Marked for Life (14 page)

Jana got up with the notebook in her hand, went into her study and unlocked a door that led to a little storeroom. She had transformed the storeroom into a place where she could collect everything that might help her to understand her background. Up to now she had only had the help of her dreams.

Jana turned on the ceiling light and stood there in the middle of the room. Her gaze was directed at the walls. The room was about ten square meters. Two walls consisted of bulletin boards, and these were completely filled with images, photos and sketches. On one wall there was a whiteboard and that was covered with penned notes. Under it was a small desk and a chair. There was a safe next to that. There was no window in the room, but the light diode up on the ceiling lit up all the surfaces.

She had never shown this room to anybody; her parents would probably try to get her hospitalized if they found out. Nor did Per have any idea of her research. She had never uttered a word about it to any of them, and she never would do. This was her business, and hers alone. Everything in the room was about her earlier life as a child.

The truth was—and she had realized this a long time ago—she liked digging into the past. She had done it for as long as she could remember. It gave her a bit of a kick of satisfaction, like a complicated game, only it was about her, herself. And now another player had joined the game. It felt completely absurd, unreal.

Jana put the notebook down on the table, went up to one of the notice boards and looked at the various bits of paper attached to it. At the very top was a picture of a goddess. She had found it in a book that she had happened across in one of Uppsala's antique shops in her student days, and she had bought it for just over fifty kronor.

In that old university city she had used the public library as well as the university library. But the law department library became her natural refuge. She always sat in the same place in the Loccenius room, right in the corner with her back to a bookcase and with a high narrow window on her left side. From there she could see the entire reading room and all the students who came and went. There wasn't much room on the reading desk and the green reading lamp wasn't very bright. Her law books didn't take much space, but the ones on Greek mythology were large and unwieldy.

At the main university library they had, over the centuries, acquired large and valuable collections. Jana had found literature that described mythology in general and goddesses in particular. She had been especially interested in goddesses of Death, and when she had come across texts of importance in her research, she copied them and later put them on a bulletin board in her student apartment. Titles such as
The Goddess
,
Imaginary Greece
and
Personification in the Greek Mythology
were obvious choices for her private reading in the evenings. She wrote down all the texts that interested her and made copies of all the important illustrations. She tried to understand all the links she could find.

What all these hours of research had in common was a single name.

Ker.

Jana had devoted all of her free time to trying to solve the mystery of the strange carving on her neck, but she got nowhere. The first time she looked up the name, she read that it meant the goddess of violent death.

Jana remembered that she had first found that explanation in an old encyclopedia. Now she looked across at the row of books neatly lined up with their spines in order of height. Roughly in the middle she found the encyclopedia, pulled it out and opened it at the page with the yellow Post-it sticker. She ran her index finger along the lines that had been marked with a weak cross. “Ker,” it said. Jana went on reading. “Greek mythology. The goddesses of Death (or more correctly, of violent death) in Ancient Greece. Hesiodes, however, only mentions one Ker, the daughter of the Night and the sister of Death (Thanatos)...”

Jana stopped reading.

Thanatos!

She sat down and put the book on the desk. She stretched out her arm, took a sheet of paper down from one of the notice boards, and read what was on it. The heading was: Greek Mythology—Gods of Death. There were about thirty names on the list and on the third line was the boy's name.

She felt her nausea rise again.

Jana leaned back in the chair and took a deep breath.

After a short while she got up and went across to the other bulletin board. On an otherwise empty sheet of paper there was a list of combinations. Letters of the alphabet and numbers in large print and next to this a picture of a transport container. In her earliest memory she had recalled a name plate and at the same time she had seen a blue container in her mind's eye. But she didn't know how they were connected. She had assumed that the combination was associated with the container and had tried to find it on one of all the millions of internet pages out there but that hadn't led to any result. She had then convinced herself that it had all been a meaningless dream and at that point her efforts to try to understand who she was had come to a dead end.

She hadn't been in the secret room for too long a time. She had decided to leave things as they were, not to go on looking for answers. Anyway it had felt hopeless. Now she had to deal with a strange thought. Was it time to get an answer once and for all? The boy was an important piece of the puzzle. When she saw the name carved on his neck she had been frightened, but now, afterward, she realized that the name could help her get an answer to the riddle that had dominated her entire life. The combination was an important piece of the puzzle too. Would one of them lead her to the truth? Or perhaps both together?

Jana stopped her musings. The thought that the police had the same combination of letters and numbers in their hands was rather disconcerting. She didn't really know how to deal with that. Should she be grateful to get help? Should she open up to them and tell them about her own investigations? Show them the drawings? The name on her neck? No. If she as much as uttered a word about her having personal reasons for leading the investigation, she would immediately be taken off the case.

Jana sat down again. She didn't know what to do. Her thoughts were whirling around. She must let the police take care of the investigation. But she couldn't just stand on the sideline and passively watch. She had to do something with the pieces of the puzzle that had come to light. She had to get an answer. It was now or never.

But how should she proceed? Which lead should she follow first? The boy or the combination? She had to make up her mind.

Jana got up from the chair, locked the storeroom and went into her bedroom.

Then she got undressed, climbed into bed and turned the light off. The decision had come to her and she was content with it.

Very content.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE

Friday, April 20

IT WAS EARLY
in the morning when Mats Nylinder hurried to catch up with Gunnar Öhrn outside the police station. During the windless and clear night, frost had formed and created a pattern on the paving stones by the entrance that looked like snowflakes. The ice crystals had gathered in clumps on the office windows and the bare branches that stuck up from the border underneath were silvery white.

Mats Nylinder was a general reporter with
Norrköpings Tidningar
and Gunnar thought he had an exaggerated interest in news. His way of going about things was nerve-racking and fiery, and the impression he gave could be compared with a rodent from the animal world. In appearance, however, he was more like a hard-skinned member of a motorbike gang. He was short, had a ponytail and wore a brown leather waistcoat. Around his neck hung a camera.

“Gunnar Öhrn, wait! I have a few more questions. How exactly was the boy murdered?”

“I can't go into that,” Gunnar answered and increased his pace.

“What weapon was used?”

“No comment.”

“Had the boy been sexually abused?”

“No comment.”

“Are there any witnesses?”

Gunnar didn't answer, and pushed open the door in front of him.

“What do you think about how Hans Juhlén had been exploiting asylum seekers?”

Gunnar stopped, his hand still on the door. He turned round.

“What do you mean?”

“That he forced women refugees to have sex with him. That he demeaned them.”

“That is not something I want to comment on.”

“There'll be a scandal of enormous proportions when the story gets out. You must have some comment?”

“My job is to investigate crime, not worry about scandals,” said Gunnar authoritatively and disappeared inside.

Gunnar made his way up the stairs and went straight into the office kitchen area. After pushing a button, he had a steaming cup of coffee in his hand and he continued down the corridor toward his office.

A new pile of documents had come from the National Forensic Lab and were waiting for him to examine.

“Did you bring the box with you?”

Anneli surprised him. She stood leaning against the wall with one leg crossed in front of the other. She was wearing beige chinos, a white top and a white cardigan. On her wrist she had a twined gold bracelet that Gunnar had given her for her birthday.

“No, I forgot it again. Can you pick it up at the house?”

“When?”

Gunnar put his coffee down and started to thumb through the documents on his desk.

“When can I fetch it?” Anneli repeated.

“The box?” he said, without taking his eyes off the papers.

“Yes. When can I fetch it?”

“Whenever it suits you. Anytime.”

“Tomorrow?”

“No.”

“No? But you just said...”

“Well, okay...or, I don't know. But do you know what this is?”

He waved the papers in front of Anneli's face.

“No.”

“This is finally progress in the investigation, I can tell you. Progress!”

* * *

“But can you tell me what they mean?”

Mia Bolander gave secretary Lena Wikström a pleading look.

“No, I've no idea. What is it?”

“That's what I want you to tell me.”

“But I haven't seen those numbers before.”

“And the letters?”

“No, nor those. Is it some sort of code or what?”

Mia didn't answer. For more than twenty minutes she had tried to get Lena to explain the weird combinations they had found in Hans Juhlén's computer. She thanked Lena for her help, even though she hadn't got any, and left the Migration Board.

In her car she thought about how tired the secretary had looked. Her face was pale, the area around her eyes was a purple-blue color. With slow movements, she had pushed around the documents lying spread out on her desk. Mia had asked how things were, and Lena had answered that she was depressed.

What a pathetic woman, Mia thought. Bloody useless that she couldn't tell us anything!

On her way back to the police station, Mia got caught in the long line of cars on Ståthögavägen. The traffic was crawling along and that irritated her even more. But what made her most angry of all was that she was broke. Yesterday's evening out had cost more than she had intended. And she had treated too. Two beers for some bloke she didn't even know. Somebody who on top of it all was married.

So unnecessary. So. Bloody. Unnecessary.

Her mobile suddenly made a shrill noise.

It was Ola Söderström.

“How did it go?” he said.

“It didn't. She didn't know anything about the combinations.”

“Oh, great.”

“Yes, isn't it just!”

Mia became silent. She pinched her upper lip with her index finger and thumb.

“But Ola,” she then said, “I thought that perhaps, have you tried turning the numbers around?”

“No. But I have tried combinations with the numbers first and the letters afterwards.”

“But if you reverse them, what then?”

“You mean I should search on 900014 instead of 410009?”

“I don't have the combinations in front of me, but it sounds like you get what I mean.”

“Hang on...”

Mia heard how Ola pressed the keyboard. She turned her head back to see if she could change to the left lane. But the cars there were going just as slowly. She sighed out loud just as Ola's voice came back.

“All I get is pages with ISO 900014, that's international standards. And a report about X-ray from Harvard.”

“But what about the other combinations?” said Mia.

“Let's see, 106130 becomes 031601. No, that's a hex code. 933028 is a hex code too, but I don't think he was interested in colors on internet.”

“No, nor am I.”

Mia tried to get a glimpse of how many cars there were in front. The queue was hopelessly long.

“How did you get on with the department of transportation and their cameras?” she said.

“Still waiting. It all depends on whether the driver exceeded the speed limit or not. If he did, then there will presumably be an image. And then that image will be compared with photos on passports and driving licences. If it can be matched, then we'll have an identification. If not, then at least we shall have the name of the owner of the van and we can hope that it's the same person who drove where the boy was found,” said Ola.

“But that depends on whether he or she drove too fast,” said Mia.

She straightened her back in the driving seat and put her hand on the wheel. The traffic had started to move.

“Yes, the cameras only react to speed violations and the department of transportation are now checking their logs. The information must be decrypted first before we can get it. If there is any, that is.”

“Jesus, what now...!”

“What's the matter?”

“The traffic! I hate lines. Get a bloody move on!”

Mia banged her hand against the steering wheel and then gesticulated wildly at the driver in front who had stalled his engine.

“And you're in a good mood today?” said Ola.

“None of your fucking business.”

Mia immediately regretted her harsh words.

“Okay,” said Ola. “It's none of my fucking business but you might be interested to know that we've got an answer from the National Forensics Lab.”

Ola was in a bad mood too, she could hear. She didn't say anything and let him go on:

“The boy was shot with a .22 Sig Sauer. The gun has not been used in any criminal activity in Sweden earlier. But only the boy's fingerprints were found on the Glock that was found next to him. All technical evidence points to him being the person who fired the gun that killed Hans Juhlén.”

Ola ended the call abruptly.

She had irritated him and now she was sitting here in a lousy mood and he was in a lousy mood. Useless fucking morning, Mia thought.