Authors: Hans Koppel
They had sat up the greater part of the night and not slept in the few hours that remained. Surprisingly little had been said, and yet there was nothing more to say. The atmosphere was oddly polite. No shouting or dramas, they were remarkably relaxed with each other.
Tiredness lulled them into a mental trance and as they drove to work they discovered a shared world that had always been there, which they’d never been aware of before: Bäckström’s extension, the windswept tree by the stables, the newly painted line down the middle of the road that made it all look so clean.
‘Thanks for the lift,’ Anna said, when he dropped her off outside the police station.
When she leaned forwards to kiss him, he turned his face away.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come in?’ he asked.
‘Yes. But thanks.’
She didn’t want him there. She had just told him the bare minimum. That they’d met at Mölle, ended up in bed together and now he was obsessed. Nothing about the video, no details and no comparisons. He had asked. After hours of silence side by side in the darkness of the bedroom, where every breath was registered, he had finally asked the question that was inevitable for men.
How was it then?
Said gruffly, almost in passing. Anna had sighed with a heavy conscience and said that it was just something stupid that had happened.
‘Call as soon as you hear anything,’ he said.
Anna went into the police station.
‘Detective Inspector Karlsson,’ she said to the woman in reception, who immediately lifted the phone and dialled a short number.
‘Who can I say is here?’
‘Anna Stenberg. I know where he sits.’
She marched towards the lift and the woman behind the desk leapt up.
‘You can’t just…’
Detective Inspector Karlsson became quite agitated when Anna stepped into his office.
‘I’m afraid I haven’t got time.’
She put the mobile phone down on his desk.
‘My mother’s mobile phone,’ she said. ‘It was in a rubbish bin outside Ikea.’
‘Well, there you go,’ Karlsson answered, and made a mental note that he must have a serious word with the civilian employees at reception, tell them they couldn’t just let any old eccentric in. ‘And how did you find it?’
‘My mother has an app that makes it possible to see where the phone is. My daughter checked on the computer.’
‘How smart.’
‘I checked the last numbers she’d called.’
Karlsson folded his hands on his belly and leaned back in the chair. It might be just as well to think of it as entertainment.
‘One of the numbers was to a woman in Stockholm who was a neighbour of Erik Månsson’s mother. My mother talked to her.’
‘Erik Månsson?’ Karlsson said.
‘Who made the video. You obviously managed to talk some sense into him.’
Karlsson nodded.
‘Yes, yes,’ he nodded. ‘And so? Your mother talked to his mother?’
Karlsson was already finding it hard to follow. Strange how crazy people really believed their own stories. They lived in parallel worlds. For them it was real.
‘No, my mother spoke to Erik’s mother’s neighbour. Erik’s mother is dead, she committed suicide.’
‘Aha, I see,’ Karlsson said.
Anna glared at him in such a way that he straightened up.
‘You think I’m nuts,’ she said. ‘You think I’m sitting here making it all up.’
Karlsson opened his hands, palms to the ceiling.
‘I’m no psychologist.’
Anna leaned forwards and lowered her voice.
‘Now you listen to me carefully and don’t interrupt with any of your idiotic comments, which neither I nor anyone else is in the slightest bit interested in.’
Karlsson didn’t dare say a thing. He sat in silence for some time after Anna had finished talking. It wasn’t until she gave him a stern look that he pulled himself together, stretched and cleared the lump in his throat.
‘This woman that both you and your mother spoke to,’ he said, looking through his notes. ‘She was a neighbour of Erik Månsson’s mother?’
‘Yes.’
‘And how did you mother get in contact with her?’
‘I have no idea. The only thing I know is that my mother is missing and that my mother loathes Väla shopping centre more than anything else in the world. She would never go there.’
Karlsson’s breathing was weary and audible.
‘Your mother,’ he said, ‘do you have any pictures of her?’
Anna got her mobile out of her bag, found a photograph and held the phone out over the desk. Karlsson put his glasses on, held the mobile up in front of him and studied the picture. Anna could almost swear that he was taken aback.
‘What is it?’ she said.
‘Nothing,’ Karlsson replied, handing back the phone. ‘But tell me, in what way would this lad…?’
‘Erik Månsson.’
‘Quite. What makes you think he’s got something to do with your mother’s disappearance?’
Anna shook her head, exasperated.
‘I don’t know. My mother has disappeared and he’s stopped calling and harassing me. It might be because you went to talk to him, but I’ve got a horrible feeling that there’s a connection. Does that sound strange? Maybe it’s just my imagination working overtime, I’m sorry.’
She looked at Karlsson with uncertainty and he shrugged.
‘Do you think that Erik Månsson is dangerous?’
‘I don’t know,’ she shook her head. ‘I really don’t know.’
‘Was he violent towards you?’
‘Violent? No, not physically.’
She looked down at the photograph of her mother. Karlsson stood up.
‘Look, I’ll take one of my colleagues and go round to see the troublemaker. But we mustn’t think the worst. After all, your mother hasn’t been missing more than…’
‘Forty-eight hours,’ Anna said. ‘Nearly forty-eight hours.’
Karlsson tugged at the mint that he’d found nestling in his coat pocket. He’d bought a big bag on the Denmark ferry a couple of weeks ago, and this poor, lonely sweet must have fallen out and stayed there. Every day was full of small surprises.
‘What do I think?’ he said, and popped the mint in his mouth. ‘I don’t have a bloody clue, I only know that Anna’s mum went in the entrance to Erik’s stair as I went out. Thought she was quite a lady, full of energy and life.’
‘Sixty-seven?’
‘It’s in the eyes. You don’t necessarily have to hop into bed with everyone you meet.’
Karlsson was pleased with the way he’d formulated that, proof that he was on top of the impossible gender politics of the day. The lift stopped on the top floor and he and Gerda got out. Karlsson pressed the bell. Erik Månsson opened the door. When he saw Karlsson his shoulders sagged despondently.
‘What is it now?’
Karlsson gave him a broad smile.
‘Have you got a minute?’
‘I haven’t been anywhere near that crazy lady. Haven’t phoned, sent a text message, nothing.’
‘Take it easy, we know.’
‘Her mother was here as well,’ Erik said. ‘Came just after you. Same thing. It’s not me that’s harassing her, it’s her that slandering me. Totally absurd.’
‘Can we come in?’
Erik held the door open reluctantly.
‘This is my colleague, Gerdin.’
Gerda held out his hand.
‘Are you moving?’ he said, pointing at the removal boxes that were stacked against the wall.
‘Seriously thinking about it,’ Erik replied. ‘It’s not easy to be accepted in this town. You just get accused of one thing after the other.’
Karlsson looked at him.
‘So Anna Stenberg’s mother was here?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ Erik nodded. ‘She came just after you. Why?’
‘No one’s heard from her for a couple of days. What did she want?’
‘Same crap. Ranted on about me leaving her daughter in peace.’
Erik took a deep, jagged breath.
‘How can you even listen to her? Can’t you see that I’m the victim here? Anna Stenberg is obsessed. I mean, honestly, why would I be interested in her? Yes, we had a night together at Mölle, a couple of afternoons here in the flat. Yes, it was stupid of me to film our afternoons together, but it wasn’t that serious. And I’ve deleted the videos.’
‘Sorry, could I use your toilet?’ Gerda asked.
Erik pointed him in the right direction, thankful for even the brief change of focus.
‘How long was Anna’s mother here?’ Karlsson asked, forcing him back to the awkward situation.
‘I don’t know. Quarter of an hour, half an hour maybe? Why? I tried to talk to her, she refused to listen. Just took her daughter’s side.’
‘Did things get heated?’
‘Heated? No, I wouldn’t say that. But it’s not very nice when people come round and question you, first the police and then someone you’ve never met.’
‘So you argued?’ Karlsson prompted.
‘I wouldn’t say that. I think she was worried that I’d upload the video on to the internet or something like that. Which I would never do, by the way. The truth is that Anna wanted to spice up her dull suburban life with an affair and then tried to make herself even more interesting by pointing me out as a mad stalker. All I want is for you all to leave me alone.’
Karlsson nodded glibly, watching Erik with interest.
‘She’s making it up?’ he suggested.
‘She’s twisting it, at least. I’m not the crazy one here.’
Gerda came out of the bathroom.
‘Phew, that’s a relief,’ he said, and started to wander around the flat. ‘Smelt of chlorine in there. Have you been bleaching clothes?’
‘What? Oh yes, yes.’
Karlsson demanded his attention again.
‘Did Kathrine say what she was going to do after she’d been here?’
‘Why would she do that?’
‘And you don’t know how long she was here?’
‘I’ve already said.’
‘But if you were going to guess a bit closer, would you say fifteen or thirty minutes?’
‘No idea. It might have been more.’
‘An hour in fact?’
‘I don’t know, I tried to be helpful.’
‘But it wasn’t longer than an hour?’
‘I shouldn’t think so. Why?’
‘Nice flat,’ Gerda shouted, unnecessarily loudly, from over by the window, where he was standing admiring the view.
Erik turned towards him, took a breath as if to say something, but couldn’t find the words.
‘Might be interesting to compare it with the log on Kathrine’s phone,’ Karlsson continued.
‘The log?’
‘To check any calls she made or where the text messages were sent.’
‘Why? Has she disappeared or something?’
Erik blinked and swallowed. Karlsson saw it quite clearly.
‘I said that when we arrived,’ he said, and smiled.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Why do you think we’re here? We’re trying to establish her movements before she disappeared. Strange isn’t it, don’t you think? That an older woman should just disappear.’
‘Maybe she’s gone somewhere.’
Karlsson nodded in agreement.
‘Good thinking. Easy to imagine, given that Denmark’s right across the water. She might be there.’
Erik shifted the weight on his feet.
‘Someone called while she was here. She cut the call. Like it was someone she didn’t want to talk to.’
Karlsson grinned at Erik. That was information he hadn’t asked for. Erik felt uncertainty creep in.
‘I mean, if she’s disappeared. Maybe she felt threatened.’
Karlsson patted Erik hard on the cheek, as he had done the first time they met. Gerda snuck up behind them and held out his hand. Erik refused to take it.
‘No?’ Gerda said. ‘Oh well, goodbye then.’
‘That’s fine,’ Karlsson said. ‘See you again.’
Bugger, fuck, shit… and what’s more, it was his own fault.
In Denmark
, he’d written in the text he’d sent from Kathrine’s phone in the hope of buying himself some time and breathing space.
In
. They would immediately see that it had been sent from his address. Straight after an incoming call from her daughter had been cut off. They would know exactly what had happened. A child could work it out.
‘Think,’ he said out loud to himself and stamped his feet. ‘What’s done is done. Think.’
He wandered aimlessly around the flat. It didn’t matter what they knew, he tried to convince himself, what was more interesting was what proof they had. They had no body, that was his salvation. As long as they didn’t have Kathrine’s body, they couldn’t prove that she was dead.
So stupid, so rash and badly planned. So cocksure. He was an arrogant fucking twat.
They would come back, they’d come back with dogs and a forensics team, a whole bloody army. Was there anything left in the flat that was hers? Her scent, definitely. The dogs would pick that up. Could they smell if people were dead? He didn’t dare search for information on the internet. Everything could be used against him. From now on he would have to be careful.
He who had been so pleased with himself when he’d realised what Kathrine had said, that a man had let her in the front door, and that it was probably the policeman. Erik had weighed every move and yet still had let himself down with one fucking preposition.
In
. Why not
On the way to
?
But even if they’d understood, they would need more. A text message sent from a phone was hardly enough, not by a long shot.
You claim that my client forged a text message and sent it from the deceased’s phone? Yet this message referred to information that he couldn’t possibly know. How could my client know who Ditte was? Or that she lived in Denmark? You believe that my client thought fast enough to send this red herring? Laughter. My client is no fool, I would be the first to accept that, but that he should be so cunning.
The body. Everything depended on whether they found it or not. No matter what, they would come back with dogs as soon as they’d matched Kathrine’s location with the message he had sent from her phone.
Erik had gone through her bag. Were his fingerprints still on it? No, he’d taken great care to wipe everything. And the bag hadn’t been found yet, had it?
If the technicians found any splashes in the bathroom he could say that she’d used the toilet. How had her blood got there? How could he know? Maybe she cut herself on purpose to make it look suspicious. He didn’t have a clue.
No, he was going to do as little as possible. That was important. Not to prepare his answers, but to improvise as needed. One thing at a time. And no thought of the consequences. Life was so contradictory, who could remember what they’d done the day before?
First and foremost, he needed time to himself. He had to clear his brain of anything that was still stuck there. The cloying and stabbing that never granted him peace. That left a bad taste in his mouth, an itch on his scalp and heat in his cheeks.
Erik gave the flat a final check, then went down to the car.
Once again he drove north, there was nothing in the other direction. Just Råå as a creative alternative for those who saw themselves as different and free-thinkers, shallow and vapid.
Erik passed the skip by Margaretaplatsen. He could see boards sticking up over the sides. Full to the brim, good. It would soon be collected and taken to the tip. And as soon as the contents of the skip were mixed with other rubbish no one would be able to separate it from the rest of the waste. The elderly couple who had seen him dump the four black refuse sacks could witness as much as they liked. And what was to say that the content of the bags would be discovered? Even if there was a hole in one of them, no one would react, given the stench at the tip, and in time they would be burned with all the other rubbish.
Erik put on the radio and turned up the volume. He sang at the top of his voice and out of tune, drumming the beat on the steering wheel. When he got up to Kullaberg, his ears were ringing. He got out and went over to the edge of the cliffs, filled his lungs with briny air and listened to the sound of the sea.
This was how it was meant to be, this was how it would be. If that sexed-up slut he’d fucked out of sympathy refused to let go.
He went back to the car, got out his ropes. He wanted to climb one last time.