The Treacherous Net (2 page)

It was a
Labrador that discovered her. He was young and playful, and at first he was delighted to find a friend who had hidden herself so cleverly. A second later his sensitive nose registered a strange smell. Exciting, acrid, and a little bit frightening. He began to bark agitatedly, sticking his rump in the air as he circled the interesting odor, gradually getting closer. When his master called him—“Elroy! Elroy! Here, boy!”—he grabbed a scrap of fabric that was lying on the ground and proudly scampered back with it in his mouth. There was a brief struggle, but eventually Elroy let go of his trophy. The man shuddered when he looked down at the torn, bloodied black lace thong in his hands. The word
s
unday
was embroidered on the small triangle at the front, surrounded by a border of red rosebuds.

The body had been pushed into a crevice in the rocks; the murderer had piled a few branches and stones on top in an attempt to hide it.

“So it’s only
the beginning of May, and we’ve already had our murdered teenage girl of the summer. Along with another one, just to be on the safe side. On the same day,” Detective Inspector Jonny Blom said with a sigh.

His colleagues nodded with an air of resignation. Two murders at the same time meant a heavy workload for the team, particularly in view of the fact that the gang war in the city had begun to escalate once more. It had been relatively calm on that front during February and most of March, but over the Easter weekend they had launched two murder investigations within three days. The victims were a thirty-four-year-old father of three, and a twenty-three-year-old rookie. Both had belonged to the warring factions: the criminal network known as Asir, and the notorious biker gang Bandidos.

The investigation also covered a car bomb, although only minor injuries were reported. The car had belonged to a would-be gangster who carried out his activities using the restaurant he owned as a front. Presumably he hadn’t been willing to pay the price for the protection of one of the gangs, although it wasn’t clear which one. Those who are willingly or unwillingly drawn into dealings with the biker gangs never talk to the police. Most people have a certain instinct for self-preservation. At the moment Asir and Bandidos were equal, with one loss each. The question wasn’t
if
reprisals would follow, but
when
. And which of them would strike first.

Irene Huss was only half-listening. She couldn’t get the image of Alexandra’s dead body out of her mind. When she had looked at the girl’s face she had noticed something that was later confirmed by the preliminary autopsy report: some kind of plastic twine had been pulled tightly around her neck. A thin washing line, perhaps. There was no doubt that they were dealing with a homicide.

The meeting with Alexandra’s parents the previous day had been just as difficult as these meetings always are. During the afternoon Irene and Jonny were intending to go out to Torslanda to speak to them again, and to take a look at the girl’s room. Hopefully CSI would be finished by the end of the morning.

The door leading to the corridor was open; they were waiting for their boss, Efva Thylqvist, to arrive. Her deputy would probably turn up at the same time: DCI Tommy Persson, Irene’s classmate back at the police academy.

After they qualified, Irene and Tommy had both ended up in central Göteborg, and they had been colleagues for over twenty years. They had grown very close—unusually close for colleagues of different sexes. This had given rise to a number of rumors, but thanks to the fact that these rumors had been completely groundless, their friendship had survived. Before Tommy and his wife, Agneta, divorced four years ago, the two families had often hung out; they had even gone on vacation together. They had been godparents to each other’s children. For eighteen years Irene and Tommy had shared an office in the Violent Crimes Unit—right up until a year ago, when their former chief, Superintendent Sven Andersson, had moved over to the Cold Cases Unit, and a new chief had taken over.

Irene and Tommy’s office was right at the end of the corridor, well away from the main door. Superintendent Efva Thylqvist had decided she wanted her deputy closer to her, and after a rapid reorganization, Tommy found himself in the room next door to the superintendent. Which meant he was at the opposite end of the corridor from his old office.

“It will be nice for you to have your own space after all these years,” Efva Thylqvist had said, gently placing a well-manicured hand on Irene’s arm.

Irene hadn’t thought it was nice at all, just lonely. She would no longer have anyone to chat with or bounce her ideas off. It had taken a great deal of self-control on Irene’s part to refrain from shaking off the superintendent’s hand.

That was the tricky thing about Efva Thylqvist. To begin with, everyone had a good feeling about the new chief. She had seemed friendly and genuinely interested in her new colleagues, but after a while Irene realized that her interest was mainly directed at the men. She always smiled at them, took time to have a proper conversation with them. All the guys on the team really liked her. Efva Thylqvist was an attractive brunette in her forties, with thick, shoulder-length hair. Her figure was slim but curvaceous. She certainly knew how to wear even the most severe skirt suit or pant suit; the blouses or tops she wore under her jackets were usually very low-cut, and she always wore high heels. Irene assumed this was to compensate for her lack of height. As Irene herself was six feet tall in her stocking feet, she felt like an elephant standing next to her dainty boss. They were about the same age, but Irene was slightly older. Rumor had it that Efva Thylqvist had been married at the beginning of her career as a police officer, but that the husband had disappeared at an early stage. They didn’t have children, anyway. There was talk of affairs with high-ranking colleagues, some of whom had been married. Of course there was no way of assessing the accuracy of this gossip; in her more charitable moments Irene thought this was the kind of thing that was always said about women when they overtook men on the career ladder. At other times she thought it was possible that there was a certain amount of truth in the rumors. However, there was no denying the fact that Superintendent Thylqvist had led an outstanding career so far. Irene consoled herself with the thought that she was unlikely to be content to remain with the Violent Crimes Unit until her retirement.

After only a month Irene had noticed that her new boss was less and less interested in hearing her views. She hardly ever dealt with Irene personally, not even if something major was going on. She usually sent an email. On one occasion Irene had tentatively asked why she did this. Efva Thylqvist had smiled sweetly and said, “It saves me coming all the way to your office.”

Any assignment that appeared to be remotely routine ended up on Irene’s desk, and she had started to feel marginalized. She realized that her self-confidence had taken a knock, but sometimes there was light at the end of the tunnel, and she had the opportunity to get involved in the operational side of things. Like yesterday, when the call about the dead girl in Nötsund had come in. Then again, that was probably because only she and Jonny had been available to go out there.

Another reason why Irene was feeling lonely was no doubt because Birgitta Moberg-Rauhala was on leave. She had started reading law at the university back in the fall, and she had at least another year to go. After that she would be able to start applying for higher level posts within the police service. When they had met up for a quick lunch a month ago, Birgitta had hinted that she might carry on with her studies; she was considering training to be a lawyer or a prosecutor. Things were going well for her, and she was really enjoying the course. Her husband, Hannu Rauhala, was still on the team, and according to Birgitta he was happy to support whatever decision she made. Their son, Timo, was almost five years old, and they had decided not to have any more children. The grief had been too great after the late miscarriage Birgitta had suffered a few years earlier. As usual, Hannu hadn’t said a word to his colleagues. The ice-blond man from Tornedalen had been as inscrutable as ever.

At the moment Irene was the only female inspector in the department, and she suspected that this suited Efva Thylqvist perfectly.

Just as the thought flitted through Irene’s mind, the superintendent walked in, closely followed by Tommy Persson.

“Good morning! Has everyone got a cup of coffee?”

Efva Thylqvist smiled as her gaze swept around the table. Irene noticed that she barely registered on Thylqvist’s radar; it definitely looked as if she was avoiding eye contact with Irene. On the other hand, the superintendent lingered on Fredrik Stridh’s handsome face. He had recently gotten married, and was due to become a father at the end of August. To everyone’s surprise, the department’s eternal bachelor and ladies’ man had fallen head over heels for a nurse during a vacation to Barcelona the previous spring. Everything had happened very quickly after that: a wedding on New Year’s Eve, the move to a larger apartment, and now a baby on the way.

Irene suddenly became aware of a strange feeling. She vaguely recognized it, and realized it had been bubbling inside her for quite some time. It took a while before she was able to identify it, but she got there in the end: rage. Pure, unadulterated rage. A second later she made a decision. Whatever happened, she was no longer prepared to be treated like an inferior being by Efva Thylqvist. She was no longer prepared to put up with that woman’s disparaging attitude. It wasn’t going to be easy; Superintendent Thylqvist was her boss, and she wouldn’t hesitate to pull rank if she felt threatened.

Jonny Blom had placed the preliminary autopsy report on Alexandra Hallwiin on the table in front of him. Irene reached across and grabbed the pile of papers; she moved so fast he didn’t have a chance to react. He glared at her and opened his mouth as if he was about to protest, but Irene merely gave him a placatory smile. The irritation in his eyes was gradually replaced by a certain level of confusion, and before he had time to speak, Efva Thylqvist took charge.

“Okay, let’s make a start.” She smiled and looked at Fredrik Stridh.

“Anything new on the car bomb?’

He seemed pleased to be the focus of her attention, and answered quickly. “No, but I’ll be speaking to a fresh witness later today. A man walking his dog saw an older model Merc parked next to Roger ‘the Hulk’ Hansson’s brand-new Jag. The timing is interesting; it was about eleven fifteen. Hansson left the restaurant at his usual time, just after one thirty. And as we know the bomb went off when he opened the car door.”

“How serious was the injury to his foot?” Thylqvist asked.

“Only superficial. The force of the bomb was directed toward the passenger side of the car; it had probably been set up incorrectly.”

“Useless bastards—they never get anything right,” Jonny Blom said, just loud enough to be heard.

Efva Thylqvist managed a half-smile and turned her attention to him.

“Has anything come in on the Alexandra Hallwiin case?”

Before Jonny could answer, Irene took the initiative.

“It has. We received a preliminary autopsy report this morning; the forensic pathologist will get back to us later this afternoon with more details, but definitive information will take a few days,” she said.

She glanced down at the papers in front of her.

“Dental records have enabled us to officially identify the body as that of Alexandra Hallwiin. She went missing on Walpurgis Night, and according to the report it seems likely that she ended up in the water during the first twenty-four hours following her disappearance. This means she had been submerged for approximately four days. There was a thin electrical cable wrapped tightly around her neck when she was found. The cause of death is probably strangulation. She was wearing only a black lace bra. There are knife marks on her inner thighs, around her breasts and up toward her neck. However, these are not stab wounds; it looks as if the perpetrator used a knife to inflict a series of deep scratches. Damage to the area around the anus and vagina suggests penetration with a blunt object. Even though the autopsy has not been completed, it is obvious that the body has been subjected to serious sexual violence. There are also knife wounds around the pudenda; the ME thinks the killer tried to make a pattern using the knife.”

Irene stopped reading and looked up.

Efva Thylqvist was gazing at her expressionlessly. After a few seconds she turned to Jonny. “Are there still no witnesses who saw Alexandra after she left home?”

“No,” Irene replied quickly, before Jonny had the chance to speak.

Without looking at Irene, the superintendent said in a neutral tone of voice, “Jonny, you carry on with the investigation into Alexandra’s death.”

Then she turned to Hannu Rauhala. “What do we know about the other girl?”

“She’s also been identified with the help of dental records,” Hannu replied. “Moa Olsson, born September second, 1992. Fifteen years old.”

Alexandra Hallwiin was exactly a year younger than Moa
, Irene thought.

“She lived in Salviagatan, not far from the place where she was discovered; two and a half kilometers as the crow flies. The body was found in the forest at Gårdstensbergen; it’s a recreational area with designated running tracks. But it was cold and wet the week leading up to Walpurgis Night. There weren’t many people around. According to Moa’s mother, she went missing the previous weekend, probably Sunday, April twenty-eighth. The mother’s name is Kicki Olsson. She’s been given early retirement. Mental problems, alcohol abuse. She got home at around nine on Sunday morning and doesn’t remember whether Moa was there or not. But she thinks so.”

“When was she reported missing?”

“On the following Tuesday.”

“So she’d been gone for . . . seven or eight days,” the superintendent said, looking pensive. “Who reported her?” she went on.

“The mother. I assume she’d started to sober up by then,” Hannu said dryly.