to embarrass him anymore. She decided to brief the team on why she believed Alva Aldhamo's case should be reopened, which the prosecutor warmly thanked her for.

"If I may express myself in diplomatic terms, we are dealing with an exceptional bastard," she continued.

"Shouldn't we contact the Criminal Profiling department?" suggested Segelström.

Sanna was a little sceptical of the reasons for Segelström's sudden interest. Perhaps it was because Inspector Blom and the prosecutor were also attending the meeting.

"I've also been thinking about it. But I'm not convinced that they'll be much help here," she continued, staring at Segelström. "We have our offender. What we have to find out is whether there are other crimes that he can be connected to." She pointed to the boxes.

"Maybe we should contact them anyway?" insisted Segelström.

Segelström and Blom exchanged short glances and indicated their agreement.

"Yes, but not yet," answered Sanna emphatically.

"Shouldn't they..." interjected Blom.

"Let me finish, otherwise we'll be here all night," she interrupted.

"We've confiscated a great deal of material that will require a thorough review before we contact them. In addition, I don't want the general public thinking we're a collection of amateurs." She wanted to say idiots, but decided against it. "In real terms, what we need to do is this:" she pointed at a clipboard where a number of points had been laid out.

\- Sift out all irrelevant information.

"We must study his collection in depth and make sure we don't miss anything," she explained.

\- Draw conclusions.

"We need to decide which women to select for further investigation." She moved the pen onto the next point.

\- Find out if all these women are still alive.

"If more of his women have lost their lives the circumstances surrounding their deaths must be investigated immediately."

Sanna surveyed the room and focused her gaze on the prosecutor.

\- Find out if any of the women have reported him for rape, abuse or suchlike.

"Don't forget that he calls himself Alexander and doesn't use his real name," she added.

\- Time frame

\- What makes these women interesting, what do they have in common?

"We know that he likes independent-minded women but we need to find out more."

\- Interview some of the women who might be able to give us important information.

"After that, if necessary, we should contact the Criminal Profiling Department," she said casually, scanning the table. "As you know, we have finally found information about Ingalill, the woman who threatened Ingrid."

She turned to Kalle.

"Kalle, you take care of it. We need to find out as much as possible about her. Who she is and why the threats as well as her possible involvement in the murder."

Kalle nodded.

Even though Sanna had wanted to keep the meeting as short as possible and only discuss the evidence it continued for another three hours.

She had intended to ask Alkelius to secure the go ahead from the Chief Prosecutor for them to immediately starting digging into the old Alva Aldhamo material. But to her astonishment it appeared that Alkelius hadn't managed to study the report yet, which meant that there was a lot he didn't know about.

Sanna wasn't happy about this, to say the least, and realized that if the prosecutor's lack of engagement continued it could damage the investigation in several different ways. Something would have to be done about it.

"We'll continue with the meeting tomorrow at eight o'clock. We have a lot to before we can allocate assignments."

Alkelius nodded and leafed through his calendar in a somewhat agitated fashion.

They all left the room.

SANNA HURRIED TO CATCH UP with Alkelius.

"I'm counting on you. It's important that you put some effort into tackling this resource problem. You can see we've got a lot to go through and we're already working our backs off trying to beat the deadline."

"Yes, I realize that," answered Alkelius. "I have been tied up with other investigations. That's why I haven't had time to read all your reports."

Sanna looked at him in stupefaction.

She was well aware that the Prosecutor's Office was also suffering from lack of resources and that the prosecutors were constantly complaining about their work load.

It was the same in the police force. She had first-hand experience of this since she and her colleagues were in the same situation. But she believed strongly that if you took on a responsibility you should take care of it regardless of your other commitments. Otherwise you should speak up and refuse to accept the assignment.

"I understand," she lied. "I suggest that we create two investigation teams. Both will focus on Börge Svenson. I can oversee both teams but I must be able to ask questions and get the answers I need... I don't want to hear people complaining that they don't have time because they're working on the Ingrid Svenson case."

"I'll see what I can do. Do you have any ideas about resources?" asked Alkelius.

"I can look at it. Hopefully I'll come up with something by tomorrow morning." She continued towards her office. "By the way, we also need to extend the deadline for the investigation," she added, turning to look at Alkelius over her shoulder.

Alkelius was sceptical.

"One more thing," she continued. "I heard that Cecile Thorén is back from maternity leave. Apparently, she's a skilful and hardworking criminal inspector. She could be a good person to have in the team..."

IN THE BACKGROUND The Guns N'Roses song "Sweet Child O'Mine" was playing at high volume.

She looked out of the window, listening to one of Alva's favourite songs. Maria didn't care about the consequences. She was aware that sooner or later the cause and effect would make itself felt. She had come to terms with it. None of it mattered any more. If she paid with her own life then so be it. It would be a price worth paying.

Over time she had become active on sites frequented by youngsters. She had also made contact with pedophiles and met people who in some way resembled Alex, the man who Alva had met on her last day alive.

Maria, who she insisted on being called, had completely changed her lifestyle. She had quit her job as a sexologist, sold her apartment in Vasastan and was now living a spartan existence.

Her new plan demanded focus and persistence as well as self-control. Whatever happened she mustn't become fanatical and sabotage the whole project. She would have to keep a tight rein on her finances. The luxury life she had become accustomed to, as a sexologist, was a distant memory. She had money in the bank and from now on it was important to live as simply as possible. To be self-disciplined and only purchase essential items. Maria wasn't prepared to become a burden on society and it was crucial not to raise red flags with the authorities. She must avoid drawing attention to herself. She didn't want to give anybody a reason to examine her private life or discover her existence. Instinct drove her to remain as anonymous as possible.

Her only goal was to continue to actively campaign against sexual violence against innocent women and children. She would let nothing stand in her way or prevent her from realizing her goals.

YEARS HAD GONE BY VERY QUICKLY. What at first had been paralyzing grief mutated into anger and an overwhelming desire for revenge. Although, intellectually, she was convinced that the chances of finding Alva's murderer were almost non-existent, she refused to waver in her determination to combat sexual violence. On the contrary, her work intensified. She had instead found other scumbags and punished them in one way or another. She convinced herself that she was doing the right thing. She was determined and goal oriented. She had a mission, and that meant taking the law into her own hands. The perpetrators would be made to pay: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. These people had taken it upon themselves to decide who would be allowed to live; who would be used as a tool to satisfy their own desires. They had assaulted the innocent and now she would punish them herself. The guilty men who were still at large, pretending to be law-abiding citizens because the police and justice system didn't have the capability to incarcerate them.

Maria had often questioned her decision. But the answer was always the same – she had nothing to regret or apologize for. If they had only admitted their guilt and confess their crimes things would have been different. They would have received their judgement and paid for their sins. Many of the cases she had read about involved extreme brutality but it appeared that all the accused had to do to be let off was to deny the charges or claim that he didn't mean to hurt the victim.

She lost count of how many trials she had witnessed where the accused man was freed because of lack of evidence. There were innumerable examples in the judiciary system. In some cases, even though there was clear evidence that the man in question had raped and abused the victim, for some unfathomable reason the court had released him.

This had become the one and only goal in her life. She would seek out these offenders one-by-one. It was her life's mission and she would continue until the day she died.

# CHAPTER 15

## The Attack

IT WAS SATURDAY MORNING. The rain from the previous day had eased off and the weather looked a bit more promising. Sunshine was bursting through the kitchen window and the garden was bathed in golden light. Sanna stepped out of the shower. Her wet hair was wrapped in a large white towel and she was humming to herself. She was in a good mood. She turned on the radio just as Sara Brightman, one of her favourite artists, started to sing, _"Who wants to live forever"_. She turned up the volume and wandered into the kitchen to make coffee.

The clock above the kitchen door struck nine. Sanna glanced out of the south-facing window and smiled. It was perfect weather for a bicycle tour. She made herself a large cheese sandwich and a baguette with cheese, ham and lettuce. She took an apple from the fruit bowl, grabbed the newspaper and stuffed the supplies into her rucksack.

IT HAD BEEN A VERY TOUGH week. Despite already being overwhelmed with work on the Ingrid Svenson case, which had now increased in scope, she had been forced to take on another assault case concerning a homosexual couple. This had taken up a lot of time and work on Ingrid's case had been reduced to half speed.

The new case involved a twenty-five year old man who claimed to have been seriously assaulted by his partner. However, for some reason he had a change of heart and decided to drop the charges. His reaction was similar to the majority of women who had been abused.

Sanna reflected a lot upon this.

She was disappointed in herself. It wasn't the first time she had experienced a problem with communication but she couldn't put her finger on why it had happened. There was obviously something preventing her from having an open dialogue with homosexuals who had been abused by their partners. On the other hand, she had no trouble communicating with lesbians. Perhaps the problem was that she treated both categories identically and would ask men the same questions as women in comparable situations. Yet the men reacted in a different manner. She noticed that some men scowled at her as if they didn't understand the question or thought she was being rude.

She wondered whether there were distinct psychological aspects that she needed to familiarize herself with.

Thoughts swirled around her head. It was always the same – her body was in one place while her mind was still at work.

"Pull yourself together!" She slapped her forehead. "It's your day off and you mustn't think about work," she said out loud.

She needed to relax and collect her thoughts, take a long bike ride into the forest to soak up the silence and enjoy the fresh air.

Just thinking about it calmed her down and improved her mood.

She fetched her bicycle from the shed in the courtyard and checked the tyres. A puncture while riding in traffic would be very irritating.

She considered taking the road that ran south of the city but although it was a beautiful ride she had explored the area too many times. She decided to cycle north instead, to Frescati. There was a lovely path through north Djurgården and further out, at Laduviken, she could go for a swim.

Sanna was feeling contented and looking forward to a long bicycle tour.

She followed the road and cycle path through town and took the scenic route along Brunnsviken to Lill-Jansskogen. The sky was blue and cloudless and the birds were chirping their sweet song. She slowed down. The water glistened.

After a couple of hours she started to get thirsty. Her clothes were dripping with sweat. She dismounted and wheeled her bicycle along the narrow track. She loved walking in the countryside. There were a few other people dotted about. People who had probably come here for the same reason, to relax, leave their daily lives behind and take pleasure in the Swedish nature that had so much to offer. Beside the water, lovers wandered hand in hand, pausing intermittently to caress each other. She passed a group of youths who were talking loudly and spreading blankets out onto the burnished grass.

She continued on cheerfully.

A child shouted, "I don't want to" and howled. Sanna decided against stopping there. She was looking for somewhere more tranquil.

She eventually settled upon the perfect spot. Apart from her, there were a few isolated people who were reading magazines or books or just sleeping. They were as lonely as she was.

She parked her bicycle against a tree and took out the coffee, sandwich and newspaper from the rucksack. She laid a blanket onto the thin grass, kicked off her shoes and massaged her feet, delighting in the bucolic landscape.

After trawling through the endless newspaper reports of evil goings on in the world she slumbered and eventually fell into a deep sleep.

She woke up with a start to the sound of laughter coming from a couple who were walking past. She had no idea how long she had been lying there. All she knew for certain was that the heat of the day had been cooled by an icy wind. She checked her mobile and discovered that it was half past six.

Most people had left already. The few that remained nearby were in the process of gathering together their belongings.

Sanna did the same. She placed the rubbish into a plastic bag and stuffed everything into her rucksack, which she attached to the luggage rack.

She set off on along the water's edge, down the narrow track bordered by scattered bushes and trees. Here and there, lovers and single people were seated on benches enjoying the last rays of the sun as it disappeared behind the trees. The birds were singing and loudest of all were the crows that croaked as they flew from branch to branch.

Dark clouds loomed overhead. Sanna scanned the track ahead, looking for a short cut through the forest.

A few kilometres down the forest path a pile of branches blocked the way. She looked up at the treetops to make sure nothing else was about to fall. As far as she could see, the trees were intact and far too robust for their branches to be felled by a strong wind. In addition, there were tangled heaps of thin brush strewn along the path. She tried to dismount in order to remove the obstacles but one of her trouser legs became caught up in the pedal. She bent down to extricate herself.

She felt a rush of wind above her head. Very slowly, without straightening up, she turned her head. To her surprise she saw a man holding a baton.

It was a complete shock. Her peaceful cycle tour was instantly transformed into something very different.

She calmly stood up and looked directly into the man's eyes. He was thrown off guard. She adjusted her cycle gloves. Since her accident she had never cycled without them.

She was ten years old when she had set out on a bicycle ride with some friends. For some reason, which she couldn't remember, she slammed on her brakes and was catapulted onto the gravel track. She landed heavily and badly injured the palm of her hands. The injuries were so serious that on one hand she needed three stitches and on the other hand the doctor used a pair of tweezers to pluck out the gravel that had buried itself deep into the skin. It was several weeks before she could use her hands again.

Sanna was cool headed – she was prepared for any movement the man might make. He stood stock still, his feet cemented to the ground and his baton still in the air, ready to strike.

Sanna sized up her attacker. He was wearing a dark blue Adidas training overall with white stripes on the arms and legs and brand new, white training shoes with black stripes – a very common model. Under his long training overall she caught a glimpse of his white socks. The hood on the training jacket didn't cover his head completely and Sanna could see that he had blond hair. His small blue eyes had a menacing gleam and his narrow, clenched lips made his face even more disagreeable.

The man stood astride and shifted his balance to steady himself. He lifted the club in the air with both hands, and turned his upper body as if preparing to strike a ball hard. His eyes bored into her.

Sanna studied him, watching his every movement.

He hesitated then he straightened up his body, lowered the club and spat on both hands, one by one, to secure his grip on the hard wooden handle.

He smirked and lifted the club again and swung it aggressively. One good strike would be enough to knock her out but he kept on missing. He sliced and sliced the air. She moved her head to the right to the left, circling him and ducking to avoid the blows. He was soaked with sweat and panting heavily. Saliva dripped from his open mouth.

She seemed calm, but her adrenalin was pumping.

Her attacker swung again. Just as the baton was about to smash down onto her head she ducked and took a large step backwards. She kicked his arm with all the strength she could muster and he dropped the baton.

Sanna stepped forward and whispered: "Wrong woman, wrong time." Quick as lightening she punched him in the diaphragm so that he lost his balance and stumbled backwards. He moaned, screwing up his face in pain, and his jawbone turned white. She kicked the club to one side and came up behind him, locking her left arm around the man's neck forcing his head backwards and with her right hand she pushed his forward. There was no time to think, she had to act quickly.

The man desperately tried to break free. He gripped Sanna's arms with both hands trying to release her grip from around his neck.

But Sanna had the situation under control. She pushed her right knee up towards his spine and used all her strength to force him down onto the ground. He fell down face first, writhing and cursing. She took off her scarf and tethered the man's wrists together so tightly that he groaned.

"Bloody cunt! What the hell are you doing?"

"I told you, you got the wrong woman this time! Didn't you hear me? I'm a cop, goddamn it! You bastard!

"I didn't do anything... " he said after a short silence and with a more measured tone of voice.

"No?"

She pressed him down harder onto the gravel surface with her knee and pulled out her mobile phone. She called the nearest police station.

"I need help. A man attacked me. I have him here with his hands tied up."

She described who she was and her exact location and while waiting for the police to show up she rang Kalle – she needed to hear a friendly voice.

She told him what had happened.

"Where are you?" he asked impatiently.

"It's okay Kalle, everything is under control."

"I'm coming NOW. WHERE ARE YOU?" he roared down the receiver.

There was no point arguing with him.

A police patrol arrived at the scene and two officers attended to the assailant. He screamed in protest. It wasn't him who should be dragged off to the police station; it was that bloody police bitch. She had squeezed his throat so tightly, that for a brief moment he had been convinced he was going to die.

"I'll report her for police brutality!" he shouted. "You'll go to jail, you bitch."

He carried on screaming abuse until one of the police officers pointed out that his threatening behaviour against Sanna was only going to make matters worse for him.

A policewoman took a detailed statement from Sanna.

"Is there anything else you would like to know?" she asked calmly.

The policewoman looked questioningly at her.

"No, I think I've got all the necessary information. We can take the bicycle in the trunk of the car and drive you home. Is there anyone there?"

"No, but I've called a colleague. I think he'll be here any moment now."

At that moment, Kalle came running towards them through the forest. He took her in his arms and held her tight. Suddenly all the strength drained out of her body. He could feel her trembling but she held back her tears.

The policewoman watched them and then headed back to the police car.

"I'll drive you home, Sanna," said Kalle as he picked up her bicycle, which was still lying on the ground. The police had finished photographing the crime scene and Kalle was given permission to move it.

"I'll take the bike in the trunk..."

"NO!" she answered curtly. "Leave it." She glared at it with disgust. "I don't want to see that piece of junk again. Let it rot!"

Kalle was taken aback by her reaction. He moved the bicycle from where it had fallen and leaned it against a tree, locking it securely. He laid his arm on her back and they walked to his car, which was parked a few hundred metres away.

Sanna was like a sister to him.

Once safely back in her apartment, Sanna flopped down onto the sofa. She had stopped shaking but was a shrunken, ghostlike figure. Kalle lifted her legs up, placed a cushion behind her head and covered her body with a red blanket.

"I'll make some tea. You lie here and try to rest for a while."

While Sanna rested and drank her hot tea Kalle rang Mia. She knew that Sanna and her husband were very close – that Sanna was a loner and regarded Kalle like a brother and that the feeling was mutual.

Mia suggested that he stay the night. After all, Sanna probably shouldn't be left alone. Kalle had been planning to do just that but was hoping Mia would take the initiative. The idea would be better coming from her.

After saying goodnight to his children, he walked back to the sofa to tell Sanna of his plans but she already fallen into a deep sleep.

Kalle decided against moving her into the bedroom. He fetched another blanket and laid it over her. He looked around and found a comfortable armchair to sit in.

He rubbed his forehead and pondered the situation. He watched her with fascination. She was attractive, easy to talk to, good humoured and friendly. She had all the qualities one could desire in a partner but for some reason she was always alone. There was nobody in her life – either male or female.

Kalle knew that Sanna had been involved in sporadic relationships but none of them lasted very long. As soon as an affair began to get serious she broke it off immediately. She had a tendency to reject any form of commitment.

What was she afraid of?

Was it because of all the criminals she dealt with? Was she intimidated?

Mia was also very fond of Sanna. She knew that she could trust her, even though Sanna and Kalle spent a lot of time together. More time than she was able to spend with him.

Sanna often said that Mia and Kalle were lucky to have found each other.

HER BREATH WAS HEAVY and she could feel the adrenalin coursing through her body. He swung the club wildly again and again through the air. One blow would be enough to knock her out. She moved her head to the right, to the left and circled him, ducking to avoid the blows.

She got herself into position and kicked the man's arm with all her power. He was so surprised by the suddenness of her attack that he lost his grip on the baton. She wasted no time and kicked him again, this time on his chest. He fell down and hit his face on a stone. There was a loud crack and his mouth began to bleed; a couple of front teeth had been broken. She picked up the baton from the ground and jumped onto his back. She thrashed and thrashed repeatedly until he was motionless, lying flat on the ground unable to move. She had overpowered him.

Markus screamed: "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, SANNA!" He gripped her arms tightly and shook her.

She wrenched herself free and bent down to whisper in his ear, grabbing his hair and forcing him to look at her. "I'm not done with you!"

Her father looked at her mockingly. She pushed him away and he laughed.

_A little girl was sitting on a rock cradling a broken doll in her arms and humming monotonously: "it's alright now, it's alright now..."_ It was her little sister, Malin. __

IT WAS SEVEN O'CLOCK in the morning and the sun's rays inched towards the sofa where Sanna was lying.

The light caressed her face and she turned away, burying her head into the cushion. She stirred. Her sleepy eyes caught sight of Kalle who was still slumbering, curled up in an armchair opposite her. He was resting his feet on a small wooden stool that Sanna normally kept in the bathroom. His tie was draped over the right arm of the chair and his white shirt was hanging out of his trousers, its top buttons undone.

"What happened? What time is it?" she asked drowsily.

Kalle opened his eyes and straightened up in the chair. He grimaced with discomfort as he changed position.

"Good morning, Sanna!" He smiled at her. "How are you?"

Sanna was still a bit disoriented and looked questioningly at him.

Kalle wasn't surprised at her reaction. It must be strange waking up and finding him in her apartment, especially so early in the morning.

"I didn't want to leave you alone after what happened," he explained. "Don't worry, I spoke to Mia and she was the one who suggested it."

They were silent. Sanna was a woman who always liked to maintain the façade of self-reliance but deep down she was touched that Kalle had cared enough to be there when she needed him most.

"Thank you, Kalle," she answered. "That was nice of you and Mia but you really didn't need to stay."

"Of course I did! There was no way I was going to leave you alone," he said, watching her intently. "You were restless during the night. I tried to wake you but you turned around and continued dreaming."

Sanna didn't respond and stared down at the table.

"I don't know what I would have done without you and Mia's help," she said finally and burst into floods of tears.

Kalle had expected this. Sanna had been far too controlled after the attack and he wanted to be by her side when she finally let out her feelings. He moved closer and hugged her.

The minutes ticked by. They lost all track of time. She dried her tears and blew her nose into a handkerchief. They giggled at the amusing sound.

"I'll get you some water," said Kalle. He walked into the large, well-planned kitchen and turned on the tap.

"Here!" He passed her a glass of water. She drank it all down in one gulp.

"Thanks. I needed that," she said gratefully. "I'll go and take a shower and then make breakfast."

"I'll make coffee in the meantime," said Kalle.

MARIA FLOPPED DOWN into the chair next to the window. She had never had a problem with her energy levels before, but recently she had become aware of her poor physical condition. In her previous life as a sexologist she never needed to think about it. She didn't know whether it was down to laziness, ignorance or just pure lack of interest, but now she was in a situation where without muscle power she wouldn't get very far.

One of the prerequisites for succeeding with this type of project was a well-trained body. She had to be fast, nimble and tough.

She leaned back in the chair, troubled.

"Calm down Maria, calm down," she repeated to herself. "Rome wasn't built in a day."

There was a wide assortment of gyms to choose from on the Internet. Unfortunately, their prices didn't fit her budget.

Instead, she searched the Internet for training equipment. She decided to buy a selection of weights and prepared a list of items to purchase. She glanced at the time on her mobile. It was twelve thirty.

_"Knocking On Heaven's Door"_ by Guns N'Roses was playing in the background. She walked over to the DVD player and raised the volume. She hummed and moved her body to the rhythm of the music.

She was still full after eating a huge brunch at ten o'clock, consisting of muesli with milk, two cheese sandwiches, one boiled egg and a large café latte.

"I need another coffee," she thought.

While sipping the hot drink she googled "martial arts". There were a number of different training methods she could use to build up her strength and increase her flexibility.

Maria looked at the clock. In ten minutes she would have to leave and buy the equipment.

She walked over to the window. It had started to rain again. She put on her leather jacket, grabbed an umbrella and triple locked the front door.

"Damn!" She unlocked the door again, turned off the DVD player and picked up a little travel bag.

A SHOP ASSISTANT LOOKED AT Maria's purchases with amusement. He had showed her a variety of alternatives and she had finally settled on a set of barbells and dumbbells. Her economic situation and lack of transport prevented her from looking at other options.

She bought a barbell and two dumbbell grips with security locks as well as six discs of varying weights. She could, if necessary, buy supplementary weights in the future. The shop assistant had also suggested a bench press, but Maria declined. This would stretch her budget too much.

She thanked the assistant for being so helpful and he nodded and smiled at her as she left the shop.

AT TWO O'CLOCK ON Monday afternoon Sanna was sitting in her office. The traumatic weekend had left its scars. She was tired and not in the best of moods. She couldn't remember the last time she had experienced a night of uninterrupted sleep.

The events of the weekend hadn't helped matters. She was tired and annoyed as well as concerned that the attack might attract the attention of her colleagues. As the one who had been assaulted, she would now be the focus of a criminal investigation. She was the victim.

"I really don't have time for this," she muttered in irritation. "And definitely not for some bloody trial that won't lead anywhere. In order to convict him I need evidence that he assaulted me and that'll be difficult to prove since he never actually laid a hand on me."

On reflection, nothing much had happened. But she still regarded it as a personal violation and that was the main reason she was so upset.

It was the first time somebody had attempted to physically assault her.

She thought about other cases she had worked with. There were women who had been battered, abused or raped. How did they ever get over it? How did they forget and move on to live normal lives?

She was convinced that her case would be dismissed directly.

Why bother to prosecute when the outcome was already determined? Moreover, she wanted to avoid any publicity at all costs.

"GOOD MORNING!" SHE OPENED the door to Henrik Blom's room. As usual he was already in the office. She wanted to brief her boss about the incident and request that the investigation be handled with the utmost secrecy. She hoped that as few people as possible would be involved. She was afraid the case would reach the press and that her reputation as a detective would be damaged.

Henrik Blom understood her misgivings. If the case became public knowledge it wouldn't reflect well on her or the Police force in general. He promised to take all necessary precautions.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she answered dryly. "Thanks for asking."

Sanna turned to leave.

"I suggest you take a few days off," added Blom.

She turned around.

"And what would I do then?"

Blom glowered. He realized there was no point in arguing with her, above all not now when she was in such a sensitive situation.

"I mean well. I'm just concerned about you," he said.

"What do you mean?" said Sanna.

"There have been so many cases recently and..."

Sanna glared at him and left the room without a word.

SANNA TOLD KALLE that she had informed Blom about the weekend's events and suggested he contact him as well.

"He wants you to be involved but I said no. I need you here to help with the Svenson investigation..."

"He's already been in touch with me. He wants me to keep an eye on things," said Kalle.

"But why?"

"Sanna, even if he hadn't asked I would still do it. You know that."

She stared at Kalle but didn't respond. If the situations were reversed she would have done the same for him.

"This won't be the first time he has attacked a woman, and although he hasn't been prosecuted before, lets hope we find him on our register and that the evidence that could connect him hasn't been erased."

Sanna nodded in agreement.

"He's right," she thought. It would be wrong not to handle things correctly and investigate the case just as we would any other report of attempted assault.

"Promise me you won't spend too much time on it."

He smiled. He planned to follow the whole process very carefully and to even keep her attacker in mind when he investigated other crimes.

A WOMAN DRESSED IN BLACK from head to toe sat on a neatly made double bed with a white quilt and four white cotton pillows. She was perched on the edge of the bed flipping through a photograph album, turning the pages without looking at them. She held the album to her breast. Her eyes were red and swollen and a few solitary tears ran down her cheeks. She closed the book and stood up.

She was in Alva's apartment. It was a small but well planned studio apartment of thirty-six square metres. Along the wall of the narrow hallway was a bench with storage drawers containing hats, shoes and other outdoor accessories. The hallway led into a sparse but well equipped kitchenette. On the walls hung photograph collages in frames of varying sizes and in front of the window there was a table and two chairs. On top of the table were piles of neatly sorted newspaper cuttings. An Ikea bookcase full of books and files stood at the left side of the room. Near the bed to the right was a door that led to a small bathroom. It was a girl's place. Alva Aldhamo's place. An apartment that Maria had continued to rent despite her daughter's death. Maria had promised herself that she would hold onto the apartment until the day she found Alva's murderer.

Maria went over to the bookcase where Alva had stored a box of everyday items that she considered useful. She opened it and looked at the contents inside; thread, nails, scissors, screws, hammer and other useful items. Then she closed the box carefully and returned it to the shelf.

The apartment was exactly how Alva had left it.

OVER THE LAST THREE YEARS she had dealt with many scumbags. Men, who, in one way or another, had determined that they had the right to decide over someone else's life. Unfortunately, so far, she hadn't succeeded in finding the man who was guilty of Alva's murder.

The task of tracing a man who didn't seem to exist involved intense detective work. He wasn't registered in any of the databases at her disposal or on the Internet. All she had to go on were two photographs that Alva had taken with her iPhone and sent her by mms of a man who went by the name Alex.

In her efforts to trace him she had even scoured the newspapers for information on current rape investigations and attended the trials of some of the men accused. In addition, she had regularly monitored the latest information at Statistics Sweden and the Swedish National Council for Crime Prevention regarding the number of reported sexual assaults against women and children.

She had made a detailed survey of suspects in serious assault cases. She created a simple Excel file, which she named: _Murder Suspects._ All these men had, in one way or another, been suspects in an investigation that were categorized as brutal assaults, similar to the attack on her daughter. Some of these involved sexual abuse against children.

The exercise was good training and she became quite a competent detective. Once she determined who the assailant was she recorded their habits and interests – which clubs, pubs and discos they frequented. She spied on them and observed how they flirted with women or young girls. And, most important of all, if these encounters had ended in violence.

Maria would make an excellent detective. But this wasn't in her plan. She was a sexologist and she enjoyed her work. At least she had enjoyed it until the day her daughter was murdered.

She sat down and began to shuffle through the papers that were on the table with mechanical efficiency.

She had done a great deal but it still wasn't enough. She needed to do more. She needed to change her appearance in order to attract the men who had been interested in Alva.

With renewed determination she grabbed the scissors that were lying on the table beside the newspaper cuttings and walked to the bathroom. She studied her face in the mirror. In one hand she held up a length of her hair debating how much to cut away. Finally, she gripped the scissors hard and, working quickly, cut her hair close to the roots.

She regarded her reflection. Her long flowing locks were gone and she looked a lot younger.

She had the same clothes size as her daughter, if not the same fashion sense. Maria opened the door of Alva's minimalist wardrobe and stood there examining the clothes inside. After a while she turned around and walked towards the window. She felt unsure. She gazed at the building opposite, but the sound of chattering on the street below distracted her and she looked down just as a group of punk rockers were strolling past. She imagined Alva. She hadn't been a punk but her clothes style reminded her a lot of the youths outside.

Maria walked back to the wardrobe and grabbed a pair of torn jeans, polo shirt, jacket, heavy boots and plaited leather belt, all in black.

She undressed and placed her clothes in a heap on the old armchair by the window. She inspected the outfit she had selected and hastily put it on.

She was ready. She walked back to the bathroom and washed her hands in the basin. She scrutinized her reflection in the mirror. Short hair suited her. She was unrecognizable. She leaned forward and pulled the skin around her eyes. Should she put on a little mascara and eyeliner? She decided against it.

# CHAPTER 16

## The Placard

SEVERAL DAYS HAD ELAPSED since the assault and Sanna's spirits were rising. She had spent a lot of time replaying the day's events in her head and when she did so her adrenalin would start to pump at full speed. She decided to return to the scene of the crime.

It was Friday, a regular workday, and the clock had just struck five past two. She took a late lunch break, but instead of going to a restaurant she headed towards the forest – to the place where she had been assaulted.

She carried a huge poster under her arm. "Taxi!" she called out to a passing cab that stopped at her command.

"I'm going to Lill-Jansskogen, it's near Frescati..."

"Yeah, I know," answered the taxi driver.

As usual, the traffic moved slowly. She regretted not taking her Harley-Davidson instead but had been concerned that the placard might attract unwanted attention as well as the real possibility that it would be damaged during transportation.

It took nearly forty-five minutes to reach Lill-Jansskogen. She paid the driver and made her way to the place where she had been attacked, which wasn't far from the car park.

The forest was empty this time. It was a strange feeling – she wasn't scared, but her heart was beating and a sense of unease had lodged in the pit of her stomach. She stopped for a minute.

At this point it was crucial not to hold back. She had come this far and now she must carry out her plan. She was surprised to find the bicycle in exactly the same spot that Kalle had left it. She fished out a rope, tape and a pair of scissors from her handbag and walked over to the bicycle. Holding up the placard she inspected it for a few seconds. She was pleased with what was written. She threaded the string through the four holes she'd drilled into the poster's four corners and attached it to the crossbar of the bicycle, between the two wheels and through the spokes. She made sure it was attached properly then stepped back a few paces to survey the result. Hopefully it would remain there for a few days.

With a jolt she checked the time on her phone. "Damn it!" It was already four o'clock. As she left the scene she kept turning around until she could no longer see the poster or the bicycle.

A PASSING FEMALE CYCLIST glanced at the text. She dismounted and walked back to read the message in more detail:

"In this spot I was attacked by a rapist – a cowardly bastard who believes he has the right to take any woman he chooses... This time he failed... What will happen next time when he or another attacker tries again?"

The cyclist scoped the surrounding area and scrambled back onto her bicycle and pedalled away at full speed.

DOCTOR ANDRE CHAIB, accompanied by Börge Svenson and Anna Sundvall, a nurse at the ward, walked down the busy corridors and stopped in front of Viktor Svenson's room.

It was nine o'clock on a Monday morning and the doctors and nurses were busy doing their morning rounds. Some were holding charts while others were carrying trays stacked with various medications. One by one they marched into the patient's rooms.

The group came to a halt outside Viktor's room. Dr. Andre Chaib, who had approved the visit, updated Börge on Viktor's current condition and what was being done for the child in medical terms. The escorting police officer stood next to them, listening.

The plaintiff's mother, Kristina Borelius-Montana, had specifically requested that Börge Svenson be stripped of his visitation rights. Her request was motivated by fear that a visit would have devastating consequences for Viktor's health. She believed that her grandson had most likely witnessed the attack on his mother, if not the murder itself and that Börge's presence would remind him of that horrible day.

But circumstances had been such that policy makers felt that there were not sufficient grounds to prevent Börge Svenson from seeing his son and, moreover, he wasn't considered a threat to the child.

Alkelius had been forced to admit that the child's doctor, Andre Chaib, had no objections to the planned visit. Furthermore, Chaib assured them he would take the added precaution of accompanying Svenson throughout the visit.

During the court proceedings Tallén insisted that Börge's sole wish was to see his son and – at a time like this – show his support. He pointed out that, according to the law, they had a responsibility to try and minimize the negative consequences for children whose parents are incarcerated. For the good of both parties contact between both parties should be encouraged and facilitated whenever possible.

Doctor Andre Chaib opened the door to Viktor's room and entered with Börge Svenson.

Viktor was propped up in his bed and Kristina, sitting on a chair next to him, was reading aloud from a newspaper. When she saw Börge she jumped out of her seat as if she'd seen a ghost.

Viktor, who up to now had been very calm and never shown the slightest interest in what went on in his room, reacted violently. His small body tensed up, and he began trembling. His jaw clenched and his eyes appeared to protrude from their sockets. A strained sound – like a constricted scream – forced itself through his teeth. Saliva ran down his chin. For a moment it seemed his body was about to explode.

Chaib was stunned.

He was an experienced paediatrician and had dealt with many children in a similar condition. Viktor's reaction was highly unusual.

"Get out! Haven't you done enough damage already? Are you trying to kill your son too?" Kristina yelled. She knew Viktor was afraid of his father.

The doctor suspected the boy's fit had been provoked by Börge's presence and asked him to leave the room immediately.

Börge Svenson, completely bewildered by what had transpired, left the room without protest and waited outside hoping that eventually he would be allowed back in.

A nurse ran into the room and inserted a syringe containing a sedative into Viktor's left arm. A few minutes later his cramps subsided.

Dr. Chaib stared at the boy aghast, haunted by the terrible realization that he should have listened to Viktor's grandmother. He felt responsible for what just happened.

He had no idea how to handle the situation.

He desperately wanted to avoid a confrontation with the boy's father, who was waiting for him outside Viktor's room. What would he say?

"Did your son watch you beat your wife to death?" He felt his anger growing, but he made an effort to remain calm. He needed to keep up appearances, at least for now.

Dr. Chaib asked Viktor's grandmother to step outside for a moment.

A nurse burst into the room carrying an oxygen mask, which she quickly applied to the boy's face.

Half an hour later the nurse came out of the room to speak to Kristina, who had been standing outside Viktor's door the whole time. After a brief conversation Kristina was allowed back into the boy's room. A tube had been inserted into his nose and he was breathing loudly.

The doctor informed her that there was nothing to do but wait. However, if there were no improvements during the day, they would probably move Viktor back to intensive care.

Dr. Chaib knew that he would have to speak to Svenson. He wouldn't tell him what had happened. He was far too upset to discuss the matter. But most of all he was disappointed with himself for not taking Kristina's fears more seriously.

He paused outside Viktor's room, giving Svenson a fleeting and dismissive glance. Börge approached him.

"My suggestion is that you refrain from visiting your son until further notice. After all, we must do everything we can to ensure Viktor's well-being and avoid anything that may worsen his condition, which is already critical." said Dr. Chaib.

Viktor would be prescribed sedatives for a week and Dr. Chaib would strictly monitor the boy's condition as well as contact Dr. Juan Ramires, who was the child psychiatrist at the unit.

Nurse Anna Sundvall had been responsible for Viktor's care during the majority of his stay and was clearly concerned. She carefully noted down the doctor's orders and recommendations that under no circumstances should the father be allowed to visit his son.

BORGE SVENSON'S VISIT had devastating consequences. After his fit, Viktor fell into a coma, and was readmitted to intensive care. He had breathing difficulties and his jaw had clamped shut, which further complicated the process of feeding him through a tube.

KRISTINA BORELIUS-MONTANA called Sanna Johansson. She didn't know who else to contact. Sanna had been so helpful and Kristina felt a special connection with her. The anxiety in Kristina's voice caused Sanna to assume the worst. She immediately took a taxi to the intensive care unit at Karolinska's paediatric wing.

When she entered Viktor's room Sanna was rendered speechless. She looked at Kristina searchingly. Why was he hooked up to all these tubes? Kristina sat next to Viktor's bed, squeezing his left hand. She was a sad, defeated woman with dark circles under her eyes and a pale, expressionless face.

"There was nothing I could do to stop it..." she burst into tears.

Sanna walked up to her and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"What couldn't you stop?"

"His visit!"

"What visit, Kristina? I don't understand!"

"Börge's visit."

"Do you mean that Börge caused this? What happened?"

"Nobody listened to me... Nobody believed me! I was afraid this would happen."

"Please, Kristina. Can you tell me what happened?"

Kristina looked at her impassively.

"Viktor went into shock when he heard his father come into the room. You were right, Viktor must have been able to hear everything – this whole time."

"What happened exactly?"

Kristina gazed at the floor. Her eyes welled with tears.

"Viktor went into a fit. His little body stretched out like a stick and he started trembling." She blew her nose and continued. "He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth... I don't know. I was so scared! He sounded really strange, as if he was trying to scream but couldn't. It was terrible! Terrible!"

Sanna was dumbfounded. She turned to face Viktor. The only indication that he was alive came from the occasional beep of the machines and the oscillating sinus waves.

THE RITZ CLUB WAS noisy and crowded. The loud music in the background forced the guests to yell at each other.

She wore a knee-length tight black skirt, a low-cut, but elegant black shirt; and a pair of black pumps with sky-high stiletto heels. She had combed her short hair backwards and long black earrings adorned her ears. She wore very little make-up, except for heavy black eyeliner around her eyes and light, pale pink lipstick.

Maria was carrying a Martini. She found a comfortable spot from where she had a good view of what was going on in the club, particularly at the bar, which was where most guests gathered if they were hoping to meet new people.

It was midnight and the majority of guests were intoxicated. They hugged each other and laughed. Every now and then a peculiar screeching sound was discernible above the fray. It came from a woman who was sitting with a gang of people at the back of the club and clearly having a good time.

Some of the people at the bar were being exaggeratedly pleasant towards one another – common behaviour at a pick-up joint like Ritz.

Maria watched a man stroll into the club. He paused at the entrance and looked around then immediately approached a couple of giggling young women. The newcomer stood next to them and ordered a pint. They didn't seem to know each other, but after a few minutes he began a conversation with them.

"Good music... what's the name of the singer?" he asked.

"Yeah, the music's great!" answered the blonde woman with a broad smile. "Oh! What's her name? You know?" she said, turning to her friend who was staring sourly at her empty wine glass. She signalled to the bartender that she wanted a refill.

"No idea," she spluttered. She had consumed more alcohol than her petite figure could handle.

"Nice place... do you come here often?"

"Sometimes, but we prefer Café Opera," answered the red head, unperturbed by his predictable pick up line.

They introduced themselves and chatted amiably about this and that.

"Can I buy you girls another drink?"

The women raised their glasses. "Thanks! But we're okay," they replied, smiling.

"Cheers!"

"Cheers to you too! Maybe I can buy you one later?"

"If you want to... Sure, why not?" responded the red head flirtatiously.

They spent the rest of the evening together. He bought more drinks and the women accepted them gladly.

MARIA MOVED A LITTLE closer to the group but not close enough for the man to notice her presence. She stood at a safe distance straining to listen in on their conversation and registered every slight movement he made. She could sense danger – something was wrong, but she couldn't put her finger on it. The man had a hesitant expression, and every so often he stroked his face nervously. A man approached Maria, but she didn't want company. She excused herself and explained that she was waiting for someone and her girlfriend wouldn't like it if it looked like she was flirting in her absence. It was usually a good strategy to ward off unwanted suitors. As soon as they heard the word 'girlfriend' they tended to leave her alone, although sometimes it had the opposite effect and was like placing a sugar cube in a swarm of bees.

She was there to keep a watchful eye over the girls, not to entertain herself. To be a stand-in 'mother', like the women who wandered the city at night to protect youngsters, only she wasn't sporting a jacket with her role printed across it.

"I have to powder my nose," said the blond woman to her friend, giggling as they walked to the ladies room.

After several minutes – typical when two women go to the bathroom together – they returned to the bar where the man was waiting for them.

"I took the liberty of ordering drinks for you. White wine, of course, as that's what you've been drinking this evening..."

The women were jubilant, oblivious to the fact that their generous companion had taken the opportunity to 'spice' their drinks.

Maria had been watching him carefully, suspecting this type of scenario. She'd seen it before. On many occasions her suspicions were exaggerated, but at other times she was proved correct.

Following Alva's death Maria had developed a certain insight into the predator's ability to deny their own actions, seeing themselves instead as a friend or father – someone with good intentions.

Maria was an educated psychologist who specialized in human sexuality and behaviour patterns. Initially the subject hadn't interested her but a random experience eighteen years ago persuaded her to delve deeper into the subject. While she was studying at The Institute of Psychology she met a man who sparked her interest. However, he had serious sexual hang-ups and their relationship didn't function on an intimate level, despite their mutual attraction. Frustration at her inability to understand the root of his problems spurred her to read books on the subject of sexology and she found the subject so intriguing she decided to make it her specialty.

Moreover, Maria's interest in what went on in bars and nightclubs began when she started observing and sitting in on rape trials. She wanted to know what kind of man would commit such acts. See him up close and learn how he targeted his victims. How he lured the women into his trap. Were the assaults usually carried out in the open air? Did he drug his victims first? There were numerous methods but she was particularly intrigued by cases where the suspect had drugged or beaten the rape or murder victim.

She was drawn to specific trials if the description of the defendant matched that of Alex, or if the injuries on the woman were similar to those discovered on Alva's body.

Primarily she hoped to see Alex in the courtroom.

Maria had been patiently stalking one particular man for a number of weeks, frequenting the same clubs and bars and studying his routines and habits. She had hung around until she caught his eye and he offered to buy her a drink. She hoped to catch him red handed and pretended to go to the bathroom, purposefully leaving her drink on the bar. She waited and watched until she saw him pour something into her glass. Then she knew for certain that the friendly man who'd made such an effort to charm her had ulterior motives. That was the moment she decided to give him and others like him a taste of their own medicine. She risked her life to follow presumptuous rapists home and so far she had dealt with three men. All of whom got what they deserved.

But her bar and club visits were not just to stalk the men she'd seen in the courtrooms. She was also trying to prevent further assaults. She was shocked to realize the extent of the problem. Women out to have fun were rarely aware of the danger they were in, and far too often they would go to the toilet and leave their drinks behind. Something they should never do.

The women at Ritz hadn't touched their spiked white wine yet. Maria felt she needed to act quickly but she couldn't alert them without the man overhearing.

"Excuse me!" she slurred as she stumbled heavily onto him.

"Damn it! Watch where you're going!" yelled the man in irritation as he stretched out his arm to avoid falling onto the counter. He knocked over the full wine glasses with his hand and they shattered on the floor.

"Sorry!" slurred Maria and continued wobbling toward the cloakroom.

The two women stared at her.

"Well, at least you're having fun," retorted one of the women.

"Shit! No!" said the other woman as she stared at her dress, shaking off the stains the spilled wine had made. "This is awful! I don't want to stay at this bloody dump," she continued, dragging her friend towards the ladies room.

The man watched the women leave – his plan had gone to hell due to a fucking drunk.

Maria grabbed the opportunity to tell them why she had 'stumbled'.

IT WASN'T LONG BEFORE the press got wind of the placard in Lill-Jansskogen and it was featured in all the newspapers. The Evening Post's headline read:

"Who is the mystery victim?"

The story was illustrated with a large photograph of the poster with the text still visible despite the rain's attempt to wash it away.

" _Women have had enough"_ was the title of another. Beneath the photograph was a footnote stating that the newspaper had received numerous tips from readers concerning the identity of the assaulted woman, but that none of them had proved accurate so far.

Sanna's case was confidential. She had asked Blom to instruct the investigation team to handle the case with discretion. It was forbidden to discuss the case with anyone else. At work, so far only Kalle knew about the incident, but it was only a matter of time before other police officers found out what had happened to her.

KALLE HEADED OFF TO Lill-Jansskogen to search the area again. Although he had already studied the crime-scene material, he knew from experience that important details were sometimes missed. He wouldn't be wasting time if he carried out another examination of the area.

In one of the photographs he had spotted a shiny object on the ground, but it was difficult to identify what it was. It didn't match any of the items gathered from the scene as evidence material. He parked his car at a suitable spot and walked into the forest.

To his surprise he saw a large placard that didn't look like Sanna's. His first reaction was to assume that someone had moved Sanna's bike but when he looked around to orientate himself he realized that he was in the wrong place. With brisk steps he made his way deeper into the forest to the spot where he was confident Sanna had been attacked. He stopped. The bike was still here. So was the placard, but it had been badly damaged by the rain. He walked quickly back to the first placard and read the text.

"In this very spot, 3 years ago, I was assaulted by a coward who beat me unconscious with a club. He raped me and left me for dead one cold January evening. I'm alive thanks to a guardian angel who, in spite of the cold night, happened to be jogging past."

Kalle was astounded. He read the text again and took multiple photographs from different angles.

"It must've been the same assailant! January, three years ago? There's no date. If we're lucky she filed a police report,"

He went back to where Sanna had been attacked to see if he could find the shiny object in the gravel, but the rain had washed away everything.

Back at the police station he fetched a cup of coffee and sat down in front of his computer to research the assault case that was filed three years ago.

He entered the key words: _January + Rape_ into the database. Hundreds of cases popped up on the screen.

He added the location: _Lill-Jansskogen_

He had forgotten to add the year and four cases appeared on the screen. He read the details of each case and searched methodically for anything that could connect them to Sanna's assault. Two of the victims were attacked by a man with a baton who fit Sanna's description.

HER LAUGHTER ECHOED down the corridor. She stopped for a few seconds and exchanged a few words with some of her colleagues as they welcomed her back. Cecile Thorén was a robust woman. She was of average build, but weighed a few kilos above average for her height, which was 180 centimetres. She was muscular, and her confident bearing gave the impression that she was a strong character who was capable of steeling herself in a way that distinguished her from many of her colleagues.

Two years ago Cecile had moved to Stockholm from Ystad to live with her partner Adam who was also a police officer.

"Hey!" she greeted them cheerfully as she entered the room. Her wide smile revealed white teeth. She tried to put her wet locks of hair behind her ears, but they stubbornly stuck to her freshly washed, oval-shaped face. Her clear blue eyes reflected her calm spirit. Thorén had a strong Skåne accent that could be problematic, particularly at work. Criminals regularly teased her by asking what she was doing in Stockholm.

"Welcome!" said Blom. Sanna, Kalle and Javier, who were also in the room, returned the greeting. After the customary polite exchanges and comments appropriate for a woman recently returned from maternity leave, Cecile Thorén was advised that she would be working with Kalle and Javier.

Half an hour later, Kalle, Javier and Thorén left for Kalle's office where they spent the next hour updating her on the complexity of the investigation and, above all, the responsibilities of each team member. But, on the whole, the division of tasks would be relatively fluid and reflect the circumstances as they unfolded. The job demanded flexibility. She also learned that Sanna and Kalle were working on the Ingrid Svenson investigation, which was considered well on its way to completion. Javier was in charge of the Aldhamo investigations and, for the moment, Kalle was shuttling between the two cases. There was a vast amount of material to be analysed and Javier wouldn't be able to complete it alone in such a short time window. Apparently, there was a suspicion that the Alva Aldhamo case would prove compromising for Börge Svenson and for this reason they were asked to find out as quickly as possible whether Svenson was connected to her murder.

Thorén was given a stack of paperwork to go through, but she was accustomed to immersing herself in new projects and had no problem familiarizing herself with the investigation.

When Sanna found out that Thorén was returning from maternity leave she decided to include her on the team as an additional resource. She had asked around and everyone she spoke to only had good things to say about her. It seemed she was well-liked and respected with a reputation for hard work and commitment. That was exactly the type of person Sanna needed in her team.

THE PRESS CONTINUED TO WRITE about violence against women drawing attention to the out-dated patriarchal structures that keep women oppressed. If, as we are led to believe, we live in an equal society, why is it that more and more women feel unsafe?

"Women have had enough – women who have been raped and assaulted have had the courage to follow the mystery woman's example."

"The government is powerless in the fight against abuse of women."

During the same period there were a number of articles describing the case of a police officer on trial for rape as well as the attitudes surrounding women and sexuality within the country's judiciary system and police force, and the huge deficiencies that were exposed during the investigation of certain rape cases.

On numerous city sites, mainly parks and forested areas, new placards were visible where women described their experiences. There were placards condemning the court's wrongful decisions and the judges' right to interpret the law freely. They exposed instances of flawed verdicts stemming from incompetence as well as the misguided method of cross-examining the rape victim herself. Victims were asked questions related to how they were dressed or whether they were sexually active – and if so, to what degree. These were questions competent judges should never ask and competent prosecutors never permit.

Others wrote about how the legal system treated people differently depending on who they were.

Many bloggers had lively discussions on the topic. They reflected society in general. There were feminists discussing women's rights in society. There were anti-feminists ridiculing the uproar created by a stupid placard. There were politicians outlining what their parties were doing to solve the problem, which boiled down to a difference in policy between the right and left wing.

On Facebook a support group was started where women could talk about their personal experiences or simply write on a virtual poster that had been set up by the page creators for those who wanted to remain anonymous.

MARIA WALKED TO THE WINDOW and looked down at the people on the street. She was preoccupied reflecting on her life's mission and the many risks it incurred. She needed to find new methods. After working out intensely to build her muscles she had become much stronger physically, but she needed to equip herself better. She dug a notebook out of her handbag and sat down on the chair next to the small table and started to write.

To Buy:

Pepper spray

Sound alarm

Weapon?

She pulled the laptop towards her and googled 'assault spray'. A list popped up with different sites offering a variety of assault gear. She noted the availability of pepper spray and alarms. There was also a product called _bodyguard_ , which was new to her. It was a self-defence spray that had a blinding effect, causing temporary eye irritation lasting for five to ten minutes.

Moreover, it contained a dye and emitted a stench that made the assailant gag.

"Sounds good," she mumbled to herself and added it to the list.

'Foam spray.' She had heard about that. Like Bodyguard, it was a spray that contained a dye and had a blinding effect, but this one also paralyzed the assailant. She wrote down the product details. Apparently, it released a strong red dye that stuck to the skin for up to 30 days. "And one of those," she nodded to herself and noted it down before continuing her search.

"MultiGir, what's that?" She clicked on 'Info'. It was a multifunctional tool, which could prove useful. According to the description it had a GPS, motion detector, vibrating sensor, temperature sensor, a bug, as well as GSM for communication and tracking. "Damn it!" she exclaimed when she saw the price – it cost over six thousand kronor.

Maria leaned back in her chair and rocked back and forth with her hands clasped behind her neck. She would buy a MultiGir as soon as she had gone through her finances. It wasn't easy always counting pennies. She would have to go out to work for a while. She didn't take issue with getting a temporary cleaning job or working in a restaurant, as long as she earned enough money to buy what she considered necessary.

The list was coming together, it contained:

Pepper spray

Sound alarm

Bodyguard

Foam spray

MultiGir (to purchase later)

Weapon?

The question of whether to acquire a gun hung in the air. She was afraid that in a critical situation, pepper spray or the equivalent wouldn't be sufficient, even though many of them could knock out an assailant for up to thirty minutes and should be enough to render a man harmless.

The doubt about what she should do if she found herself in a vulnerable position lingered.

"I need something to strike an attacker with. A stone? Ridiculous! It would be clumsy and tricky to handle."

She glanced at the window. The rain had stopped and the sun was shining. "A baton? Maybe at home, but not to carry around." She leaned her elbows on the table, rested her head on the palm of her hand. She convinced herself of her moral right to be able to defend herself. What was better – to be in a position of disadvantage, or to defend yourself until the last moment?

"Either I'm the one who strikes first or the one who is struck down." It all boiled down to self-defence.

She looked at the list again.

"Do I need so many similar defence tools?" She nodded slowly to herself. "Probably. I won't use them at the same time. It depends on the circumstances..."

She went into the kitchen and turned on the coffee machine. She was tired and restless. She let her gaze drift around the room. A flower on the windowsill was in dire need of water. Next to it was a large pestle made of cast iron. Maria walked to the window and lifted the pestle – it felt heavy. She grasped it firmly and made a striking motion.

She added a pestle to the list. She smiled to herself and wondered if she wasn't being laughably paranoid, but security was important and she wasn't leaving anything to chance. The situations she planned to expose herself to would involve many risks and she was being realistic, not paranoid. She would have to give it more thought. The next step might be to get a gun, but for now she'd let the matter rest.

"No," she grimaced. The pestle was too big for her tiny handbag.

She walked to Alva's wardrobe. There were bags in all colours and sizes. She chose a black one that was bigger than the one she had just tried and inserted the pestle. This time it fit.

"Good." She checked the list again and ticked off pepper spray and alarm. She would buy _Bodyguard_ and foam spray online, since they promised a speedy delivery. MultiGir would remain on the list so she wouldn't forget it and she made a vow to herself to purchase one in the near future.

IN THE BACKGROUND Sarah Brightman's beautiful, soft and dreamy voice could be heard singing " _Angel_ ".

Sanna sat curled up in the armchair hugging her legs. She felt empty inside. It had been a sad and difficult day. She had just attended the funeral of her beloved Malin. Her life had lost its purpose. The only person who had ever meant anything to her was gone. Sanna had cried throughout the funeral. It was as if all the suppressed sorrow she'd accumulated during her life was suddenly pouring out. She was exhausted.

After her mother had committed suicide, Sanna visited Malin every weekend. At first her grandmother accompanied her, but after she passed away Sanna went alone. Malin was the most important of her siblings. Markus was preoccupied with his own problems and he stubbornly avoided talking about anything that might remind him of the dreadful day their mother gave up and lost the will to live.

Now she sat alone and abandoned. Malin had filled her life with joy. Meeting her sister every Saturday in a calm, harmonious environment had been a welcome relief from the violence and misery of her day-to-day life.

She shivered with cold and grabbed the red blanket that lay on the armrest, arranging it over her legs. Sarah Brightman's melancholic voice was singing Ave Maria by Franz Schubert. Jussi Björling's version had been her mother's favourite song. Sanna got up and walked over to the fridge, but changed her mind and made a chai latte instead. She hugged the warm cup and smelt the scent of cinnamon and carnations.

Sanna remembered her childhood. It had been a living hell watching their mother being regularly abused. Hearing her screams from inside their hiding place, the door slam shut behind their father, realizing that he had finally left. Seeing their mother in tears, but not knowing if they should comfort her or go to their rooms as if nothing had happened. She remembered how Malin would run up to their mother, hug her and hum gently. "There my love, it's over now... it's over now," she would repeat until their mother gathered herself together, pretending to feel fine and force a smile. Sanna and Markus always stood at a distance unsure of what to do. Until their mother talked to them: "Have you done your homework?" or "let's eat..." or "go and watch TV." It was clear she didn't want to talk about what had happened or show that she was upset. That had been their everyday life.

# CHAPTER 17

## Without Trace

JAVIER CONTINUED HIS SEARCH for Maria. He rang Alva's doorbell numerous times, to no avail. He asked around and spoke to many of the flat's tenants, but nobody could give him a satisfactory answer as to who lived in the apartment.

"Yes?" asked an elderly woman through the crack of her opened door.

"Sorry to disturb you, but I'm looking for Alva Aldhamo. She lives on the third floor, but she seems to be out. Do you, by any chance, know if she's on holiday or when she's expected to return?" Javier lied, he was well aware that Alva Aldhamo was dead.

"I'm very sorry, but she died three years ago," the lady answered with a look of concern.

His eyes widened.

"I don't know what to say. This is such a shock. How did she die?"

"I'm not sure how she died, but the police blocked off the apartment for a long time after her death. I heard she was murdered – so tragic!"

"Do you know how I can reach her mother?"

"No, sorry. Rumour has it she moved abroad, but to be honest I don't know anything about it," she said, pushing up her glasses, which were sliding down to the tip of her nose.

"Does anyone else live in the apartment?"

"I don't know," she paused and looked thoughtfully at him. "I've seen a young girl running up the stairs on occasion. I think she lives on the top floor but I haven't talked to her. She always seems to be in a hurry."

She stared expectantly at Javier.

Javier considered his options. He didn't want to give the woman an excuse to ask who he was and why he was looking for Alva, but at the same time this might be a good opportunity to find out where her mother was.

"I borrowed a book from Alva and I haven't had the opportunity to contact her until now, because I've been abroad." He scratched his forehead. "I'd like to return it to her mother."

The woman eyed him up and down. "He looks too old to be one of Alva's friends," she thought.

"Leave your phone number and if I run into her, I'll ask her to get in touch."

He gave her his private number and his real name.

Javier stopped on the stairs, already regretting lying about his reasons for wanting to contact Alva's mother.

"What the hell are you doing, you idiot?" he muttered to himself, slapping his head.

He didn't want any gossip. Maria must have suffered enough after her daughter's murder and for the police to reopen the case now, after three years of silence, was a far from ideal scenario. He wanted to spare her.

He debated his next step. The elderly woman said she'd seen a young woman running up the stairs. She lived on the third floor, and the question was whether the young woman had been headed for the next floor up. No, he was certain she had said the top floor.

He returned to his car and was just about to start the engine when he had a change of heart. He decided to sit behind the wheel and keep a watchful eye on the entrance to Urvädersgränd 1.

After a while an older man came out with a terrier and walked towards Medborgarplatsen. Fifteen minutes later a young woman with a screaming child in a pram stopped outside the door.

It was now quarter past six. He would stay another half hour and then return to Kungsholmen.

KALLE KARLSSON AND CECILE Thorén had spent the last five days examining Svenson's Alva Aldhamo journals. They pored over his accounts of their meetings, their discussions via emails and texts and anything else of interest.

Access to Alva's suspended investigation material had made their work a lot easier and cleared up a number of points.

Javier's earlier observations that Svenson had been in contact with Alva the day she was murdered could now be crosschecked against statements included in the old report.

The documents revealed that the police were aware of this person named Alex, or Alexander Razmik, who seemed to have disappeared without a trace. However, since his name implied that he had a foreign background, the police had been following a completely different lead. They questioned a handful of immigrants who in some way resembled the photos Susanne Aldhamo had given them. In one of the images, Alex was laughing and covering his mouth with his hand. Another showed him in profile. It was obvious he was avoiding being photographed front on.

It felt like the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place at last – Börge Svenson and Alexander Razmik were one and the same person.

"It is quite clear that Svenson's alias Alex was the last person to meet Alva Aldhamo," Kalle said striking the stack of papers with the back of his right hand.

Thorén nodded in agreement.

"It must be him who murdered her!" Thorén said.

They gave each other a long look.

Kalle checked his wristwatch – it was four thirty.

"When are you going home?"

"I should go now, actually," Thorén answered. "But I'll phone home and check in. It would be best to finish the report today, so we can discuss it with Sanna tomorrow – what do you think?"

Kalle nodded doubtfully.

"I can always write it on my own," he swallowed, "I mean, if you need to get home."

"You sure?" she asked, apologetically.

"Absolutely!" he replied. It was Mia's turn to be home with the children. He had also noticed that Thorén's husband had called several times a day since she started in the unit. Kalle suspected she didn't have an easy time at home.

EVERYONE WAS THERE. Tallén whispered something inaudible to his client, who nodded without looking at him.

The prosecutor flipped through his calendar and glanced at his wristwatch, simultaneously making notations on the open page. He frowned.

Javier Mendez sat to the left of Sanna who was adjusting the volume on the recorder. Kalle had just entered the room and went to sit next to the prosecutor.

The routine formalities were repeated.

"How did you meet Alva Aldhamo?" Sanna asked Börge Svenson.

"Alva Aldhamo?" answered Svenson.

"You do know her, don't you?" she insisted.

"No, not that I can recall," he answered in amused tone.

"No? Well that's odd." She flipped through a stack of typed pages, folded open on page 101 and handed it over to him.

"This is compiled from your journals and notes about the women you were seeing while you were married to Ingrid."

"What's the relevance of this?" the defence lawyer snapped. "Why haven't I been shown this earlier?"

"You were informed that we have new evidence, but, as you are also aware, we haven't finished examining the contents of your client's computer. I have two questions I want answered concerning these women." She paused. "The first one refers to Alva Aldhamo. Your client was the last person to meet her before she disappeared and was found dead – murdered, to be more precise," Sanna answered, staring at Svenson.

"What's going on?" exclaimed Svenson in irritation.

"I'll repeat the question," she said calmly. "How did you meet Alva Aldhamo?"

Svenson sat with his arms crossed and his eyes closed.

"Were you with her on the 5th of May three years ago?"

"How should I know? It's a long time ago for God's sake. How can you expect me to remember what I was doing then?"

"Let me refresh your memory." Sanna flipped through her copy of the report. "Here, mid-way down page 150 it's marked in red. You can read your own notes here." She read aloud. " _I'll make sure she's so satisfied that she shuts up! The stupid bitch!"_

Svenson listened, seemingly unmoved.

"That's on the same day Alva supposedly went missing," she said dryly. "I advise you to tell us everything about your relationship with this woman and above all what you mean by the statement that I read out!"

Tallén cleared his throat and stared sternly at Svenson, who sat glued to his chair.

"I want to speak to my client in private." He checked his notes. "However, before I talk to him you might as well tell us know what your second question is."

Kalle and Javier eyed each other.

"The second question concerns Ingalill."

Everyone stared at him.

Svenson squirmed in his seat and closed his eyes again.

"Who's Ingalill?" asked Tallén.

"According to Ingrid Svenson's diary, she was being threatened by a woman called Ingalill. Her details were also found in your client's computer," Sanna continued.

"Her name is Ingalill Segelström," Kalle added.

"I would very much like to speak to my client privately now."

"Sure, go ahead." Sanna left the room with the Prosecutor and the rest of the team.

Tallén had begun to realize that the case wasn't going to be as straightforward as he had hoped. He was no longer quite so self-confident. The new findings complicated matters and the defence had been but in an awkward, unpredictable situation.

Tallén was a respected lawyer who was well connected within the judicial system, which was the reason Harald Svenson had hired him. However, it appeared that his client was withholding compromising information that was making his job much more difficult.

"Who is Alva Aldhamo?" Tallén asked.

"I have nothing to say. She's no one," he answered evasively.

"What do you mean she's no one? It appears that you were having a relationship with a young woman who was murdered the same day you met her," persisted Tallén.

"I've got nothing to say," repeated Svenson sourly. He gave the lawyer a furious stare.

"Börge, don't forget I'm on your side. And if you want me to be able to defend you, then you have to trust me and tell me everything."

Svenson looked at his lawyer nonchalantly.

"Could you at least tell me who Ingalill is...? She seems to have been threatening your wife..."

Tallén's appeals fell on deaf ears. Nothing Svenson said was any help. He kept on insisting that there was nothing to discuss, which sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.

A MORE DIFFICULT PREDICAMENT was how to find Susanne Aldhamo, alias Maria. It was as if the earth had swallowed her up.

Javier checked the databases in vain. Nor did he have any luck with the mainstream online directories such as Eniro or Hitta.se either.

He fetched himself a cup of coffee to relax, but the hot drink did little to dampen his frustration. He put down the mug and instinctively started Googling. Earlier he had searched for her under the name Susanne Aldhamo, but now he tried a different tack.

He typed in the keywords: "Maria + lecture + seminars". A selection of links popped up. He had seen these before. He tried again. This time he added the date.

"What?" He straightened in his chair and stared at the screen of his computer.

"Maria's lecturing at Uppsala University!"

He left the room and strolled into Sanna's office triumphantly.

"I'm leaving for Uppsala tomorrow," he said as he poked his head into her office.

Sanna looked at him blankly.

"I'm leaving for Uppsala tomorrow," he repeated and drummed his fingers on the door frame.

"Yes, I heard you. What are you going to do there?" She knew the investigation team had no time to waste.

"I've found Maria!" he exclaimed and stepped into her office.

"Did you? Tell me!"

They had only had been given three weeks to complete the investigation and so far they had spent at least a week searching for her. Time was running out.

"Apparently she's lecturing at Uppsala University. I'll go there tomorrow morning. The lecture's at three. Ideally I want to speak with her before that otherwise I'll have to wait until she has finished."

"Perfect! Try to organize a time with her here to look at the photographs," she said enthusiastically. "Hopefully she's met him or at least knows what he looks like." She thought for a moment. "If Alva ever spoke to her mother about him of course. It's hard to know how much Susanne Aldhamo actually knows. Since there's such a big age gap it's quite likely that Alva kept the relationship secret from her mother."

"Let's hope that's not the case. So, if she did meet Svenson it shouldn't be too difficult for her to identify him. It's been three years since Alva died, and a man of fifty wouldn't have changed much during that time," Javier said.

Sanna nodded in agreement.

ALTHOUGH TWO WEEKS HAD gone by since Sanna's poster caught the attention of the media, encouraging many women to protest in a similar manner, the wave continued. Sanna had opened the floodgates. Parks, running tracks, tunnels and numerous badly lit places were inundated with protest posters and a variety of texts. Bloggers continued the discussion and publicized articles condemning violence against women and children. Society had been touched in the most unexpected manner.

The press had secured interviews with a number of women who felt strong enough to share their stories with the public.

Women's aid organizations and politicians made a series of statements on the subject. This was a golden opportunity to present their side of the story and how they were helping to reduce the number of abuse cases.

DURING THE TEN YEARS they had regularly worked together on other high profile investigations barely a word had been spoken between them. Sanna didn't know why. Now they were forced to co-operate. Anders Segelström didn't have a choice. He was required to deal with the assignments Sanna delegated to him. However, he continuously went out of his way to ignore her instructions.

Sanna sat at her computer and tried to summarize the technical evidence – what had been found, and how they should proceed. She picked up the phone, but after giving it some thought she put the receiver back down on to the table and walked to Segelström's office. He wasn't there. She took a post-it note from his desk and wrote:

Please contact me, Sanna.

She didn't hear from him.

Sanna called Segelström the next day. Normally she would phone from the office phone, but in this case she decided to call from her mobile. She had readjusted the settings so that he wouldn't be able to see who was calling.

"Anders Segelström," he answered.

"Hi, it's Sanna. I left a message for you..."

"I've been busy," he interrupted sharply.

While she had him on the phone she headed to his office. She always preferred having conversations face to face.

"I need your report so I can compile the main document..."

"There's nothing to say."

She arrived at his office.

"What do you mean?" she asked as she hung up the phone.

"There's nothing to report. I thought I said that," he said, reddening slightly.

Sanna was infuriated. He was definitely somebody to avoid working with in the future and she longed to put him in his place, but this wasn't an appropriate time to start an argument. It wasn't just his extraordinary nonchalance that annoyed her. What bothered her the most was that he totally lacked any sense of responsibility. He was supposed to be an asset to the investigation team but in reality his contribution was zero. Anders Segelström had no plans to help the investigation.

It was clear that she was faced with a dilemma. Should she contact Blom and request that someone more competent replace Segelström? On the other hand, competence was probably not the issue here. Anders had delivered good results in other investigations, which was also the reason she hadn't protested. However, the situation was different now and she was compelled to find a quick solution to the problem. Would it be better to confront him and give him an ultimatum? Or simply let the matter rest and ignore him? As a last resort she could contact Blom, but this would be considered a defeat and would put into question her leadership ability.

She stared at him with what she hoped was a condescending expression.

"I don't know what you're doing... but since you've admitted that you're very busy I guess you don't have time for this investigation..." She turned her back to leave, but paused. "You know, I was expecting good results from you. Apparently you're a competent investigator. But there's just no other solution, I'll have to take care of things myself."

She left the room. He looked at her as if he had just been punched in the face.

SHE STEPPED OUT OF THE shower and droplets from her wet hair ran down her well-trained arms where every muscle was visible. She had just completed her daily exercise routine – part of an intensive training programme. She didn't have much knowledge on the subject. If she were better off financially she would hire a personal trainer but as it was, her saviour had been the Internet; she had done a Google search and discovered a variety of training programs to choose from. Her new goals put a whole series of new demands on her, one of which was to quickly increase her physical strength by building up the muscles in her legs and arms, as well as to improve her stamina. She rigorously followed her training program every day. Regardless of the weather, she carried out each routine as if her life depended on it.

She fetched a cup of freshly brewed coffee, sat down in an old armchair and picked up one of the articles from the table. It was about child abuse.

Scattered across the table were random clippings with different dates and geographic distribution across Sweden.

After a couple of minutes she put the article back down onto the table, leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. She was exhausted but hungry for action.

A lot had changed in Maria's life, not the least of which was her appearance. Although she already looked younger than her age, after her makeover she looked even more youthful. Her slight figure and full face made her look no more than twenty years old. No one would guess she was actually over forty.

She contemplated how her life had changed. She was still tormented by longing for her daughter. They had been more than mother and daughter. They were close friends who could talk about everything, even the most intimate of topics. Alva trusted her mother completely. She was Alva's confidante.

She had tried to give her daughter a good start in life similar to the one her father had given her. He had taught her to be independent, to take control of her own life, to treat people the way you expected to be treated, but also to take responsibility for your own actions. Even though Maria's mother had left them when she was nine years old, her father had managed to provide her with a secure childhood. He had given her the best upbringing any child could hope for, and when she became a parent herself she naturally wanted to do the same for her daughter. From experience she knew that a child who felt loved and understood grew up to be a secure and confident individual.

Maria had been very proud of her daughter. She had grown up to be the person she had hoped for – a responsible and stable woman who believed in herself.

Maria remembered particular moments with Alva and smiled to herself.

Alva was also proud of her mother – her best friend, as she used to call her. She believed that through her education in sexology Maria was well positioned to provide guidance to her friends and she would invite them over to discuss women's sexual development. Maria tried to be open and instructive since the girls complained they didn't receive enough sex education in school.

She had given this a lot of thought. Spreading awareness was important – not only for young people, but for adults too. This in itself was a good reason to consider revoking her earlier decision to quit her job as a sexologist but there was another reason to start working again. Recently she had been struggling financially and desperately wanted to avoid claiming unemployment benefits.

She had worked in grocery shops, cleaned houses and dabbled in other low-paid part-time jobs. But the wages were so low and she could easily earn twenty thousand kronor, which was the equivalent of one month's salary, with just one lecture and even more for a workshop.

It was also crucial to stay active in the business so that people didn't forget her, which would make it harder to find positions in the future. She had worked hard to build her reputation, and it would be stupid to forego all that she had achieved and end up working for companies that paid slave wages to their employees. She wondered how women in trade jobs survived with such meagre pay, especially single mothers. How on earth did they make ends meet?

She decided to hold a couple of lectures a month. This would provide her with more than enough to live off.

JAVIER MENDEZ ARRIVED in Uppsala and found a vacant parking space near the main square. He dismounted his motorbike and looked around. It was Wednesday afternoon. Rays of sunshine broke through the cloud cover and lit up parts of the square.

Uppsala was a beautiful city. It was a place he had always liked and where he had a lot of friends, which was why he tried to visit as often as he could.

He had arrived with plenty of time to spare so he decided to walk to the University where Maria was lecturing. Fifteen minutes later he arrived at the main entrance. He continued to the Department of Psychology where the conference would be held.

He spotted Maria from a distance. She was even more beautiful than in his dreams and exactly as Sanna had described her. She was slim and elegant with long, wavy black hair that almost reached her waist, and dressed entirely in black.

People milled about her and she spoke articulately and with passion, yet there was an aloofness about her. He wondered if he should wait before approaching her, but decided it would be wiser to make contact now so he could arrange a meeting after the lecture.

Maria's gaze was hypnotic. Her intense, jet-black eyes stared into his and he felt the heat rise in his body until he almost broke into a sweat.

He knew that she was in her early forties, but the woman before him looked much younger.

Maria was, without question, a woman he would never forget.

AFTER BRIEFLY INTRODUCING himself and explaining the purpose of his visit, she had politely but firmly asked him to wait until after the post-lecture discussion. Since she was on a tight schedule she then resumed her conversation with the other lecture participants.

After the conference ended, and everyone who wanted to talk to her or get her autograph had left the room, she made herself available to hear what Javier Mendez had to say.

"Hi. I'm sorry you had to wait so long," she said with a soft smile.

"I understand – no worries," Javier responded amiably.

"How can I help you?"

"I've got a pretty delicate matter to discuss." He swallowed. "It may take a while, so if you don't mind maybe we could go to a café or somewhere else to sit and talk."

She looked at him questioningly. "You did say you were a police officer?"

"I'm a detective. I'm working on an investigation and your daughter's name popped up..."

Maria's expression sobered.

"Alva?" she replied blankly.

"Can we go to a café to talk," Javier insisted.

She looked around the room and gathered her thoughts. Three years had passed since she last heard from the police. As far as she was concerned they had completely failed at their job, which was to find the murderer. He was still at large and had, in all likelihood, abused more women.

Three years of silence and now, out of the blue, the police were interested in talking to her. Were they on to something? Or was it, as usual, just routine questioning? She felt the urge to tell him to "go to hell" and leave Alva alone. It was too late for any explanations or whatever else this detective had to tell her.

She could leave and say that she had no interest in talking to the police. But would that be wise? It couldn't hurt to talk with this man. And if she did refuse to hear him out the chances were she would end up agonizing over what he had wanted to tell her anyway.

"I don't have that much time," she answered dryly.

"We can clear it up over a cup of coffee or tea, or whatever you want to drink."

"Half an hour," she suggested, with an air of indifference.

"Half an hour?"

"Yes, but I have to leave in 45 minutes at the latest."

"Then we have no time to lose." He led her out of the conference room. "There's a café near Stortorget and..."

"No," she interrupted. "We'll go to the student cafeteria instead. I have to take care of something before I leave the University."

"Sure... it's up to you."

Javier briefly explained the purpose of his visit and asked if she knew any of the men Alva had socialized with.

Maria described the nature of their relationship and how they were more than just mother and daughter. They were also best friends who talked about everything – at least about the things they considered important.

"Do you know if she ever had contact with a man by the name of Alex, or Alexander?"

Her face turned white and she looked at him questioningly, as if he was speaking a foreign language. Hearing his name sent shivers down her spine.

She had already told the police everything she knew about their relationship as well as the fact that Alva had made plans to meet him on the day of her murder.

Alva had been so happy. She was so in love that Maria was unable to dissuade her from entering into a relationship with a man who was so much older. Older, in fact, than Maria herself. Maria knew it was useless to try and intervene. Moreover, from what Alva had told her, he was apparently a thoughtful and interesting man. Even though he worked in a completely unrelated area he took an active interest in gender issues, something Alva was passionate about.

However, Maria had noticed that Alva was particularly uncommunicative that fateful day. She was usually full of eager anticipation before meeting him but this time she was silent and uncommunicative. Maria never found out what was wrong. It was the last time she spoke to her daughter.

She knew what the man looked like. Alva had sent her two smart phone photos and Maria had saved them. These were the photographs she had stared at obsessively for days, months and years in expectation of one day meeting him. If she shut her eyes she could still visualize the man's face. Identifying him would not be a problem. No problem at all.

She had told the police this countless times, so why were they here asking the same questions again.

"Yes, I already told the police that when Alva was brutally murdered." She stared at him.

Javier blushed. He should have worded the question differently. He knew what had been stated in the investigation report. Kalle and Thorén had updated him on that. He had even personally read the conclusion, specifically that section.

He jotted down a few words in his notebook, avoiding her gaze.

"I was wondering whether you could identify Alexander if we showed you some photos." He wiped away drops of perspiration from his upper lip and looked at her.

"Do you have them on you?" she asked nonchalantly.

"No. We'd like you to come to the police station on Kungsholmen. We have a folder with photographs we'd like you to look at."

Maria considered his request. She didn't really want to go to the police station, but at the same time she didn't want to reveal her address by suggesting they meet at her place.

She checked her calendar.

"I can come next week."

Javier, who was looking at his calendar at the same time, concluded that this would be too late as time was running out.

"We could come to you if you don't have time to come to us. The truth is we need to know this week."

"Need to know what?"

"Whether you can identify him."

"Hm"

Maria flipped through her calendar again.

"I have an hour tomorrow between five thirty and six thirty, if that works for you."

"Excellent! We really appreciate it."

On the way out of the cafeteria, Javier grabbed the opportunity to ask Maria if she still kept Alva's old apartment. He already knew the answer, but he wanted to see how she would respond.

"I was just wondering if you lived there since you're not registered at another address," Javier said looking at her curiously.

"I understand." Maria wondered how much Javier actually knew. Police officers were always on the hunt – at times chasing their own shadow.

"I wanted to keep the apartment." She looked at him intently. "Her things are still there – she's still there. I'll probably never get rid of it."

He nodded sympathetically.

"I'm renting it out to a young woman."

That was one way of diverting their attention away from the apartment. She was nervous they would stake the place out or get a search warrant.

The situation must have changed. She was actually pleased that the police had contacted her. At least she now knew they were on to her. It was crucial to take precautions and prepare herself – she couldn't allow any unpleasant surprises.

It had been her hide out, her fortress, a place that belonged to her and Alva alone. She didn't want anyone else invading her sacred place.

"Sorry for asking, but we've been searching for you for quite some time..."

"What do you want to know?" she interrupted.

"Where do you live?"

He had no right to ask. Or did he? He was a police officer – a detective. Anyway, he would be able to find out quite easily.

"I'm not in Stockholm much. I travel a lot and am never in one place for more than a few days. Since Alva died I don't feel at home anywhere, not even here in Stockholm."

He looked at her searchingly.

"Right, I forgot we're in Uppsala! I mean in Stockholm of course," said Maria.

"It must feel strange not having a place where you feel at home," he continued, hoping she would open up. No matter how you view it, she was the subject of a murder investigation. She wasn't a suspect, but still...

"Maybe... but I don't feel like I have to settle down right now. I live at hotels or hostels, or with friends."

He was asking far too many irrelevant questions. Although she wasn't entirely sure what was or was not relevant in this case. She realized she didn't know the whole story. The only thing she knew was what he'd told her, and that wasn't necessarily the truth.

"How do I reach you? In case I need to contact you in the future?"

"I have a post box in Stockholm."

"No mobile number?" he insisted.

She gave him her work number and suggested he send her a text if she didn't answer. Her private pay-as-you-go mobile number would remain private.

From now on she would be more careful and make sure no one discovered she was living at Urvädergränd 1.

They parted. Forty-five minutes later Maria returned to the library where she had left a small suitcase.

She walked about a hundred metres and turned around to check if the detective was following her. The coast was clear.

Maria retrieved her bag and went to the ladies' room. After making sure there was nobody else there she took off her black outfit and changed into blue jeans, a white T-shirt and sneakers. She also removed her wig – placing it carefully into the box – peeled off the false red nails and washed away her make-up.

A young woman with closely cropped hair walked out of Uppsala University.

THE CLOCK STRUCK EIGHT. Thorén had already been working for an hour when Javier stomped into her office. He was completely drenched. He dried his face and hair with a paper towel. It was raining frenetically outside and the weather didn't look like it was about to clear up. It had been like this for the whole of August, despite the heat. Raindrops clattered onto the window ledge and in the distance was the rumble of approaching thunder. She worked in deep concentration, her head bowed towards the computer screen. Her silhouette looked like a curved hook.

"Have you found Tina Hedströmer? Javier asked.

"There are three people with that name and none of them live in Stockholm."

Javier stared at the screen of Thorén's computer. Their eyes met for a moment.

"Did you shower with your clothes on?" she asked.

"Yeah, of course – it would be strange if I didn't," he answered casually.

"Of course..."

"Where's Kalle?"

"He's at home with his kids... I think he's away for the rest of the week because his girlfriend is on a business trip and his kids are sick," Thorén replied.

"Did you say there are three people with that name?" Javier continued, getting back on topic.

"Yes, but the problem is we don't have her social security number," replied Thorén, her eyes returning to the screen.

"We know she's thirty years old and that her birthday's in January. We should check and see if any of these women were born the same year as her."

"Hm, rusty," she mumbled to herself.

"What did you say?"

"Rusty – I said rusty," she repeated, louder this time.

Javier gave her a doubtful look.

"I mean I'm rusty. I should have figured that out on my own." She scratched her forehead. "Being away from work for a while has a knock on effect."

"I still don't get it!"

"I've been on maternity leave," she explained.

"It seems I'm the one who's rusty," he added and they laughed in unison.

"Here she is," she exclaimed enthusiastically after five minutes tapping away at the computer. "She lives in Malmö. I'll call her and try to book an appointment."

"Hm." He mumbled.

"We can't just show up there. She could be on a business trip or away on holiday, or goodness knows what," she explained.

"Yeah, you're right. Try to book an appointment this week though."

"I can't promise anything but I'll give it a go."

Thorén tried in vain to contact Tina Hedströmer and left numerous messages.

After Googling for a while and searching a variety of social media networks, Thorén eventually found Tina Hedströmer on LinkedIn and Facebook, where she had very conveniently listed her number and e-mail address.

Thorén was uncertain how she should initiate contact with the woman. She knew Tina had dumped Alex, and apparently she was a strong woman who had a short fuse.

She introduced herself and with her most diplomatic tone explained why she was calling.

"What's this about?" asked Tina Hedströmer.

Thorén had seen photos of her and could imagine the woman's serious, intense look. She explained the purpose of her call again and assured her that a meeting would add a great deal of valuable information for their current investigation.

"What did you say?" This time her voice was hostile.

"We're investigating Alex Razmik as part of an investigation and your name showed up," she repeated, her earlier confidence starting to waver. Perhaps it was her southern accent that was causing problems.

"I don't want anything to do with that bastard." Hedströmer hung up.

"Damn it!" Thorén paused for two seconds and then called again.

"Please, don't hang up..."

There was silence at the other end of the line.

"Are you still there?"

"In what context did my name come up?" she asked coldly.

"Unfortunately I can't give you any information over the phone."

"If you want to meet, first you'll have to tell me how you connected my name to that bastard!" she yelled irritably.

Thorén took a deep breath. She needed to keep her on the phone long enough to make an appointment.

"I'll explain everything when we meet," she said decisively.

Tina Hedströmer was silent.

Thorén took a deep breath. "Are you in Stockholm or Malmö next week?"

"I'm in Malmö next week, and according to my calendar I'm busy... so, I suggest either a breakfast meeting on Tuesday at seven or a lunch meeting at one o'clock on Wednesday... the following week I'm away."

Without checking her calendar Thorén booked the meeting for Tuesday. It was her partner's turn to take Fredrik to day care and she was used to early mornings.

SANNA STARED LONGINGLY at an _Apollo Elite_ with 24 gears. She had searched the Internet for bicycles as well as a decent bicycle shop, preferably one near her apartment. After going through all the websites that offered a range of different types of bicycles she decided on Sportson a shop on Södermalm that appeared to have a decent selection of bikes. She glanced at her phone. It was 12:30. Some shops closed early on Saturdays and she wanted to buy the bike before the end of the day.

Ever since she had abandoned her bike in Lill-Jansskogen Sanna felt she had lost some of her freedom of movement. Although she owned a motorbike she preferred travelling by bicycle, whatever the distance. For some reason, she only ever used the motorbike to get to Uppsala. She had no reasonable explanation for this – it had just happened that way.

Anyway, it was time to purchase a new bike and she decided to order it online instead of going to the shop. The one that appealed to her the most was the _Apollo Elite_ with its 24 gears. It seemed well equipped, but she decided to buy better lights and a louder bell. She added a basket to her order, a _Spektra_ that she could attach to the luggage carrier. That was something she had always wanted to have on her old bike, especially when she was out on longer journeys. She checked further and found a pair of gloves and a good lock. She purchased those too.

Sanna had no interest in assembling the bike herself so she requested help from the workshop. She called to find out how long it would take to deliver and received the good news that she could fetch the bike in a couple of days.

# CHAPTER 18

## A Sad Day

AFTER ONE WEEK IN INTENSIVE care and several emergency assessments of Viktor's condition, which had considerably worsened following Börge Svenson's visit, the doctor confirmed that, from a medical perspective, there was nothing more they could do for the boy. He was declared brain dead.

They had reached the point when they would have to ask Viktor's relatives the dreaded question – namely, should they continue to provide him with life support.

Viktor Svenson's relatives would have to decide whether or not to remove the oxygen tubing that was keeping him artificially alive.

"Who shall we contact about Viktor? We also have to ask them if they would consider donating his organs," said Anna Sundvall to Doctor Chaib of Intensive Care.

"Normally we would speak to the boy's father but under the circumstances I think we should also talk to Kristina Borelius-Montana, Viktor's grandmother," said the doctor. "I'll contact them both."

SANNA WONDERED WHY Kalle still hadn't reported back about the latest evidence uncovered at Skogsvägen. She was just about to make her way to his office when she remembered that he was probably home with a sick child. She lifted the receiver and rang his mobile.

"Hi Kalle, I was wondering..."

"Hi, Sanna."

She could hear his voice down the corridor.

"I'm on my way."

A few seconds later he strode into her office.

"You were going to look at the rest of the material we found in Svenson's attic. Have you...?"

"Yup! I sent you the report last night."

"You did?" she replied. "That's strange, I thought I read my mail."

She scrolled down her message list.

"You're right." She smiled. The mail had been sent at two o'clock that morning. "You were working late?"

Kalle nodded cheerfully.

"Can you give me a quick update? I'll read it later today."

"I didn't find much of interest. I've made a brief summary of the other fifteen women. What I find fascinating are his disparaging comments about them. He describes them as the weaker sex. But on the whole, the discovery is nothing compared to the stuff we found on Alva Aldhamo and Tina Hedströmer." He looked at her guardedly.

"What do you have on Ingalill?"

"I was hoping for more on her but there's nothing."

"What do you mean?"

"All the info on her is missing. I contacted Samir Mohamed to find out if he knew who had it but he said he never received anything. Apparently it wasn't listed in the protocol."

"That's impossible! We saw all those files when we were at the house." She reached across the desk for some papers and dug out the protocol.

Everything seemed correct – with one exception. A DVD for woman number ten was missing. She double-checked her notes in case somebody else had been given the assignment. All the index files should have been first registered with Samir before being passed to Kalle.

Kalle's mobile rang. He asked Sanna if they were finished and left the room.

She pondered for a moment then picked up the telephone receiver and punched in a few numbers.

"Hi, Samir, Sanna here. Can you tell me what happened to the DVD on woman number ten? You haven't registered her in the list of confiscated goods, errand number 2001-S4852-08."

"Hold on, let me get out the file..."

She could hear him rummaging through files and rustling paper. "Woman number ten, you said... No, you're right, she's not in the protocol. Kalle was asking about it earlier. That's strange. As you say, there are fifteen women registered but there are no items listed under number ten," he said, sounding relaxed.

"Did you go through the index file when you registered everything?"

"Of course, I always do. I have to be sure I'm registering the right thing. There's only one possible conclusion, which is that I never received it."

"I know you're working on other investigations. Could it have ended up in another protocol?"

He sighed with irritation.

"No Sanna. I don't make those kinds of mistakes." He paused. "Come to think of it, Anders Segelström was here going through the boxes. Check with him. Maybe he knows where it is."

"Do you think he took it with him?"

"No, it's just a guess. I had to go to a meeting and he said he'd lock the room when he left."

Sanna sat with the phone in her hand, deep in thought.

"Strange, why on earth would he be interested in woman number ten?" The answer suddenly dawned on her. "Ingalill Segelström!"

Before contacting Segelström she needed to make further enquiries. The first person she got in touch with was Javier since they had been together in Svenson's attic when the discovery was made.

"I've also checked with Kalle but he didn't get the associated material on woman number ten. Could we have left it behind by mistake?"

"No, I took care of it myself. I even carried the file into the car with the other stuff."

"Then we seem to have a bit of a problem. Samir Mohamed thinks that Anders Segelström might have it," said Sanna.

"Why would he have it? He's not working on Svenson's diaries..."

"I'll call him. Maybe he has a good explanation." She didn't want to start speculating just yet.

"No, wait! Samir might be right. I stayed at work late the day we found the stuff in the attic and I remember seeing Anders was leafing through a file in Samir's office. I didn't really pay much attention since he is part of the investigation team. But I must admit it did strike me as a little odd."

Sanna took a deep breath and lifted the receiver to call Segelström. They weren't on the best of terms but it was her duty to find out what had happened to the evidence material.

"Hello, Sanna here..."

She went straight to the point. "We're missing the file and DVD on woman number ten – Ingalill Segelström. I've already checked with Javier and Kalle and since it was us four who collected the material from Svenson's attic I was wondering if by chance you had it..."

She was met with a long, icy silence.

"Are you still there?"

"Yes. I'm thinking."

She feared the worst. Ingalill must be a relative of his.

"Ok, get back to me when you're ready."

As head of the investigation, she wanted to give him an opportunity to reflect and hopefully return the material. However, if he had actually removed evidence without informing her, he could be accused of tampering with evidence, which was a crime.

"I'll give him an hour to think things over and return the material, but he better have a good explanation for his behaviour," she decided.

SHE SAT ON THE VERANDA with a grey check blanket draped over her legs gazing out to sea.

After the long summer – the most unpleasant one of her life – autumn was creeping in and the leaves from the trees in the garden were beginning to fall. She used to think that autumn, with its blanket of colourful leaves, was the most beautiful season. But this year was different.

Her face was thin and her exhausted, hollow expression reflected the deep sorrow buried inside her.

Three months had passed since the murder and Kristina's feelings of guilt had intensified. She cursed her cowardice. She cursed her poor judgement in trusting too much in Ingrid's strength of character.

On one hand she had secretly hoped that over time he would become a better man. On the other hand she had worried endlessly about the difficult situation. What would be the consequences of pressing charges? She had feared the worst. Such an accusation could have been devastating repercussions that would impact the entire family. It might have led to a breakdown or divorce and she wasn't prepared to take the blame for that.

"How egotistical! How egotistical!" She put her hand in front of her mouth as the tears ran down her pale, drawn face.

She couldn't think clearly any longer. She was consumed by guilt.

Her thoughts drifted back in time. She remembered clearly when she first noticed that Ingrid was being abused. It was only a couple of months after their wedding. At a family party she had noticed a bruise on Ingrid's throat, which she had tried to camouflage with make-up and a necklace.

There were many occasions she now remembered with regret. There were moments when she had wanted to talk to Ingrid. To comfort her. To reason with her. But she had been frightened that Ingrid would send her away. Or even worse – that Ingrid would start to avoid her.

THE PHONE WAS RINGING inside the cottage – it had been ringing constantly all week – but Kristina wanted to be left in peace. She didn't want to speak to anyone.

Nothing could be that important. Everything was over. Ingrid had been murdered by her husband and Viktor had died as a result of the trauma brought on by his father's visit.

When she called Ingrid's father in Columbia to inform him of his daughter's death his new wife answered. She explained that Montana was away on business but promised to tell him the news when she spoke to him later the same day. She also suggested giving Kristina his mobile number in case she wanted to call him directly. However, Kristina had refused, instructing his wife to pass on the message that Kristina Borelius-Montana had called.

She went inside. The display on the answer machine indicated that there were ten messages. She continued into the kitchen and put on the kettle. The phone rang again.

"Who's calling this time?" she muttered to herself in irritation. She glanced at the phone and decided to answer.

"Yes?" she said curtly.

"Hi Kristina! What luck that I reached you at last. I've been calling... " said the male caller with a slight accent.

"Who is it?" interrupted Kristina, knowing full well who it was. Although many years had passed since she had last spoken to him there was no mistaking his voice with its slight accent.

"It's me Kristina, it's Montana!" He waited for her to say something. "I called you back immediately when I was in Australia on business but it's been impossible to reach you."

"I've been busy," she replied coldly.

"I'm calling from Arlanda."

"Arlanda?" she repeated in astonishment.

"Yes, I'm here in Sweden. Since you never answered I gave up and decided to come here instead." He hesitated. "What's happened to Ingrid? You said that something terrible had happened"

Montana waited for Kristina's response but she seemed preoccupied.

"I'll take a taxi to the hotel and drop off my bags then continue on to your place. We have to talk, Kristina..."

"She's dead," she answered finally, her voice quivering.

"What did you say?"

"She's dead! Ingrid and Viktor are dead," she said and burst into tears.

"What are you talking about? I'm coming straight there. Are you in town or at the summer house?"

"At the summer house." Her voice wavered.

He hung up.

The Montana couple had separated when Ingrid and Anton were thirteen and fourteen respectively. After the divorce he moved to Columbia and the two children visited him regularly during the long school holidays.

Viktor Montana loved his children and made an effort to maintain a good relationship with them.

Once he turned sixteen Anton was more interested in spending time with his friends. However, Ingrid continued to make the long journey to Columbia to see her father. At first she hated travelling alone but eventually she began to enjoy the journey.

Although Montana had two more children with his new wife, when Ingrid visited he would always set aside a great deal of time for her and do everything he could to ensure that his daughter left with positive memories of their time together. As a result they developed a close bond. But after Ingrid married their communication became more and more infrequent. Montana once asked her if she was happy but her response was less than forthcoming. Something didn't feel right. Eventually, he summoned up the courage to ask her straight out if Börge was a good husband. Although Ingrid replied in the affirmative she admitted that he had been going through a difficult time lately and it was affecting his mood. Montana assumed that it had something to do with Börge's job and thought no more about it.

THEIR MEETING WAS FULL of accusations. Montana was furious that Kristina had basically ignored his existence. He didn't understand why she hadn't contacted him directly the same day Ingrid was found murdered. She listened quietly to his ranting. She didn't try to make excuses. She didn't even know why she had acted in that way. Maybe because she was consumed by grief. Or because of the physical distance between them.

After half an hour he calmed down and suspended his tirade of recriminations and blame.

They sat in the living room. He held her and she let out convulsive sobs, finally able to release the emotions she had been suppressing.

Why didn't you contact me when you realized that bastard was abusing my daughter?" said Montana eventually.

"What would you have done?"

"What would I have done?" He raised his eyebrows. "I would have beaten the shit out of him!"

Montana may not have been an ideal husband to Kristina but he had tried hard to be a good father.

Kristina looked at him helplessly. She had been brought up to hide her feelings whereas he had been raised to be open and in touch with his emotions.

Viktor Montana was no longer the same man Kristina had married. However, although he was sixty eight years old and had lost some of his muscle tone he was still quite well-built and Kristina didn't doubt for a second that he would be able to "beat the shit" out of Börge.

They sat together quietly for a long time. Two strangers. The time they had lived together belonged well and truly to the past.

He stroked his well-groomed moustache and stared straight ahead.

"I don't know why I didn't come here when I suspected something was wrong. I should have asked Ingrid what was going on or if there was any problem in her relationship. I stupidly assumed that Ingrid would tell me eventually... I should have been here to defend my daughter..."

Kristina looked at him.

"You know that the family... my children mean everything to me. But I've let them down."

Many years had passed but he still couldn't reconcile himself to the fact that he was the one who had instigated the break up.

He was a terrible flirt. He couldn't help himself but as far as he was concerned it was all harmless fun. However, one day after a work party he ended up in bed with a colleague. Montana hadn't given the incident much thought but the woman had other expectations. She fell head over heels in love with him and, decided that he was the one for her. Unbeknown to Montana, she contacted Kristina and claimed that he was in love with her and that she should let him go.

Kristina's response was immediate and she confronted him the same day. He had flatly denied it: "It's not true. I'm sick of your jealous fantasies!" But his evasions didn't faze her. When she revealed that the woman had called her he couldn't deny it any longer. Even though she knew Montana wasn't in love with the woman, Kristina was proud and principled and never forgave him. She was convinced that you could never trust a man once he had been unfaithful. She believed there would always be a next time and that he would keep coming back to her with different excuses. As far as she was concerned one fling was enough and there was no turning back.

When Kristina finally told him what happened to Viktor, Montana was stunned.

He was tormented by questions that he knew would never be answered.

Montana studied the woman he had been so much in love with.

"Why did you keep me at arm's length? You knew that Ingrid and I were close. Yet you hung on until the bitter end." He looked at her sadly. "You shut me out until it was too late."

Kristina had no answer.

He was mindful of the fact that he was hardly in a position to blame her. They were both culpable. They should have acted and now it was too late for recriminations. What had happened couldn't be undone or repaired. There was no turning back.

"Did she tell you?" he asked tentatively.

"No, you know how she was. I tried but she always fobbed me off when I brought it up."

Kristina looked at him. He still cut an elegant figure. He was one metre eighty-five tall with straight, black hair that was showing a touch of grey at the roots and was backcombed and fixed in place with a small amount of hair gel. He had a square forehead that was in proportion to his masculine jawline. Thick eyebrows framed his dark brown eyes and the moustache that half concealed his thin lips accentuated his macho Latin American appearance.

Kristina and Montana – as she used to call him – had met at a party at the Columbian Embassy where Viktor Montana's father was ambassador. They were both in their twenties and had fallen madly in love at first sight. It was a deep and intensive courtship. They became engaged six months later and were married within the year. They expected to grow old together – "until death do us part". They were two people who shared the same dreams, the same hopes. They were soul mates.

Montana watched Kristina in silence. She was still beautiful but the tragedy had deeply affected her. She looked tired and worn out. There was a palpable sadness lurking behind the blue eyes of the beautiful, effervescent woman whom he had once been so in love with.

"Didn't you notice anything?" he asked.

She looked at him, puzzled.

"Yes, I noticed it, but whenever I brought it up she denied it."

"You should have contacted me."

"Yes, Viktor, there's a lot I should have said and done."

It was the first time she had called him Viktor. It sounded cold. She had always called him Montana, It was a term of endearment. She used to tell him how much she liked saying his name. But things were different now – they were no longer a couple.

"You also have a role in this. After all you are her father."

"I tried..." He rubbed his face. "She either refused to talk or changed the subject. Or she would put Viktor on the phone so that I could talk to him instead – my dear boy. I didn't know how to make her open up."

He fell silent. He realized there was no point twisting the knife further into the wound.

"You're right Kristina, I don't know why I didn't ring you and ask. We should have contacted each other. We are both equally responsible. You're right. You're so right." His words echoed in the empty room.

UNLIKE JAVIER MENDEZ, who had left Stockholm the night before, Cecile Thorén arrived at Malmö Central station a few minutes past six in the morning. She felt tired and out of sorts. She had made an error of judgement when deciding on an early meeting. Her partner had forgotten to tell her that he was having a boy's night in the countryside, which meant that he had arrived home very late last night. Her attempts to persuade him to move the date had been fruitless. Her plan to take the same train as Javier was sabotaged and she was forced to wait until her partner came home and then make her way to Central Station to catch the night train.

Outside the station she caught a taxi to the Malmö Police headquarters at 6 Porslinsgatan.

As soon as Javier Mendez arrived, he contacted the person who kindly had made arrangements for water, coffee, tea and ham sandwiches to be delivered. The woman informed him that she had taken the initiative and ordered vegetarian sandwiches as well just in case anyone didn't eat meat.

They had plenty of time. It was seven o'clock and the meeting wasn't due to begin for another half an hour. Thorén went to the toilet to freshen up. She really needed a shower but had to make do with washing her face and wiping her underarms with a damp tissue.

Back in the conference room the two of them discussed an alternative strategy should their guest prove unwilling to cooperate.

At twenty-five minutes past seven the receptionist called to let them know that Tina Hedströmer had arrived. Thorén went downstairs to welcome her. Tina Hedströmer issued a polite smile but her manner was cold and impersonal. She had a purposeful stride and carried herself with self-confidence. She was approximately one metre eighty centimetres tall and well-groomed with a good figure. Her blond hair was very short, almost shaved, and her petite features and brown eyes fit perfectly with her thin face.

Javier Mendez, who had taken the opportunity for a quick visit to the bathroom, entered the conference room where Tina Hedströmer and Cecile Thorén had already taken their places at the oval table. He presented himself and gave her a brief summary of his role within the police force.

The atmosphere in the room was chilly. Tina Hedströmer watched them intensely.

Thorén advised Hedströmer that this would be a witness hearing and that they would be recording the conversation. She confirmed that she understood the procedure and would accept the conditions.

After the usual formalities, which were standard practice before a witness hearing, Thorén explained how they had found her and suggested that, since they had such limited time, she tell them her own version of her relationship with Alexander Razmik.

"How did you meet Alexander Razmik, or Alex, as he called himself?"

There was a long silence.

"We met through Match.com." She regarded them for a moment. "It's a dating site."

The inspectors nodded.

The woman took a bite of her sandwich. "You'll have to excuse me talking while my mouth is full, but I'm going to another meeting directly after this so when I said a breakfast meeting that's what I meant."

"We understand," said Thorén curtly, smiling a little to dissolve the tension. "Please could you tell us about your meetings."

Tina Hedströmer finished her mouthful and sipped her hot coffee.

"I didn't suspect anything in the beginning. I've met many nice men through dating websites. I'm a lawyer specializing in children's rights. In other words, I'm often involved in cases where children are the victims. I also work with Child and Adolescent Psychiatry and get assignments from Save the Children, Amnesty and similar organizations. Lately my assignments have been mostly abroad. For example, I'm going to Africa soon and I'll be there for three months."

She took a large bite of her sandwich. She was used to making the most of her working day – breakfast meetings, lunch meetings...

"Alex, or whatever his name is... "

"Alexander Razmik," added Javier.

"Yes, Alexander Razmik was well informed about these issues and I enjoyed spending time with a man who was both attractive and impassioned. To start with everything was perfect but it all started to go downhill when I noticed that he was recording our conversations. I didn't say anything at first even though I thought it was weird."

She finished her sandwich and drank her coffee before it got cold. Thorén poured fresh coffee into her cup without prompting. Tina nodded gratefully.

"By our third meeting I began to get a real sense that he was analysing me. It was an unpleasant feeling. When I eventually realized that he was in fact recording every one of our conversations I knew something was really wrong with him. I was deceived, fooled. I felt like an idiot. I still don't know if he was genuinely interested in me or if he was just playing. To make a long story short – everything fell apart the day he wanted to film us being intimate for the first time. What an idiot I was!"

She exchanged glances with them both. "Do you understand what I mean...?"

"Did he explain why he wanted to film you?" asked Javier.

"I never gave him a chance. I grabbed the bloody camera and smashed it on the floor." She smiled at the memory. "It broke into several pieces."

Thorén and Mendez looked at each other in satisfaction.

"Did he ever talk about himself?" asked Thorén.

"As I told you, he didn't say much. He told me he had his own company and was a freelance consultant. Because of his wide contact net he had different kinds of assignments – investigations or projects. When I wanted to know more he either answered with a counter question or started to talk about some case concerning a child. I can't believe I fell for it!"

Thorén continued. "Did you know that he came from a family of lawyers?"

Tina Hedströmer studied her closely for a few seconds.

"Do you mean he's a lawyer?"

"No, not him. His father, who actually has another surname," answered Javier.

"What do you mean? Doesn't Alex have the same name as his father?"

"It's very complicated but what we can say is that he didn't use his real name when he contacted women on the Internet."

"So what is his name then?"

"As I'm sure you understand, we can't reveal his real identity at this stage."

"I see... But I don't understand why he lied. Who is this guy?"

Tina Hedströmer sounded irritated even though she was familiar with the nature of preliminary investigations.

"Yeah, that's what we're trying to figure out," Javier replied.

"You told me he was being investigated. What for?"

"You'll find out in due time. At the moment we can't reveal anything," answered Thorén.

"Did you know he was married?" Javier asked.

"What?" She practically fell out of her chair. "He's married?" she exclaimed. "He lived like a bachelor! He was always available. Well, that's what it felt like anyway."

An alarm signal rang on her mobile.

"Sorry, I have to go..."

"One last question," Javier interrupted. "Did you meet up again after you smashed his camera?"

"No. But he called several times a day and left messages on my answer machine. He also sent masses of text messages and emails. I finally threatened to report him to the police unless he stopped harassing me. He didn't seem to get it. He apologized for what had happened, but I told him that if he ever called me again I would call the police immediately." She smiled obliquely. "I told him that I had saved all his messages. That was the last time I heard from him."

"Do you still have them?" asked Thorén.

"Yes, I'm a lawyer." She smiled. "We lawyers, or I guess everyone who works in the justice system, are paranoid when it comes to potential evidence. I have also kept all his emails."

She had a self-satisfied expression.

"Can you forward us the information?" asked Javier.

"Yes," she replied tentatively. "You can have the emails since it's easy to forward them. Just give me an address to send them to."

Mendez and Thorén handed her their business cards.

"Send them to one of these email addresses," said Thorén.

"When it comes to the text messages it'll be more difficult but if it's helpful to the investigation I'm sure we can arrange it somehow through Forensics," said Tina Hedströmer.

She got up, dug out a couple of her own business cards and instructed them to contact her via email if they needed to reach her.

SINCE THE MEETING WITH Javier Mendez she had been very much on the alert. Most importantly, she had sorted out the apartment just in case the police decided to visit her at Urvädersgränd.

She had promised to present herself at Kungsholmen police station and go through their gallery of mug shots to identify Alexander Razmik – if his photo was among them. She had given it a lot of thought. Not whether to go to the police station or not but whether she really wanted to identify him. She looked at the clock and decided she had enough time to walk to Kungsholmen. She needed to compose herself before it was time to meet Inspector Javier Mendez.

She had spent a long time searching for this Alex person and now she would finally find out his real name – or would she?

Should she claim that none of the shots were of Alex and continue with her own plans for him? Or should she let the justice system take care of it? She debated the issue with herself. One problem was that her trust in the system was feeble, almost non-existent.

It was twenty past five. The walk had taken much less time than anticipated and she stood hesitantly outside the police station. She eventually decided to go in and tentatively approached the reception desk.

"Hello, I'm meeting Javier Mendez."

"What's your name?"

"Susanne Aldhamo."

The receptionist picked up the phone.

"You can wait over there. Sanna Johansson will be down in a minute."

"Sanna Johansson?"

"Yes, she says she'll be down soon," said the receptionist with a friendly smile.

Maria was very good with names and faces. It was part of her job. Even though a number of years had gone by she remembered the name from the Gothenburg case. She wondered if it was the same woman.

Sanna approached the woman and introduced herself.

"Susanne Aldhamo," she replied politely but with a cold smile.

"Javier Mendez was unfortunately called out on a police matter," said Sanna apologetically.

Susanne Aldhamo nodded.

In fact, this was a ploy of Javier and Sanna's to extract more information from Susanne Aldhamo – or Maria – as they preferred to call her.

They walked down the corridor and, as they passed the canteen, Sanna asked if she wanted coffee or tea. Susanne Aldhamo asked for a glass of water. Sanna made herself a latte.

"Have we met before?" asked Sanna.

One of Susanne Aldhamo's talents was her ability to analyse people and situations. During her psychology studies she had fine-tuned these skills. Unfortunately, she had a tendency to automatically apply her powers of analysis to people she came across in her everyday life – not just those she met on a professional basis. One of her expert areas, apart from sexual psychology was personal psychology, and in those few minutes she had already figured Sanna out. She quickly realized that Sanna had a hidden agenda. She was also slightly bewildered by the fact that Sanna didn't seem to remember that they had met on a previous occasion.

"Yes, we have," answered Susanne Aldhamo, glancing at Sanna to observe her reaction. "We met in Gothenburg when you were investigating a murder."

"Yes, you're right," said Sanna feigning embarrassment. "But you were called Maria then."

Although Sanna knew exactly who she was, under any other circumstances it would have been difficult to recognize her. The new Maria had changed a lot. This woman looked much younger. She was also thinner and in good shape. However, her expression had hardened.

"I'm still called Maria. It's my professional name," she interrupted firmly. "Now I'm here as a private person."

If Sanna hadn't known that the woman was forty years old she would have guessed she was between twenty and twenty-five. The first time she had met Maria she had seemed fleshier, not fat exactly but with softer lines. Perhaps that was because she had less muscle definition. After their first meeting in Gothenburg Sanna had checked the Internet and found a number of photographs of her, which were taken at different events and lectures. Sanna had been enchanted by Maria's warm, joyful expression. The tragedy of her daughter's murder had undeniably left a deep wound. Susanne Aldhamo – or Maria, depending on the context – was dressed entirely in black, just as Sanna remembered her. She wore a tight-fitting blouse with a discrete deep décolletage that revealed a glimpse of her cleavage; tight black trousers and high-heeled knee-high boots. She also wore a black shawl, which she swung around her shoulders in a seductive manner. She had no jewellery.

The women sat facing each other in the sparsely furnished conference room. Sanna took out a file and placed it on the table.

Susanne Aldhamo stared at it and gulped some water.

"I must confess that I was very doubtful before this meeting..."

Sanna watched her intently.

"Why?"

"You – I mean the police – failed at their job. They never found my daughter's murderer," she said.

Sanna wasn't prepared for this and although she didn't feel the accusation was justified, she understood Susanne Aldhamo's reaction.

"I understand that you are disappointed... In your situation I would be too."

"How did you know that Alva was having a relationship with Alex? Javier Mendez said that he didn't use his real name. What was his name?"

Sanna cleared her throat.

"That's confidential information. We can't reveal any names before being certain whether he is also guilty of Alva's murder."

"What else is he being accused of?"

Sanna started to wonder if she was sitting on the wrong side of the table. Who was the one asking the questions here?

"I've been waiting three years for an answer from you. It's only fair that you tell me how things are going." She scowled at Sanna. "How did you get hold of Alex and, more importantly, who is he?"

"What I can tell you is that the man who calls himself Alex stored information about Alva and other women in his computer. We're analysing the contents. More than that I can't say."

Susanne Aldhamo sighed.

Sanna opened the file, revealing eight photographs of similar-looking men.

"Can you identify Alex in any of these photos?"

Susanne glared at Sanna. She drew the file closer. Her eyes were immediately drawn to one image in particular – a photograph of Börge Svenson.

Sanna watched her closely.

Susanne Aldhamo remained silent. With deliberate movements, she dried the corners of her mouth with her thumb and forefinger. She continued to study the photograph of the man she hated so much. Alexander Razmik. She hesitated. She almost had him – the police hadn't caught him yet. The trouble was that she didn't know his real name. How different everything would have been if she had found out his name. She would have been able to continue with her project. Continue with the plans she had for him.

"Are you working on the same investigation?"

"On the same investigation?" repeated Sanna in bewilderment.

"Yes, you and Mendez. Are you working on the same investigation?" she repeated without looking up from the photograph.

"Yes we are. Does that matter? Is there something you want to know?"

Susanne Aldhamo looked up at Sanna.

Susanne finally had a real picture of him in front of her, as opposed to the one Alva had taken of him with her mobile. Now she could see every detail of his face. A face that had haunted her for three years.

Sanna started to suspect that Susanne Aldhamo had no intention of identifying Alex. Ten minutes had gone by since she had opened the file and she was still staring at the same photograph, as if she wanted to etch Alexander Razmik's face into her memory.

"Is this Börge Svenson?" asked Susanne.

Sanna felt the blood rush to her cheeks. Börge Svenson's name hadn't been published in the media.

"I read in Dagens Nyheter that you're investigating the murder that took place at 117 Skogsvägen in Djursholm. It's not that hard to work out that Börge Svenson is the main suspect since the media hasn't interviewed him since then..."

"I am afraid I can't answer. I'm sure you understand."

"Is this Börge Svenson?" persisted Susanne Aldhamo.

"Is the man in the photograph Alexander Razmik?" asked Sanna, deliberately ignoring Susanne Aldhamo's question.

Susanna Aldhamo picked up her handbag and walked towards the door.

"Is this Alexander Razmik?" insisted Sanna.

"Yes. That's the bastard who saw my daughter on the day she died. If that's what you're wondering!" She stared straight at Sanna. "Can I go now or do you have to follow me out?"

Sanna followed Susanne Aldhamo out of the room without a word. She wasn't annoyed at her. She was only too aware of the sensitivity of the situation. It wasn't a straightforward identification process. Susanne Aldhamo was being asked to identify the man who, in all likelihood, had murdered her daughter.

At the reception desk Susanne Aldhamo turned to Sanna.

"I hope you understand my irritation. I have nothing against you personally."

Sanna nodded and smiled politely.

"I understand. We'll probably meet again at some point during the investigation."

Susanna Aldhamo stared at her and without a word walked out of the police station on Kungsholmen.

IT WAS TEN PAST FIVE on Thursday afternoon when a girl in her late teens ran down the stairs to the cold cellar premises. The room was thirty-six square metres with concrete walls that were to a large degree unpainted except for the wall opposite the stairs, which was a light magnolia colour. On the wall hung a large poster of Rosie the Riveter, an American icon and champion of women's rights. Several Venus signs were located on each side. Each had the image of a hand in the centre of the ring. Various other posters with feminist images and texts were arranged on the other walls.

To the left of the room was a stack of storage boxes and in the right hand corner a boxing bag dangled from the ceiling. Scattered on the floor were a few dumbbells of varying weights and against the wall stood a dilapidated bench that appeared to have been rescued from a skip. An old table and a few stools that also could have been cast offs were piled up along the walls.

Four young women were kneeling on the cold concrete floor. Two of them were busy cutting off the sides of a broken box to create a flawless surface. The box was one metre by eighty-two centimetres. The other two girls were animatedly discussing how the text should be worded. Four sides of A3 paper lay on the floor beside each of them. Each page contained two sentences in large enough text to be read from a distance.

"Hi there! Sorry I'm late but I had to take the dog out," said a woman in her twenties as she bounded down the stairs. "I don't understand why people have dogs if they don't have time for them. It sucks!"

"Yes, it's tough," answered Anna.

"I don't know where I get the energy from!" sighed Sofi. "How's it going?"

"Voila, voila! What do you think?" said Lena, proudly showing her text.

Agnes and Hanna, who were still hard at work cutting up the box looked thrilled.

"Nice!" said Anna as she showed them what she had written. "What do you think?"

"Damn! This is excellent!"

Satisfied with their efforts, the group began to assemble the material on site.

They glued the four A3 pages to the box but instead of celebrating their accomplishment they stared disappointedly at the finished result.

"It's not going to work," said Agnes gloomily.

"No, it's raining like hell and if it continues the text will be ruined in no time," said Anna anxiously.

"In a couple of days, at least," interjected Hanna.

"Hello! Are you down there?"

"Yes, come down!" answered Anna.

"Hey, what's up guys?" shouted a teenage boy as he ran down the stairs.

"Hi Samuel," answered Sussi, tying her hair in a bun while the others stood staring at the placard.

"We need to use harder material."

"Like what?"

"Masonite for example..."

They turned to look at Agnes.

"That would be a good idea if we could afford it," said Anna who was in charge of the finances. "As usual, we don't have much money and we've used our last bit of change buying felt pens and A3 paper."

"Yes, I know it's expensive but yesterday I saw a Masonite board in a skip. That might come in handy," said Agnes excitedly.

An air of scepticism filled the room.

"We can bike and check if it is still there. Maybe there's some other material we can use," suggested Jonatan who had been working intensively on an old laptop that was on its last legs after a crashed hard disc.

"I'll come too," said Anna.

Agnes, Samuel, Jonatan and Anna got ready to go out and fetch the board.

"We'll need paint," suggested Hanna. "I'll ask my dad whether we can have one of the tins that's been in the garage for ages."

Everyone nodded.

Sussi suggested preparing tea and cake for their return.

The recovered Masonite board was in pretty good condition apart from one or two damaged areas and scratches that could easily be cut away or sanded down. Luckily, it was also big enough – exactly one metre by one metre twenty.

Back in the cellar the group went through all their material again, paying particular attention to which text should be painted onto the board. After four hours of brainstorming and intensive work they were finally ready. They had done such a thorough job that it looked almost professional, which was what they hoped to achieve. All along they had been conscious of the fact that the placard's appearance could affect its durability. The plan was to position it in a highly visible location for a long period of time. The placard had also been fastened onto a wooden tripod structure so that it could stand firmly by itself.

It was now eleven o'clock. They had been working flat out and were exhausted.

"Where shall we put it?" asked Mikaela.

Agnes glanced at her apathetically.

"Can't we talk about that tomorrow?"

There were nods of agreement; others didn't even have the energy for that.

"I suggest Kungsträdgården. There are always a lot of people there," suggested Anna, yawning.

"Can't we set it up in Humlegården instead?" objected Hanna.

"Yes!" exclaimed the group in unison, except for Anna.

"Anna, how does that sound?" asked Hanna anxiously.

"That's fine!" she answered with a deadpan smile.

AT FIVE O'CLOCK THE NEXT DAY the group re-assembled, energetic and eager to move forward with the plans. They walked in a procession from Götgatan where the meeting room for the action group "Rosie the Riveter" was located.

On the way they chatted animatedly about the suitability of various locations and paused outside the entrance to the underground at Slussen to decide which direction to go next. Should they walk the most direct route to Humlegården or take a longer detour?

The placard stood steadily on its three legs and the wording was clearly visible to passers-by. A group of young women stopped to read the text. One of them approached the placard and picked up the pen that was hanging on a string and signed her name. The other three followed suit.

"Lena! Aren't you going to sign?" One of the women called over to someone in their group who had just finished talking on her mobile phone.

"What is it?" asked Lena, approaching to see what was going on.

A young couple who had heard the women shouting to each other came over to see what the fuss was about and after reading the text decided to add their signatures too.

The commotion attracted a wave of curious onlookers, most of whom added their names as well, but there were also a few dissenters who shook their heads and walked away.

In just a short time the placard had proved an unexpected success. A large number of people had already added their signatures and they hadn't even arrived at Humlegården, the designated location.

Because of the astonishing reaction from passers-by the group decided to alter their original plan and stand on Götgatan for an hour. Götgatan was always full of people and at that time of day – five o'clock in the afternoon – it was at its most crowded. It seemed as if everyone was more than happy to sign the placard.

They eventually moved on to Ryssgården. It turned out to be a good choice and because of all the interest they aroused they decided to stay there longer than planned.

The young activists realized that they would have to be flexible and willing to change their designated route so they decided to stay at Ryssgården for as long as people continued to respond positively. Later they would reassess their plans and decide what to do over the next few days.

A while later the group continued towards Kungsträdgården.

"Damn! This is way better than I expected!" said Samuel enthusiastically. He had silently harboured his doubts about the project but felt uncomfortable expressing his opinion to the girls.

"Better than any of us expected. I don't think we thought it would go this well today!" said Mikaela as she reached for a felt pen that had fallen onto the ground.

"No, definitely not," repeated Agnes with a twinkle in her eye. Their faces shone like the sun. They were thrilled.

It was a project the action group had been planning for some time. The message and the overwhelming reaction of the public was the result of a protest action that had been continuing ever since Sanna Johansson had left her placard in Lill-Jansskogen and scores of women had followed her initiative and dared to write about their own terrible experiences.

The success of their placard was confirmation that many people had listened to these women's stories. It was a sign that, despite everything, people cared. It was society's way of showing empathy and solidarity.

The time was now eight o'clock in the evening and they were exhausted after their eventful day.

"I suggest we stop now and go home," said Mikaela, who looked pale and exhausted.

"I think so too," added Anna, yawning.

"We must make a plan for tomorrow and the rest of the week. I'm having second thoughts about stopping at Humlegården. What do you think?" asked Mikaela.

"You're right. Today's trial run has shown us that it's better to move around to different locations. Maybe we should even go to some of the suburbs outside Stockholm...."

They looked thoughtfully at Hanna. Johannes scratched his head.

"Not a bad idea," agreed Samuel.

"No, probably not," said Lena.

Back in the cellar they formulated a new plan. They would walk the placard through a number of commercial centres starting at Södermalm and continuing throughout the Greater Stockholm area. The action would last for three weeks. Then they would park the placard at Humlegården as initially planned.

THE GROUND WAS COVERED with autumn leaves. Every now and then a gentle breeze buffeted them into a playful dance. It was nine thirty on Saturday morning and Sanna was sitting on a small blanket in front of Malin's grave. It was the first Saturday since the funeral. She had replenished the vase with fresh white roses. White was Malin's favourite colour and she particularly liked white roses. Sanna loved to see the joy that such a simple gift could bring and had ordered a regular delivery of flowers through Interflora. Malin would never be without her beloved flowers.

She carried a package in her arms. The wrapping paper had a pattern of white roses, lilies and tulips. Despite her apathetic condition Malin always seemed to guess what was in the packages Sanna brought. She knew that the flattish packages concealed books and when Sanna handed her smaller packages of chocolates she would shake them and listen to the sound before tearing off the paper.

Now, here she sat without Malin to lift her spirits and open the presents she had prepared the day before hearing the news that Malin had gone. Perhaps to Nangijala, Astrid Lindgren's fairy tale land where everyone who departed this life would eventually be reconciled. Yes, that's where they would meet again. Malin and their mother were waiting there for them.

"Sister mine," she said laying her hand on Malin's gravestone. She ripped off the wrapping paper and stared at the cover. Then she opened the book and began to read out loud.

# CHAPTER 19

## A Well-organized Man

FOLLOWING THE MEETING WITH Tina Hedströmer, Thorén and Javier had a better understanding of the nature of Börge Svenson's relationships with women. Back in Stockholm they listened once again to the recorded material and re-read the notes that Svenson had written on Tina.

Börge Svenson wasn't just well organized. He was also fastidious in his choice of women. For him, it wasn't enough that the woman in question was attractive. There were other more important aspects to consider. He was uncompromising in his demands that she must be intelligent and self-sufficient. However, his attraction to this type of woman wasn't driven by his desire for intellectual conversation. He wanted a challenge. As he expressed in his diaries, he wanted to crush her.

Tina Hedströmer was one of these women, but unlike Alva Aldhamo she was still alive. She must have been too smart for him.

According to her mother, Alva was a strong, self-assured woman with high self-esteem. However, her belief in the goodness of mankind meant that she was at times a bit too gullible. The problem – in her case – was that she never got the chance to discover his dark side before it was too late. It cost Alva her life.

Börge Svenson's anthology on women encompassed a wide range of categories and contained information he had gathered using carefully chosen methods and routines. He used the same approach as people looking for a partner or wanting to get close to someone. There was a file in his computer called: "How to find a new partner". Inside, was a document listing points to remember:

Be engaged and responsive

Find out her interests: literature, music, hobbies.

Vulnerabilities: recently single?

Fashion, clothes style...

Relationship with parents?

It was obvious that Börge Svenson had planned everything meticulously. At first he would pose standard questions. In his determination to be accepted he would even research the subjects his targets were interested in. This was an important tactic.

Alva Aldhamo and Tina Hedströmer's diaries contained the same type of questions but their answers were very different. They were two self-confident women with vastly different backgrounds and personalities, whose only other common characteristic was that they both were intelligent and independent.

Thorén yawned and pressed the pause button on the DVD player.

"What can we deduce from this?" She clasped her hands behind her neck and leaned back in the chair.

Javier grimaced and shrugged his shoulders.

"Not much."

"Exactly, not much... The only important thing we have learnt is that he picked these women precisely because they weren't dumb blondes."

"The only conclusion we can draw is that Svenson had different categories of women. On the one hand he liked independent women, on the other hand he liked women he could play sex games with. And the only common thread running through all these relationships is his intent to destroy them."

Thorén nodded in agreement.

"I can't find the recorded conversations that Tina Hedströmer talked about," said Thorén.

"Who knows, maybe he has another hiding place somewhere."

"Yes, and the most maddening thing is that we found things too easily last time. Maybe we were too slack..."

"Hmm," mumbled Javier, watching Thorén intently. "Could be, could be."

"So, what if you're right and he does have other hiding places?"

Javier sunk down in the chair and looked at Thorén.

"Let's check the last index file we found more carefully," replied Javier. "No, on second thoughts, let's go back to Svenson's attic."

"I heard that on the bottom shelf of the bookcase there was a locked drawer that nobody tried to open after we made the big discovery."

"Sloppy!" said Javier. "Oh well, no point in grumbling. Let's go there now!" He looked at the time on his mobile. "It's ten o'clock. What do you say? Shall we go there now?"

Thorén nodded.

AT HALF PAST EIGHT on Thursday morning Kalle Karlsson strode into Sanna's office carrying two cups of coffee.

"Coffee?" he asked, passing her a café latte.

"Good morning," said Sanna, smiling gratefully as she took the cup. "Is Pontus better already?"

"No, unfortunately, but after three days off work I felt I needed to come in."

Once again Kalle had been forced to stay home with a sick child. He had made an agreement with Mia that, while the kids were small, she would take the main responsibility and when they were a bit older it would be Kalle's turn. He thought this was a perfectly natural arrangement but apparently his boss, Inspector Blom, didn't share his sentiments. Blom's view was that family affairs shouldn't interfere with work. This was also one of the reasons that Blom preferred women to stay home and not enter into what he felt was traditionally a male domain. Kalle had contacted the union to complain but this turned out to be a pointless exercise since, generally speaking, the union seemed to have the same opinion as Blom, even if it wasn't expressed quite as openly.

"I don't understand why it's so difficult for some people to get it into their heads that even the police must follow the law," said Sanna in irritation.

Kalle smiled faintly.

"Hang in there!" she said.

"I will – it's just that I get so furious!"

"Damn him! Do what you think is right. You have the law on your side and we'll make sure that Blom acknowledges that! As soon as Svenson's case is over we'll take up the issue again. The union needs to get a grip and do what they're supposed to do..."

The mobile on the desk rang.

"Sanna Johansson."

Kalle made a gesture to Sanna indicating that he would be in touch later and left the room.

"Hello Sanna. Pamela calling. I hope I'm not interrupting you." She paused. "I can call later if you're busy."

"Hi Pamela, how are you?" answered Sanna.

"Thanks Sanna, I'm just fine."

Pamela McGavin had been in continuous contact with Sanna to stay updated on developments. She had decided to be a witness and had requested plenty of notice once a trial date was set so that she could plan her trip to Stockholm.

This was probably Pamela McGavin's one and only chance to get justice. Börge Svenson had ruined her life and despite all the years that had gone by she hadn't been able to move on and leave the past behind her.

Pamela McGavin sensed that fate was finally on her side. She had been given a second chance. Both for her sake and that of the dead woman who no longer had the opportunity to tell her side of the story. To convey what it was like living with a sadist, to live with your own executioner.

Sanna briefly updated her and promised that she would return soon with a trial date.

JAVIER AND THORÉN were deep in discussion in his office and their voices could be heard down the entire corridor.

Her curiosity aroused by the commotion, Sanna decided to see what they were talking about.

"How are things?" she asked, sensing a hint of discord between them.

Javier wasn't used to working with a female colleague and Sanna wondered if this could be an issue. They were working on an investigation that she was responsible for so it was her duty to ensure that the team worked well together.

The two officers immediately stopped talking and turned around, staring at her blankly.

Their adrenalin was running high.

Sanna noticed that the visitor's table was full of photographs from the Alva Aldhamo investigation. The sudden silence made her feel like an intruder.

"How's it going?" she asked tentatively.

Javier had a book in his hand and he waved it at her.

She walked forward and took it.

"Men Who Hate Women?" she said in surprise. She had in her hand the original Swedish version of "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo".

"It's what we're dealing with day and night!" he said excitedly.

Thorén nodded in agreement.

Sanna nodded thoughtfully. She looked at the two of them.

It made sense. They worked with a number of criminal cases where the victim was usually a woman. But she was still curious about what they had been discussing.

"Mendez and I don't agree," said Thorén staring at him.

Here it comes, thought Sanna.

"We don't agree about how police officers should express themselves when talking about domestic violence."

"Not just domestic violence!" interrupted Javier.

"Definitely not," said Thorén curtly. "But in cases where violence is reported it is usually within the context of close relationships."

Javier stared at Thorén who seemed to be playing it cool.

"Where's the close relationship in this case?" he asked, waving a picture of Alva Aldhamo. "It's a typical example of a man who hates women and I mean really hates women!"

"But please, what about the violence that goes on between gay and lesbian couples?" Thorén glanced at Sanna and Javier. "If we lump all cases under the same banner of men who hate women we would automatically ignore these sections of society."

"Yes, it's hard to find a fitting description," said Sanna. "If I may say what I think – you're both right." She put the book back onto Javier's desk. "Sometimes we work with men who hate women and sometimes we work with domestic violence in general."

"Exactly!" agreed Thorén. "What irritates me is when people, mainly politicians, talk about violence against women as if it was the women's fault. The aggressor is completely left out of the picture."

"Well, I'm convinced that this case involves a man who hates women," said Javier emphatically. He studied a photograph of Alva Aldhamo's bloody and disfigured face.

"One problem is that because of a few assholes men in general are tarred with the same brush. Many men are blinkered because they feel picked on even if they would never dream of striking a woman," said Sanna. "I imagine that if everyone, men and women, understood the extent of this problem it would lead to a change in attitudes."

"In what way would it lead to a change?" asked Javier.

"It would impact in different ways, one of them being that people would distance themselves from humiliating jokes about violence. The other day I heard a man say: "I'm going home to beat the bitch, and everyone in the room laughed."

"You're probably right. We men don't think much about the actual meaning when making crude jokes about women," said Javier.

Thorén shook her head disapprovingly.

"I'm not denying that domestic abuse is different, but men who hate women exercise their power in the same way whether or not the man lives with his victim." He leaned backwards and put his hands behind his neck, looking at Sanna with the hint of a smile. "We could talk about this forever and still not agree on a fitting term."

A congenial silence ensued.

"How's the investigation going?" said Sanna, changing the subject.

"What have you decided on with the prosecutor?" asked Javier.

"As far as Ingrid Svenson is concerned, we have the case well under control. However, we are still looking for the man who was seen behind the house. We still don't know who he is or if he is even connected to the murder. Plus we also need to find out if Ingalill Segelström – woman number ten – is involved in some way or whether she hired somebody to carry out the murder," continued Sanna.

"Something doesn't feel right with her," added Thorén.

"I'm listening," said Sanna.

Javier twisted in his chair and smiled.

"Is there something I'm missing here?" asked Sanna.

"As you know, we seem to have mislaid the file on her and the files that were in Svenson's computer have been erased," said Javier. "To be honest, I think somebody's trying to sabotage the investigation."

Sanna frowned. She wanted to wait and see what Anders Segelström had to say before revealing her suspicions about him to the team. Unfortunately, he was on sick leave and she would have to wait until he returned to work.

Thorén consulted her notes. "There is a file named _conclusions_ under woman number ten, but it's empty."

"We need to look into that immediately. Who the hell has erased all the information? Unfortunately there's only one DVD. We didn't make copies for some reason."

"I'll order a new back-up copy," said Javier.

"Tell Keikkonen that it's urgent," added Sanna.

She walked over to the visitor's table and rummaged through the photographs of Alva Aldhamo, which had been laid out in a specific order. She turned to Javier.

"We've agreed that your part of the Alva Aldhamo investigation will be included in the preliminary investigation report."

"What happens with the rest of his diaries?" asked Javier.

"Before we continue with those I want you to know that when we've completed the evidence for the prosecution in Ingrid Svenson's case we intend to reopen the investigation into Alva Aldhamo's murder. It looks like Svenson may also be charged with that.

In addition, we have his other wives." She watched Thorén and Javier. "They'll be called as witnesses."

MARIA HAD BECOME AN expert in changing her appearance. Some days she looked like a teenager or a vamp and sometimes she dressed up like just any ordinary woman. She collected wigs in different colours and lengths as well as blue and green contact lenses.

After sorting through each item of clothing in her wardrobe Maria discovered a large selection of long black skirts. Even thought they were elegant, that style belonged to the old Maria. She was entering a new era and she needed to project a new personality. The skirts lay in a huge pile on the bed ready to be stored away. She made a note on her list: get short, tight-fitting skirts.

"Yes, little Maria," she murmured to herself. "Now it's time to tighten my belt, reduce some outgoings and splash out on two or three skirts."

KALLE AND SANNA SAT IN the coffee room. They had taken a break to grab a bite to eat and the empty pizza boxes were strewn over the table.

Sanna was hunched over the table poring over an evening newspaper. She turned the pages with one hand and held a half-eaten pizza slice in the other hand.

Kalle, who had already finished eating, was casually reading a magazine and stealing glances at Sanna.

"What is it?" she asked, without looking up.

"Nothing," answered Kalle, a little embarrassed, quickly returning his attention to the magazine.

"Come on, something's up."

"How did you out manoeuvre him?" he asked finally.

"What do you mean?"

"How did you outmanoeuvre your attacker? He was stronger and taller than you. I hear that you overpowered him easily.

Sanna looked up.

"I don't know," she answered. "I just reacted instinctively. I didn't think much. I knew that it was either him or me and that I had to act quickly. I don't know why, but when I saw him with the club in the air an image of the 24 year old who was raped and murdered last year flashed in front of my eyes. I could see her lying on the ground, bloody, beaten, knocked down. I felt such anger; such rage that after I managed to overpower him..." She paused for breath. "...I felt an overwhelming urge to break his neck. As if it was him who had murdered her. And I had the opportunity. I had the opportunity to take revenge for what he did to her."

Kalle sat up in his chair and placed the magazine back on the table. He looked at her with concern.

"Don't worry," said Sanna. "I would never have done it. It was just how I felt for a second. Just think, if it hadn't been for my trousers getting stuck in the pedal he would have knocked me out with the first blow and I probably would have been raped and murdered just like her."

They looked at each other without speaking.

"What would you have done then?" asked Sanna. "What would you have done if you saw me in the morgue?"

Kalle didn't answer immediately. He needed to collect his thoughts. He stretched forward across the table looking at Sanna with unusual intensity. Finally he spoke in a slow, deliberate manner:

"I would have done the same as you."

There was no need for further explanations.

A FEW YEARS AGO, in a much talked about case, a police officer was prosecuted for aggravated assault against his daughter's rapist. The officer was sentenced to prison. His daughter had been so seriously injured that she was unable to have children.

The officer had become obsessed with revenge. After several months he finally managed to hunt down the assailant and kicked him in the testicles with such force that they burst. At the trial he admitted that he didn't regret a thing.

His daughter was injured for life and nothing could change that, but now at least the rapist himself knew what that felt like. He too had been rendered infertile.

Sanna claimed to understand the police officer's reaction and admitted that in the same situation she probably would have reacted similarly. Nobody who attacked somebody she loved would go unpunished.

# CHAPTER 20

## The Threat

AT EIGHT O'CLOCK on Friday morning Thorén, Javier, Sanna Johansson, Kalle Karlsson and Carl-Magnus Alkelius assembled in the investigation room. After conducting a thorough review of Börge Svenson's diaries on Alva Aldhamo and Tina Hedströmer, Thorén and Javier had submitted their final report outlining important events and describing the phone conversations between Börge Svenson and his women. They also added their own conclusions.

Sanna leafed through the report, which had been emailed to her the night before.

"I don't know if you've had a chance to read the report yet," said Javier.

Sanna nodded. Alkelius stared at Javier blankly and Kalle flipped through the document that Javier had handed out at the start of the meeting, realizing that it was unlikely that everyone had logged onto the Internet so late the previous evening.

"Most of what's in the report you know already. I..." Javier glanced at Thorén. "... We have mentioned Alva Aldhamo on a number of occasions. After interviewing Tina Hedströmer we learnt that Svenson also recorded their meetings – something we didn't find in the confiscated material – and that's why we decided to return to Svenson's attic."

He surveyed the group around the table to make sure he had everyone's full attention.

He turned on the DVD player. Börge Svenson's irritated voice was heard loud and clear.

"The stupid bitch will pay for this!"

Thorén turned the pages of the report and held up one of the pages.

"He wasn't satisfied with just recording their conversation – he also wrote about her in his journal, the same book where he also wrote about Tina," added Thorén, waving a little black book in the air. "We've scanned the relevant page and will include it as an attachment in the preliminary investigation report," she continued. "He seems really pissed off..."

THE STUPID BITCH WILL PAY FOR THIS!

The text took up the entire page.

"If the date's correct we can assume that it was after Tina Hedströmer broke his camera."

"Yup, on the fifth August two years ago he describes his plans for their romantic dinner," interjected Javier.

Sanna and Alkelius listened carefully. Kalle was busy reading through the report and jotting down occasional notes.

"I wonder what he means when he says she'll pay for this?" said Javier. "Who knows? Maybe she saved her own life when she threatened to report him to the police."

"Hm," said Thorén fast forwarding the DVD player.

"I need to see her one last time..."

Javier raised the volume slightly.

"One last time? That was probably why he went on and on about meeting her. He wanted to apologize and use it as an excuse to lure her to a final meeting," added Thorén.

Javier stared at her.

"Are you done with Alva Aldhamo and Tina Hedströmer?" asked Sanna.

"I guess so. You have our final report on them." Javier pointed at the two bound documents that had been given out to all the participants.

Alkelius leafed through the report, seemingly satisfied.

"You've done good work. Whatever else we find out about him from now on won't change things much."

He turned to Sanna.

"We have everything we need on Ingrid Svenson and now we've got two more women who play a big role in our investigation."

"Hm," said Sanna. "As you know, we're still in the dark about Ingalill Segelström and the man behind the house."

"Let's call Anders Segelström to a hearing. We should have heard from him by now. We can't wait until he gets better," said Alkelius.

"Absolutely not!" exclaimed Blom indignantly. "I won't allow it!"

Alkelius gave him a withering look.

Sanna sighed heavily.

"Don't forget the other wives," said Kalle, changing the subject in an attempt to neutralize hostilities. "Although the meeting with his second wife, Karin Bengtsson didn't exactly go as planned, we still have the documented trial material that has also been erased from the personal data register... Something that was also included in the report you received a while ago."

SHE HAD JUST POURED herself a glass of wine when her mobile phone rang. She stared at it as if in a trance. It was the phone she had been given by the thirty-five year old for their private business. After a moment's hesitation she picked it up after the fifth ring signal.

"The only reason you're still alive is because I've been away," said a gruff male voice before she had a chance to speak.

She shuddered on hearing his voice and was tempted to slam the phone down, only changing her mind when she realized this would only aggravate the situation.

"This is your final warning! If the money isn't in my account in twenty-four hours you'll be getting a visit from me – one you won't forget in hurry. I know you're still at your country house so I advise you not to do anything stupid. I've got my eye on you." He laughed hoarsely. She could hear him coughing heavily as he struggled to catch his breath.

She had heard through the grapevine that he had contracted swine flu. He was lying about having been away. She didn't know why he lied but it was irrelevant. She had hoped he would drop dead into the bargain, but no such luck. He was back and she was terrified that he would follow through on his threats.

"I need to know what happened..." she said falteringly.

"Oh yeah?" he replied, sniggering contemptuously, his laughter soon mutating into a laboured cough.

"I won't pay until I know what happened," she said, this time sounding more assured. His aggressive manner had got her adrenalin pumping.

"Ingalill, Ingalill... when will you learn?"

"Don't use my name. Bloody hell! We said no names on the phone!" she shouted. "Do want me to call you by your name too?"

"You're right. It was a slip of the tongue."

She pondered for a moment. She was only too aware that he wouldn't hesitate for a second to make minced meat out of her.

"Please, I need to know. How come his clothes were covered in blood?"

The man grunted.

"Dammit!" He cleared his throat. "Okay, I'll tell you what happened but as soon as I hang up, the money had better be on its way to my account. Otherwise..."

"I promise I'll transfer the money today."

He yawned loudly. She could hear a rasping sound as if he was scratching his head.

"I had to improvise..." He laughed softly.

"But why?"

"Shall I tell you or are you going to keep butting in?"

"Nobody was supposed to get killed," she thought to herself but didn't dare interrupt.

He proceeded to tell her the whole story. He had been watching the house waiting until Ingalill left the house. But her unannounced visit resulted in a huge fight between Börge and Ingrid. Börge had lost his temper and through an open window he could hear the sound of Ingrid being hit followed by a crash as something shattered on impact.

"Svenson left the house," he continued. "I think he stopped attacking his wife when he noticed an old man peering in through the window. The man was walking his dog and had stopped in front of the house." He sighed. "While all this was going on there was a child screaming all the time – I can't handle stuff like that..."

She had been curious about the child.

"My back was up against the wall and I decided to go for it anyway. What the hell! I didn't like the idea of losing the cash – I have debts to pay, you know." He breathed deeply. "So, I went in, grabbed the boy and pushed him into some kind of cleaning cupboard and ordered him to stay there until I told him to come out."

She had heard enough. She started to feel sick. All this time she had thought that Svenson had murdered his wife. She prayed that the man would tell her that Ingrid was still alive when he left the house.

"Do you want to hear the rest?"

She hesitated. She definitely didn't want to find out that she was indirectly involved in a murder yet, at the same time, it was important to learn the whole truth.

"His wife was lying on the floor. I thought she'd fainted. So I got down on my knees and started to remove her clothes... " He broke off, gasping heavily.

"What happened then?"

"What happened then?" he echoed her words in irritation. "What happened was that the bloody cunt bit me in the face! The bitch!" he screamed.

She held the phone at a distance.

"That did it! No bloody cunt is going to get away with biting me!"

The rest of his account was so horrific that she prayed she would soon wake up and realize it had all been a bad dream.

"So, are you satisfied?"

"What?"

"Now you know what happened?"

"But everyone claims it was Svenson who came out of the house. It was him they found in the woods."

"Hmm," mumbled the man.

"They found no other evidence," she continued. "You didn't leave any traces..."

"Haven't you heard about protective clothing? I'm not a fucking amateur you know!"

She listened in silence, not daring to repeat the question.

"Okay, okay. I can't be bothered to go into more detail, but to make a long story short; Svenson came back to the house and found his wife in the kitchen. The rest I guess you've already heard in the media."

Now at least she knew the whole story. But why did he have to murder Svenson's wife? That wasn't part of the deal.

KEIKKONEN CONTACTED SANNA to inform her of the new discovery on Svenson's laptop. She had done a review of all the "hidden files," which under normal circumstances are known as system files. On the hard disc she found a folder that took up a lot of memory called "Xclusive." The folder had a similar layout to an earlier one named "Women," with one exception; the video recording took up almost as much memory as an ordinary film.

"I'll make two copies, or do you need more?" asked Keikkonen in her strong Finnish accent.

"We probably need three copies. Are they long?" replied Sanna.

"Yes, I think so, maybe an hour or more."

Sanna thought it over.

"What are they like?"

Sabine Keikkonen bided her time.

"It's nothing you haven't seen before but still pretty awful to watch..."

"When can we get the copies?"

"I'll send them today so they should be with you tomorrow."

"Thanks Sabine! Good work!"

Sanna shut her eyes tightly. Earlier she had been convinced that the preliminary investigation was in the final stages. Would this never end? She reached for the telephone.

"Hi, Sanna here again. Forensics has found hidden files in Svenson's computer."

"What hidden files?" asked Alkelius, sighing heavily.

Sanna explained the situation and went on to cancel a planning meeting they had scheduled for that week. There was no point in tackling the final report now.

She was about to put down the receiver when she had a change of heart and tapped in a few numbers. Kalle's phone was engaged. She glanced at the clock on her mobile. It was a quarter to ten. She walked down to Kalle's office and stood at the doorway. He gestured to her to come in.

"Keikkonen's found more hidden files on Svenson's laptop!" she exclaimed as soon as Kalle put the phone down. "I wonder how much other stuff he has buried away somewhere."

"Do you know what's in them?"

"No, but it'll be interesting to see the videos."

THE LIGHT FROM THE CEILING LIGHT shone brightly but Kalle, who was reading the evening newspaper, had also switched on the reading lamp on his desk. He was chatting to Sanna who was also reading the newspaper.

"Have you seen the latest headlines?" asked Kalle, pointing at the front page.

It was seven o'clock in the evening and most people at Kungsholmen Police Station had already gone home for the day.

Two empty pizza boxes lay on the table. Kalle and Sanna had taken a break and were planning to continue their investigation work later.

"I know you don't want to talk about what's going on... or what's been going on these last weeks but I think the public response to your placard has been amazing."

He waited for her reaction.

Sanna nodded but said nothing.

"Everyone's talking about the placards that are being set up all around Stockholm and other parts of the country. You've inspired so many women! You should be proud of yourself!"

She glanced at him and went back to her reading.

The fact that women were coming forward with their own experiences had inspired the media and the newspapers were filled with stories about violence against women. During the first week most of the articles focused on women's personal stories and included cover photographs and rape statistics. By the second week there were reports on the justice system and the role of the police force as well as how women who have been raped are treated by the authorities.

During the third week when media attention was maintained by bloggers and other social networks the newspapers continued with the theme "The Consent Act".

Kalle couldn't help but be affected by the uproar. Everyone was talking about it except Sanna, who refused to admit that she had instigated all this. It wasn't the number of women who had been raped that bothered him. He worked with these issues and already knew the statistics. What concerned him the most was the sheer scale of the collective protest action. Seeing all those placards at the same time made Stockholm and the rest of the country look like one enormous crime scene.

# CHAPTER 21

## The Obstacle

HE KNOCKED GENTLY AND popped his head around the door.

"Are you busy?"

Sanna's head was buried in a report and she looked up in surprise.

"Yes, but come in."

He ambled into the room, pulled up a chair next to Sanna's desk and sat down.

"I'm not sure where to begin..."

He cowered at her obvious annoyance.

Anders Segelström was a shadow of the unfriendly, slightly arrogant man Sanna was used to dealing with. He looked at her with trepidation. It was too late to deny the charge against him – he should have done that from the beginning so as not to arouse suspicion. He had been thrown for a loop by her accusation and had answered like an idiot instead of feigning ignorance. And now he was forced to explain himself.

Sanna waited patiently. She had no intention of prodding his memory. He had been one big headache since they started working together and now it appeared that he had acted inexcusably and potentially damaged the investigation. Moreover, she was infuriated by his late apology. Ever since she had confronted him about woman number ten he had been on sick leave.

"Ingalill Segelström is my sister," he said finally. He seemed almost embarrassed by the family connection.

Sanna's attitude towards him began to mellow. She had been all fired up to give the bloody good for nothing an earful. But his explanation had suddenly dampened her desire for revenge. Although she had pondered over Ingalills relationship to Segelström, she hadn't been prepared to hear that one of the women in Börge's collection was the sister of a colleague.

She looked at him harshly. "Is that a good explanation for his behaviour?" she thought. No, probably not. Within the police force officers had to be objective and treat all criminal cases in the same way – according to the rulebook. It was unacceptable to react differently because of a conflict of interest.

She said nothing and waited.

"I... I have the stuff you are looking for on woman number ten." He ran his fingers through his hair nervously.

Sanna leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She was unsure what to say next.

"I know it was unbelievably stupid," he continued.

"That's an understatement!" replied Sanna curtly. She was angry but for some strange reason she couldn't express her feelings. Could it be that she felt sorry for him?

"How serious is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"What happened to her?" she raised her voice in irritation.

"She's alive, if that's what you mean." He took a deep breath. "Svenson dumped her. This might sound odd but I'm glad she turned out to be the ordinary type – the type that doesn't interest him for long."

She studied him. Anders was the kind of man who tended to look down on women. In his eyes they were just sex objects. How had he reacted when he discovered that his sister was being used as a sexual tool? A man had seen his sister as nothing but a dumb blonde – a sex object that even a predator wouldn't be interested in.

"You understand that I take this very seriously."

"I do."

"Now it's my turn to consider the options. You removed evidence for personal reasons..." She stared straight at him. "What would you do if our situations were reversed?"

He was cornered. Of course he would have acted strictly according to the rulebook and shown no mercy.

"You would have followed regulations, wouldn't you?"

He looked down.

"Wouldn't you?"

He nodded slowly.

"Then in all good conscience I should do the same. What do you think?"

He looked at her guardedly. He had already humiliated himself enough. He would receive a reprimand and his reputation would be permanently damaged. From now on he would be considered untrustworthy.

"Leave the material with Mohamed for registration and ask him to deliver it to Kalle immediately. I'll get back to you when I've thought it over."

He turned to leave the room.

"Don't forget, all the material!"

A crime had taken place and she had a duty to report it. However, there was one other option. If Anders Segelström reported what he had done directly to the head of the department, Blom himself would be responsible for deciding the consequences.

She did what she thought was best – all things considered – and wrote an e-mail to Anders:

"...I am giving you the chance to personally report your impropriety to Blom. I would like you to write him an e-mail and send me a copy. Please provide him with a detailed and accurate account of how you came by the information as well as what motivated you. If you choose not to do this I will be forced to submit an official report myself."

Anders Segelström followed her instructions and wrote the e-mail, effectively releasing Sanna from any further obligations. What Blom did with the information was his own decision.

AFTER TWO WEEKS OF WALKING from one location to another the members of _Rosie the Riveter_ were exhausted. They decided to place the placard permanently in Humlegården. However, since not everyone could be on site at the same time to watch over it, they made a list of who should stand guard the first weeks. After this they would reassess the situation and decide whether to make a new timetable or not.

Several hundred people had signed the placard wherever they could find a space.

A few onlookers donated a set of felt pens. Others had written their own texts. Some had even written short poems.

For two weeks now the members had been taking it in turns to supervise the now valuable placard so that nobody could deface or steal it. Each member had been assigned specific weeks. This week was Samuel and Anna's turn.

"Do you have any coffee? I forgot my thermos at home," asked Samuel.

"Yeah, sure," said Anna. She brought out a couple of mugs and poured the warm liquid into them.

Two uniformed police officers approached. "Do you have a permit to demonstrate here?"

"Come on, we're not demonstrating," said Anna with a smile.

"You need a permit to stand here with a placard!" insisted one of the officers.

"Please, we're not bothering anyone. We just want to get more signatures," begged Anna.

"You seem to have more than enough signatures and I advise you to remove the placard otherwise we will be forced to confiscate it."

A group of passers-by, who had been observing the interaction with the police officers, stopped.

"Let them stay here. You should be taking care of criminals instead of harassing kids making peaceful protests," said one man.

Eventually the police relented and allowed the young group to remain there for a couple more days.

Inevitably, the placard had attracted the attention of the mass media. The evening papers were full of stories describing how the protest action had begun with a secret message discovered in Lill-Janskogen, Frescati a month ago. The text was illustrated with a picture of Rosie the Riveter:

IF YOU THINK LIKE US – SIGN HERE!

I want to move freely!

I want to be able to walk home through the park and go jogging along the tracks!

I want to dress as I please!

I want to go out and party if I feel like it!

I want to be able to decide over my own life and be a free woman!

WITHOUT FEELING SCARED!

It was a simple message in simple language. The people who signed the placard were mostly women but there were also a few men who had shown solidarity.

The press were jubilant. Journalists were busy interviewing people and publishing statistics on violence. There was an interview with the Minister of Equality who agreed there was a problem but wasn't able to present any concrete proposals for change.

It seemed as if society had been woken up from a deep slumber and the fuss – caused by a single placard – lasted for almost a month.

The protest caused ripples throughout the country. Several women's groups and organizations contacted _Rosie the Riveter_ to offer their support.

SANNA WAS DUMBFOUNDED. She never dreamed that her action would have such an impact.

There were women who would never have dared to do something similar unless rallied to action by someone else.

Sanna was both pleased and disappointed. Pleased because so many women in similar or worse situations had the courage to go back to the place they were attacked but disappointed because the newspaper coverage revealed that a high proportion of men in Sweden, like in any other country, viewed women as second-class citizens.

Despite all Sanna's attempts to ignore the commotion around _Rosie the Riveter's_ petition, her curiosity won over in the end.

She inspected her new bicycle and thanked the staff in the workshop for their help. It was time for its maiden voyage. She planned to cycle through the city to Humlegården where the famous placard had been standing for the last few days.

She intended to look at it from a distance. For some reason she was fearful of being recognized and singled out:

"There goes the mystery woman who has caused all this commotion."

Although on a rational level she knew she was being stupid, she didn't dare to go closer. She dismounted and wheeled her bicycle through Humlegården treading warily like a cat on hot bricks. At first she gave the placard a wide arc, viewing it from a distance of several metres but she soon decided that she was being ridiculous and approached the group.

She picked up a blue felt pen and found a tiny space in the corner of the placard. She wrote:

"Women's rights shall be respected by EVERYONE in society!!"

BECAUSE OF THE PHOTOGRAPH revealing the footprint of a child, Forensics had returned to the crime scene to take their own shots from different viewpoints as well as carry out more blood stain tests and obtain usable DNA samples. They also carried out a more detailed inspection of the kitchen and other rooms in an effort to recover evidence proving that the child had been present during the assault.

Kalle was lying on the sofa at home for the fourth day in a row with a bad stomach. In his hands was the latest report, which had finally arrived six weeks after being requested. Forensics had maintained that, since they had a shortage of staff, Svenson's case was no longer considered a priority. The report confirmed that Viktor had been in the room with his mother at some point during the attack. This information would have undeniably been very helpful in their efforts to prevent Svenson's visit to the hospital but now it was too late – Viktor was dead.

Kalle lifted the receiver and punched in a number. It was still engaged. He wanted to find out whether Sanna had made any progress in her attempts to prosecute Börge Svenson for Viktor's death but she had been unavailable all day.

AT TEN PAST TWO on Monday afternoon Sanna Johansson arrived at the office on Kungsholmen. She rushed into her room and slammed the door. She had been at court in Frescati all morning and was livid. Once again she had witnessed the incompetence of the justice system.

Kalle had intended to accompany her but he was hit by a violent bout of stomach flu that wouldn't let up and he didn't dare leave the secure confines of home.

The prosecutor had already warned her that things didn't look good and that she should be prepared for anything.

Although Sanna had never been overly optimistic that her attacker would be convicted it certainly didn't cross her mind that she would be reprimanded instead.

The prosecutor had summoned the fingerprint division of the County Police to provide expert testimony regarding the discovery of the defendant's fingerprints on the club. He also presented Sanna's detailed account of the incident.

The defendant stubbornly denied the charges and described how the plain-clothes policewoman had pushed him down onto the ground and then kneed him in the back.

"The police woman screamed "wrong place," as if I had no right to be there and then kicked and punched me."

The lawyer for the defence accused Sanna of police brutality.

After Sanna's unprovoked attack he had been taken to the hospital where it was confirmed that he had sustained a number of bruises on his arms and lower back.

Unfortunately, there were no witnesses. It was one person's word over another and even though the assailant already had a record of violent behaviour, it was impossible to determine who was guilty.

Sanna Johansson was ordered to pay five thousand kronor in damages for pain and suffering caused as well as harassment. Her explanation that it was a question of life or death was not considered sufficient motive for the degree of violence she subjected him to. The man's defence lawyer had insisted on setting a precedent and demanded an internal inquiry against Sanna Johansson. The judge demanded that he calm down. His client already had a police record and a more in-depth investigation might result in undesirable consequences.

AGNES SAT IN AN OLD ARMCHAIR that creaked every time she moved. She had a computer on her lap and was writing furiously.

"Do you have everyone's addresses?" asked Mikaela.

"Yes, I think so," answered Agnes without looking up. "I have most of the women's organizations as well as other organizations such as The Swedish Association for Sexuality Education, Amnesty, Men for Gender Equality, Fryshuset and a bunch of political parties.

I have also suggested that everyone coordinate with other organizations around the country. It's important that all the demonstrations occur at the same time," continued Agnes.

"Right on," said Mikaela.

"Woo hoo!" shouted some of the group. Others made a thumbs up signal.

"Done it!" exclaimed Hanna waving her hands in the air triumphantly. "We're on Facebook! I'm sending an invite to all my contacts plus their friends. Information spreads like wildfire on Facebook..."

"Awesome!" said Agnes. "Have you updated the blog as well?"

"Of course! I've also published all the latest pictures."

"All of them?" asked Agnes. They had taken a lot of photographs.

"No, of course not. Only the best ones obviously," she replied, a little put out.

The seven other members present were busy preparing the information leaflets that needed cutting out. Each A4 page contained six leaflets. Together they had already made one thousand copies that would be distributed as quickly as possible in the city. The templates had also been sent electronically to the organizations they were in contact with.

Now was the time for real action. Not just talking or writing about the problem. It was going to be a peaceful but spirited demonstration.

THE NEW COPIES OF THE "hidden files" that Sabine Keikkonen had recovered were delivered. Sanna inserted one of the discs into her computer and opened the so-called "Xclusive" folder, quickly scrolling through its contents to get a rough idea of the scale of the project. Some of the fifteen women that they had discovered earlier had also been placed into the newly discovered folder. Ingalill Segelström was one of these.

Sanna contacted Kalle, Thorén and Javier to update them.

"We need to allocate new resources." She looked at Javier and Thorén. "How much work is left on the four women?"

"We should be finished in a few days," said Javier.

"Okay. Then I suggest that you, Javier, continue with that and that Kalle and Thorén take care of the new stuff." She paused. "You can divide up the work if you want. There are eight women, some of whom we have come across earlier. Included are three women that you have already reviewed, Kalle."

"I'll take care of them since I'm already pretty up to snuff on the nature of their relationship with Svenson. There are one or two who I'm curious to find out more about," replied Kalle.

Sanna nodded and turned to Thorén.

"Good!" said Thorén enthusiastically. "I'm most interested in Ingalill Segelström. "I'll start with her."

Javier scratched his head.

"I'll help you as soon as I'm finished with the report."

Sanna nodded and gave him the thumbs up.

# CHAPTER 22

## Woman Number Ten

THORÉN SAT AS IF SHE WAS nailed to the chair with a stunned expression on the face. Her eyes were the only feature that moved as they followed the images on the computer screen. She was in a small room equipped with a DVD player.

"Coffee?" asked Javier pushing the door open a fraction.

Thorén didn't appear to hear him and continued with what she was doing.

Javier realized that she was using earphones and couldn't hear him so he walked into the room to get her attention but was immediately distracted by the images on the screen.

"What the hell's that?"

He pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. "Bloody hell!"

Thorén glanced at him despondently.

Javier put on his earphones.

"No, shit!" He ripped out the earphones. "Who's that woman?"

"Ingalill Segelström..."

"Was that in the hidden files?"

Thorén nodded.

"She's Anders Segelström's sister. Sanna told me that it was Anders who took Ingalill's files. He's not allowed anywhere near them now. I assume that he'll be transferred to another investigation. Anyway, he's definitely off the case."

The video recording depicted the brutal rape of Ingalill Segelström. It began with scenes of Ingalill encouraging Svenson to be rough with her. However, things started to get out of hand when Svenson pressed Ingalill's head down hard into the cushion and she panicked, screaming that she couldn't breathe and begging him to stop. He ignored her and continued acting aggressively. She struggled desperately to free herself, but Börge Svenson was oblivious. He was enjoying it. He had an object in his hand and the more she screamed the harder he pushed it into her anus. She made another attempt to get away and started to cry. Svenson sat astride her and pulled her hair hard. "Shut up you bloody whore!" he shouted and slapped her.

"Is that why she threatened his wife?" wondered Thorén.

"Probably. But why his wife and not him? Although we don't actually know what happened after the rape."

"Have you spoken to Kalle?" asked Thorén.

"No, but it wouldn't surprise me if the other video recordings are pretty similar," replied Javier. "We'll find out shortly. Sanna called us to a meeting."

"Really, I didn't hear about it," said Thorén. "What time?"

Javier looked at his wristwatch.

"In ten minutes. I'll go and get some coffee first. Are you coming?"

"Can you get me a latte?"

The entire team minus Segelström gathered in the investigation room. The prosecutor looked at his clock and then at Sanna.

"How long do you think this will take?"

"One hour, max," answered Sanna. "First and foremost I need to inform you that Anders Segelström has been removed from the case. As I'm sure you understand, from now on you must not talk to him about the case or what has been disclosed about his sister Ingalill. To make a long story short, Anders Segelström is no longer involved in the investigation because his sister is now the focus of an enquiry."

She surveyed the team members gathered around the table.

"For those of you who don't already know, I can now disclose that we have found new information on Svenson's laptop that was concealed among so-called hidden files. Thorén and Kalle have gone through the material and will give us a preliminary report."

She glanced at Thorén.

"Can you start?"

Thorén looked at Sanna in disbelief.

"I have to admit that I'm not at all prepared but I can of course present what I've managed to find out so far." She drew a deep breath. "The files contain details of a series of violent sexual acts. To start with both Svenson and Ingalill were on the same wave length." She looked down and hesitated for a moment before continuing. "There was also a film sequence showing Ingalill being brutally abused and raped despite her begging Svenson to stop."

"Is this the same woman who threatened Ingrid Svenson?" asked Alkelius.

"Yes, it's the same woman," interjected Sanna.

"Hmm," said Alkelius.

"The question is, why did she threaten his wife and child? Maybe she wanted revenge on those who she thought Svenson loved," said Sanna.

Alkelius removed his spectacles and laid them on the table. He leaned back in his chair and groaned.

There was a short silence.

"Is there no end to this?" commented Blom, dejectedly.

"That's not all. Kalle can you present what you have found so far?"

Over a half hour period, Kalle presented his findings. The video films were mainly a repeat of what Thorén had described. The women seemed to enjoy rough sex and apart from a couple of cases there was no evidence of abuse.

"I intend to examine women number five and thirteen further since their situations are similar to Ingalill's. There's more material in the index file on them," said Kalle.

Sanna and Alkelius nodded.

"How much more do we need to do?" added Alkelius. "We have to call it quits sometime.

"I agree. My suggestion is that we dig up as much as possible on Ingalill Segelström. She pops up several times during the investigation, so I think we should focus on her..."

Sanna surveyed the participants.

"The problem is that Ingalill Segelström is abroad at the moment. I have tried to call her and left messages on her mobile. We'll just have to hope that she contacts me as soon as she returns."

"Do you know when she's supposed to get back?" asked Blom.

"No. I've also asked Anders if he knows where she's gone but he has no idea," said Sanna.

"Isn't it odd that she decides to go away now?" said Blom.

Alkelius nodded slowly.

"What about the women I'm following up on?" asked Kalle.

"Contact them and arrange a hearing," said Sanna. "We'll see where it leads." She looked in her notebook. "If there are no more questions or anything to add let's get back to work."

Kalle followed Sanna down the corridor.

"Sanna, there's something I want to talk to you about."

She turned around.

"Can we go to your office?"

There was a look of seriousness in Kalle's eyes that didn't go unnoticed by Sanna.

"Is something wrong?"

He nodded but said nothing. Once back in Sanna's office he closed the door behind him. Sanna sat down and signalled Kalle to grab a chair.

"The material that Segelström handed in isn't the original. We've been given a false copy of the CD."

Sanna stared at him in complete bewilderment. She was lost for words. This was too much.

Kalle explained that he had first become suspicious when he noticed that the contents didn't follow the same pattern as the rest of Svenson's CD's containing so-called conclusions. And on closer inspection he noticed that the serial number was out of sequence with the other CD's that Svenson had used.

Segelström's assumption that his sister had been classified in the "ordinary women" category was incorrect. As revealed during Thorén's presentation, Svenson had established an additional category where intelligence was very low on his list of priorities.

"I suspect that Svenson wrote something about Ingalill's threats to his family," continued Kalle.

"Yes, we must get that info as soon as possible!"

HE LEARNT ABOUT THE HIDDEN files the same day as Sanna. With a copy of Svenson's computer in his possession Segelström went home directly after lunch and spent the rest of the afternoon scouring through the files. He admired Svenson's cunning, which was of almost Machiavellian proportions.

Initially, he had been searching for the video recordings of Ingalill but when he realized that his little sister was enjoying the rough sex he immediately turned off the machine. It was mortifying to see his own sister performing a sex act. He pulled himself together, remembering that this was an investigation and that he had a job to do. He needed to find out why Ingalill had threatened Svenson and his wife. He watched the rest of the videos, trying to build up a picture of what they were dealing with. Were they consenting adults with similar sexual inclinations getting together to have raw sex? Or was it something more sinister?

Three hours later he'd had enough. He closed the laptop and ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. He hadn't been prepared for this. He would have to watch the video again to make sure that she hadn't been badly injured. He fast-forwarded to the scenes he wanted to see again. It didn't take long before he was forced to wind it back to normal speed.

Segelström was horrified by the way Svenson had assaulted Ingalill. He decided to produce a false version of Svenson's "conclusions" and removed scenes that he felt were compromising – sections where it was revealed that Ingalill had threatened Svenson and his family. But even in his darkest fantasies he could never have imagined that his own sister had such inclinations. However, what angered him the most was that Ingalill hadn't confided in him about the rape.

He felt the anger boil up inside him. He summed up what he had learnt about his sister but it was a discovery that was very hard to swallow. He wanted to break Svenson's neck. Unfortunately, he was safely locked up.

After what seemed like hours of uncertainty and speculation he decided to contact Ingalill. Did she have anything to do with Ingrid Svenson's murder? Had she been inside the Svenson's house? There were rumours of a man seen outside the house – what if he was one of Ingalill's friends? He knew that she was at her ex-husband's country place. Should he ring first or just go straight to Norrtälje?

He wanted to hear directly from her. There was no time to lose. He picked up the receiver and punched in the number.

"Hello," she answered.

"Hi, Ingalill it's Anders."

The siblings hadn't been in contact for several months. In fact, they had barely been on speaking terms since adolescence when he had complained about the friends she hung around with, many of whom were known to the police.

"What do you want?" she said curtly.

He didn't know where to begin.

"Can we meet? There's a lot I need to talk about with you face to face."

She didn't respond.

"Of course you're wondering why I'm calling..." He swallowed. "I have...I know that Börge Svenson raped you." He wiped the sweat from his forehead.

She was so quiet he couldn't even hear her breathing.

"I know everything," he continued.

She hung up the phone.

Segelström grabbed the car keys and left the apartment. He started the car but switched off the engine again. He needed time to prepare himself before confronting her with the question he so desperately needed an answer to.

BY TWELVE O'CLOCK on Saturday morning a large group of people had assembled on Medborgaplatsen. It seemed as the entire population of Stockholm was amassing in one place. Banners and placards representing a number of different organizations were visible as far as the eye could see. The square was swarming with people and the atmosphere was electric. Enthusiastic crowds stood chattering among themselves, others sat on benches or the ground, snacking. _Rosie the Riveter_ members walked around handing out sheets of paper with protest songs or catch phrases. It was going to be a loud demonstration.

By one o'clock the number of participants had grown to enormous proportions. There were thousands of people – women and men – who were getting ready to march through town.

The demonstration began at Medborgarplatsen with a mass gathering to demand justice. On the stairs of Medborgarhuset stood a few well-known activists, waving their placards. Everyone was there, either as spectators or demonstrators. There were musicians strumming rhythmic tunes and cheerleaders singing feminist songs. TV personalities and their cameramen mingled among the crowds and took the opportunity to interview politicians and other prominent people as well as ordinary citizens who had joined up with the demonstrators to show solidarity.

It was an endless procession. A number of different organizations had heeded the call to demonstrate and were participating with banners, streamers and homemade placards with protest slogans. A few shouted in unison _: "Stop the violence! No means no!"_ Others carried lit torches in a silent mourning procession. Some had posters with copies of the texts that women had placed in locations where they had been attacked or raped.

For the first time in history these texts were the genuine article. They were written by women who were describing their own experiences. Sanna's placard had also been reprinted and was positioned at the head of the procession together with the famous _Rosie the Riveter's_ placard.

The police kept their distance. TV vans were installed in strategic places and the crowd kept expanding.

The procession continued towards Götgatan and Södermalmstorg. They marched on to Hornsgatan where more people had gathered from all corners of the city. Even though they weren't marching in the procession they cheered and clapped in support. The demonstration continued through Kungsträdgården until they reached their final destination – Humlegården.

The head of the procession, _Rosie the Riveter's_ spokesperson, took her place on the specially erected podium. Mikaela took the microphone and thanked all the people and organizations that had helped arrange the march. It was an impressive list. She expressed regret at not being able to name everyone but there were just too many people who had devoted both time and energy to make sure the demonstration was a success.

The next speakers were well-known feminists and politicians who were very outspoken about social problems and women's rights as well as ineffective laws and the weakness of the authorities and the government.

A few groups chanted slogans through megaphones.

National media and regional TV channels reported on the event. The protest action was proclaimed the largest of its kind ever organized in support of a woman's right to control her own body. The placard would without doubt be remembered as a defining moment in the history of the women's movement.

# CHAPTER 23

## A Difficult Conundrum

DURING THE SIX MONTHS following Ingrid Svenson's murder, work on the preliminary inquiry was full of surprises. The investigation seemed never ending. It was a bit like opening Pandora's box – the more they delved into Börge Svenson's life, the more secrets they discovered.

At the start of the investigation, Sanna had promised to leave no stone unturned in her efforts to convict Svenson, but it seemed as if no matter how hard they worked there were still more stones to turn, so to speak.

It had been a long and laborious process. And now she had a mountain of documents and photographs in front of her to compile and summarize in her final report. In other words, she had a hell of a lot of work left to do. She had to keep her wits about her and not omit any important details. Although the investigation team had been given clear instructions regarding the right to anonymity steps would still have to be taken to ensure compliance. In an extensive criminal investigation of this nature it was very likely that mistakes would be made.

She glared at the piles of paper that lay on the table, leaned back in her chair and sighed heavily. Time was slipping away. Kalle had agreed to review the material with her and Alkelius. However, the prosecutor was always unavailable and didn't return her calls.

It was actually the prosecutor's responsibility to complete the report. However, annoyingly enough, any problems or flaws in the investigation results would inevitably end up on her desk anyway.

She looked at the telephone and deliberated whether to call him. After a few seconds she picked up the receiver and punched in a phone number.

"Carl-Magnus Alkelius," he answered.

"Hi, Sanna Johansson here. How's it going with the lawsuit?"

"I was just going to call you. As you know we're bound to maintain the anonymity of the plaintiff."

"I know," she interrupted. "That's also one of the reasons I'm calling – we have a mountain of material to go through and I wonder if you have any plans to be involved?"

"I see," said Alkelius eventually. "I'm sure we can solve this in some way without too much heavy lifting. Let's concentrate on establishing the original protocol and after the trial hearing we'll hand that to the judge along with the lawsuit." He cleared his throat. "I suggest we make a mirror copy for the media and general public that fulfils confidentiality requirements. We can classify all the other documents."

"Good, you seem to have thought of everything. I assume that you'll take care of the original protocol."

Sanna was intrigued by his lack of interest. It was odd that he had been much less active than he should have been, apart from when the media was involved. In a criminal investigation of this calibre the prosecutor was required to take primary responsibility.

"No, I haven't started it. I assumed that you would be taking care of it..."

Sanna didn't answer.

"You're right Sanna," he added after a long silence. "I'll come in tomorrow to finalize things."

"You mean on Monday..."

"Oh yes," he answered, chuckling.

"Good. I'll see you at nine o'clock on Monday."

Sanna was reasonably satisfied with his response. So infuriated was she by his arrogant indifference, she had actually already started formulating the final report. She closed her eyes and massaged her forehead.

She returned to her work. It was important to get the legal formalities correct. Using the wrong legal expression could result in a misinterpretation of the facts and thereby risk leading to an acquittal. She checked the Code of Judicial Procedure.

A preliminary hearing __ - __ in criminal law __ - __ is __ only __ a preparatory __ inquiry _._ The primary purpose of __ the inquiry __ is __ thus __ to create a basis __ for prosecution __ decisions. According __ to the Swedish penal code: Chapter 23, _Section_ 2, the main aim of __ the hearing __ is to determine whether the evidence is sufficient to justify detaining the accused or discharging the accused on bail. The final examination to decide whether a crime was committed or not __ takes place __ in court.

She stopped reading for a moment. "I hope there are some people in the courtroom who aren't in Harald Svenson's pocket," she mumbled to herself.

__ "Chapter 23, _Section_ 4, regulates __ a number of set of principles _pertaining_ to how the preliminary investigation should be conducted. The provision states __ among other things that _not only circumstances that are not in favour of the suspect but also circumstances in his favour, and any evidence favourable to the suspect shall be preserved. The investigation should be conducted so that no person is unnecessarily exposed to suspicion, or put to unnecessary cost or inconvenience._..."

Sanna checked off the items on her "to do" list. It was a question of objectivity. It was important to also include material that played to the suspect's advantage. Although she didn't think it would have much of an impact on the verdict she would have to include Hugo Svensson and Ludmila Karlsson's testimony. They were the only ones who were convinced of Svenson's innocence, believing him incapable of committing such a horrific act. Moreover, nobody else had come forward offering to testify for him even if many of them had praised his character. "Probably they don't want put themselves on the line for someone who's in prison," she thought.

Sanna was aware that Tallén had Harald Svenson at his heels. There was a lot of talk about Harald Svenson expecting an acquittal. Tallén was compelled to look for an impediment – a mistake in the investigation, which would therefore draw attention to inessential details.

All the technical evidence pointed to Börge Svenson, but anything of minor relevance could turn up in the defence lawyer's argument. For example, there was a risk that Tallén would try to claim that the investigation time limit had been exceeded, but she had already taken this into account. The preliminary inquiry had gone on longer than planned because of the large amount of unexpected material discovered in Svenson's attic, which confirmed Svenson's aggressive nature as well as providing conclusive evidence linking him to another murder.

Sanna glanced at the preliminary inquiry material with a look of satisfaction.

In the forensic pathology report on samples taken from Börge Svenson, abrasions were found on his arms and face, which he was unable to explain. According to the autopsy report on Ingrid Svenson from the laboratory in Uppsala, traces of his skin were found under her nails. Sanna wished that they could tie Svenson to the murder weapon. The chair leg had clear sets of fingerprints. Were they Svenson's or not? How much time did the forensic pathology department need to prepare their analysis? Every time she contacted them she had been fobbed off with different excuses. Suddenly Sanna felt more and more fed up with the whole story.

_ROSIE THE RIVETER_ HAD convened for their interview with Swedish Television in the newly renovated club premises. They waited with excited anticipation while the TV staff prepared their equipment.

Mikaela, Agnes, Anna, Samuel and Jonathan would be acting as spokespersons and they were seated in the front row where a line of chairs and cushions had been put out. The others found places nearby.

A cameraman directed the lens at the wall that was directly visible as you descended the stairs. On this wall was a painted map of Stockholm where strategic locations were indicated with numbered red dots. On both sides of the map were a series of illustrations that were decoratively painted and inscribed with text. These represented the placards that had been placed at the scene of their attack by victims of rape or assault. This was _Rosie the Riveters_ "complaint" wall".

"I would first like to congratulate you on a successful demonstration," said the female SVT presenter with a warm smile.

"Thank you, but it's actually us who should thank you all – and I mean all of you who have been involved and helped make this demonstration possible." She paused. "The demonstration would never have succeeded without the support of all the organizations and members of the public around the country who got engaged and helped us get the message out that everyone's participation was so important!" said Mikaela looking straight at the camera, in an attempt to reach out directly to the participants who were watching the show so that they would feel a sense of pride in what they had accomplished together.

"Why did you choose to do it this way?" asked the presenter.

"Do you mean the placard or the demonstration?"

"Well, both actually," replied the presenter, caught a little off guard.

"The placard was a way for us to show that we were listening to what victims were saying when they wrote about their experiences and shared it with the public.

She surveyed the members. Some of them nodded or gave a look of agreement.

"A number of support groups have also been started on Facebook," added Agnes.

"We never thought that the response would be so overwhelming. On the day we first went out with the placard there were so many people who wanted to sign, who wanted to support our cause," said Mikaela looking intensely at the SVT presenter.

"Why do you think it was so popular?"

"If you think about it, it's not so surprising," said Samuel.

"What do you mean?"

"After all the attention that the original placard received, more and more women had the courage to come forward to tell their stories. It was a chain reaction," continued Samuel

"The first placard in Lill-Jansskogen is definitely what started it all," said Agnes.

"Do you know the identity of the woman in Lill-Jansskogen?" asked the presenter, hoping to be first out with the news everyone was waiting for.

The members of _Rosie the Riveter_ looked at each other questioningly.

"No, we have no idea," said Anna curtly.

"It's none of us anyway," said Mikaela as the SVT presenter turned to survey the other members and the cameraman directed his camera at them.

"Anyway," continued Mikaela, trying to draw attention back to the club spokespersons. "We were inspired by the placard and the brave women who were willing to share their experiences. That's definitely what inspired everyone. And we wanted to be part of that. We wanted to show that we were listening and that there were people out there who supported them."

"We weren't misguided. We managed to significantly raise awareness," said Jonatan with a triumphant smile.

The SVT presenter looked at her crib notes to see whether there was anything she had forgotten to ask.

"You seem very engaged. How did that happen?" She stared at Samuel.

"I think there's a huge necessity for this type of action."

"But you're a man."

"Are you suggesting that men shouldn't care how women are treated?" he answered.

"Are you a feminist?" she continued, ignoring his comment.

"Absolutely!" he said, arching his back. "We're a feminist organization and I'm a member!"

Samuel normally had a very calm disposition and seldom showed irritation. But the SVT presenter had touched on a sore point. It wasn't the first time he had been challenged about being a feminist.

"Yes, but why are you engaged in women's issues?" insisted the presenter.

Samuel realized that she wasn't going to give up.

"Because I have a mother! Because I have a sister! Because I have many friends who are women! Because one day I will probably marry a woman!" He stared into the camera lens. "And I want them to be treated properly – with respect and dignity!"

He was feeling elated. Perhaps the TV presenter would admit that women's rights issues affected them all.

When the interview was transmitted on TV, Samuel's final statement was heard in its entirety. The members were thrilled but also a bit surprised because they had assumed the section would be edited out.

# CHAPTER 24

## The Trap

NOTHING SURPRISED HIM ANY MORE. It was difficult to know when and how this would end. Originally he had believed Harald Svenson's claim that the murder was a bizarre misunderstanding. But after all the evidence that had been uncovered about his client's life and exploits he was now convinced that there was only one solution. They would have to enter a peal of insanity. Tallén arranged a meeting with Harald Svenson to explain the situation.

"I don't care what methods you use..." Harald Svenson looked him squarely in the eyes. "Listen carefully. My son must not... I repeat, must not go to prison!" he said, slamming his fist onto the table.

Tallén nodded slowly.

"Soon we'll find out which psychiatrist is going to examine him," said Harald Svenson, discarding his earlier gruffness. "Everything will work out." Harald Svenson shook Tallén's hand and smiled courteously. "If you don't mind, I have an appointment in a few minutes..."

Tallén got up hastily and left.

Although he was a renowned and sought-after defence lawyer he was getting the distinct impression that Harald Svenson was treating him like an errand boy. At the same time he didn't feel like mentioning it. Regardless of the circumstances, it was his reputation as a lawyer that was at stake.

Tallén speculated over Harald Svenson's involvement. On the one hand, he was prepared to go to any lengths to stop his son going to prison but on the other hand, neither he nor his wife had ever once visited him in prison. It was obvious that Harald's willingness to go to extreme lengths to stop his son being convicted was not motivated by concern for Börge Svenson himself but by fear that a scandal like this would ruin the family's reputation forever.

Despite Börge Svenson's persistent denials, the evidence against him was so overwhelming that his guilt was not in question. Tallén's difficult task was to persuade his client to admit the crime.

It shouldn't be a problem getting the court to grant the request for a psychiatric evaluation. The biggest challenge would be to persuade Börge Svenson to agree to such an examination. In the worst case he could try requesting a paragraph 7 examination since this type of procedure could be carried out without establishing the burden of guilt

BÖRGE SVENSON WEIGHED up his options. He was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea – psychiatric treatment or prison. Which alternative would be best for him and, more importantly, which alternative would cause the most damage to his family? He was contemptuous of the parents who had forsaken him because he chose not to go into the family business and were now worried about their reputation. The Svenson name must not be dragged through the mud. That was all they cared about. What happened to him was irrelevant.

He leaned back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his neck and stared at Tallén.

"Was this my father's idea?"

"What do you mean?"

"Was it my father's idea that I should be treated like a psychopath?

"Why would you think that?"

Börge Svenson laughed out loud.

"Why would I think that?" he repeated derisively. "You do everything that Harald Svenson tells you to do."

"Börge, I don't know what your problem is with your father but I can assure you that I am just doing my job and trying to find a solution that benefits you. I'm aware there is no good alternative. But the fact is that the prosecutor has a huge amount of evidence against you. What do you think we should do? What do you think would be the best solution to the problem?"

Börge Svenson took a deep breath and stared blankly at Tallén.

"We could begin with a paragraph 7 investigation," suggested Tallén.

"What's that?"

"It's a standard psychiatric evaluation that can be carried out without an assumption of guilt. This type of examination can be used as a foundation, or a guideline as to whether a more comprehensive psychiatric evaluation should be carried out."

Börge paced up and down the cramped interrogation room.

"I thought you were supposed to defend me." He clasped his chin with his right hand and looked down at the floor pensively. "But instead you want me to confess to a crime I didn't commit."

"You've seen yourself... all the evidence points to you!" Tallén was beginning to lose patience with his client. "Your skin was under Ingrid's nails for god's sake!"

"That's nonsense!" He waved his hand in rebuttal.

"Börge, I beg you to at least think it over. Work out what's best for you. Personally, I'm convinced that your future would look more positive if you were sentenced to psychiatric treatment rather than jail time."

He decided that there was nothing to be gained from continuing the discussion. If Börge Svenson had decided to ignore the outcome of the trial there was no option but to let him decide what to do next.

"I need an answer as quickly as possible, preferably by tomorrow."

"You'll get my answer tomorrow," answered Börge Svenson curtly as he got up from his chair to leave.

THE MISSING PIECE OF THE PUZZLE was finally in place. It was ten past three on Saturday afternoon when Sanna Johansson handed in the forensic pathology report on the chair leg samples. Sanna looked carefully at a pile of reports and photos that lay on the desk. She had stubbornly worked and reworked each section and double-checked the photograph references that were included in the final preliminary inquiry report.

It was an unusual feeling to compile a report on such an unexpectedly complex murder investigation. Börge Svenson was, without doubt, a man who had garnered many enemies. With just one exception, he was hated by all the women he had associated with.

She stared at her laptop. Apart from the summary, all the files and preliminary investigation material would be delivered in digital format. The protocol from the crime scene investigation included images of Ingrid Svenson's mangled body taken from different angles and the blood-spattered kitchen, which resembled a battlefield.

The essential technical evidence that bound Börge Svenson to the crime scene had finally been unveiled. According to the forensic report, he had used the bloody chair leg to attack his victim. The report certified that Svenson's fingerprints and Ingrid Svenson's DNA, in the form of hair and skin, were discovered on the weapon.

In addition, the bloodstain analysis determined that the blood on Börge Svenson's face, hands and shirt when he was arrested was typical of the pattern created when an assailant is splattered by their victim's blood.

She presented the autopsy photographs with no need for further explanation – they spoke for themselves. There were also reports on DNA samples as well fingerprints and footprints recovered from the crime scene. Recordings of witness testimony were also included in the digital version. Here, she had highlighted Einar Melkerson's witness testimony, which proved that the Svenson couple had been having an argument in the kitchen.

Sanna also included and quoted text from Ingrid's diaries where she describes her feelings about losing the baby after Svenson threw a computer at her stomach. She also included a medical certificate that had been signed by Doctor Samuel Aldén confirming the incident. She spent a great deal of time choosing strategic extracts from the diary, including the episode when Ingrid fainted after being hit over the head by Börge and her son, Viktor, stepped in to help her.

A specific section was reserved for Svenson's previous wives. One of the attachments chronicled Kalle Karlsson's meeting with Börge's second wife, Karin Bengtsson. Another described the deletion of personal register data and associated material. Pamela McGavin's statement was also summarized and the evidence included in the report.

She looked at the clock on her mobile and made a call.

"Are you ready?"

"Give us another fifteen minutes," answered Kalle. "The report's ready but we're still compiling the remaining attachments... I'm completing the final report on Ingalill Segelström." Sanna could hear voices in the background. "Javier wants you to know that he'll send you his report on Alva Aldhamo and Tina Hedströmer in five minutes."

"I'm fine if you just send me the summaries. I'm only including them in the main report. The attachments will be put onto a CD.

She hung up and checked her notes.

"Viktor's section," she murmured to herself. All the reports were lying on the table in paper format. She skimmed through a hundred-page report entitled "Crime victim Viktor Svenson". Although she didn't feel entirely sure where it would lead, there was a first time for everything. Börge Svenson must also be prosecuted for the death of his son, Viktor.

AS WELL AS WRITING a well-formulated report with associated attachments, Sanna Johansson had also made an effort to create a visually attractive presentation. From experience she knew that the way evidence was presented was crucial to the final outcome. An eloquent speech that demanded the listener's full attention as well as written notes couldn't compete against a digital submission where the judge could lean back and watch a big screen presentation and listen to the prosecutor's analytic and instructive commentary.

Sanna was pleased with the final result. The material she had compiled was definitely strong enough for the Stockholm County Court to grant an indictment.

Ingmar Tallén would prepare the lawsuit and submit it to Stockholm County Court together with the exhaustive preliminary inquiry material.

# Judgement Day

IT WAS LINING UP TO BE one of the most talked about criminal investigations in Sweden, involving a man who had exceeded the limits of decency in his treatment of women. A man born into a life of privilege who had been given every advantage.

For the first time ever in Sweden the suspect would also be tried for crimes against the forgotten victim – the child. A child who had suffered such severe psychological trauma that after seeing his mother beaten to death he later died.

THURSDAY THE FOURTH of September was the big day. The day when Börge Svenson would finally face the court and be tried for his crimes.

It was the prosecutor, Carl Magnus Alkelius' job to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant was guilty. Guilty of beating his wife with senseless brutality and then leaving her to die.

Ingmar Tallén's task as lawyer for the defence was to challenge the prosecutor's conclusions and establish reasonable doubt.

But the person who would make the final decision on the case, once the legal proceedings were completed, was the judge, Martha Falk-Gomez, who together with the jury would decide the consequences. It was their responsibility and duty to make sure that justice was done. However, this case would be an exception. Although it wasn't altogether unique. There were many examples within the history of the justice system where the judge used their power to affect the outcome of a trial. This was one of those cases.

SHE HAD READ THE report repeatedly. Her role was to find inconsistencies or mistakes that she could use to dismiss the case. There were a number of inclusions that could immediately be deemed irrelevant such as Svenson's extra marital affair. Unfortunately there was also a lot of very detailed information that would make it more difficult for her to succeed in her objectives. She was in a very tricky position.

Another problem was that the evidence was strong enough to convict him in any Swedish court.

Judge Martha Falk-Gomez looked at the clock and then at her half empty cigarette packet. She hesitated briefly then took out her tenth cigarette and walked over to the window to light it. She had been sitting there for hours reading the comprehensive 3500-page preliminary inquiry report. It was now midnight but she was far too restless to go to bed. She silently debated her excuses for abdicating responsibility.

How the hell had she ended up in a situation like this? The more she thought about it the more her stomach churned. The situation was completely unsustainable. Admittedly, she owed Harald Svenson a favour but it was unreasonable of him to expect her to acquit a murderer in return for his help in a tax-fraud case.

Idiotically enough, the favour she owed Harald Svenson wasn't even personal. It was her husband who had asked her if she could pull a few strings to help his best friend. She regretted every having been so stupid, but it was too late for hindsight.

It was important she kept a cool head. It wasn't even Harald Svenson himself who had contacted her but the Chief Prosecutor. Had the allegation been as bizarre as he had originally claimed she would have done her utmost to get Svenson's son acquitted.

She had racked her brains to think of a simple way to abdicate responsibility but this would mean she was still indebted to Harald Svenson, whereas she wanted to settle the debt as soon as possible. What might he ask her to do in the future if she didn't fulfil his request now?

There were two more players in the drama and they should also be involved in the decision. She contacted the Prosecutor General to acquaint him with the investigation and advise him of her strategy. He would pass this information on to Harald Svenson. If Börge Svenson was to avoid going to prison there was only one option. He would have to be declared insane.

The Prosecutor General had already been advised about the complexity of the case by another source. He agreed with her – Börge Svenson must receive psychiatric treatment. Harald Svenson also concurred.

To be on the safe side, Martha Falk-Gomez had recorded the phone call. She didn't know if the Prosecutor General or Svenson, for that matter, would find a way to use the decision against her in the future.

In the end it didn't matter what Börge Svenson thought. Although he had finally decided to follow his lawyer's advice and subject himself to a paragraph 7 examination, the judge at the trial hearing ordered the defendant to undergo a complete psychiatric examination. Tallén protested, not because he didn't agree with the decision, but because it was his job to do that. The judge's explanation was simple – this type of decision wasn't at all unusual in celebrated cases with distinctive features like this one. From the beginning, the court had known that they wanted a complete psychiatric evaluation and that is what they demanded.

Martha Falk-Gomez pondered. Everything had become more and more complicated. Getting a person declared insane wasn't something you could fix with a backhander.

There were two important elements that needed to fall into place. The first was to enlist the "right" psychiatrist, since it was the court appointed psychiatrist who would have the last word. The other was to convince Börge Svenson that it would be far better for him if he was committed to a psychiatric hospital for the criminally insane since it was very likely that the alternative would be many years, if not life, in prison.

A psychiatric evaluation was a very punishing procedure so it was crucial that Börge Svenson had his wits about him. The interesting question was whether he would have to fake insanity or if the examination itself would show that he really was insane. Regardless of whether the result was an accurate assessment or not the only thing that mattered to the judge was that the defendant was declared psychiatrically unstable.

When Börge Svenson received the news it felt like another slap on the face from his father. It had all happened so quickly. He had once again witnessed the power of his parents. He was moved from the prison to a psychiatric assessment ward the same week that the decision was taken and examined by a court-appointed psychiatric team led by Peder Tallgren, who was the son of a very good friend of the Svenson family. Additional members of the assessment team included a psychologist, counsellor and other healthcare experts. The question was whether Börge Svenson would survive four hours alone in a room being analysed by all those experts or would he get fed up and leave them with incomplete results.

THE SUMMING UP OF THE main verdict wasn't friction free. Because the psychologist in the court-appointed psychiatric team had been sceptical about Peder Tallgren's conclusions, the report had taken an additional week to complete. They just couldn't agree on a unanimous diagnosis. The psychologist had protested and said that he would make sure the psychiatric assessment of Börge Svenson was reviewed by the Swedish Board of Health and Welfare's legal team.

Peder Tallgren had his own agenda and argued that according to the law, as investigative forensic psychiatrist, he had the last word. What the psychologist or other experts thought was completely irrelevant. He had orders from above. The court-ordered psychiatric report would confirm that Börge Svenson was insane.

The report stated that Börge Svenson had an extremely disturbed personality and suffered from a serious mental disorder. His personality showed clear chaotic tendencies caused by traumatic childhood experiences. In short, he hated women and had an explosive temper. A dangerous combination. At the slightest provocation he was liable to lose control.

Martha Falk-Gomez' role was to ensure that the predetermined verdict stood, namely that Börge Svenson was in acute need of psychiatric care.

SINCE HER LAST VISIT TO Sweden Pamela McGavin had kept in regular contact with Jenny Hammarlund, who had been eagerly updating her on developments in the investigation and the huge attention it was being given in the media. Initially, Pamela had intended to call Jenny herself. But Jenny loved to gossip and – considering the circumstances – this suited Pamela perfectly. She knew that Jenny would contact her as soon as there was anything to tell.

It was hard to keep secrets among the closed social circles that Jenny Hammarlund and Börge Svenson belonged to. This was a very special case, which shocked some and titillated others. It was hard to believe that one of their own could have become caught up in a predicament of such dimensions. The type of violence Börge Svenson was accused of was more typically seen among people of the lower classes.

"Hi Pam!"

"Hi Jenny, how nice to hear from you..."

"Well, wait until you hear the good news I have for you," said Jenny, laughing softly.

"Tell me..."

"Börge is going to be declared insane! How about that?"

Pamela was speechless. It was the last thing that had crossed her mind.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes, I don't know what to say."

"I understand. I tell you I was completely astonished myself."

"How did you find out?"

"My best friend's husband Peder is a psychiatrist. His parents are very close friends of the Svenson's – I mean Börge's parents."

"I see..."

"Peder was leading the group of experts that performed the evaluation."

"Peder who?"

"Peder Tallgren. Do you know him?"

"No, unfortunately I don't"

The women chatted for about an hour with Jenny doing most of the talking. She told Pamela more or less everything she knew, including the fact that Börge's parents had never visited him in prison and that it appeared they had no intention of doing so in the future either. Information about the investigation spread quickly. He was the talk of the town and everyone in Jenny's social circles managed to keep themselves informed through the grapevine. They seemed to learn about developments in the investigation almost as soon as the police discovered new information. They knew what the defence lawyer and prosecutor did and didn't do. There was no doubt that it meant a lot to have the right contacts.

Pamela had also been in touch with Sanna Johansson occasionally, but in the long run hadn't received much in the way of interesting information. Of course this was hardly a surprise. She couldn't have expected anything else from the lead investigator.

When it came to Pamela McGavin's attention that Börge Svenson was under arrest for murder she was optimistic that he would finally face justice. But after the telephone conversation with Jenny Hammarlund the situation had changed. It seemed inevitable that the court would approve the psychiatrist's diagnosis that Svenson was psychologically disturbed.

For the first time since she had met Sanna Johansson Pamela felt disappointed and angry. Nothing was turning out as she had hoped. Had all her efforts been wasted? She would have to rethink her plans. What was the point in going to Sweden to testify? She had confessed her life story to a complete stranger, parts of her life that she had kept secret for all these years. And now she wasn't even sure it had been worth it.

She spent the rest of the day developing a plan B. She must leave nothing to chance – it was now or never. She had to make certain that Börge Svenson paid his debt to society.

MARIA HAD ALREADY READ through the massive preliminary investigation report. She had taken the liberty of making photocopies of sections she wanted to read in more detail. Huge piles of paper lay on the table with yellow post-it notes sticking out here and there as reminders or references to interesting, important sections. The report was filled with details of assault, rape and murder. Tuesday would be the second in a series of tough trial days when she would come face to face with the bastard who was suspected of murdering her daughter.

She read with dismay the section that included extracts from Ingrid Svenson's diary describing their miserable life of fear and uncertainty. Börge Svenson was a cold, calculating tyrant who never gave his son a second thought.

Her contempt for this man was spiralling out of control. The more she read of the report and how he continued to stubbornly deny all charges the more she detested him.

She stared at the enormous document.

Although she had read a preliminary inquiry report three years ago about the murder of her Alva she felt a painful palpitation in her chest. She was terrified of what the new report contained. Had they found new evidence or was it just a rehash of what she already knew?

"ALVA ALDHAMO was born..." As she held the document she could feel a burning sensation in her hands. She trembled. It was exactly the same feeling she had experienced almost four years ago. As if the document's contents contained information about her own funeral.

Time had clearly not dulled the pain.

Maria had searched in vain for Alex. At least the assailant now had a real name and a face to match. She had been searching for years without success. And no wonder – Alexander Razmik didn't actually exist. But now he had been presented to her on a silver platter.

He was the cause of her suffering. He was the reason she had changed her life completely. He wouldn't get away this time.

She went to the kitchen and drank a large glass of water, returned to the living room and grabbed hold of the dreaded pile of papers.

ANDERS SEGELSTRÖM FINALLY pulled himself together and set off to his sister's country place. One hour later, at quarter past seven in the evening, he drove onto the property and parked near Ingalill's Toyota. He strode up to the house. At the front door he hesitated and took a deep breath before knocking.

No answer.

He peered through the window and saw her sitting at the kitchen table.

"Please Ingalill open the door! We need to talk, you can't shut yourself in here forever!"

"Leave me alone!" she answered with a quivering voice.

He sat down on the front steps and waited.

A half an hour later the door opened. She stood in the doorway holding a half finished glass of wine. She was pale and reeked of cigarette smoke and alcohol. They went into the kitchen and she suggested he help himself to a glass of wine from the box on the kitchen counter. She sat down at the table again.

"Do you have any coffee?"

She didn't answer and sat staring out of the window.

He rummaged in the larder for filter coffee but all he could find was a jar of Nescafé. He boiled the water and made two cups of coffee.

They sat facing each other at the kitchen table. The coffee he served her was untouched.

They talked for a long time. Eventually she told him everything. That she had hired a man who was supposed to rape Svenson's wife in front of him, forcing him to watch. She wanted him to experience the humiliation he had subjected her to.

As she was being raped she was already plotting her revenge and this desire only intensified over time. She hated him with such ferocity that she wanted to crush him and his family. She wanted to kill him but first she wanted to destroy him. She tried to find a man who would be willing to rape Börge Svenson but nobody wanted to take on that assignment. Then a man suggested raping the man's wife instead. Ingalill had agreed.

The man who the witnesses had seen behind the house was the person who had carried out the attack. They had agreed that she would first visit Svenson at his home and then the man would put his plan into action. But Ingalill's visit had triggered a huge argument between the Svenson couple so the man, who she called Tompa, decided to wait until things calmed down. When Svenson left the house he murdered Svenson's wife.

Neither of them had the stomach to talk afterwards. Anders contemplated his sister.

"I don't think Tompa murdered Ingrid Svenson," he said at last.

Her expression clouded.

"What the hell do you mean? Did I pay him for something he didn't do?" She slammed her fist down onto the table. "BLOODY HELL!"

"He wanted your money I guess..."

Ingalill drank the rest of her wine and smashed the glass on the table, scattering glass splinters everywhere.

She screamed. Blood was pouring out of her hand.

Anders went to the bathroom to fetch a towel. She snatched it away from him and pressed it against her hand to stop the flow.

"I want you to leave," she said wearily.

Segelström didn't move. He hadn't finished with her yet and would stay there all night if necessary.

She sighed and walked over to the cupboard to fetch another glass, which she filled with wine.

"I guess you know that the police want to talk to you."

She nodded.

"The longer you wait the more likely the police will think you're guilty of something."

He studied her reaction but she said nothing.

"They think that you are an accomplice to Ingrid Svenson's murder!"

She stared at him hostilely and smirked.

"Even if you had evil intentions..." He broke off. He had been intending to say that at least she wasn't involved in the murder but now he knew better. She had surprised him. Here was yet another dark side of her character he didn't recognize. "I think you should contact them as soon as possible," he continued hesitantly. "You should report Svenson for rape. The police know that you've been raped for god's sake! Say something!"

Her face twisted into a mocking smile. She took out a cigarette.

"I hope you're not going to do anything stupid now!" There was a callousness in her eyes, which worried him. "He'll get his punishment. It would be bloody crazy if you went after him now!" he shouted. His words fell on deaf ears. Ingalill had a plan that she had no intention of sharing with her brother.

She got up to refill her glass.

THERE WAS A HUGE COMMOTION outside the courtroom. As well as Börge and Ingrid Svenson's friends and neighbours there were about fifty interested onlookers and newspaper reporters clustered at the door waiting to go in.

A man in a dark suit hurried through the crowd and positioned himself in front of the door.

"Regrettably, I must inform you that Case no. B2839-10 in courtroom two will be held behind closed doors.

A buzz of displeasure circulated among the crowd. Some protested vociferously while others slunk away in disappointment.

SHE HESITATED IN THE STAIRWELL. She was apprehensive about coming face to face with the man who had inflicted so much pain on her. She doubted her own strength. She didn't know how she would react.

She was barely aware of the pandemonium outside. She was tired and ambivalent about what was going on. A passer-by called out to her: "Svenson's trial is behind closed doors..." She looked at him but didn't respond. She would go there anyway and bide her time until they called her in as a witness.

She had spent the whole night reading through the report on Alva's murder and staring obsessively at Alexander Razmik's photograph – the one Alva had taken with her mobile phone. Now, finally, she would be given the opportunity to see him with her own eyes.

She continued up the stairs and into the waiting room. She wasn't alone. A woman in her forties was sitting on a chair at the far end of the room. Maria glanced at her. Although the woman was smartly dressed, her bloodshot eyes betrayed the fact that she had been drinking. As soon she became aware of Maria's presence she put on the pair of sunglasses that had been lying on her lap and readjusted her blond hair, which was tied up in a ponytail.

SANNA LOOKED AROUND the courtroom. As originally planned, the trial against Börge Svenson would take place behind closed doors. Apart from Kalle and Javier who were sitting beside her the only other people present were the jury, who had just taken their seats in the front and were awaiting the judge's entrance.

"Do you know if Thorén is coming?" asked Javier.

"She's dropping her child off at day care and should be here any minute," answered Kalle.

"What do you think the outcome will be?" asked Kalle.

"Hopefully life in prison. We have enough evidence for a conviction," said Sanna.

The strain was beginning to show. Sanna had been working until the small hours every day for the last few weeks trying to complete the final report. The case had exceeded all their expectations. What was, at the start, ostensibly just another horrific case of domestic abuse, had developed into a full-scale murder investigation of staggering proportions.

All Sanna longed for now was for the trial to go smoothly and the case to be closed. The odds on Svenson being sentenced to a long prison term were high – as long as the justice system functioned as it should.

Sanna glanced at the clock. Carl Magnus Alkelius and the legal counsel were late.

"Shouldn't Svenson and Tallén be here by now?" asked Kalle.

"Hope he hasn't escaped!" quipped Javier.

Sanna gave a faint smile.

"Hm, that would be a turn up for the books!" said Kalle.

MARTHA FALK-GOMEZ entered the courtroom. She was a woman in her sixties – approximately 1.65 metres tall with a fairly ordinary figure. Her most striking features were her turned-down mouth and stern, dark eyes framed by heavy eyebrows that met in the middle.

She was an experienced and skilful judge. Like most others in her profession she had followed the traditional route through the county courts and High court. After completing her law degree she worked as a notary at Stockholm County Court for two years, continuing her internship as a public prosecutor at the High Court for another two years. Four years later she became an adjunct before eventually becoming a judge two years later.

She had also worked at the Department of Justice specializing in issues affecting the court system.

Martha Falk-Gomez had been working in the judiciary for thirty years and had spent the last ten years working for the Supreme Court. Besides her excellent credentials as a judge, like many of her colleagues she was also known for her interest in financial crime. Unfortunately, these members of the judiciary tended to be tougher on perpetrators of financial crime than violent criminals. Somebody who destroyed another person's life through physical abuse might be given a prison sentence of a couple of years while a person committing tax fraud could receive a sentence of up to five or six years, all because the state had lost out on a couple of million kronor in tax.

The Prosecutor General had asked her to take on Börge Svenson's case as a personal favour, explaining that the accused was Harald Svenson's boy and that he had got himself into a very difficult predicament.

"As you know, Harald Svenson is – or was, since he is now retired – one of our foremost Prosecutor Generals."

"Yes, I know Harald Svenson very well. He was my mentor a hundred years ago. It feels like that long anyway..."

"Ah, so you know him personally?"

Typically, Harald Svenson himself had contacted the Prosecutor General and requested that Martha Falk-Gomez handled his son's trial. She was widely respected by most within the judiciary although her tough sentencing had generated a lot of ill will among some of the defence lawyers. Harald Svenson knew that she had a reputation for winning her cases and, most importantly, she was indebted to him – although that was a fact the Prosecutor General didn't need to know.

It was with a certain trepidation that Martha Falk-Gomez took on the case, but under the circumstances she could hardly refuse. She was irritated by the way it had been handled. It was typical of Harald not to contact her directly and get other people to take care of his business. There was no doubt that Harald Svenson knew she would accept his conditions and do her utmost to release Börge Svenson.

Martha Falk-Gomez initially accepted Harald Svenson's assertion that the charges were "absurd". But after skimming through the preliminary inquiry report and gaining more insight into the case she realized that this was actually a crime of huge proportions.

She read the forensic pathology report with rising consternation. There was no doubt that this was a serious case of domestic violence and possibly murder. "How can Harald Svenson claim his son is innocent?" she thought.

The Prosecutor General, who had been in continuous contact with Martha Falk-Gomez, once again reminded her that the case should be handled discreetly and in a timely fashion. Media attention must be avoided at all costs.

"Don't forget there are probably many people out there who would like to discredit the Svenson family. As you know Harald Svenson has many enemies among financial criminals," said the Prosecutor General over the telephone before she went to the courtroom.

HE STRAIGHTENED HIS TIE and adjusted his tailor-made Götrich suit so that it sat just right on his slightly emaciated body. His clean-shaven face was pale and his seductive eyes had lost their sparkle.

The big day had arrived. He was on his way to the courtroom. At last he would be able to explain his side of the story.

His thoughts drifted back to the fateful day. He had never spoken to anyone about it. It would remain a secret. How could he have been so clumsy and not foreseen that the woman who had harassed him might come to the house to threaten his family?

He had tried to block the scenes from his memory but they continued to replay in his head.

It was a special day. It had been a long time since he had felt like that. He was looking forward to spending time with his family – eating dinner together and just hanging out.

The smell of cooking wafted through the house. Ingrid had cooked his favourite meat stew and he had called Viktor in from the garden. Just as they were about to sit down to eat the doorbell rang.

Börge asked Ingrid if she was expecting anyone. She shook her head. Viktor rushed to open the front door.

"Is your mother home?" said a woman and before Viktor had time to react she stepped inside the hallway.

Börge thought he recognized the voice and hurried out of the kitchen. He turned white and stood frozen to the floor.

It was Ingalill Segelström. She smiled coldly.

"Is your wife home? I want to speak to her!" she asked firmly.

"What are you doing here? Please leave. You've no business being here!" he gasped. He spoke softly but his voice was firm.

"You never answered my e-mail!" Her eyes narrowed. "You promised to talk with your wife, but didn't have the guts."

After what happened between them she had demanded that he tell his wife about their relationship. Otherwise she would report him to the police.

He hadn't promised, but on the other hand he hadn't refused either. She still had a hold over him. Now he had no choice – the bloody whore was here in his house!

"What the hell are you talking about woman? Tell my wife what?"

He would have to act fast before Ingrid showed up in the hall. He tried to push her out of the door but she shoved past him and made her way into the house.

Ingrid stood there looking at them both. She was speechless.

The woman walked towards Ingrid and presented herself. "I'm Ingalill Segelström, do you remember me?" she asked nervously.

"Have you two met before?" asked Börge, confused.

Ingrid continued to stare at her.

Börge, in turn, studied the female intruder to whom he had once been attracted. She was Ingrid's complete opposite. Ingalill Segelström's female form was enhanced by her tight jeans and snug-fitting black sweater. Her long blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She had been one of his favourites. Of all his one-night stands and short relationships she had been the one who had excited him the most as well as the one who was most responsible to his violent lusts.

Börge Svenson sighed. He was torn by conflicting emotions.

"I called your little wife and told her that we're a couple," Ingalill Segelström explained, giving Börge a smooth smile.

It dawned on him that Ingalill was a psychopath who had developed a fixation on him. But was that really what it was about? Lately, most of her threats had intimated that he would also die alongside his family.

"You and me a couple? You're out of your mind woman!" He burst out laughing.

Without batting an eyelid Ingalill Segelström slapped Börge on the face.

He responded with such brute force that she had to put her hand against the wall to steady her fall.

Her face turned bright purple with anger. "You'll regret this!" she screamed. "I didn't come here alone, you know! He's coming to beat the shit out of you. He's a real man, not like you, you bloody coward! First he's going to take care of your little wife here and then give you a taste of your own medicine!" she screamed.

Börge Svenson laughed out loud.

"Your family will pay!" she said, eying Ingrid and Viktor. "You can't mess with me!"

Ingalill left the house, slamming the door behind her.

He stood paralyzed in the hallway, incapable of speech or movement. The walls were closing in, he couldn't breathe.

Ingrid asked Viktor to go to his room. "Pappa and Mamma need to talk for a little while before we eat."

She waited until they were alone.

"Who is she?" said Ingrid.

"Nobody important," he answered dismissively.

It was painful to remember. He rubbed his forehead to ease the tension. The situation had spun out of control the moment Ingrid picked up the telephone.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm calling the police of course. That woman threatened us. You should call them but I guess you're too much in love with her to do it!"

He had tried to wrestle the phone from her. As she went into the dining room to make the call he followed her and hit her so hard that she staggered several steps backward and struck her face hard against the glass cabinet.

It all happened so fast. She had demanded explanations and then asked about Pamela McGavin as well. She was fed up with his secret life.

This time she had gone too far. He didn't have the stomach to face the truth about himself and confront reality. It was his life. He didn't need to explain himself to anyone.

She had accused him of polygamy and demanded that he leave the house and never return. How could she ask him to leave his own home? She had definitely gone too far. She had tried to intrude into his private life. Who the hell did she think she was? What right had she to question him?

Things had taken an unexpected turn. Ingrid hadn't given in to his threats. She was determined to find out who the woman was and report them to the police.

Eventually he lost his temper. He went on the offensive and beat her and kicked her until she was seriously injured, bleeding to death... It was too late...

He rubbed his face nervously. He felt defeated. It was all over. From now on it didn't matter what happened. If he was sent to prison or received psychiatric treatment. The odds were stacked against him.

Nothing had turned out as he hoped. This time his father couldn't magic away what had happened. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and flinched.

He had realized the game was up when he learnt that he would be undergoing a psychiatric evaluation. It was obviously his father's last-ditch attempt to stop him from going to jail. But, sadly, his father's intervention wasn't to save him but to save his own skin. Harald Svenson would do anything to prevent the family name from being disgraced.

Börge had thought a lot about the consequences. His head would roll. He was a dead man. No one would have anything to do with him from now on. Who would want to associate with a man who was guilty of murder or had received psychiatric treatment? So why go to the trouble of being classified as a psychopath?

What was the alternative? He considered suicide. What was there to live for if he couldn't enjoy life?

It had been a very painful process, especially when he learnt that his Pam had been in Sweden and didn't want to meet him. According to Tallén, the lead investigator had wanted to interview him about his first wife but he had refused. If there was to be a hearing he wanted to meet Pamela McGavin first. But her answer came as no surprise. On that one point she was very clear. Pamela McGavin declared that she never wanted to see him again.

He was disenchanted at the way he had been treated even though Tallén had assured him it was all in his best interest.

"Look at the psychiatric examination as an advantage," he had insisted.

The bloody man was another of his father's lackeys. But he wasn't the only one. All those bastards would get their comeuppance. He would get even. Many heads would roll after this courtroom scandal.

The dreaded day had arrived. Everyone would know who he was. Everyone would know that Börge Svenson, son of Harald and Gunnel Svenson, was accused of murder.

Tallén assumed that he would take the underground passage between Kronobergs Prison and the security room inside the courthouse, but why should he hide himself like any other repentant prisoner? Tallén was so damned wrong.

No. He would walk in through the main entrance of the courthouse with his head held high. He would look directly into the camera. He had nothing to be ashamed of.

He had one agenda. His parent's world would break apart. He would speak openly about everything they had tried to do to erase his guilt. He would name all those bastards who acted like puppets and did everything his father ordered them to do.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Tallén one last time.

"I don't want to discuss it again!" answered Börge.

Tallén had an unpleasant feeling in his stomach.

Two police constables accompanied them to the car that was waiting outside the prison.

THE PRESS MOVED IN A WAVE to the main entrance as soon as they heard about the change in plans. The crowd ran down the stairs when they saw the black police car pull up outside. There was a huge commotion. As well as journalists there were many members of the general public who were curious to see the defendant with their own eyes.

Two plain clothed police officers climbed out of the car. One of them stopped at the open door and waited until Börge Svenson was ready to get out.

Flashes from clicking cameras dazzled his innocent blue eyes. Journalists raced forward with their microphones. Photographers excitedly snapped picture after picture.

Lorena Pascalini – who wasn't going to miss this event – elbowed herself forward and thrust a microphone into his face as he surveyed the crowd arrogantly.

"Did you murder your wife?" she asked eagerly.

Börge Svenson approached Pascalini's photographer to make sure he got a good close up shot.

"No!" answered Börge while he stared straight at the journalist. "I'm innocent of all charges."

Suddenly there was a sharp squealing sound from a motorbike that braked abruptly followed by a thunderous bang. The photographer staggered and grabbed hold of the person next to him. The crowd shoved, trampled and stumbled over each other, looking for cover. Some screamed, others stared in shock, unable to express any emotion.

It was chaos.

The photographers propelled themselves forward to get closer and take the best pictures. A few bystanders lifted their phones into the air to take blind photographs. In all the excitement a black-clothed figure dropped a Magnum revolver and squeezed through the crowd. The police fought in vain against the violent mob pushing and screaming, some to get away and others to get closer and see what had happened.

It was all over in a few seconds.

"Bloody hell, bloody, bloody hell!" screamed a policeman.

Börge Svenson lay lifeless on the ground. He had been executed by a single shot to the head.

"How the hell did this happen?" shouted the policeman.

The MC driver waited with the engine roaring. The black-clothed figure leapt forward and landed with a thud on the pillion and they drove off at high speed, turning right towards Kungsholmsgatan and disappearing like an arrow into the distance.

Tallén was in shock. He stared down at the body.

Pascalini's photographer had managed to take photos of the assailant and when he looked at them he could see that the driver had long blond hair. He assumed that the person seated behind was a man.

NOBODY MOVED A MUSCLE for a number of seconds. Sanna leapt onto her feet and raced out of the courtroom followed by Thorén, the messenger, and Kalle and Javier. Blom was conspicuous by his absence. He had intended to show up later in the day.

AS THE BIKE APPROACHED Klarasjörampen heading towards Centralbron at high speed, the black-clad rider made a phone call.

"It is done!" said the rider with a strong French accent.

Once the pre-arranged signal sounded, indicating that the message had been received, the figure smashed the phone against the motorbike. So far everything was going according to plan.

Before the bike turned right into Kornhamnstorg the pillion rider looked over his shoulder. Although a siren could be heard in the distance there was no sign of a police car. The figure flung the various parts of the mobile into the air and folded the SIM card in half and put it into his pocket.

SANNA HEAVED HER way through the crowds. Uniformed police had sealed off the crime scene and now had the situation under control. Svenson's lifeless body was covered with a blanket. Sanna crouched down and lifted it away from his face. His head lay in a pool of blood and there was a bullet hole between his eyes. She stood up and looked questioningly at the policeman who had escorted Svenson.

"It all happened so fast. I... we... had no idea what was going on." He dried the sweat from his forehead.

"What the hell happened? Who did this?" she shouted.

"A motorbike appeared from nowhere. We have the weapon but don't know what either of the riders looked like. However, one of them had long blond hair."

Sanna's face turned deathly pale.

"How tall was the suspect?"

"About one metre ninety – taller than me anyway."

That ruled out Ingalill. She couldn't be taller than one metre seventy.

"There was an accomplice. He or she was waiting on the bike with the engine ticking over."

Sanna nodded. It wasn't hard to work out what had happened afterwards. She went over to Tallén who looked as if he was about to faint. She was about to say something but quickly changed her mind. Tallén seemed too shaken. She would never be able to extract any useful information from him.

THE BUSY ROADS didn't make their getaway any easier. They bobbed and weaved through the traffic. Suddenly, in the midst of all the chaos, a woman appeared in the middle of the street wheeling a pram and talking and laughing on her mobile phone. The motorbike driver panicked and slammed on the brakes, making an evasive manoeuvre to avoid her. The bike gyrated onto the wrong side of the road.

"Merde, merde, putana!" screamed the driver while his passenger fought to stay on the back. They changed direction and continued along an empty bus lane.

A police siren whined in the distance. At Skeppsholmen they slowed down and drove at normal speed to avoid attracting attention. Before turning into Södra Bankogränd they looked back again to make sure that nobody was in hot pursuit.

Just past Stortorget they pulled into a narrow lane. They jumped off the bike and tore off their clothes and wigs, stuffing everything into a container for recycled clothes. They undressed in silence but every now and then gave each other knowing glances to assure themselves that so far the plan was working.

The sirens approached. A couple of backpackers paused on the bridge to watch as a procession of police cars with blinking blue lights sped past onto Skeppsholmen.

The pair walked briskly towards a Viking Line ship moored at Slussen and disappeared.

SANNA FELT SHATTERED. It felt so unreal. All their work was wasted. Svenson no longer had to answer for his crimes.

Kalle rushed over.

"We've a few witnesses who saw everything close up. Plus we have photos of the murderer!" said Kalle excitedly

"We also have the gun," said Sanna dispiritedly. "But I'm sure there are no fingerprints on it."

"Let's hope we've got a close up of the attacker," said Kalle who hadn't lost heart yet.

Javier, Thorén and Tallén, who had been chatting amongst themselves wandered over to Sanna and Kalle.

"We've lost the bike," said Javier in frustration.

Sanna stared at him blankly. She didn't care anymore. Maybe she should take a long leave of absence and try to forget that Börge Svenson ever existed.

There was a heavy silence. It was as if the air had been sucked out of them.

"YOU WON'T BELIEVE what just happened Pamela! It's outrageous!!!" screamed Jenny.

"Please Jenny, calm down... I can't understand you. What's happened?"

"He's dead!" Jenny burst into tears. "They've killed him! They've killed him!" she gasped, swallowing and sniffing.

Pamela felt an icy cold sweat break out over her entire body.

"Who's dead?"

"Bööörge!" stammered Jenny.

Pamela sat down. She turned deathly pale and her whole body shivered. She leafed through her notes to check what she had written for plan B. There were a few ideas but nothing concrete. In her confusion she read her list again and again to make sure she wasn't inadvertently responsible for Börge Svenson's death. Thankfully, she realized that she didn't even have the phone number for the person she had been planning to contact. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"Please Jenny tell me what happened," said Pamela.

"All I know is that he was shot outside the court entrance. Can you imagine? He didn't even get a chance to defend himself..." Jenny blew her nose and composed herself. "Are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm still here. It's just that I don't know what to say. I can't take it in. Can I call you later?"

"Yes, of course. I'll keep you posted."

SHE HAD BEEN PACING the streets for hours with no particular destination in mind. She slowed down and looked around. Ingalill was outside the Dubliners at Hötorget. Taking out a mirror from her handbag, she adjusted her hair, painted her lips red and strode into the pub.

She sat down on a high stool at the bar.

"What would you like?" asked the bartender.

"A pint of bitter... Oh, and by the way, a whisky too."

She smiled contentedly.

The barman allowed his gaze to drift down towards her breasts.

She blushed and did up the top button of her jacket.

"Where's the ladies room?" she asked without looking at him.

"Straight ahead and to the right," he said with a serious expression, shaking his head.

She grabbed an empty cubicle. Safely inside, she unbuttoned the jacket and reassured herself that the gun hidden in her bra wasn't visible. Her skin was clammy with sweat and she could feel the weapon sticking to her breast. She removed it, dried it thoroughly with toilet paper and placed it into her handbag. Then she washed her face with cold water in the basin.

She had been called as a witness. Her first reaction had been to decline but of course, that would have been impossible. Anyway, this could turn out to be the perfect opportunity to satisfy her lingering desire for revenge. Testifying meant being in the same courtroom as Börge Svenson and it would be a good time to get even. She procured a gun through her contacts in the underworld, which wasn't hard as long as you had the money. She had considered the consequences but she knew she would kick herself if she missed this chance. What happened next, only time would tell.

Ingalill looked at her reflection in the mirror above the washbasin. She powdered her face, touched up her lipstick and returned to the bar.

She downed the whisky in one gulp and drank half the beer.

"I'm celebrating," she said cheerfully.

The man nodded. He looked at her curiously. Ingalill smiled smugly.

"One more round," she said displaying her empty glass.

MARIA WENT DIRECTLY HOME. She sat on Alva's bed hugging her daughter's photograph album to her breast. She removed her long black wig listlessly and placed it beside her. She had been called as a witness and had been forced to look like Susanne Aldhamo. Nobody was allowed to see her new appearance.

She stared listlessly into space. Her face was pale and drawn. She couldn't believe it was all over. The man who had murdered her daughter had been punished. It didn't matter who had killed him or why. All she knew was that her daughter's death had finally been avenged. She had intended to wait until the verdict was returned and then put her plan into action. She had considered several alternatives. Wherever Börge ended up she planned to visit him and finish him off with her own hands. Afterwards she would decide her own destiny. She had been dead for a long time, anyway. She stopped living the day she saw her daughter's frail, lifeless body on a slab in the mortuary.

A group of teenagers laughed outside on the street. A dog barked at a passing cyclist. Suddenly the heavens opened up and heavy rain rattled against her window.

She lay on the bed and fell into a deep sleep.

HARALD SVENSON WALKED SLOWLY towards Norr Mälarstrand. He sat down on a bench by the water and glanced despondently at the mobile in his hand. He dismantled the phone and threw the pieces in to the water, one by one.

# Epilog

SHE HAD JUST FINISHED cleaning the apartment and was holding a summer dress against her in front of the mirror imagining how it would look on her. She shook her head in displeasure, folded the dress up and put it into a black rubbish bag destined for Myrorna. Sanna stretched her arms up into the air and took a few deep breaths. She was about to lie down on the bed to rest when her mobile rang.

"Hi Kalle," she said cheerfully.

"We need you here!" said Kalle. "How long are you going to be off work? It's been two months now."

She sighed. Kalle was certainly persistent. He had kept on calling her, particularly during the first few weeks of her sabbatical when he had rung at least twice a week. Since then his calls had been more sporadic.

"I don't know. You're coping fine without me."

"You're kidding!" he replied, with a touch of irritation.

As soon as it was decided that another team would handle the investigation into Börge Svenson's murder, she decided to take some time off. She was owed holiday time that she had been forced to save because of work commitments. Blom understood why Sanna had refused to continue with the case. They were all exhausted from weeks of working overtime and were more than willing to pass the case on to another team.

Kalle had kept her informed about the progress of the murder inquiry or rather the lack of progress. Every week that went by meant it was more likely the investigators of the Svenson murder was destined to fail. They had a murder weapon without fingerprints. Many witnesses had come in with photographs taken with iPhones but they all showed a person on the run whose head was completely covered by a motor cycle helmet and the rest of the body by the customary leather outfit that didn't reveal anything of the assailant.

Eventually they called in Interpol but achieved no noticeable results. Kalle had heard that there was a risk that the case would be closed.

Sanna had shown little interest in the outcome. She couldn't care less how it ended.

"Are you still there?" asked Kalle.

"I have to think about it. I promise you'll be the first to know if I'm coming back or not..."

Kalle drew a deep breath. "I hope you don't throw away the knowledge and experience you have gained after so many years in the profession. Next time I hear from you I want to know WHEN you are coming back!" He paused. "By the way, the Svenson investigation has been closed," he added and hung up the phone.

Lourdes Daza-Gillman was born in Bolivia. While living in London during the 1970s she developed a passionate interest in the injustices faced by women around the world. However, her studies and observations were put on hold when she moved to Stockholm, Sweden, where she began a long career at Ericsson as an engineer. In 2005 Lourdes Daza-Gillman was elected to the board of Feministiskt Initiativ, a women's movement, and was directly involved in the efforts to make FI a political force. She now had the opportunity to focus on causes close to her heart – raising women's low wages, preventing men's violence against women and helping children brought up under these circumstances.

Lourdes Daza-Gillman is also an artist. In 1969 she held her first exhibition in Oxford, England. In Stockholm she has exhibited oil paintings, sculpture and glassware.

**Despair** is Lourdes first crime thriller novel and **Impact** is coming soon.

Read more at: Lourdes-dazagillman.com
IMPACT

(Coming soon!)

The horrific sex murder of a middle-aged man is the start of a tough, almost bizarre police investigation. SANNA JOHANSSON and her colleague KALLE KARLSSON have been assigned to the case. Before long they realize this is a far from straight forward investigation. The entire crime scene has been decontaminated and they soon discover a connection with several unsolved killings across the country, where the methods used were identical and no clues were left behind.

As they search for the perpetrator the team becomes more and more frustrated. Are they looking for a serial killer with connections to the police and privy to inside information? Profilers claim that the murderer is most likely a well-to-do male – but won't rule out the possibility that the crimes were committed by a woman.

The search for the culprit unlocks disturbing secrets from the past and it becomes clear that the killer plans to strike again soon. But where? When? And who is the intended victim?

The serial killings with their violent sexual character trigger a media storm, no doubt galvanized by the fact that all the victims are male.

IMPACT is the second book in the trilogy about Sanna Johansson and her colleague Kalle Karlsson. It is an enigmatic crime novel, full of twists and turns that will leave the reader clamouring to find out: what comes next?

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaBook