Dark Angel (31 page)

Then Simon had broken up with Katrina, and the roles were reversed. He’d been surprised to hear about everything Simon had endured as a child. Utterly alone, without support from anyone at all. He was struck by how isolated and vulnerable his three siblings had been, even though they had a mother, had their own family. The grief stripped him of all strength. Then he was seized by anger. He was the one who needed to make things right. Above all, he needed to save Simon, who was sinking deeper and deeper into a terrible depression.

Their regular conversations had made him desperate. In an attempt to get Simon out of the borrowed flat into which he’d practically barricaded himself, he had forced his brother to come over to his place. Just to talk, and at least once a week. As the picture of their mother gradually emerged, hatred began growing inside of him, getting stronger and stronger each day. Along with a desire for revenge.

He had watched as his newfound little brother fell apart, bit by bit. Simon was the only one who hadn’t yet managed to break free. And the
more
time that passed, the more details he heard, the more convinced he became. There was only one way to set Simon free and give him a chance to live his own life. He was certainly entitled to that much.

There were obvious similarities between them. Both harboured something deep in their hearts that kept them at a deadlock, preventing them from living fully. He himself was forty-one years old and had never managed to sustain a long-term relationship.

He felt an urgent need to save Simon from going under.

At the same time, his brother started hinting that he no longer wanted to live. That had made the whole matter even more pressing.

He took a deep breath, and then slowly exhaled through his nose.

Things were going to be different now. With their warm and loving reception, his three siblings had made him believe that he was actually a worthwhile person, in spite of everything. That there might even be someone for him to love.

His real life was finally about to begin. He had saved his brother and made peace with himself. He listened for police sirens but heard none. There wasn’t a single police car on the road. But he wasn’t afraid any more.

When he reached the farm, he parked the motorcycle and hurried towards the house. He rang the bell. No one answered, and the door was locked. The dogs weren’t out in the yard, and he couldn’t hear any barking from inside the house. Andreas’s car was not in the driveway. That meant there was only one place he could be.

He jumped back on the motorcycle and drove off, spraying gravel in his wake.

KNUTAS AND JACOBSSON
made their way forward in the dark. The sheep had followed them for a short distance but gradually fell behind after realizing that they weren’t going to get any food, no matter how much noise they made. Someone must have let the animals out, either deliberately or by mistake.

The two officers hurried across fields and meadows. Because it was so dark, they couldn’t move as quickly as they would have liked. The ground was uneven, covered with stones and stumps, and Knutas had already tripped several times.

Jacobsson’s heart was pounding hard. All the recent events flitted through her mind as they jogged along. Three faces kept appearing: Andreas, Mikaela and Simon. Each of them marked by sorrow and loneliness. And then there was Mats, the man with two faces. The boy who had been handed over to strangers, just like her own daughter, whom she had known for only a few minutes. But those minutes had affected the rest of her life and everything she did. She raced along as fast as she could. She was determined to save him. She had to save Mats before he did something crazy again. If only they could get there in time.

Then they saw the lights of the lambing shed. Thank God. It wasn’t far now. It was a wooden building, nearly a hundred metres long, with a corrugated metal roof. It was divided into stalls where the ewes could have their lambs in peace and quiet. The lambing season was over, so the ewes and their offspring had been sent out to graze.

Several sheep in an outdoor pen began bleating as they approached. Both the red pick-up and a motorcycle were parked outside the building. The door was ajar, but it was dark inside. Knutas crept over to the door and stuck his arm inside, attempting to turn on the light switch. Nothing happened. The light was broken. The door creaked as they stepped inside. The faint light that seeped in through the dust-covered windows allowed them to fumble their way forward. The only sound was an occasional mournful bleating from the sheep outside.

Slowly they moved past the rows of stalls. Suddenly Knutas gave a shout.

‘I see something! Come over here!’

Among the bales of hay inside one of the stalls they saw the figure of a man lying on his back on the ground.

‘Damn it to hell!’ exclaimed Jacobsson. ‘We’re too late.’

To her embarrassment she felt tears well up in her eyes. Stop it, you idiot, she thought to herself. You don’t even know these people.

Knutas cautiously opened the stall door and stepped inside. He gasped when he looked at the man’s face.

It wasn’t Andreas.

JOHAN HAD NO
idea how much time had passed when the door finally opened. He saw a man wearing a white coat and glasses, his expression sombre. Johan’s vision blurred, as if he were looking through a fog. As he watched the doctor coming down the long corridor towards them, all sorts of memories flashed through his mind. Fragments of his life with Emma.

Her hand frantically clutching his when she gave birth to Elin; her smile when she said ‘I do’ in the church; her fevered expression when they made love. A minor quarrel at the breakfast table a few days ago; Emma wearing a white bathrobe with a towel wrapped around her head after taking a shower and then making coffee in the kitchen.

The doctor had reached them now. He stood very close. Johan didn’t dare look up.

‘It’s over now. The worst of it, anyway. She’s out of danger, and she’s going to be fine. The baby too.’

‘The baby?’ whispered Johan.

KNUTAS STOOD MOTIONLESS
, trying to gather his thoughts. He recognized Mats from the photographs. Now here he lay, looking up at the ceiling, his eyes unseeing, his body limp. But he was breathing.

‘Mats, my name is Anders Knutas and I’m a police officer. You’re under arrest for the murder of Viktor Algård and Veronika Hammar. Do you hear what I’m saying?’

He crouched down and shook Mats by the shoulder. No reaction. The man seemed almost catatonic.

The next moment two people appeared in the doorway, carrying torches. They stopped abruptly, surprised to see the police officers. Knutas looked in confusion from one person to the other. He couldn’t make sense of what he saw: There stood the sheep farmer Andreas Hammar and the TV camerawoman Pia Lilja, hand in hand. To make matters worse, Jacobsson had fallen to the ground and was staring glassy-eyed into space. As if she were the victim of a blackout.

Then the man on the floor suddenly turned his head to look at Knutas. His expression displayed such pain that Knutas almost shrank back. Slowly Mats lifted one arm, holding something in his hand. For a fraction of a second a danger warning flashed through Knutas’s brain. Was it a weapon? The next second he was relieved to see that it was a mobile phone. Mats’s voice shook as he whispered his question: ‘Is this true?’

Puzzled, Knutas tried to make out the words on the tiny, illuminated display. The message was brief but devastating.

‘Simon is dead. Call me. Mikaela’.

KNUTAS WAS STANDING
next to the window in his office, looking out at the car park, which was wet with rain. He filled his pipe as he thought about the dramatic events of the past few days.

From the very beginning this particular case had affected him more strongly than others. Maybe because it had made him think about his own role as a parent. Just before the murders occurred, Alexander Almlöv had been assaulted at the Solo Club. His own son Nils had witnessed the vicious attack but hadn’t dared tell his father, the police officer.

Over the past weeks Knutas had spent almost as much time wrestling with that issue as he had trying to discover the identity of the killer.

The fate of Mats Andersson was a tragic one, from start to finish. He had hoped to save his newfound and beloved brother from succumbing to despair by killing their mother. But before that happened, Simon had taken his own life. Knutas could understand how shocked Mats must have been to receive word of his brother’s death. Everything he had done was in vain. The plan he had spent months putting together was to no avail.

Mats had ended up recounting the whole story about his desperate attempt to free his younger brother from their mother. Ultimately it seemed to him that there was only one option. He had to kill Veronika – destroy her before she destroyed the family that he had found at last. Simon, in turn, had tried all his life to save her, to make her happy and content with her life. But that had proved to be an impossible task. Both Mats and Simon had seen themselves as angels sent to the rescue. And it had all ended in disaster.

Nobody can save anybody else, thought Knutas bitterly. Everyone has to save his own life.

It was strange that things had gone so well for Veronika Hammar’s children, in spite of the difficult circumstances they had endured while growing up with their excessively demanding mother. At least Andreas and Mikaela had succeeded in creating a satisfactory life for themselves, and they seemed reasonably happy.

They also had shown an ability to love. Was that something they’d learned from somebody else, or was it an innate part of being human?

His thoughts were interrupted by Jacobsson knocking on the door.

‘Come in.’

She sat down on his visitors’ sofa. Knutas sensed that she had something important to say, so he sat down across from her.

‘How are you doing?’

‘Fine, thanks.’

She smiled. Her dark eyes had regained their familiar alert expression. He was happy to see it.

‘I’ve decided to try to find my daughter. Lydia.’

Knutas didn’t reply. Instead, he got up and went over to sit next to her, giving her a hug. She relaxed into his arms, not moving as he stroked her hair.

He had been pondering what to do about everything that Karin had told him in Stockholm. He had agonized over the decision he needed to make. He had no idea what to do, and there was no one he could consult.

Karin had deliberately allowed a double murderer to escape. Maybe she was unbalanced. Maybe he would come to regret the decision he was about to make.

Yet, at that moment, he knew that he could never tell anyone her secret.

Never.

EPILOGUE

THE LIGHT IN
the flat is a heavy grey, just like in the city far below. Slussen’s never-ending circle with its constant stream of cars. They stubbornly continue to come from every direction, like arteries to a pumping heart. Then they disperse into the stinking body that is Stockholm.

It’s time. I feel closer to myself than I ever have before. In the past I always lived through other people and for other people, wanting to please them. Trying to live up to something. And I always failed.

I’ve merely been playing a role from the very beginning.

I feel immensely tired. I no longer need to keep going. Or keep fighting. Or suffering. Soon it will be over. I gaze out at the city. I’m a stranger in the midst of everything going on around me. I no longer want any part of it.

I had a dream that I was allowed to live my own life, just like everyone else. Work, travel, live. Give and receive love. Spend time with people, accumulate experiences, build relationships and mature. I imagined a future with a family, security and love.

That’s no longer a possibility. It’s not meant to be. I had a son, whom I love. I hope that he will experience all those things. That he will take charge of his own life.

My time on this earth is over. Sun, wind, snow, rain – never again will I witness the changes in weather. Or hear the howling of the storm over the sea. Or see the dawn.

Soon there will be nothing but night.

I’m looking forward to the embrace of darkness. I imagine death as sinking into the enveloping comfort of a woman’s arms. Maybe it’s true that we return to where we started. Inside our mother’s body, inside her womb, inside the soft, rocking, silent darkness, unaware of what is to come.

Maybe that’s what happens.

I pick up the photograph of Katrina and Daniel and kiss it tenderly. I will hold these two, whom I love, in my hand when I die.

Then I won’t be alone.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This story is entirely fictional. Any similarities between the characters in the novel and actual individuals are coincidental. Occasionally I have taken artistic liberties to change things for the benefit of the book. This includes Swedish TV’s coverage of Gotland, which in the book has been moved to Stockholm. I have the utmost respect for SVT’s regional news programme
Östnytt
, which covers Gotland with a permanent team stationed in Visby.

The settings used in the books are usually described as they actually exist in reality, although there are a few exceptions.

Any errors that may have slipped into the story are mine alone.

First and foremost, I would like to thank my husband, journalist Cenneth Niklasson, who is always ready to be my sounding board and offer me the greatest support.

Special thanks to:

Magnus Frank, detective superintendent with the Visby police

Johan Gardelius, crime technician, Visby police

Ulf Åsgård, psychiatrist

Martin Csatlos of the Forensic Medicine Laboratory in Solna

Lena Allerstam, journalist, Swedish TV

Mian Lodalen, author and journalist

Anita Forsberg, sheep farmer, Havdhem

Nina Pettersson, conference coordinator, Wisby Strand

Sara Hullegård, marketing director, Wisby Strand

My thanks to everyone who has helped me with my books at Albert Bonniers Förlag, especially my publisher Jonas Axelsson and my editor Ulrika Åkerlund – your support is invaluable.