The Crow Girl (48 page)

‘Spot on!’ Jeanette interrupts, pleased that Sofia has begun speculating without any hesitation. ‘These days we actually call it case analysis,’ she goes on. ‘That’s less loaded with expectations.’ She pauses before continuing. ‘The point of it, like you said, is to reduce the number of possible suspects and hopefully be able to direct an investigation towards one particular person.’

‘Don’t you ever rest?’ Sofia exclaims.

It’s only been a few days since Johan was discharged from hospital, and Jeanette has already thrown herself back into her work. Is that what Sofia means? That she’s emotionally cold and rational? But how else is she supposed to be?

‘You know I do,’ she replies, uncertain whether she should feel insulted or cared for. ‘But I could really use your help with this. For various reasons there’s no one else I can ask.’ She realises she has to be honest. If Sofia doesn’t accept the job, Jeanette has no one else to turn to.

‘OK,’ Sofia says after a brief hesitation. ‘I presume the whole thing is based on the idea that everything we do in our lives is done in line with our personality type. So a compulsive person will usually have a tidy desk and won’t usually wear a shirt that hasn’t been ironed.’

‘Exactly,’ Jeanette says. ‘And by reconstructing how a crime was committed, you can draw conclusions about the person who committed it.’

‘And now you want my help?’

‘We’re dealing with a probable serial killer, and we’ve got a few names to go on. Some description and a few other details.’ She leaves a dramatic pause to underline the importance of what she’s about to say. ‘Whoever does the case analysis has to avoid looking at any possible suspects. That would just get in the way of seeing the whole picture; it would be a filter that made it harder to see clearly.’

Sofia is silent, and Jeanette can hear her breathing get faster, but doesn’t say anything.

‘Could we meet at my house later this evening and talk some more?’ Jeanette asks, to catch Sofia in case she’s starting to have doubts. ‘There’s something else I’d like to ask you about.’

‘Really? What?’

‘We can talk about it tonight, if that works with you?’

‘Sure. I’ll be there,’ Sofia replies in a tone of voice that is suddenly utterly devoid of enthusiasm.

They hang up, and Jeanette is struck once again by the fact that she knows nothing about Sofia.

Realising you like someone can take a matter of minutes, but getting to know them can take years.

Although Jeanette wants to get closer to Sofia, it feels like too much of a challenge. But she can’t help it. She wants to give it a try, at least.

She decides to call Åke’s mum and arrange for Johan to stay at his grandparents’ over the weekend.

He’ll be safe with them, and could probably do with a change. Someone to make a fuss over him and give him their undivided attention. Everything she herself can’t offer right now.

Åke’s mum is happy to help, and they agree that she’ll pick him up that evening.

Then there’s the phone call about Victoria Bergman.

The telephone system at the tax authority makes no allowances for who’s calling, and Detective Superintendent Jeanette Kihlberg waits patiently in the line.

A metallic computerised voice informs her in a friendly but intractable way that there are thirty-seven advisers dealing with calls, and that she is number twenty-nine in the queue. The waiting time is estimated to be fourteen minutes.

Jeanette presses the button to put the call on speakerphone, then uses the time to water the plants and empty the bin while the monotonous voice slowly counts down.

You are number twenty-two in the line. Waiting time is eleven minutes.

Someone must once have recorded every possible combination of numbers, she thinks.

There’s a click from the phone, followed by a crackle. ‘Tax authority, how can I help?’

Jeanette introduces herself and the adviser apologises for the delay, then asks why she didn’t use the direct line. Jeanette explains that she wasn’t aware that there was one, and that the wait had given her time for a bit of reflection and thought.

The man laughs and asks why she’s calling, and when she explains that she wants to know absolutely everything about a Victoria Bergman, born in 1970 and registered in Värmdö, he asks her to wait.

After a couple of minutes he comes back, sounding bemused.

‘I presume it’s Victoria Bergman, 700607, that you’re interested in?’

‘Maybe. I hope so.’

‘In that case there’s a bit of a problem.’

‘Oh. What kind of problem?’

‘Well, all I can find is a referral to Nacka District Court. Otherwise nothing.’

‘So what exactly does it say?’

The adviser clears his throat. ‘I’ll read it out. “According to a decision by Nacka District Court, this individual’s identity is protected. All enquiries must therefore be directed to the aforementioned authority.”’

‘And that’s all?’

‘Yes.’ The adviser sighs laconically.

Jeanette thanks him, hangs up, then calls the police operator and asks to be put through to Nacka District Court. Preferably via a direct line.

The court clerk isn’t quite as amenable as the adviser at the tax authority, but promises to send everything they have on Victoria Bergman as soon as possible.

Bloody bureaucrat, Jeanette thinks, before wishing the clerk a pleasant evening and hanging up.

At twenty past four she receives an email from the court.

Jeanette Kihlberg opens the attached document. To her disappointment, the information from Nacka District Court covers no more than three lines.

JEANETTE HEARS THE
car arrive as it pulls into the drive and parks behind her Audi.

She has butterflies in her stomach.

Before she goes to let Sofia in she checks the mirror and adjusts her hair.

Maybe I should have put some make-up on, she thinks. But seeing as she doesn’t usually, it would only feel odd and plastered on. She doesn’t really know how to do it. She can manage a bit of lipstick and mascara, but after that?

She opens the door and Sofia Zetterlund comes into the hall, closing the door behind her.

‘Hello, welcome!’ Jeanette gives Sofia a light hug, but is worried about holding her for too long. Doesn’t want to be too obvious.

Too obvious about what? she wonders as she lets go.

‘Would you like a glass of wine?’

‘Please.’ Sofia is looking at her with a slight smile. ‘I’ve missed you.’

Jeanette smiles back and wonders why she had felt nervous. She looks at Sofia and notices that she looks harassed.

Jeanette goes into the kitchen and Sofia follows her.

‘Where’s Johan?’ Sofia asks.

‘He’s with his grandparents for the weekend,’ Jeanette replies. ‘Åke’s mum picked him up a little while ago. He barely said goodbye before he left. Clearly it’s only me he’s refusing to talk to.’

‘Wait him out. It’ll pass, believe me.’

Sofia gazes around the kitchen, as if she’s trying to avoid looking Jeanette in the eye. ‘Do you know any more about what happened at Gröna Lund?’

Jeanette sighs and opens a bottle of wine. ‘He says he met a girl who offered him some beer. He doesn’t remember anything after that. At least that’s what he’s saying.’

Jeanette hands Sofia a glass.

‘Do you believe him?’ Sofia asks, taking it.

‘I don’t know. But he’s clearly feeling better now, and I’ve made up my mind not to be the nagging mother. I won’t get anything out of him that way.’

Sofia looks thoughtful. ‘Would you like me to get him an appointment with Childhood and Adolescent Psychiatry?’

‘God, no! He’d be livid. What I reckon he needs is normality, like a mother who’s home when he gets back from school.’

‘So you and Johan agree that everything’s your fault?’ Sofia says.

Jeanette freezes. My fault, she thinks, tasting the words. Doing the wrong thing for your child tastes bitter, it tastes of overflowing sinks and filthy floors. She fixes her gaze on Sofia and hears herself ask what she means.

Sofia puts her hand on Jeanette’s with a smile. ‘Just relax,’ she says comfortingly. ‘What happened could be a reaction to your separation, and he’s pinning the blame on you because you’re closest to him.’

‘He thinks I’ve let him down, you mean?’

‘Yes,’ Sofia replies in the same gentle voice. ‘Which is obviously irrational. Åke’s the one who let him down. Maybe Johan regards you and Åke as a single entity. You’re the parents who let him down. Åke’s betrayal becomes your shared betrayal as parents …’ She pauses before going on. ‘Sorry, it sounds like I’m teasing you.’

‘Don’t worry. But how do we move on from here? How does anyone forgive a betrayal?’ Jeanette takes a large sip from her glass before pushing it dejectedly away from her across the table.

The softness in Sofia’s face vanishes and her voice gets harder. ‘You don’t forgive betrayal. But you learn to live with it.’

They sit in silence, gazing at each other.

Jeanette understands, albeit reluctantly, what she means. Life is full of betrayals, and if you don’t learn to live with that, you can’t really keep going.

She leans back and lets out a long breath, simultaneously letting go of the day’s accumulated tension and anxiety about Johan.

A deep breath in, and her brain starts to work.

‘Sofia,’ Jeanette says hesitantly, ‘I’d like you to meet a girl I know. Well, actually, I’ve said she could see you, which might have been a bit stupid, but …’

She stops herself to give Sofia a chance to say it’s OK, and when she looks at her she gets a nod in response.

‘She’s pretty messed up, and I don’t think she’s capable of sorting things out on her own.’

‘What sort of problems has she got?’

‘Well, I don’t really know that much, except that she encountered Karl Lundström.’

‘Ah,’ Sofia says. ‘OK, that’s good enough for me. I’ll check what appointments I’ve got and let you know tomorrow.’

The look on Sofia’s face is mysterious. Her smile seems almost shy.

‘You’re very lovely,’ Jeanette says, relaxing in the awareness that she isn’t surprised Sofia is willing to help. When it comes to offering help, she never hesitates.

‘I presume Lundström is no longer suspected of being the killer, seeing as you want a profile?’

Jeanette snorts. ‘Well, to start with, he’s dead, but when it comes down to it, I think he was basically just the scapegoat. What do you know about sexually motivated killers?’

‘You see? Straight to the point, no messing around. There are two types. Organised and chaotic. The organised ones often come from socially affluent backgrounds, at least superficially, and usually seem to be unlikely murderers. They plan their killings and leave few clues. They tie up and torture their victims before they kill them, and they seek out their victims in places where they themselves can’t be traced.’

‘And the other type?’

‘They’re the chaotic sexual killers. Often they come from difficult backgrounds and carry out their killings randomly. Sometimes they even know their victims. Do you remember the Vampire?’

‘No, not off the top of my head.’

‘He killed his two stepsisters and finished up by drinking their blood. I think he even ate …’ Sofia falls silent and makes a disgusted face before going on. ‘Admittedly, a lot of murderers exhibit both types of characteristic, but the evidence supports the basic division. I assume different types of killers leave different types of evidence at a crime scene.’

Once again she is struck by Sofia’s speed. ‘God, you’re amazing! Are you sure you’ve never put together a perpetrator profile before?’

‘Never. But I know how to read, I’m a trained psychologist, I’ve worked with psychopaths and so on, blah, blah, blah.’

They laugh, and Jeanette realises how much she likes Sofia and her abrupt switches between seriousness and humour. The ability to take life seriously enough that it’s possible to laugh about it. About everything.

She thinks of Åke’s bitter attitude, and the way he always seemed to be struggling under some physical burden that she could never understand. After all, he never took any responsibility for anything.

She lets her eyes follow the contours of Sofia’s face.

Her narrow neck, her high cheekbones.

Her lips.

She looks at her hands, and the well-manicured nails that are painted a pale mother-of-pearl colour. So pure, she thinks, aware that she’s thought the same thing before.

She’s here now, open. What happens next only time will tell.

SOFIA IS SITTING
on the sofa beside someone she has learned to like. She’s more and more drawn to Jeanette, and she knows why. There’s a physical attraction. But she also feels that Jeanette has noticed the darkness inside her. She feels safe with Jeanette even though she can’t come to grips with who she is and what she’s after.

Jeanette surprises her and challenges her, while at the same time genuinely seeming to respect her. And that’s the foundation for her attraction.

Sofia takes a deep breath, and notices the sound of Jeanette’s breathing accompanied by the rain drumming against the window ledge.

On impulse she agreed to help Jeanette with her case, but she’s already starting to regret it.

In purely rational terms, Jeanette’s suggestion ought to terrify her, she knows that. But at the same time there’s an opportunity to exploit the situation. She’ll find out all about the police investigation, and will get the chance to misdirect them.

Jeanette is calmly and factually telling her the details of the murders.

At the same time there is the awareness of who she is, who she shouldn’t be. Who she doesn’t
want
to be.

‘They had marks on their backs, suggesting that they had been whipped.’

Deep inside her consciousness doors are being thrown open. She remembers the marks on her own back.