Cinderella Girl (17 page)

Sjöberg realized that the time was approaching when they would have to broaden their search for the perpetrator. But it was certainly the case that with these long lists as a basis for investigation, it would take for ever before they
would even get through all the interviews. One of these people had murdered Jennifer Johansson, but it was not likely that it was just a passing stranger. Whoever it was, the person in question had probably had strong reasons to take the girl’s life. It must be someone she knew from before, someone in her circle of acquaintances, someone she had met in some context, a shadow from the past who was also on the boat, perhaps for the sole purpose of killing her.

Or else it was someone she had just met on the boat, someone she had found out too much about or someone whose feelings she had wounded and who killed her without premeditation. Whoever the killer was, Sjöberg wanted to believe that there must be a loose end to tug. There must be witnesses, he thought. There must be witnesses to something that led up to this murder.

The Finnish police were working hard to locate the two businessmen Jennifer had been seen with in the disco. Sjöberg hoped this would produce something soon. For their part, trying to identify the solitary Swedish man in the bar seemed much harder. But if that man was the murderer, if he had made this trip purely to kill Jennifer Johansson, he had presumably had no travel companion and would therefore be easier for them to find. Eriksson was working on a compilation from Viking Line of all the single men who had reserved a ticket in a separate cabin or in a shared cabin with strangers. That list – together with the list of convicted persons – could be important. If the man in the bar really was a person of interest in the investigation, that is. There were a lot of ‘ifs’, but for the time being Sjöberg was pinning most of his hopes on this man.

An autopsy had been performed on Jennifer Johansson.
There was nothing unusual: no pregnancy, no trace of abuse, either recent or otherwise. No sign of disease, no conceivable cause of death other than strangulation. Strands of hair from a number of different persons had been found on her. They might have come from anyone at all on the boat, been snagged on her clothes in the crowd on the dance floor or been on the toilet floor where she was found. They might also belong to the murderer.

It had also been determined that Jennifer Johansson had been sexually active during her final hours. The semen had yet to be analysed. It was most likely Joakim’s, but if not, that might suggest new approaches. Had the murderer raped her? Hardly. Not at the murder scene anyway; that would have been far too risky in a public toilet. Not to mention the cramped cubicle. But perhaps she had willingly had intercourse with him in the toilet and then been murdered? That was possible. It was also possible that she had intercourse with the murderer earlier in the evening. Or with someone else on the boat. There were many possibilities, but the semen would sooner or later lead them to an individual who had lied to them or withheld important information.

While he gulped down the last of his coffee Sjöberg covertly studied Hamad. Jamal Hamad, the man with the phenomenal memory. There was nothing wrong with his own memory, but Hamad’s was something else entirely. He sat purposefully looking through the many pages of Eriksson’s lists. Sjöberg watched his eyes moving back and forth, back and forth across the lines with great concentration. His own eyes started to ache after a while and he wanted to discuss one or two points with his colleagues,
but Eriksson was pecking away at his computer with a gloomy expression and Hamad only mumbled something brief in reply, without taking his eyes from his papers. His mobile phone beeped and when Sjöberg saw that he had a text from Åsa he took the opportunity to go out into the corridor to escape the monotonous job for a few minutes.

‘Kids sick, staying with Grandma. Lots of hugs, don’t work yourself to death,’ it read. Evidently he had been restored to favour. The message had been sent earlier that afternoon, but there could be serious delays in forwarding text messages with that confounded provider. He deleted the message and entered the number of his in-laws.

‘I just now got your message,’ he apologized when he got Åsa on the line. ‘What’s going on?’

Åsa let out a deep sigh on the other end.

‘Both Simon and Sara have chickenpox,’ she said tiredly. ‘We might as well stay here so I get a little help from Mum and Dad.’

‘But what about you? Don’t you have to work?’

‘I’ll take a few days’ paid leave. I’m due back at work on Thursday, but if it’s not possible, it’s not possible.’

‘Chickenpox,’ said Sjöberg dejectedly. ‘Doesn’t that last a few weeks?’

‘About a week. But it’s contagious too,’ said Åsa with an ironic laugh. ‘So if the others come down with it, it could be a month before we’re through with this.’

‘Everyone else has two children; why do we have to have five?’

‘Well, you should have thought about that before!’

‘But you can’t bring infectious children home on the
train either. I’ll have to come down and pick you up with the van. How sick are they?’

‘It’s no big deal, just a slight fever,’ answered Åsa. ‘But there’s an awful lot of complaining about the itching. Take it easy for a few days anyway, then we’ll have a rethink.’

‘And the little brats, they’re probably healthier than ever, I’ll bet?’

Sjöberg was referring to the two-year-old twin boys they had adopted when they were just newborns. Their biological mother had been a drug addict and completely unaware of her pregnancy when she suddenly gave birth to twins shortly before her death. Sjöberg, who had come across the mother through a case he was working on, regularly visited the babies at the hospital after they were born. He did not hesitate to add another two children to the three they already had, and Åsa had not been hard to convince. But Jonathan and Christoffer were two lively little boys, to say the least.

‘Sure, but Grandpa is delighted,’ said Åsa.

‘I can believe that, he doesn’t have to clean up after them. So how are you doing? Are you tired?’

‘Exhausted,’ Åsa answered truthfully. ‘But there are three of us. That makes it easier.’

‘I’ll do my duty,’ said Sjöberg. ‘Just so we get you all home.’

‘You don’t need to think about that right now. How’s it going with the murders?’

While he updated her he felt an intense longing for Åsa to come home. His life partner and great love. He needed her, and he wanted her with him. A couple of days of the bachelor life was more than enough. Now he wanted his
family back. Besides, he wanted to seek consolation in Åsa’s arms, wordless consolation, just to feel that they were together. He’d pushed the incident – or whatever it should be called – with Margit Olofsson aside. It was hidden somewhere deep inside. No further action would be taken. End of story.

When Sjöberg returned to the others, Eriksson announced that the compilation of male, single travellers on
Viking Cinderella
was now ready. How could he get so much done without getting up from his chair? About fifty men who had reserved a solo trip across the Baltic were listed. Under Hamad’s supervision, those who lived in the Stockholm region would be questioned, starting the next morning. Sjöberg took on the task of visiting Jennifer Johansson’s high school, to get a clearer picture of her with the help of her teachers and classmates. He could not cope with any more lists, so he decided to call it a day, but Hamad and Eriksson were still in their seats when he left the police building.

* * *

Petra had been back in her office for a while, tackling one task after another in order to postpone her visit to the police commissioner for as long as possible. From the tone he had used on the phone she could not figure out what he wanted. And she was not sure how her first official media appearance had gone. Was there any reason to worry?

On her way back to the police building she had bought the damn tabloid and now she read through the article for
the umpteenth time. It filled one page. One
whole
page, but only
one
page. It wasn’t small, but it wasn’t that long either. However, for Petra’s mental well-being, it was too much. She did not want to appear in the press at all. She did not at all care for the idea that Peder Fryhk and the Other Man could read about her in the newspaper and discover that she was a police officer. The article did not include a picture of her, only a picture that had been published previously showing her with her back to the camera in her torn leggings, along with some other police officers inside the cordon in Vitabergsparken. On the other hand, she was mentioned by name in several places in the article: ‘Police detective Petra Westman, who made the macabre discovery …’; ‘The child may have an older sibling, Petra Westman from the Hammarby Police Department confirms’; ‘Westman admits that the police have not managed to identify the dead woman.’ There. That could be a reason for repercussions from the leadership team. The journalist’s choice of words was not one hundred per cent favourable to Petra. The word ‘admits’ signalled secretiveness, and ‘have not managed’ hinted at failure on the part of the police. The general public may like that sort of thing, but not the police administration.

Petra sighed and got up. It was time to take the bull by the horns and present herself to the police commissioner. She went to the end of the corridor and took the lift up to the top floor, where the bigwigs and some of the admin staff had their offices. During the ride she rehearsed what she realized was a weak defence: the words that the reporter used in the article were not hers and she had been ordered to do the interview despite her lack of experience in communicating with the media.

The door to Brandt’s office was closed and she knocked gently.

‘Yes,’ came from inside the office, and Petra straightened up, opened the door and went in.

‘Petra!’ said the police commissioner, getting up with a broad smile. ‘Welcome!’

Petra smiled back and he came towards her with his hand outstretched. Petra was prepared for a formal handshake, but he wrapped both his hands around hers. When he released his grip he showed her to one of the armchairs by the window with light pressure on her lower back. Petra sat in the indicated seat while he stood looking down at her with an expression that she could not interpret. His chest, she thought. He looked like he was about to tip forwards. His centre of gravity is in his chest. À la Groucho Marx.

‘Coffee?’ he asked.

‘No, I’m fine, thanks,’ Petra answered with a deprecatory gesture.

‘Mineral water?’

‘Mineral water is fine.’

‘Two mineral waters,’ he said into the intercom on his desk, and then came and sat down in the other armchair.

Between them was a round table small enough so that he could easily reach over and place his hand on her shoulder as he asked, ‘How’s the investigation going? It seems a bit sluggish.’

The touch made Petra stiffen, but she answered in as relaxed a way as she was able.

‘Yes, you might say that. We’re completely occupied just trying to identify the woman. And no garages we’ve
talked to have seen a car that matches the damage to the pram and the victim’s injuries.’

There was a knock at the door and Brandt pulled his hand away with a natural movement. A classic, middle-aged secretarial type, complete with twin set and pearls, came in with a tray with two glasses and two bottles of mineral water, which she placed on the table between them. She nodded amiably at them both without saying anything and left the room, closing the door behind her.

‘I see, it’s going slowly, you say,’ Brandt said, looking at her the way you look at a little child who has fallen down and hurt herself.

Petra poured mineral water into a glass and took a sip while Brandt continued to observe her, with his head at an angle.

‘But I’m sure it will pick up soon,’ said Petra in a tone that was supposed to sound hearty.

‘I’m sure it will,’ said Brandt. ‘I read about you in
Aftonbladet
.’

‘About me?’ Petra laughed. ‘That was mostly about the case, wasn’t it? I only answered a couple of questions.’

‘And you did just fine.’

What a horrid gaze. This must be what they mean by ‘he looked deep into her eyes’. Must get the conversation moving now, thought Petra, so we can get this over with.

‘That’s nice to hear. I tried to stick to the point. Not to say too much and not to leave room for free association. You don’t think –’

‘And you were in the picture too,’ the police commissioner interrupted. ‘You looked good.’

Broad smile.

‘That must have hurt,’ he said, moving his eyes down to her crossed legs. ‘Your leggings were in tatters.’

‘Ah, it was no big deal,’ said Petra, squirming in the chair. ‘I had to get the child out of those bushes. You have to sacrifice yourself sometimes,’ she added with a laugh that in her ears sounded borderline hysterical.

Which quite exactly reflected her state of mind. The police commissioner’s gaze was wandering slowly back up to her eyes.

‘Do you like children?’ he asked unexpectedly.

Petra did not know what to do. She considered not answering at all, just getting up and leaving, but she managed to overrule her instincts and calm down. For the sake of my career, she thought. Don’t ruin all future prospects with a single impulsive action. The guy is mentally ill, that’s quite clear. But let him be that way, let him eat you with his eyes and say strange things, humour him just this once.

‘Yes, I do,’ she answered, letting the air out of her lungs slowly so that it would not be perceived as the sigh it really was. ‘I like children a lot.’

When he did not answer but simply sat staring at her, Petra felt compelled to say something more. The silence was unbearable.

‘But you don’t think I made a fool of myself? In the interview? I don’t have any media experience and I was worried about that –’

‘Petra, come here,’ Roland Brandt interrupted, his voice dripping with honey. ‘Don’t worry, you did an excellent job. Come here.’

He waved her over. Petra was about to lose her composure,
but she could not sabotage this. Just hold out, she thought, getting up and taking two steps in his direction.