DURING THE FIRST meeting Jeanette delegated the preliminary steps in the investigation.
A group of recently graduated officers had spent the afternoon knocking on doors in the area, and Jeanette was hopeful that they’d come up with something.
Schwarz was given the thankless task of going through the lists of vehicles that had passed the road tolls, almost eight hundred thousand in total, while ?hlund checked the surveillance footage they had secured from the teacher-training college and the metro station.
Jeanette certainly didn’t miss the monotony of the sort of investigative work that usually got dumped on less experienced officers.
The main priority was getting the boy’s identity confirmed, and Hurtig was given the job of contacting refugee centres around Stockholm. Jeanette herself was going to talk to Ivo Andri?.
After the meeting she went back to her office and called home. It was already after six o’clock, and it was her night to cook.
‘Hi! How’s your day been?’ She made an effort to sound cheerful.
As a couple, Jeanette and ?ke were fairly equal. They shared the everyday chores: ?ke was responsible for the laundry and Jeanette for the vacuuming. Cooking was done according to a rota that involved their son, Johan, as well. But she was the one who did all the heavy lifting when it came to the family finances.
‘I finished the laundry an hour ago. Otherwise pretty good. Johan just got home. He said you promised to give him a lift to the match tonight. Are you going to make it in time?’
‘No, I can’t,’ Jeanette sighed. ‘The car broke down on the way into the city. Johan will have to take his bike, it’s not that far.’ Jeanette glanced at the family photograph she’d pinned up on her bulletin board. Johan looked so young in the picture, and she could hardly bear to look at herself.
‘I’m going to be here for a few more hours. I’ll take the metro home if I can’t get a lift from someone. You’ll have to phone for a pizza. Have you got any money?’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ ?ke sighed. ‘If not, there’s probably some in the jar.’
Jeanette thought for a moment. ‘There should be. I put five hundred in yesterday. See you later.’
?ke didn’t reply, so she hung up and leaned back.
Five minutes of rest.
She closed her eyes.
Hurtig came into Jeanette’s office with the recording of that morning’s anonymous phone call to the emergency call room. He handed her the CD and sat down.
Jeanette rubbed her tired eyes. ‘Have you spoken to whoever found the boy?’
‘Yep. Two of our officers – according to the report, they arrived on the scene a couple of hours after the call was received. Like I said, they took a while to respond because the emergency operator got the address wrong.’
Jeanette took the CD out of its case and put it in her computer.
The call lasted twenty seconds.
‘One-one-two, what’s the nature of the emergency?’
There was a crackle, but no sound of a voice.
‘Hello? One-one-two, what’s the nature of the emergency?’ The operator sounded more circumspect now, and there was the sound of laboured breathing.
‘I just wanted to let you know there’s a dead body in the bushes near Thorildsplan.’
The man was slurring his words, and Jeanette thought he sounded drunk. Drunk or on drugs.
‘What’s your name?’ the operator asked.
‘Doesn’t matter. Did you hear what I said?’
‘Yes, I heard that you said there’s a dead body near Bolidenplan.’
The man sounded annoyed. ‘A dead body in the bushes near the entrance to the Thorildsplan metro station.’
Then silence.
Just the operator’s hesitant ‘Hello?’
Jeanette frowned. ‘You don’t have to be Einstein to assume that the call was made somewhere near the station, do you?’
‘No, of course. But if –’
‘If what?’ She could hear how irritated she sounded, but she had been hoping that the recording of the call would answer at least some of her questions. Give her something to throw at the commissioner and the prosecutor.
‘Sorry,’ she said, but Hurtig just shrugged.
‘Let’s continue tomorrow.’ He stood up and headed for the door. ‘Go home to Johan and ?ke instead.’
Jeanette smiled gratefully. ‘Goodnight, see you in the morning.’
Once Hurtig had shut the door she called her boss, Commissioner Dennis Billing.
The chief of the criminal investigation department answered after four rings.
Jeanette told him about the dead, mummified boy, the anonymous phone call, and the other things they’d found out during the afternoon and evening.
In other words, she didn’t have much of any significance to tell him.
‘We’ll have to see what the door-to-door inquiries come up with, and I’m waiting to hear what Ivo Andri? has discovered. Hurtig’s talking to Violent Crime, and, well – all the usual, really.’
‘Obviously it would be best, as I’m sure you realise, if we could solve this as quickly as possible. As much for you as for me.’
Jeanette had a problem with his arrogant attitude, which she knew was entirely due to the fact that she was a woman. He had been among those who didn’t think Jeanette should have been promoted to detective superintendent. With the unofficial backing of Prosecutor von Kwist, he had suggested another name: a man, obviously.
In spite of his explicit disapproval she had been given the job, but his unfavourable attitude towards her had tainted their relationship ever since.
‘Of course, we’ll do all we can. I’ll get back to you tomorrow when we know more.’
Dennis Billing cleared his throat.
‘Hmm. There’s something else I’d like to talk to you about.’
‘Oh?’
‘Well, this is supposed to be confidential, but I dare say I can bend the rules slightly. I’m going to have to borrow your team.’
‘No, that’s not possible. This is an important murder investigation.’
‘Twenty-four hours, starting tomorrow evening. Then you can have them back. In spite of the situation that’s arisen, I’m afraid it can’t be avoided.’
Jeanette was too tired to protest further.
Dennis Billing went on. ‘Mikkelsen needs them. They’re mounting a series of raids against people suspected of child pornography offences, and he needs reinforcements. I’ve already spoken to Hurtig, ?hlund and Schwarz. They’ll do their usual work tomorrow, then join up with Mikkelsen. Just so you know.’
There was nothing more for her to say.
Mariatorget – Sofia Zetterlund’s Office