Sofia shuddered. ‘So she’s seen the films too?’
‘Yes, that’s what we’re assuming. According to our analysis they are, if you’ll pardon the phrase, classic child pornography. As far as we’ve been able to determine, they were filmed in Brazil in the late eighties. They’ve been circulating in paedophile circles for a long time, and have – again, sorry about this – legendary status among collectors …’
‘So they’re nothing to do with the Russian mafia?’
‘No, the Russian mafia seems to be entirely innocent in this case, just like Lundstr?m’s imaginary Anders Wikstr?m. But the things that happen in the films do fit with what he said during your conversation with him, with the significant difference that they were actually filmed in Brazil twenty years ago.’
‘That sounds plausible. So his lies about Anders Wikstr?m were inspired by existing child porn films. That would explain why the lies were so detailed.’
‘In one of the drawers of Lundstr?m’s desk they also found a lock of hair and a pair of pants belonging to his daughter. Can you explain what that’s all about?’
‘Well, I recognise the behaviour. He’s collecting trophies,’ Sofia said. ‘The aim is to exercise control over the victim. Using those objects, he can return to the assaults in his imagination, and relive them.’
They sat in silence for a while. Possibly because it was all just so grotesque.
Sofia was thinking about Linnea Lundstr?m and everything she had been through. Victoria Bergman resurfaced in her mind, and Sofia wondered how Linnea was handling her experiences. Victoria had learned to channel what she had been through. How was Linnea dealing with it?
‘How’s the girl now?’
Jeanette held out her hands and looked baffled.
‘Mikkelsen says he recognises her reaction from other kids he’s met. They’re angry, but so incredibly let down. They don’t trust anyone. When she’s not crying, she’s screaming that she hates her father, but at the same time there’s no doubt that she’s missing him.’
Sofia thought about Victoria Bergman again. A grown woman who was still a child.
‘I understand,’ she said.
Jeanette looked out over the artificial turf. ‘Do you have any children?’ she asked, lighting another cigarette.
Sofia was surprised by the question.
‘No … It’s never been the right time. You?’
‘Yep, one boy.’ Sofia noted that Jeanette looked thoughtful. ‘He …’ Jeanette turned serious. ‘He’s the same age as Linnea. They’re so incredibly fragile at that age, if you know what I mean …’
‘I know.’
‘Anyway, according to Mikkelsen this is your specialist area? Traumatised children …’ Jeanette held up her hands and added, ‘To be honest, I have real trouble understanding this sort of criminal. What the hell is it that drives them?’
The question was blunt, and Sofia felt that a similarly blunt answer was required, but didn’t know what to say at first. Jeanette’s intensity and presence both interested and distracted her.
‘It’s not always easy to say,’ she said after a pause. ‘But there were a couple of things that struck me as odd with Karl Lundstr?m.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know if it means anything, but he kept coming back to castration. Once he asked me if I knew how to castrate a reindeer, then went on to explain that you crush the testicles by biting them. On another occasion he went so far as to say he thought all men ought to be castrated at birth.’
Jeanette sat in silence for several seconds.
‘Everything we discuss here has to stay between us. But what you’ve just said definitely strengthens my suspicions. Because each of the three murdered boys had been mutilated.’
‘Damn …’
Jeanette looked reproachfully at Sofia. ‘Shame you didn’t tell me that the first time we spoke.’
‘There was no reason for me to give up my oath of confidentiality when you first contacted me. I simply couldn’t see a direct connection to your case.’
Jeanette made an apologetic gesture with her hands.
Sofia realised that Jeanette had a fiery temper and, to her surprise, found that she quite liked that.
Jeanette Kihlberg’s face didn’t mask her emotions, and Sofia saw the reproachful look in her eyes fade, to be replaced by melancholy.
‘Well, it’s not worth arguing about. Have you got anything else useful?’
‘Xylocain adrenalin,’ Sofia said.
The smoke from Jeanette’s cigarette caught in her throat, and she was seized with a coughing fit.
Sofia was taken aback by the strength of her reaction, and wasn’t sure at first how to continue, but Jeanette pre-empted her in between coughs.
‘What the hell are you saying?’
‘Well … Karl Lundstr?m said that Anders Wikstr?m usually injected his victims with Xylocain adrenalin. It’s not a substance I’m familiar with. I don’t know if it induces intoxication.’
Jeanette shook her head and took a deep breath. ‘It’s not the sort of thing you take to get high,’ she said in a tone of resignation. ‘It’s an anaesthetic. The same anaesthetic we found in the dead boys. Xylocain adrenalin is used by dentists, and Annette Lundstr?m is a dentist, of course. Need I say more?’
Silence fell once again.
‘That sounds pretty incriminating, I must say,’ Sofia said after a while.
They were interrupted when Jeanette’s mobile phone rang. She excused herself.
Sofia couldn’t hear what was being said at the other end, but it was evidently something that upset Jeanette.
‘Fucking hell. OK … what else?’
Jeanette stood up and began to walk up and down between the rows of seats in the stand.
‘OK, I can see that. But how the hell could it happen?’
She sat down again. ‘OK. I’m on my way …’ Then she snapped her phone shut and sighed in despair. ‘Fuck.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘Well, we were talking about him …’
‘What do you mean?’
Jeanette Kihlberg leaned back and swore silently between drags on the cigarette. Her face was like an open book. Disappointment. Anger. Resignation.
Sofia didn’t know what to say.
‘There won’t be any more conversations with Lundstr?m,’ Jeanette Kihlberg muttered. ‘He’s hanged himself in prison. Anything to say about that?’
Toronto, 2007
THE SNOWSTORM OVER the eastern seaboard means that Flight 4592 has been diverted to Toronto instead of landing at John F. Kennedy Airport as planned. As a result the airline books them into a four-star hotel and they get allocated seats on the morning flight the next day.
After taking a shower, they decide to stay in the hotel room and share a bottle of champagne.
‘God, how wonderful! Some time off at last!’