The home has retained some details from when it was a wealthy farmhouse. The colors of stenciled patterns on the walls are a bit faded, but fanciful vegetables and vines, painted by itinerant painters from Dalarna two hundred years ago, still meander along the walls and around the chimneys.
A technician, who introduces himself as Jimi Sjöberg, is aiming a green light beam at a black chair he’s sprayed with Hungarian Red.
“Any blood?” asks Joona.
“Not on this one,” answers Jimi, continuing to look for traces of blood.
“Found anything unusual?”
“The Head of Crime Scene Investigation in Stockholm told us not to move even a single piece of fly shit until Joona Linna gives us permission,” Jimi replies, smiling.
“And I’m very grateful.”
“So, the thing is, we haven’t really started yet,” Jimi says. “We’ve put down these damned mats and we’ve taken photos and filmed everything, and I’ve taken the liberty of swabbing a blood sample from the hallway so we could send it to the lab.”
“Good.”
“And Siri lifted prints in the hallway before they could be ruined.”
A second technician, Siri Karlsson, has just removed the brass handle from one of the doors. She puts it in a paper bag and comes over.
“This guy needs a look at the crime scene,” Jimi says.
“Not a pretty sight,” Siri says through the dust mask covering her mouth and nose. Her eyes look strained and tired.
“So I understand,” Joona says.
“You can take a look at the photos instead if you’d like,” Siri says.
“This is Joona Linna,” Jimi says.
“Sorry, I didn’t recognize you.”
“I’m here only as an observer,” Joona says.
Siri looks away and the mask can’t hide her flushed cheeks when she looks back at him. “Sorry. Everyone’s talking about what’s happening to you. And I … that is … I don’t care about the internal investigation. I think it’ll be great to work together.”
“I think so, too,” Joona replies.
He stands for a moment longer, listening to the hum of the floodlights. He’s searching for that mental stillness that will allow him to observe and not give in to the impulse to look away.
15
Joona goes down the hall to the door from which Siri removed the handle. The key is still in the lock. He closes his eyes a moment and then walks into the room. It’s completely silent and fully lit, and the heated air is filled with the smell of blood and urine. Joona concentrates on breathing and in a moment he begins to distinguish other smells: damp wood, sweaty sheets, deodorant. The hot metal of the floodlights makes a pinging sound.
Joona does not move. He takes a long look at the body on the bed and lets each detail sink in, even though he’d much rather turn around and head for the fresh air of the forest.
Blood is all over the floor and splashed on the bolted-down furniture and the faded pictures of Bible scenes on the walls. It has spattered the ceiling and all the way to the toilet in the washroom, which has no door. A skinny girl, barely into puberty, is lying on the bed. She’s on her back wearing only a pair of white cotton panties. Her hands are over her face. Her elbows protect her breasts, her legs are straight, and her feet are crossed at the ankles.
Joona can feel his heart beating and the pulse throbbing in his temples.
He forces himself to look, register, and think.
The girl’s face is hidden as if she were afraid, as if she did not want to see her killer.
Before the girl was arranged on the bed, she had been hit repeatedly on her head and forehead by a blunt object. Her skull is smashed in.
Such a young girl; she must have been terrified. What chain of events had brought her to this home for troubled girls, to this room? Perhaps her parents or her foster parents couldn’t cope anymore. Perhaps they’d needed help and brought her here to be safe.
Joona takes in every grisly detail until he can absorb no more. He closes his eyes and thinks about his daughter’s face and the stone set over a grave that’s not hers. Then he opens his eyes and continues his investigation.
Everything indicates the victim was sitting on the chair next to the small table when the suspect attacked her. Joona tries to figure out the sequence of events that caused the blood to spatter in this pattern. He knows that each drop of blood, flying through the air, forms a sphere with a diameter of about five millimeters. If the drop is smaller, it means that the blood was traveling at such high speed it split into smaller drops.
He stands on two protective mats in front of the table; most likely the spot where the killer stood just a few hours earlier. The girl would have been sitting on the chair on the other side of the table. Joona follows the spatter pattern with his eyes. He leans back to trace a high arc on the walls. The weapon must have been swung back to gain momentum, and each time, as its direction changed slightly for the next blow, blood was flung off in a backward trail.
Joona has already spent more time on this crime scene than most inspectors would, yet he knows he’s not through yet. He steps over again to the girl on the bed. He notes her pierced navel, the lipstick stain on the glass by her bed, the scar, possibly from the removal of a birthmark, under her right breast. He sees the hair on her shins and a yellowed bruise on her thigh.
Joona leans over her and feels slight warmth still rising from her naked skin. He takes a closer look at her hands. There’s nothing under her nails. She didn’t scratch her assailant.
He steps to one side and examines her body once more: her white skin, her hands over her face, her crossed ankles. There is almost no blood on her body at all. Only her pillow is drenched. Her panties are white. Her skin is clean.
Joona looks around the room. Behind the door is a small shelf with two hooks. On the floor beneath the shelf is a pair of sports shoes with white socks balled inside. A faded pair of jeans, a black sweatshirt, and a denim jacket hang from one of the hooks. On the shelf, there’s a small white bra.
Joona does not touch the clothes. They do not appear to be bloody. She had most likely undressed and hung up her clothes before she was killed.
But why is her body so clean? Something must have protected her. But what? There’s nothing else in the room.
16
Joona walks back outside into the sunshine. He’s puzzled. Such terrible violence was done to this young girl, but her body was left as pure as a sea-washed stone.
Gunnarsson had warned him that the level of violence was intense, and it was certainly forceful, extremely so, but not aggressive in the sense that her killer lost control. The blows were purposeful and were meant to kill, but in all other respects her body was treated with care.
Gunnarsson is sitting on the hood of his Mercedes, talking on his cell phone.
Unlike almost everything else, a murder investigation does not descend into chaos if left to itself. In most cases, a solution makes itself known eventually. But Joona has never expected a case to solve itself or trusted that order will eventually prevail.
He does know that the killer almost always knows the victim. Often the murderer will turn himself in to the police and confess a short time later. Joona never counts on this, either.
She’s lying on the bed now, he thinks. But the only clothes she was wearing when she died were her panties. None of this could have happened in complete silence. In a place like this there has to be a witness. One of the girls has heard or seen something. Someone must have guessed that something was about to happen, that there was a threat, or was aware of a conflict.
Joona walks over to the smaller house. The dog is barking under a tree. It bites the leash attached to the running line and then starts to bark again.
There are two men talking outside the smaller house. One of them has muttonchops and is wearing a dark blue police sweater. He looks about fifty years old. Joona assumes that he is the crime scene coordinator. The other man does not look like a
policeman. He’s unshaven and his face looks compassionate and exhausted.
“I’m Joona Linna, here as an observer from the National Police,” Joona says, extending his hand.
“I’m Åke,” says the coordinator.
“My name’s Daniel Grim,” says the man with the tired eyes. “I’m the therapist in charge here. I got here as soon as I knew there was something wrong.”
“Do you have a moment?” Joona asks. “I would like to meet the other girls and it would be best if you came along.”
“Right now?”
“If you can spare the time.”
Daniel blinks behind his glasses and says, “It’s just that two of the girls have taken off into the forest.”
“They’ve been found,” Joona says.
“Yes, I know, but I have to talk seriously with them first.” He smiles suddenly. “They’re demanding piggyback rides from one of the officers before they’ll come back.”
“Gunnarsson will make sure they get their rides,” Joona says, then continues on his way to the smaller house.
He knows he will have to watch carefully how the girls interact with each other to catch all the undercurrents swirling among them. If someone’s seen something, the others will turn toward her like a compass needle. Joona knows he has no authority to question the girls, but he has to find out if anyone was a witness. He bends down to pass under the low doorframe.
17
The floorboard creaks under his weight as Joona steps into the cramped room. There are three girls there. The youngest is no more than twelve. She has pink skin and copper hair and sits on the floor, leaning against the wall, while she watches television. She is whispering to herself, then she suddenly bangs the back of her head against the wall. A second later, she’s watching the show again.
The other two girls pay no attention to her. They’re lounging together on a brown corduroy sofa and flipping through a fashion magazine.
A psychologist from the district hospital in Sundsvall enters the room behind Joona and sits down on the floor next to the little red-haired girl.
“My name is Lisa,” she says. “What’s your name?”
The girl does not take her eyes off the television. It’s showing a rerun of an episode from Blue Water High. The volume is loud and the cool glow from the screen washes over their faces.
“Have you heard the fairy tale of Thumbelina?” asks Lisa. “I sometimes feel the way she does, as small as a thumb. How do you feel?”
“Like Jack the Ripper,” the girl answers, her eyes on the show.
Joona sits down in an armchair in front of the television. One of the girls on the sofa looks at him with wide eyes, but returns to her magazine with a smile when he greets her. She’s a big girl. She’s bitten her nails to the quick. She wears jeans and a black sweater that has “Razors pain you less than life” written on it. She’s wearing blue eye shadow and there’s a glittering hair band around her neck. The other girl looks older and is wearing a cutoff T-shirt with a picture of a horse, a choker with white beads around her neck, and is using a rolled-up military jacket as a pillow. There are injection scars on the insides of her elbows.
The older one says, “Indie? Did you get a look before the cops got here?”
“I don’t want nightmares,” the hefty girl says lazily.
“Poor little Indie,” the older one teases.
“And?”
“Afraid of nightmares!”
“So what?”
“You’re such an egomaniac.”
“Shut up, Caroline!” yells the little red-haired girl.
“Miranda’s been murdered,” Caroline says, “and all you care about is your nightmares.”
“Oh, shit on Miranda. Thank God I don’t have to deal with her anymore,” Indie says.
“You’re sick.” Caroline smiles.
“She’s the one who was sick, always burning me with her cigarette butts—”
“Stop your bitching,” the red-haired girl says.
“—and hitting me with the jump rope,” Indie says.
“You’re the real bitch,” says Caroline with a sigh.
“Okay, I’m the bitch, if that makes you feel better,” Indie retorts. “Too bad the idiot is dead, but I for one—”
The little red-haired girl bangs her head against the wall again and then closes her eyes. The front door opens and Gunnarsson escorts the two runaways inside.
18
Joona leans back calmly in the chair. His dark jacket has fallen open. His muscular body is relaxed, but his eyes are as gray as ice as he watches the girls walk in.
Almira enters first, followed by Lu Chu, who sashays in with an exaggerated swing of her hips and makes the V sign with her fingers. The two girls on the sofa laugh and boo.
“You lesbian loser,” Indie yells.
“Let’s go take a shower together,” says Lu Chu.
Daniel Grim comes in behind the girls, pleading with Gunnarsson to listen to him.
“I just want you to take it easy with these girls,” he says. He lowers his voice. “Just your presence scares them.”
“Don’t worry,” Gunnarsson says.
“But I do worry.”
“What?”
“I am actually very worried about them,” he says.
“Well,” Gunnarsson says sighing, “then, sorry, but I can’t help you out here. You’re going to have to keep out of my hair and let me do my job.”
“I must explain to you that … that for these girls police officers don’t exactly mean safety and security.”
Joona notices that Daniel’s T-shirt is inside out.
“Yes, they do,” Caroline jokes.
“Well, that’s nice to hear.” Daniel turns to her with a smile and then looks back at Gunnarsson. “But, seriously, for these girls, the police usually show up in their lives only when things are very bad.”
Joona understands that Daniel knows he’s being a pain but is determined to make his point. “I was just talking to the coordinator outside about finding—”
“One thing at a time,” Gunnarsson brushes him off.
“It’s really important because—”
“Cunt,” Indie says to Lu Chu.
“Go piss yourself,” Lu Chu says.
“—because it would be harmful for the girls to stay here tonight.”
“Can we put them in a hotel?” asks Gunnarsson.
“You should have been the one that got killed!” Almira screams and throws a glass at Indie.
The glass breaks against the wall and shards scatter across the floor. Daniel rushes toward them. Almira ducks away, but not before Indie manages to land a few good blows on her back. Daniel separates them.
“Stop all this! Pull yourselves together, damn it!” he yells.
“Almira is a fucking cunt.”
“Calm down, Indie,” Daniel says. He grabs her hand, waits a second, and then in a soft voice says, “We’ve talked about this before, haven’t we?”
“Yes,” Indie says, slightly calmer.
“You’re a good girl. You really are,” Daniel says, smiling.
Indie nods and begins to pick up the glass pieces from the floor. Almira helps her.
“I’ll get the vacuum cleaner,” Daniel says and walks out, closing the door behind him. It swings open again and he bangs it shut so hard that a Carl Larsson picture on the wall rattles.
“Did Miranda have any enemies?” says Gunnarsson to no one in particular.
“No,” Almira says and giggles.
Indie casts a sidelong look at Joona.
“Listen up!” Gunnarsson says loudly. “Just answer the questions without all this fuss and noise. That can’t be too hard, can it?”
“Depends on the question,” Caroline says.
“I’m going to scream no matter what,” says Lu Chu.
“Truth or dare,” Indie says and points at Joona.
“Truth,” replies Joona. Gunnarsson swings toward him.
“I’m th
e one in charge of this investigation!” he protests.
Joona ignores him.
“Tell me what this means,” Joona says to the girls, and he puts his hands over his face.
“That? I don’t know,” Indie says. “It’s a game Miranda and Vicky played.”
“I can’t take this!” Caroline shrieks. “You’re not the one who saw Miranda, Indie. She looked just like that and there was blood all over, there was so much blood all over the whole room!”
Caroline’s voice breaks and she starts to cry. The hospital psychologist crouches beside her and in a low, calm voice tries to soothe the girl.
“Which one of you is Vicky?” asks Joona, getting up from the armchair.
“She’s the newest one.”
“But where the fuck is she?” demands Lu Chu.
“Which room is hers?” asks Joona.
“I bet she’s snuck off to the guy she likes to fuck,” Tuula says.
“We like to collect Stesolid and sleep like—”
“Who are you talking about now?” asks Gunnarsson loudly.
“Vicky Bennet,” Caroline says. “I haven’t seen her all—”
“Where the fuck is she?”
“Vicky’s name has too many letters,” Lu Chu says.
“Turn off that television!” Gunnarsson roars. “I want everyone to calm down!”
“Don’t yell!” Tuula yells as she turns the volume up even higher.
Joona bends low and looks Caroline in the eyes. He is serious and calm.
“Which one is Vicky’s room?”
“The one farthest down the hall.”
19
Joona crosses the yard again, meeting Daniel going in the opposite direction, lugging the vacuum. He nods at the technicians and heads up the steps back into the main house. It’s dark now. The floodlights have been switched off. The protective mats glisten like wet stones.
One girl is missing, Joona thinks. Nobody’s seen her. Maybe she ran away in all the chaos. But maybe the other girls are letting her hide.
Joona shudders at the thought that the missing girl might have seen something. Perhaps she sought refuge in her room and is too frightened to come out.