Killer's Island Read online

  “KillRoy! A murderer appearing out of the blue.” Erika pulled herself together and became her usual self. For an instant, Maria had been able to look into her vulnerability, but now it was over.

  “Regardless of how sorry we feel for this guy, we have to take him in and stop him from hurting others. Sometimes violence is just a long chain of unhappy circumstances leading to more violence. Our task is not to punish but prevent. That’s how I see it.”A dark shadow passed across Erika’s face before she stooped over her glass of wine, then her expression went flat.

  CHAPTER 11

  WHEN LINN BOGREN OPENED an old newspaper at work and read about the assault on the thirteen-year-old boy and the woman police officer in Ryska Gränd she could hardly breathe. There had been some talk about it at work but she had not picked up any details. The violation seemed to hit her all over again. The same fear came over her and made her want to flee, close her eyes, hide. She should move far away and never come back again. They knew where she lived. The face she’d seen in the window.… She should call the police. When Claes came back she’d do it, but not now. Not now when she was alone. You can’t fight on all fronts at the same time. First and foremost she had to decide whether she’d have the guts to come out, as she’d promised Sara, or if she’d stay in her marriage. Sara had not given her a third alternative. She couldn’t take sneaking around any more. There’d be a hell of an uproar, of course. Goody-two-shoes nurse Linn Bogren had fallen in love with a patient. What would her parents say? And Claes? Claes must be the first to know. He shouldn’t have to find out from the neighbor or the papers. The best thing would be if she just told her colleagues at work – very direct, very straight. Then her manager would no longer have an angle on her, either. The head of the clinic would be the only outsider suspecting anything, but at least Sam Wettergren would keep his mouth shut. For his own sake. She was sure of that. They had worked together for so long, developing an understanding of their respective good and bad aspects. If on the other hand she decided to come out, he must be told so he could prepare himself against the ensuing hullabaloo. She owed him that.

  Linn felt the anxiety crawling in her body. If she let Sara down and chose to stay in her marriage, Sara might start talking to people about it. If Sara were let down so badly, how could she be trusted to keep her mouth shut? In theory she could even report Linn. In the nurse-patient relationship one person holds the power and the patient is in a position of dependence. What the consequences would be, Linn was not quite sure of, but at worst she could have her nursing license revoked and no longer be able to work in the healthcare system. That was no small sacrifice to offer for love. Whatever she did there would be trouble. In real terms there was no possibility of going back. She knew what she had to do. Life is too short to be sacrificed on lovelessness. Claes had to know. Also Sam; she owed them that. She could speak to Sam now. Claes would find out one-on-one.

  She plucked up courage, picked up the telephone, and called her boss. Sam Wettergren was full of consternation, of course. She hadn’t expected anything else.

  “But won’t it just pass?” he asked carefully. “Can’t you just keep it to yourselves?” His timidity strengthened Linn’s conviction. After she’d finished the call she started packing. Once it had grown dark, she carried her clothes, toiletries, and reference books to the car, parked by the Ordnance Tower. In the night it was less likely that one of the neighbors would see her.

  She called Sara to say good night. Told her she’d called her manager and what he’d said.

  “It’s us now, Sara. You and me.”

  The process she was setting in motion now would have consequences. Possibly they’d be worse than she could predict. She must be careful. Linn looked for her purse in the hall, and checked whether her USB memory stick was where it should be in the inside pocket. The portable computer she’d been using to write her study on plant steroids was still at work. But the material was copied on the stick. Was that enough? Should she for the sake of safety also e-mail it to herself, so she could pick it up remotely from another computer? Claes’s computer had been on the blink a week ago, and it was in for repair. The only solution she could think of right now was to ask the police officer who lived across the road if she could borrow his computer. Per Arvidsson. She hadn’t seen much of him lately, not since the mulled wine party on the corner, Louise’s party, which they’d all gone to. Per looked nice; Harry had told her he was a policeman. The worst thing that could happen was that he’d ask a lot of questions she wasn’t prepared to answer yet. It was purely a precaution… a premonition, in case of a worst-case scenario.… If only all this could all be over and done with, so she could sleep.

  Linn saw the light on in Per Arvidsson’s kitchen window. He was awake, anyway. She rang the doorbell. He was playing jazz at high volume. She really hoped he could hear her. To make sure, she knocked on the kitchen window, too. She caught of whiff of whisky on his breath when he opened the door. But he didn’t seem particularly drunk. She related her errand, standing there on his doorstep. He gave no sign of wanting to show her in.

  “Do you have a computer I can borrow?” she repeated. When she saw his dismissive body language she hurriedly added: “Just very quickly.”

  “I’m in a bit of a tight spot right now. Is it okay if you borrow it tomorrow?”

  “Please! I need it now.”

  He was extremely reluctant. Said he needed to be left in peace, but she stood her ground, falling back on an emergency lie and telling him she’d sold her computer on eBay and hadn’t had time to buy another. She had to pay for a trip by midnight or the booking would become invalid. Reluctantly he agreed. Afterwards, she regretted fabricating such a complex lie. She should have just said it like it was, that Claes’s computer was being repaired. Nerves made everything so silly.

  Maybe the body can feel when its allotted time in life is finally drawing to a close? For Linn, the anxiety this night was worse than ever before. She could not stay in bed. She checked all the windows. They were closed. The front door was locked. She lay down on the bed again and closed her eyes. She must sleep; sleep and conserve all her strength for everything that must be done the next day when Claes came home. Anxiety pullulated in her body. The pillow was lumpy. The comforter too warm. She took it out of the comforter cover and threw it on the floor. The sheet tangled round her legs. She rummaged in the drawer of her bedside table for the sleeping pills, and found the carton. “One tablet per night” it said on the package. But tonight her need was greater than ever. She tapped two pills into her hand and stood up with the carton in her hand to fetch water. She let the water run until it was really cold, and put her head under the tap when she drank. Washing her flushed face. Her whole body was boiling with anxiety. All the curtains and blinds were drawn. The mere thought of the face in the window turning up again made her skittish, and she reached for the baseball bat. It was within reach. The kitchen knife was on the bedside table. The cell phone was fully charged. She lay down again and tried to relax. Calm, deep breaths. Tighten and relax one part of your body at a time. It would have been lovely to have some music, but she didn’t dare – it would keep her from hearing anyone walking in the garden. She needed to hear, no other sounds could get in the way. She heard voices outside, from the street. When she pressed her ear to the window she could almost hear what they said. Men’s voices. Were they here now? The masked ones? She was gripped by a new rush of fear. While her ear was against the glass, someone could smash the window and pulverize her face at the same time. An experienced burglar could use a glass-cutter and suckers to remove the glass from the frame. It would almost be soundless. Would anyone hear her scream? Per Arvidsson certainly wouldn’t while his music was at such a high volume. Maybe Harry, if he was out with the dogs?

  No, stop! She had to calm down. Find some calming images to reflect on. She pushed herself to think about warm beaches and soft water, but there was no way. The water rose over her head, she drowned and was buried i
n the sand. Linn turned on her bedside lamp and tried to read for a while, but the words passed over her head. She tried a magazine instead. Makeup advertising. Tips for better sex during your vacation! Slimming food and summer cakes with strawberries in jelly. Please him with your bikini! The last four pages were about telling your future with Tarot cards. The fortune-telling ladies guaranteed that they were all experienced at their craft. Only 19.90 kronor per minute to hear a human voice. Linn felt it might be worth it, now that loneliness was eating into the early hours. She dialed a fortune-teller’s number – her ad carried the logo of an angel on a bookmark. Hear the whispers from the other side. Marjatta gives advice and help with relationships. Marjatta didn’t pick up. Most likely both she and her guardian angel were sleeping. She tried the next one. I see your future. Media advice. A telephone answering machine asked her to try back the following day. Linn wondered if this also cost 19.90 per minute? On her third attempt a drowsy man answered and seemed to have no desire to answer any questions whatsoever. In the end Linn called the hospital switchboard and asked about the pharmacy’s opening hours. A normal, neutral voice – someone she could ask for help if the face in the window turned up. Or if anyone tried to break in.… After that, everything felt a bit calmer. The convoluted thoughts slowly died down. Her body felt heavier. And just as the waves of sleep were towing her out into open water, her cell phone rang. Linn jumped out of the bed to find it and decline the call, before she realized she’d left it on the bedside table. The knife clattered to the floor, grazing her bare foot.

  “Linn Bogren.” She was drunk and drugged with the sleeping pills. Her mouth didn’t quite want to obey her, and her words slurred, as sticky and furry as her thoughts.

  “I just wanted to say that I love you and miss you.” Claes’s voice. A mild, caressing whisper.

  “Hi,” was all she managed.

  “Do you love me?” he asked quietly. The question made her wake up properly. Did he know something? Why else would he be calling in the middle of the night?

  “Where are you?” He wasn’t supposed to be coming home until tomorrow afternoon.

  “We just docked in Gothenburg. Did I wake you, my little darling?”

  “Yes.” She tried to sound sleepy, although she was wide awake by now. “What do you want?” She looked at her watch. It was a quarter to twelve. If she didn’t go to sleep right away now she’d be twisting and turning all night. It was raining. The drops bounced lightly against the windowsill.

  “I miss you and I wanted to hear that you miss me, too. Do you? Do you love me?”

  “Stop it! It’s the middle of the night. I have to sleep. I’m working tomorrow.”

  “I just want to hear you say it. Then I’ll let you sleep and tomorrow I’ll kiss you as much as you like. Do you love me?”

  “Yes.” She wouldn’t get away with anything less, even if she felt a resistance. This was not the moment for confessions. She wanted to do it to his face.

  “Is it raining in Gothenburg?”

  “Yeah, pouring down. It’s raining on Gotland, too, I can hear it. Good, so we won’t have to water the garden. Kiss, good night.”

  “Why are you whispering when you’re talking, why can’t you talk normally? It’s echoing like in a bathroom.” He didn’t hear her. He’d already hung up.

  It turned out as she’d feared. After the call it was impossible to fall asleep again. The pills had stopped working. She took another two pills and drank a half-bottle of wine. There was no other way of relaxing. When an hour had passed and she still wasn’t asleep, she drank what was left in the bottle. The rain was pouring down outside the window. Claps of thunder bounced between the house walls like dynamite and flashes of lightning passed like hissing snakes across the sky. Darkness pressed against the window panes. She listened, and her thoughts were slowly dulled. She was at home, in the bed she’d known as a child. Great-grandmother was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee, and all was calm. The fire crackled in the grate. The cat rubbed itself against her bare arm.

  Maybe in spite of being drunk she would have heard the steps on the grass if it hadn’t been for the rain. But not even when the window was smashed and fell in pieces over the living room floor did she react. Even less when a hand pressed down on the door handle and opened the porch door. If she’d woken up she would have seen a man whose head was hidden under a dark cape, slowly crossing the floor. He picked up the kitchen knife she’d left on the bedside table and made a deep incision in her white throat; emptying her of blood, as he’d done so many times in his games in the simulator. With heavy steps he went outside into the shed in the yard and fetched the chainsaw in the window.

  He’d followed her on the computer screen, from the health center to the pharmacy and home. He knew her working hours and habits. By hacking into and running her registers he knew everything that was required. He had read her medical files from every doctor she’d seen from the time the information was digitized. She used a type of birth control pill known as Beulett and often came in to ask about genital thrush. From time to time she took sleeping pills and sometimes Ipren for menstruation pain. All the information from the region’s Social Insurance Office and the Inland Revenue was in her file. Her bank account was 13,436 kronor in the black. Every month, the insurance company charged 166 kronor for a life insurance policy of one million kronor. Claes Bogren was the beneficiary. The list of books she’d borrowed at the library was extensive. He had made a note of every title since 1997. She had a clear preference for triviality: romantic novels and biographies of strong women. He knew when she was having repairs done to her house. He had fetched her garbage can himself and analyzed its contents. Torn tights, convenience food packages, shopping lists. The ease of access did to a certain degree take away some of his pleasure. A little more resistance would have been stimulating, although it did turn him on a bit that her fear had caused her to leave the knife there for him.

  CHAPTER 12

  MONDAY MORNING WAS clean and fresh with dew. Maybe slightly on the cool side, at least in the opinion of the visitors who had assembled in the Botanical Gardens to listen to the flute-playing gardener. It was a gentle way to start the day: beautiful flute music, early summer in the offing, accompanied by the sea and muted slightly by the city walls. Long white garlands of material were flapping from the wooden vaults of the pavilion. A discussion started up about the installations which a number of artists had exhibited in and around Visby in the lead-up to the tourist season this year and in years before. Could telephone booths submerged in water really be considered as art? Or giant fried eggs in the town square? Are barcodes tattooed on someone’s bottom really an expression of art? It was all up to the observer, not the experts – that was the general consensus. How provocative the installation in the Botanical Gardens would prove to be the group did not know as they wandered up towards Tempelkullen to have a closer look at the arrangements.

  None of those who witnessed it would ever forget the horrendous sight that awaited them in the pavilion. The soft vegetation and early summer blooms had lulled them into a false sense of security. Someone had really taken great pains with the contrasting effects. The sweet and the grotesque were shown in a sort of interplay of Life and Death. So repellent was the sight that one of the observers passed out and had to be taken to hospital. The screams could be heard all the way to the Ordnance Tower. Strips of material flapped over their heads like giant serpentines, fixed by thumbtacks to the vaulted pillars. It took less than ten minutes for the police to reach the scene once the call was put through to the emergency number.

  Tempelkullen between the herb garden and the rose garden was cordoned off. Chief Inspector Jesper Ek had asked the forensic technician Erika Lund to go with the patrol directly to the murder scene. They wandered up to Tempelkullen, Erika ahead and Ek just behind. Sunlight played in the leafage billowing in the sea breeze.

  “It looks like a ritual murder, doesn’t it? Nothing hurried about it, no fear of surpris
e. There was time to decorate.” Jesper Ek turned his face away. This was worse than he could have imagined. The vomit lurked somewhere in the region of his throat. He wasn’t sure which exit route it would take.

  “Do we know who she was?” asked Erika. “She looks like a bride, someone wanted to make her look like a bride.” She squatted next to the body and studied the incision. The head had been severed from the body and lay in the bride’s lap. There was surprisingly little blood. The woman’s face was as white as the lace nightgown she wore and, in her hand, she held a bunch of lilies of the valley. “This is not the murder scene. The body’s been moved. The cutting up must have been done somewhere else.”

  Ek sucked in air. He couldn’t bear to look at the remains of this macabre slaughter any longer. How disgusting, how unbearably disgusting. The gaping mouth with the bloody lips. The blood which had coagulated in her face, and the wilted bouquet in her hand. In the midst of all this horror he realized that just a few hours ago she had been very much alive and a beautiful woman. Scarily similar to Erika Lund with her voluminous dark hair, facial features, and sturdy physique. No, he couldn’t point that out to her. It was too monstrous. Jesper decided to keep the thought to himself.

  Erika pulled on her gloves and inspected the footprints in the ground. Thanks to the rain they were easy to spot.

  “Did they all walk up to her to see if she was really dead, or what? Twelve people. It’s not so easy getting anything from this mud now.” She got out a plastic bag from her briefcase and put in a bottle cap. Then sealed the bag and took out another plastic bag, into which she inserted a small, black piece of plastic, possibly from a trash bag. A cigarette butt. A toffee wrapper. A popsicle stick. The problem was not finding evidence, rather that there was too much of it. Like finding a single hair for DNA analysis at a hairdresser’s. Erika held her back; the pain cut into her as she sensed it would when she stood up. What did the flowers mean? Why lilies of the valley? Did the symbolism lie in their whiteness and innocence, or in the fact that the plant was poisonous?