Hurtig is hurriedly making notes. ‘Who’s Gert?’
She laughs. A dry, rasping sound that makes him flinch. ‘Gert? Doesn’t everyone know who he is? He’s so clever, one of the best policemen in Sweden. You ought to know that, as a policeman.’
Clever policeman, he thinks. Like hell. Practical Pig, Gert Berglind. ‘I’ve only got a few questions, and I’d be really happy if you could try to answer them.’
‘I forgot to mention Fredrika as well,’ Annette says.
‘Good,’ Hurtig says appreciatively, writing down the names. The whole Sigtuna gang, all murdered, apart from the murderers themselves, Hannah ?stlund and Jessica Friberg. No, all except one, he realises once he’s written down the last name.
‘Victoria Bergman? Will she be there too?’
Annette Lundstr?m looks surprised. ‘Victoria Bergman? No. Why would she?’
Kronoberg – Police Headquarters
‘SCHWARZ, ?HLUND AND Hurtig’s reports are all done, I’m just waiting for yours now,’ Commissioner Dennis Billing says when Jeanette bumps into him on her way to her office. ‘But perhaps you’ve got more important things to do than put an end to this?’
Jeanette is only half listening, because she’s still thinking about what she saw in the pathology lab. ‘No, no, not at all,’ she replies. ‘You’ll have it later today, so you can send it to von Kwist tomorrow morning at the latest.’
‘Sorry if I sound a bit brusque,’ Billing says. ‘I think you’ve done a good job, solving this so quickly. It wouldn’t have looked good in the papers if it had dragged on. But von Kwist is off sick at the moment, so someone else will be dealing with this until he gets back. Anyway, there’s no rush, since the perpetrators are beyond our reach, so to speak.’ The commissioner smiles.
‘What’s wrong with von Kwist?’ Jeanette asks. The last time she saw the prosecutor he had looked the same as usual, and hadn’t complained of being unwell.
‘Something to do with his stomach. Suspected ulcer, I think he said when he called, and that’s not surprising when you consider how hard he works. Good man, that Kenneth.’
‘The best we’ve got,’ Jeanette says, continuing towards her office. Perfectly aware that the irony will go over Billing’s head.
‘Hell, he’s the best,’ he echoes, sure enough. ‘Well, better get back to the mines.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that now that another murdered boy has appeared, we’re opening the case again. You can keep Hurtig. ?hlund and Schwarz are at your disposal as long as nothing more important crops up.’
More important? Jeanette thinks. My case is only being reopened because it would look bad otherwise. ‘We’re cosmetic, you mean?’ she says, opening the door to her room.
‘No, no, not at all.’ The police chief falls silent. ‘Well, maybe you could put it like that. Cosmetic. Oh, Jan, you’re pretty smart sometimes. I’ll remember that one. Cosmetic.’
Jeanette goes into her office and glances at the identikit picture pinned to the bulletin board by her desk. The drawing says nothing to her. It could be anyone at all.
It could actually be a woman just as easily as a man, she thinks.
Now that she comes to think about it, the face does seem peculiarly vague. Surely there ought to be some kind of distinguishing features? But at least the artist managed to include a couple of birthmarks, one on the chin and one on the forehead. Is that the sort of thing that children notice?
While she’s looking at the picture she calls Ivo Andri? to ask for a more thorough examination of Ulrika Wendin’s flat. As the phone rings Jeanette considers what Ulrika told her about the rape in the hotel room, and about Lundstr?m filming the assault.
She also recalls that Lundstr?m had said in his interview that he had been present when other recordings of child pornography were made, even if he hadn’t mentioned the one involving Ulrika.
Ivo Andri? picks up, and promises to go back to Ulrika Wendin’s apartment with a forensics team. When she ends the call Jeanette is left sitting there with the receiver in her hand and a lump in her stomach.
Lundstr?m’s films, she thinks. It’s actually possible that they might contain something that could help in the search for Ulrika Wendin.
She dials Lars Mikkelsen’s number on the internal phone.
What if the recording from the hotel room is in Lundstr?m’s collection? And why hasn’t she asked herself that before now? If what Ulrika said was accurate, and she’s never doubted that, then the film ought to be of vital importance. The fact that Karl Lundstr?m is dead doesn’t mean that the other perpetrators couldn’t be charged.
She sighs to herself. This investigation really has been low priority. If only she’d been given more resources, they could have been more thorough.
When Mikkelsen finally answers she explains why she’s calling and asks if he has anyone who could go through the material they seized.
‘Well, not really,’ Mikkelsen replies evasively. ‘We’ve already got more than enough going on.’
‘I understand,’ Jeanette says. ‘How about if I come over and pick the films up, and go through them myself? That would work, wouldn’t it?’
Do I really want to do this? Jeanette wonders when she realises what she’s just suggested.
‘Well, there’s no official reason why not. But you’ll have to sign a load of documents agreeing not to divulge their contents and so on, and of course the films mustn’t leave the building. A lot of Lundstr?m’s films were still on VHS and haven’t been digitised yet, which means you’ll have to go through the stuff we seized yourself.’
Jeanette thinks he sounds irritable, but presumes it has nothing to do with her.
‘Great, I’ll come over at once,’ she concludes, and hangs up before Mikkelsen has time to answer.
OK, she thinks. No going back now.
Mikkelsen isn’t there when she arrives, but he’s asked a colleague to look after her. He’s a young man with a thin beard and a ring in his nose, and he comes to get her outside Mikkelsen’s office. ‘Hi, you must be Jeanette Kihlberg,’ he says. ‘Lasse told me to let you into the storeroom and get you to sign for anything you need.’ He gestures for her to follow him. ‘This way, then.’
Once again she wonders what could make a grown man voluntarily spend his days watching children being abused by other grown men, in slow motion, frame by frame. Members of the same species. Friends and colleagues. It could be their childhood friends, old classmates, at worst their dad or brother.
‘Here it is,’ Mikkelsen’s colleague says, unlocking a perfectly ordinary office door. ‘Come and find me when you’re done. My office is down there.’ He points along the corridor.
She looks at the door in surprise, but doesn’t really know what she was expecting.