‘That seems symbolic. Almost ritualistic. As if the perpetrator is trying to say something.’
Jeanette recalls the flowers found inside the tent, next to the dead woman.
Karl Lundstr?m had received yellow flowers as well, but that could be coincidence.
‘Have you identified a suspect?’ Sofia asks.
‘Nothing definite yet,’ Jeanette begins. ‘But we’ve got a link to a foundation called Sihtunum i Diasporan. Both Lundstr?m and Silfverberg were involved with it. And there’s a lawyer, Viggo Dürer, who’s mixed up in it as well. But he’s dead too, so we can forget him.’
‘Dead?’
‘Yes, a few weeks ago. He died in a fire on his boat.’
Sofia looks taken aback, and Jeanette thinks she can see something in her eyes. Eventually she says, ‘I had a strange phone call the other day,’ and Jeanette can see she isn’t sure if she should go on.
‘In what way was it strange?’
‘Prosecutor Kenneth von Kwist called me and implied that Karl Lundstr?m had been lying. That he had made everything up under the influence of his medication. I couldn’t work out what he was getting at.’
‘That’s not too difficult. He wants to save his own skin. He ought to have ascertained that Lundstr?m wasn’t on any medication before the interview. If he missed that, he’s screwed.’
‘I think I made a mistake.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I mentioned one of the men Linnea says assaulted her, and I got a feeling he recognised the name. He went very quiet.’
‘Can I ask who it was?’
‘You just mentioned him. Viggo Dürer.’
Jeanette realises at once why Kenneth von Kwist had sounded odd. She doesn’t know if she should indulge in schadenfreude, because Dürer seems to have been a nasty piece of work, or just feel sad, because of the revelation that he had evidently assaulted a little girl. ‘I’ll bet my right hand that von Kwist is going to try to hush this up. It’s no exaggeration to think he’d be seriously damaged if it got out that he was involved with paedophiles and rapists.’
She reaches for the wine bottle.
‘Who is this von Kwist, anyway?’ Sofia holds out her empty glass and lets Jeanette refill it.
‘He’s worked at the Public Prosecution Authority for over twenty years, and the Ulrika Wendin case isn’t the only one that got tossed out at the preliminary investigation stage. And just because he works for us doesn’t mean he was the smartest law graduate of his year.’ She laughs, and when she sees the puzzled look on Sofia’s face, she explains: ‘It’s no secret that it’s the least talented of the successful graduates who end up working for us in the police, or for the enforcement agency or the national insurance office.’
‘How come?’
‘Simple. They’re not smart enough to become business lawyers for some big export company, or to run their own firms for much higher salaries. Von Kwist probably dreams of becoming a hotshot criminal lawyer, but he’s far too stupid.’
Jeanette thinks of her ultimate superior, the county police commissioner for Stockholm, one of the most high-profile police officers in the country. Who never takes part in serious debates on criminality, but is happy to appear in gossip magazines and go to gala premieres in expensive outfits.
‘If you want to put the squeeze on von Kwist, I can help you with evidence,’ Sofia says, tapping her glass with her fingernail. ‘Linnea showed me a letter in which Karl Lundstr?m implies that Dürer had abused her. And Annette Lundstr?m let me take photographs of some drawings Linnea did when she was little. Pictures describing the abuse. I’ve got it all with me, if you’d like to see it?’
Jeanette nods mutely as Sofia gets out her handbag and shows her Linnea’s drawings and a photocopy of the letter from Karl Lundstr?m.
‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘This will definitely come in useful. But I’m afraid it’s more circumstantial than definite evidence.’
‘I understand,’ Sofia says.
They sit without saying anything for a while before Sofia goes on. ‘Apart from von Kwist and Dürer … Are there any more names?’
‘Yes, there’s one more that keeps cropping up. Bengt Bergman.’
Sofia starts. ‘Bengt Bergman?’
‘He was reported for the sexual abuse of two children. A boy and girl from Eritrea. Children without papers who don’t officially exist. Case dropped. Signed off on by Kenneth von Kwist. Bergman’s lawyer was Viggo Dürer. Do you see the connection?’
Jeanette leans back and drinks a large gulp of wine. ‘There’s another Bergman. Her name was Victoria, and she was Bengt Bergman’s daughter.’
‘Was?’
‘Yes. About twenty years ago she ceased to exist. There’s nothing after November 1988. But I’ve spoken to her on the phone, and she wasn’t exactly reticent about her relationship with her father. I think he abused her sexually and that’s why she disappeared. And Bengt and Birgitta Bergman no longer exist either. They died recently in a fire. Poof, and then they were gone as well.’
Sofia’s smile is hesitant. ‘You’ll have to excuse me, but I don’t understand.’
‘Lack of existence,’ Jeanette says. ‘The common denominator for the Bergman and Lundstr?m families is their lack of existence. Their histories are blacked out. And I think both Dürer and von Kwist participated in that.’
‘And Ulrika Wendin?’
‘Yes, you know her, of course. Raped by a number of men, including Karl Lundstr?m, in a hotel room seven years ago. They injected her with an anaesthetic. Case dropped by Kenneth von Kwist. Yet another case blacked out.’
‘Anaesthetic? Like those dead boys?’
‘We don’t know if it was the same anaesthetic. There was no medical examination conducted.’
Sofia looks irritated. ‘Why not?’
‘Because Ulrika waited more than two weeks before going to the police.’
Sofia appears thoughtful, and Jeanette waits, realising that she’s weighing something up.
‘I think Viggo Dürer tried to bribe her,’ she says after a while.
‘Why do you think that?’
‘When she was with me she had a new computer and a whole lot of money. She managed to drop a few 500 krona notes on the floor. And she caught sight of a picture of Viggo Dürer that I’d printed out and left on my desk. When she saw it she flinched, and when I asked if she knew him she denied it, but I’m fairly certain she was lying.’
Gamla Enskede – Kihlberg House
THE RESIDENTIAL AREA of Gamla Enskede was laid out in the early years of the last century, so that ordinary people could have their own house with two bedrooms, a kitchen, a cellar and a garden, all for the same price as a two-room apartment in the city.
It’s early evening and the clouds are building. A grey darkness settles over the suburb and the big green maple turns black. The mist over the lawn is steely grey.
She knows who you are.
No. Stop it. She can’t know. That’s impossible.