Broken Mirrors (ARC) Page 12

  'And not just murdered, posed like a doll, like a puppet, in the middle of the city where anyone could see, where a child could have found her.' That was good. People always got riled up about the idea of children facing the reality of death, she had discovered, though it was ridiculous of them. She had discussed death many times with the little girl, and the little girl had just nodded silently, staring at her with wide, serious eyes.

  'Stripped of every last scrap of humanity. Then just weeks later, a handsome young man in his prime. Who will be next? Will it be the friendly woman who serves you your morning coffee, the kind gentleman who held the door open for you? Or will it be a childhood best friend? Your husband, your child? Who else must die before the police act on information they were given weeks ago – by the killer's own partner. Why do they wait?'

  She paused, almost breathless, feeling a rush of unadulterated adrenaline.

  'Does nobody else worry that it undermines his accusation that he killed his ex wife?' the woman with the brown eyes had asked earlier. It had been decided early on that they would never exchange names. The woman with the brown eyes used a term that Sigrid had never heard before, plausible deniability. She had repeated it quietly to herself until it sounded comfortable in her mouth. 'We know it is true, but in the eyes of the public? Could it not undermine the righteousness of our mission?'

  The man with the little glasses shook his head. 'I don't believe so. There are many examples of couples who kill together —'

  'But they didn't —'

  He continued as though she hadn't interrupted. 'It is more than established.' He gave a cynical little smile. 'There is someone for everyone, so they say.'

  Now, the group seemed to hold their breath as one as Sigrid took her time making eye contact with each person. The stern-looking woman who had brought the pastries was staring at her with a fervour that bordered on religious. The young goth guy, his face covered by painful-looking piercings — when he slipped in she had suspected he had come to make fun of her, but now he was nodding along with her every word. The tense women in the business suit who had clutched desperately her arm with trembling hands when she introduced herself — her eyes were now closed, her expression beatific. As though she could finally rest now that Sigrid was in charge.

  'They wait out of fairness to her,' Sigrid continued, feeling a collective wave of revulsion rise. 'The killer. They have a sense of duty, of fairness, to the cold-blooded murderer who filled these young, vital people with chemicals and posed them in the snow. They wait because they lack enough evidence to convince the criminal justice system set up to protect the evil. But we will not wait.'

  She felt the energy in the room surge, so palpable that she would not have been surprised if a lightbulb had blown. There were a few muted members of agreement, like the distant rumbling of thunder heralding a coming storm. 'We will not protect her,' Sigrid vowed. The rumblings grew, a vibration that thrummed in the air. 'We will not allow her to terrorise our city.'

  'No we won't!' shouted a woman, the tense one in the business suit. Her voice was shrill, her eyes widened with the exhilaration of the words escaping her lips.

  It was then that Sigrid noticed him. The young man. Thirty, thirty-five perhaps. It had been a long time since Sigrid had been able to judge people's ages. He sat in the very last row. He had been slunk down in his seat, but now he was sitting up straight, staring at her with an expression of wonder. She awarded him with a small smile and was gratified to note that his eyes were shining with tears.

  31

  'I can't find any other connection between her and Björne Svensson, but there must be a reason that Tove took those photos of her.'

  I took a welcome gulp of my red wine, and licked salt off my fingers. When we arrived at the bar an hour or two earlier, Maddie and I had scandalised Lena by ordering a bowl of chips along with our wine.

  'But why just French fries?' Lena had asked in confusion. 'If you are hungry you can order a meal.'

  'I don't want a meal, I want chips,' I'd explained reasonably.

  'Look, if Sweden is going to join the global, you know, world –' Maddie had downed her first glass of red quite quickly – 'you need to get up to speed with the concept of bar snacks. You know I'd really like right now?' she continued with a dreamy expression. 'Nachos.'

  Lena's eyes widened in horror.

  'Nachos and wine baby.'

  'For dinner?'

  'No, not for dinner. Along with wine. For no reason.'

  Lena frowned now is she thought over the Lotta/Björne connection. 'I suppose if Lotta was having an affair with a married man she would not discuss him at work.' She gave a wry smile. 'And it is even less likely she would have mentioned him to her colleague if she was planning to kill him.'

  'When were the photos taken? asked Maddie. 'If it was when Björne was still alive, Tove might have suspected an affair, but if afterwards, it's more likely she suspected Lotta was the killer.

  'We don't know,' I said. 'They seem to have been taken with the camera, not a phone.'

  'Don't cameras record dates as well?'

  'With older cameras you have to set it up. The date on all the photos is the first of the first 1999, which I guess must be the factory setting.'

  'Pretty old camera, then.'

  'Yeah, I mentioned that to Corinna and she said Tove had been a keen amateur photographer, so she probably had a few cameras.' I sighed. 'The photos certainly create a link between Lotta and Björne and Tove, but what that link means is as clear as mud.

  'I keep thinking of this thing an old police contact of mine once told me, that it's always the most straightforward, obvious solution,' I continued. 'But I just can't see any straightforward, obvious solution here, so what is it I'm missing? If Lotta is innocent, then where is she? Why did she take off?'

  'There's been no murders since Lotta disappeared,' Maddie said. 'Maybe she is lying low.'

  'I may have heard something about her at work today,' Lena said. Lena was a police officer, specialising in cases of domestic violence in another part of the city, but she was friendly with Henrik and Nadja. 'The team who works with technology have discovered that there is a bug in the banking computer system, that maybe creating fake transactions to make it seem as though card is being used when it is not.'

  'Henrik told me that Lotta's debit card was used in the Netherlands last week.'

  'Exactly. It may not have been.'

  'It's pretty high tech to create something that could fool police data media units, surely? Not something any old Joe could do?'

  Lena shrugged. 'I suppose.'

  'Ola is some kind of developer guy,' I said slowly. 'If somebody faked the transactions in the Netherlands, then it stands to reason they are behind her disappearance. But why would he accuse her so publicly if he hurt her or was holding her hostage? Surely he would either capture her himself or want the world to consider her guilty, but both doesn't add up.'

  'Is he the most logical guy though?' asked Maddie dubiously.

  I shrugged. 'Yeah that's what Johan said too.' I grabbed the last, little crunchy bit from the chip bowl, and glanced up just in time to catch the look Maddie and Lena exchanged. 'What?'

  'Nothing, said Maddie,' a touch too quickly. 'It's good that Johan's getting involved.'

  I frowned, looking from one to the other. 'What do you mean?'

  'He just seems very interested all of a sudden,' said Lena carefully. 'We only want to —'

  'He was worried about me after what happened with Ola,' I said, a little shortly. 'And he wants to find Liv's killer. He would be thrilled if we manage previous Mia's innocence, but he – he just wants to help.'

  'Yeah, as long as —' began Maddie.

  Lena cut her off. 'That is good,' she said with a smile I almost bought. 'I think this will need all the brains it can get.'

  'Your buddies over in Murder don't quite see it that way,' I said ruefully. 'Nadja nearly took my head off in the hospital. I've been told in no u
ncertain terms to keep my nose out.'

  'Nadja can be a little preoccupied with rules,' Lena smiled. 'Of course she cannot support you doing anything that could put you in danger, and she must be aware of anything that might potentially undermine charges brought, against Lotta, Mia, or, what do you say, Joe Bloggs, that we haven't even thought of yet. But the truth is, as a member of the public you are not subject to the same standard of procedure and chain of evidence that we are. My perspective is that if you can find out who this person is and help to catch them, then we will be safer and that is all that matters. As long as you are safe, of course.'

  I felt my smile falter and took a gulp of my wine. For some reason, that night I woke up to find the window open flashed into my mind. But that was my absentmindedness. Third floor. Spiderman. Whoever this person was, they couldn't fly.

  'I should probably make a move,' I said as I finished my wine, though the thought of heading back to my weird little empty flat was far from appealing. Maybe I could stay at Johan's, I thought, glancing at my phone. There was no reply to my most recent text to him. I couldn't remember him mentioning any plans for tonight, but he must be up to something. Football-related, probably.

  'You reckon that's a first date?' Maddie hissed, too loudly, as we passed a couple at a small table on her way out.

  'Yikes,' I grinned.

  The guy was leaning back in his chair, arms folded, staring at the woman as the daring her to interest him. She was telling an animated story, seemingly to the candle on the table.

  Outside, Maddie linked arms with Lena and I as we made our way to the to T-bana station.

  'It is so sad, the guy who died, Mattias-somebody,' Maddie said. 'Seeing that date just now reminded me, I read something about him today. One of his co-workers made a statement describing how excited he was for some Internet date. I know it's silly, but it seems particularly cruel that he never made it.'

  'It is worse than that,' Lena said. We paused at the entrance to the T-bana station. 'Mattias Eklund's phone was in his pocket when Ellie found him, so they discovered almost immediately that he had been on his way to a date. Henrik directed a couple of young officers to go to the bar and let her know, but she wasn't there. I believe they have tried to get in contact with her since, but she has not responded.'

  'Stood up and murdered on one night? Maddie said mournfully. 'Poor sod.'

  'What bar was it?' I asked.

  'I'm not sure. One of the pubs on Folkungagatan I think. I'll see if I can find out and text you.'

  'Thanks.'

  I hugged them goodbye, then cut through Fatburgsparken, across Medborgarplatsen and onto Folkungagatan. There were just a few desultory snowflakes dancing on the breeze here and there, but the wind was bitter, and I stuffed my nose as far into the collar of my coat as I could and still see.

  I couldn't help but peer into the cosy, brightly lit bars as I scuttled down the road. A woman who must have been freezing in a black biker jacket opened the door of one as I passed, releasing a blast of warmth and rowdy chatter. I peeked in, wondering about the woman who had stood Mattias Eklund up on the night he died.

  I've never been one for Internet dating, not for any snobbish reasons – take it where you can get it, I say – but because it always struck me as somewhat labour-intensive to invest significant text-banter into someone you might not even fancy in person. But most of my friends were on every app going, so I knew that ghosting was hardly uncommon.

  'I've only stood somebody up once,' one of the girls from the journalists' night out confided in me once. 'I felt awful, but I spotted him arriving and there were fifteen years and a whole head of hair between his profile picture and the reality. I didn't mind him being bald at all, it was the blatant lie that gave me the creeps. It felt like he'd tricked me, you know? I'd already been on two rubbish dates that week and I just couldn't face one more so I scarpered. I'm not proud, but bloody update your picture, mate.'

  The woman who had been due to meet Mattias Eklund must have heard the news surely? I'd have to double check with my friends who used the apps, but I was fairly sure she would have known his real name. The headlines have been dominated by the murders for weeks, and from what Lena had said, it didn't sound as though this woman had come forward.

  I was so deep in thought when I got back to the flat that I almost missed the note that had been shoved under the door. It was my general belief that communications that come in the form of paper, unless they are birthday cards containing money, are rarely anything I particularly want to read. I was about to shove it to one side to worry about another day when my eye caught the word förlåt. Sorry.

  I sighed. This did not bode well. I sat down on the floor and opened my translation app. Moments later, the news I was getting evicted somewhat tempered the triumph of having been able to comprehend that I was getting evicted.

  We hadn't bothered with a proper lease when I moved in. Maddie and Lena had warned me against not getting at least some basics in writing, but I'd been so relieved to finally find somewhere that I'd convinced myself it was all sunshine and rainbows and that pesky concepts like 'notice periods' and 'tenants rights' were unnecessarily formal. That was one lesson learned, then.

  Of course, I reminded myself as I got to my feet and started peeling off layers, it was also all fine. Johan and I were getting back on track, so it was perfect timing, really. Just as I'd planned.

  32

  Lena wasn't able to find out which bar Mattias Eklund had been planning to meet his date in, so the next day I set out to tramp the length of Folkungagatan, figuring how many bars could there be on one road. The answer was, a lot.

  Small bars, big bars. Trendy bars, sports bars, little old men bars that I guessed hadn't been decorated — or in some cases, cleaned — in forty-odd years. Bars that claimed to be British-themed but as far as I could tell the only actual British thing about them is that they were draped in more Union Jacks than your average angry right-wingers convention. Bars that were probably technically restaurants but when I glanced in I decided they were probably potential date venues so worthwhile checking just in case.

  And so far, not one of them remembered a thing about the night Mattias Eklund died. I'd started out at eleven in the morning, figuring that most of them would just be opening so would have time to chat, but I'd forgotten that Swedes have lunch bafflingly early. The lunchtime rush had hit by about half past eleven, so I'd had to give up on a few when I realised that no one would have time to talk to me until later in the afternoon.

  I'd now made it to the bottom of Folkungagatan, opposite which was a ferry terminal. An enormous ferry, eight or ten storeys high, sat majestically in the water waiting to go to Finland. Johan had once explained that because the drinks on board those liners are duty free, it's a rite of passage for young Stockholmers who can't afford Swedish bar prices to get wrecked for the first time on a booze cruise across the Baltic Sea. Even if I was a fan of sailing I couldn't think of anything much worse than combining your first hangover with sea sickness. Sure enough, I'd run along the quay where the ferry terminals were enough times to have spotted more than my fair share of pathetically regretful teens deep in the morning-after-the-night-before horrors staggering on to dry land.

  It was then that I noticed the sight of the ferry didn't fill me with dread. The night I had had to leap from Krister's boat into pitch dark water to reach the island in hopes of finding the evidence I needed to expose Mia had been a bit of a kill-or-cure moment, but I hadn't had time to really think about it since then. Well that was something, I thought ruefully, as I turned to start tramping back up the hill. The temperature wasn't exactly balmy, but there must have been a bit of a thaw on as there was a decidedly drippy feel to the air. I'd nearly gone flying twice on the steep bit of the hill after stepping on black ice exposed by slushy snow.

  I was boiling in my heavy jacket and more than a bit grumpy by the time I made it back up to the Medborgarplatsen end of the road to revisit the bars that had be
en too busy the first time around. I shoved the door open of the first, and immediately yanked off my sweaty ski hat as the heat of indoors hit me. It was a refreshingly standard bar. No wacky theme; I'd even hazard a guess that all the beers came from mainstream breweries as opposed to organically home brewed by some flinty eyed dude in a remote mountain cabin, who doesn't believe in government or gravity.

  There were a couple of older guys nursing pints at the bar, watching what appeared to be a British football match on a wall-mounted screen. A table by the door was occupied by a crowd of punky-goths who seemed to have got lost on their way to 1985.

  'Hej, kan ja hjälpa dig?' asked the girl behind the bar as I approached. She was early twenties I guessed, possibly a student. She had poker straight dark brown hair that hung half way down her back in a middle parting and enormous brown eyes and porcelain skin that put me in mind of a seventies model. Between her and the punks I was beginning to wonder if I'd accidentally time travelled.

  'Hi, sorry, is it okay to speak English?'

  She shrugged. I firmly told myself I was imagining the disdain in her expression. I pasted on my most winning, some would say manic, smile.

  'Thanks so much. You wouldn't happen to have been working on the third of February, would you? In the evening.'

  'I work every night,' she said, as though I had deeply insulted her by suggesting she ever took a night off. 'I am saving to get out of this shithole and move to New York.'

  'Right, well, good luck with that.' I pulled out my phone and opened the headshot of Lotta Berglund. 'Do you recognise this woman? Was she in here that evening, by any chance?'

  The girl looked at the picture without interest and shrugged again. She shook her head, but I'd seen it. A flicker of nerves. It shot through her eyes and then it was gone, but my heart did a little flip.

  'No, sorry.'

  'Are you sure? Would you like to look again?'