The Disappeared (12 page)

It was Friday now; Alex didn’t know where the time had gone. He had been lost in a maelstrom of interviews and meetings, and a never-ending flow of thoughts and speculation.

‘Are you working over the weekend?’ Torbjörn asked.

‘Looks that way.’

‘My wife and I are going to our cottage from Saturday until Sunday; we’d be very pleased if you could join us.’

Alex didn’t quite know what to say. Peder appeared in the doorway of the meeting room.

‘Are we in here today?’

Alex nodded and turned to Torbjörn as Peder walked in and sat down.

‘We’ve got a meeting; the forensic pathologist is coming over to speak to us.’

More people came in; chairs scraped against the floor as the team settled down around the table.

‘Thanks for your offer . . .’ Alex hesitated. ‘It’s very kind of you, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to get away; I’m probably going to end up working all weekend.’

A firm hand on his shoulder, Torbjörn’s eyes fixed on his.

‘In that case, I suggest you give it some thought and let me know if you can make it. Sonja and I would be very happy to see you, and I’d love to take you fishing on Sunday morning.’

‘Fishing?’

‘Think about it, Alex.’

The hand disappeared, but the offer lingered as Torbjörn left the room.

Fredrika was the last to arrive, just after the pathologist. The team seemed to have grown overnight; there wasn’t room for everyone around the table, and some had to sit over by the wall.

Birger Rosvall, the forensic pathologist, sat down in the corner just to one side behind Alex, but Alex waved him forward and moved his chair to make room at the head of the table.

‘Birger has been kind enough to come over and pass on his conclusions verbally on this occasion. I would like to remind everyone that any information which emerges during this meeting is confidential and is not to be passed on. Not under any circumstances.’

There was complete silence in the room; some people glanced away when Alex looked at them.

‘We can’t afford mistakes in this investigation,’ he said. ‘Given the level of media interest, we need to be particularly careful about what we say and what steps we take. Does everyone understand that?’

Some people nodded, others murmured their assent. No one objected; nor had he expected them to. Without further ado he handed over to the pathologist.

‘We’ll start with the woman,’ Birger said in his characteristic voice, both nasal and hoarse at the same time. ‘The head has been separated from the body immediately below the chin, if you can imagine a line just here.’

He ran his finger under his own chin from ear to ear.

‘Damage to the trachea suggests that she might have been strangled, but I am unable to establish a definite cause of death. The hands were removed from the body by the same method as the head, using a chainsaw.’

The pathologist’s words bounced off the walls in the meeting room and settled over those present like a sodden blanket. Not everyone had known about the use of the chainsaw.

‘The severed surfaces of the bones are the main indication that a chainsaw was used rather than an ordinary blade. In addition, traces of a particular oil which could be used to grease the chain itself have been found where the amputations took place.’

‘What do you mean by a particular oil?’

‘Most chainsaw oil on sale today is biodegradable. The person who dismembered Rebecca’s body didn’t use that kind, which would have been cleverer; he used an older product which takes longer to break down. The damage to the skeleton, together with the discovery of traces of this oil or grease, leads me to conclude that the body was dismembered with a chainsaw.’

The door opened and a colleague looked in; when he saw that there was a meeting in progress, he apologised and quickly withdrew.

‘Can you tell what kind of chainsaw was used?’ Alex asked.

‘That’s impossible,’ Birger replied. ‘All I can say, given the choice of oil, is that it could well be an older model. However, I will be able to tell you exactly what kind of oil or grease was used.’

Unpleasant images of what the process of dismemberment might have looked like came into Alex’s mind. He shook his head; he didn’t need pictures, just words. Facts.

‘Birger, how messy would this kind of thing be? I’m sure we’re all imagining horrific scenes.’

The pathologist leaned back on his chair.

‘That depends on the circumstances. If the heart is still beating, even if the victim is unconscious, there will be a considerable amount of blood. However, if she is dead and no longer has a pulse, then the process will be neater. If you spread out enough plastic under the body, it shouldn’t be too difficult to clear up afterwards.’

Fredrika coughed discreetly.

‘And what about Rebecca?’

‘What do you mean?’

She shuffled uncomfortably.

‘I’m wondering if she was dead or alive when she was dismembered.’

‘I can’t say for certain, but I would guess that she was dead. Otherwise I am unable to explain the damage to the larynx.’

Everyone present felt like letting out a sigh of relief, but the pathologist’s words brought no real comfort. Rebecca Trolle had probably been dead, but she
could
have been alive.
Could
was a taboo word.

Alex interrupted the low hum of conversation that had broken out.

‘Did she have any other injuries?’

‘As I mentioned in my previous report, she did not. There was no damage to the ribs or any other bones. The only injuries I managed to document were those to the larynx.’

Warm hands around the young woman’s throat, pressing and pressing until it was all over.

Alex moved on.

‘What can you tell us about the male?’

‘As I’m sure you have already seen from the photographs, the man was found with bound ankles and his hands tied behind his back. He was lying on his side in the grave, and there was damage to his hipbone and collarbone which could have occurred as a result of being thrown down into the hole.’

The pathologist consulted his notes.

‘The man has a number of injuries which suggest that he was subjected to violence before he died: a crack in the jawbone, two broken ribs, one of the nasal bones broken off.’

‘How long had he been in the ground?’

‘Difficult to establish with any precision; somewhere between twenty-five and thirty years.’

Thirty years. Such a long time.

‘And the actual cause of death?’

‘I believe he was strangled.’

Alex raised his eyebrows.

‘Like Rebecca?’

‘Yes. But it’s hardly a unique way of killing another person. It’s not sufficient grounds to conclude that it was the same murderer.’

How many reasons were there to assume they were dealing with two different killers, Alex thought. It was beyond unlikely that two people had been killed in the same way and buried in the same place by two different perpetrators. Unless of course there were a number of perpetrators working together. The very thought made Alex feel stressed. If that was the case, things were going to get even more complicated.

‘How old was he?’

‘My estimate would be between forty and fifty; I haven’t been able to verify that as yet.’

‘Is there anything else you think we need to be aware of?’

‘Not really, apart from the obvious,’ Birger said. ‘First of all: the perpetrator is strong. It’s impossible to drive all the way to the place where the bodies were buried, and the man was tall – one metre eighty-five. Either he walked to the grave himself and was killed in situ, or the killer would have found it very difficult to get him there. If he was really strong he might have dragged the body; otherwise, I think he must have had help. Second: the killer has used extreme violence, particularly in the case of the woman. There has to be more to it than an attempt to make identification more difficult. And third: if it’s the same perpetrator, he must be at least fifty years old today. Perhaps that could go some way to explaining why the woman’s body was dismembered: he wasn’t strong enough to carry her in one piece.’

Once again, the meeting was disturbed as a colleague opened the door by mistake. One of the team took the opportunity to slip out to the toilet.

‘How far do you have to walk to get to the grave?’ Alex asked the officers who had been working on site.

‘About four hundred metres.’

Four hundred metres. That was a long way to carry a dead body. Could there have been two people involved? Once again, Alex pushed away the thought; please God no.

There was one killer. Anything else was unthinkable.

Once Birger had left, the meeting continued under Alex’s leadership.

‘I want an answer to this question today: how many men matching the height and age profile of the male victim went missing between, let’s say, 1975 and 1985? We need to try to limit the number of possible victims, and given his height that shouldn’t be a problem. I want a definite ID by the beginning of next week at the latest.’

He looked at his colleagues.

‘Some of you are going to have to work over the weekend; I hope that won’t be a problem.’

A few glanced away, not wanting to volunteer, but the vast majority nodded. They would be able to gather a team. Alex could see the prospect of going fishing with Torbjörn fading fast. Some other time, perhaps.

‘Rebecca Trolle,’ he said. ‘Where are we up to there?’

‘I want to speak to her supervisor, Gustav Sjöö,’ Peder said.

Surprise around the room; another name to take into account.

Peder briefly explained what he had found out the previous day.

‘And Håkan Nilsson?’

‘We’re still waiting for DNA results; SKL said they would get back to me this morning. But I’d like to speak to Sjöö, anyway.’

Fredrika spoke up.

‘We need to get to the bottom of these rumours about Rebecca selling sex over the internet. I’ve got a strong feeling they’re not a part of this. I agree that we need to interview the supervisor, but Håkan Nilsson has some explaining to do if he started the rumours about Rebecca.’

‘We have two interesting lines of inquiry when it comes to Rebecca,’ Alex summarised. ‘There’s the pregnancy, and the rumour that she was selling sex. It would make life simpler if we could eliminate one of them.’

‘The problem with the pregnancy is that it’s personal,’ Peder said. ‘And if Rebecca’s death is connected to the man who was buried in the same place, then it seems highly unlikely that the pregnancy had anything to do with it.’

‘That leaves the issue of selling sex,’ Alex said. ‘Anything else?’

‘Gustav Sjöö,’ Peder said.

‘How come the supervisor is interesting if we’ve decided the pregnancy isn’t?’

‘He could be a pervert, that’s all.’

The odd burst of laughter around the room made Peder feel embarrassed.

‘You mean both murders are connected with sex?’ Fredrika said.

‘Exactly. He’s old enough to have killed the man as well. And he’s fairly tall; he might have been stronger when he was younger.’

Strong enough to carry a dead man four hundred metres? Maybe, Alex thought.

‘I don’t think we can afford to eliminate any lines of inquiry when it comes to Rebecca Trolle,’ he said. ‘Not one, not in the current situation. OK?’

Nobody looked as if they wanted to disagree, and Alex was more than tired of the dry air in the conference room. He brought the meeting to a close and his colleagues returned to their offices and their assigned tasks. Fredrika lingered for a moment.

‘I’m going over to Diana Trolle’s sister’s house today; I want to go through Rebecca’s things.’

Alex heard his own words echoing in his head; they couldn’t afford to eliminate any lines of inquiry.

‘Fine.’

He wanted to say something else, to reprimand her for thinking that Alex had missed something two years ago, but he knew that would be the wrong thing to do.

They could have missed virtually anything.

Fredrika met Peder in the doorway as she was leaving.

‘SKL just called. They confirmed that Håkan Nilsson was the father of Rebecca’s child.’

15

There had never been a better April as far as the weather was concerned. Not that Peder Rydh could remember. The sun found its way down between the buildings, warming the air and making everyone slip off jackets and jumpers. Peder strolled out of HQ in his shirtsleeves, followed by two colleagues.

‘What about the car?’ said one of them. ‘Surely we’re not bloody walking to Midsommarkransen to pick him up?’

‘The car’s there,’ Peder said, pointing to a dark-coloured Saab parked further down the street. ‘And we’re going to Kista, not Midsommarkransen. We’re picking him up from work this time.’

For the third time within a relatively short period, Peder was on his way to see Håkan Nilsson. The prosecutor felt that they now had enough to arrest him, but Alex was dubious. If they arrested him, they would have three days to elicit a confession or other evidence to strengthen their case; otherwise, they wouldn’t be able to charge him. Since the police were working on several different suspects at the same time, Alex wasn’t convinced it was a good idea to arrest Nilsson at this delicate stage of the investigation.

And Peder was still curious about Rebecca’s supervisor, Gustav Sjöö.

Alex had decided that Nilsson was definitely to be brought in for questioning. They needed to talk to him about the child, and about the assertion that he was the one who had started the rumours about Rebecca selling sex.

Peder parked outside the firm where Håkan worked, then went inside with one of his colleagues while the other remained outside, keeping an eye on the door. Brightly coloured signs directed them to Reception on the second floor. Peder and his colleague took the stairs two at a time, strong and agile after many hours in the gym and out running. Black shoes, blue jeans. To the trained eye it wasn’t difficult to see that they were police officers.

However, the receptionist failed to spot it.

‘How may I help you?’ she asked in a friendly tone of voice.

Peder and his colleague showed their ID and quietly explained why they were there. The receptionist went pale and directed them to Håkan’s desk in the open-plan office. He was sitting with his back to them wearing headphones, and was busy writing a report, his eyes glued to the screen. He didn’t hear them approaching from behind.