CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
Friday, April 20
IT WAS EARLY in the morning when Mats Nylinder hurried to catch up with Gunnar Öhrn outside the police station. During the windless and clear night, frost had formed and created a pattern on the paving stones by the entrance that looked like snowflakes. The ice crystals had gathered in clumps on the office windows and the bare branches that stuck up from the border underneath were silvery white.
Mats Nylinder was a general reporter with Norrköpings Tidningar and Gunnar thought he had an exaggerated interest in news. His way of going about things was nerve-racking and fiery, and the impression he gave could be compared with a rodent from the animal world. In appearance, however, he was more like a hard-skinned member of a motorbike gang. He was short, had a ponytail and wore a brown leather waistcoat. Around his neck hung a camera.
“Gunnar Öhrn, wait! I have a few more questions. How exactly was the boy murdered?”
“I can’t go into that,” Gunnar answered and increased his pace.
“What weapon was used?”
“No comment.”
“Had the boy been sexually abused?”
“No comment.”
“Are there any witnesses?”
Gunnar didn’t answer, and pushed open the door in front of him.
“What do you think about how Hans Juhlén had been exploiting asylum seekers?”
Gunnar stopped, his hand still on the door. He turned round.
“What do you mean?”
“That he forced women refugees to have sex with him. That he demeaned them.”
“That is not something I want to comment on.”
“There’ll be a scandal of enormous proportions when the story gets out. You must have some comment?”
“My job is to investigate crime, not worry about scandals,” said Gunnar authoritatively and disappeared inside.
Gunnar made his way up the stairs and went straight into the office kitchen area. After pushing a button, he had a steaming cup of coffee in his hand and he continued down the corridor toward his office.
A new pile of documents had come from the National Forensic Lab and were waiting for him to examine.
“Did you bring the box with you?”
Anneli surprised him. She stood leaning against the wall with one leg crossed in front of the other. She was wearing beige chinos, a white top and a white cardigan. On her wrist she had a twined gold bracelet that Gunnar had given her for her birthday.
“No, I forgot it again. Can you pick it up at the house?”
“When?”
Gunnar put his coffee down and started to thumb through the documents on his desk.
“When can I fetch it?” Anneli repeated.
“The box?” he said, without taking his eyes off the papers.
“Yes. When can I fetch it?”
“Whenever it suits you. Anytime.”
“Tomorrow?”
“No.”
“No? But you just said...”
“Well, okay...or, I don’t know. But do you know what this is?”
He waved the papers in front of Anneli’s face.
“No.”
“This is finally progress in the investigation, I can tell you. Progress!”
* * *
“But can you tell me what they mean?”
Mia Bolander gave secretary Lena Wikström a pleading look.
“No, I’ve no idea. What is it?”
“That’s what I want you to tell me.”
“But I haven’t seen those numbers before.”
“And the letters?”
“No, nor those. Is it some sort of code or what?”
Mia didn’t answer. For more than twenty minutes she had tried to get Lena to explain the weird combinations they had found in Hans Juhlén’s computer. She thanked Lena for her help, even though she hadn’t got any, and left the Migration Board.
In her car she thought about how tired the secretary had looked. Her face was pale, the area around her eyes was a purple-blue color. With slow movements, she had pushed around the documents lying spread out on her desk. Mia had asked how things were, and Lena had answered that she was depressed.
What a pathetic woman, Mia thought. Bloody useless that she couldn’t tell us anything!
On her way back to the police station, Mia got caught in the long line of cars on Ståthögavägen. The traffic was crawling along and that irritated her even more. But what made her most angry of all was that she was broke. Yesterday’s evening out had cost more than she had intended. And she had treated too. Two beers for some bloke she didn’t even know. Somebody who on top of it all was married.
So unnecessary. So. Bloody. Unnecessary.
Her mobile suddenly made a shrill noise.
It was Ola Söderström.
“How did it go?” he said.
“It didn’t. She didn’t know anything about the combinations.”
“Oh, great.”
“Yes, isn’t it just!”
Mia became silent. She pinched her upper lip with her index finger and thumb.
“But Ola,” she then said, “I thought that perhaps, have you tried turning the numbers around?”
“No. But I have tried combinations with the numbers first and the letters afterwards.”
“But if you reverse them, what then?”
“You mean I should search on 900014 instead of 410009?”
“I don’t have the combinations in front of me, but it sounds like you get what I mean.”
“Hang on...”
Mia heard how Ola pressed the keyboard. She turned her head back to see if she could change to the left lane. But the cars there were going just as slowly. She sighed out loud just as Ola’s voice came back.
“All I get is pages with ISO 900014, that’s international standards. And a report about X-ray from Harvard.”
“But what about the other combinations?” said Mia.
“Let’s see, 106130 becomes 031601. No, that’s a hex code. 933028 is a hex code too, but I don’t think he was interested in colors on internet.”
“No, nor am I.”
Mia tried to get a glimpse of how many cars there were in front. The queue was hopelessly long.
“How did you get on with the department of transportation and their cameras?” she said.
“Still waiting. It all depends on whether the driver exceeded the speed limit or not. If he did, then there will presumably be an image. And then that image will be compared with photos on passports and driving licences. If it can be matched, then we’ll have an identification. If not, then at least we shall have the name of the owner of the van and we can hope that it’s the same person who drove where the boy was found,” said Ola.
“But that depends on whether he or she drove too fast,” said Mia.
She straightened her back in the driving seat and put her hand on the wheel. The traffic had started to move.
“Yes, the cameras only react to speed violations and the department of transportation are now checking their logs. The information must be decrypted first before we can get it. If there is any, that is.”
“Jesus, what now...!”
“What’s the matter?”
“The traffic! I hate lines. Get a bloody move on!”
Mia banged her hand against the steering wheel and then gesticulated wildly at the driver in front who had stalled his engine.
“And you’re in a good mood today?” said Ola.
“None of your fucking business.”
Mia immediately regretted her harsh words.
“Okay,” said Ola. “It’s none of my fucking business but you might be interested to know that we’ve got an answer from the National Forensics Lab.”
Ola was in a bad mood too, she could hear. She didn’t say anything and let him go on:
“The boy was shot with a .22 Sig Sauer. The gun has not been used in any criminal activity in Sweden earlier. But only the boy’s fingerprints were found on the Glock that was found next to him. All technical evidence points to him being the person who fired the gun that killed Hans Juhlén.”
Ola ended the call abruptly.
She had irritated him and now she was sitting here in a lousy mood and he was in a lousy mood. Useless fucking morning, Mia thought.