Camilla Lackberg Crime Thrillers 4-6: The Stranger, The Hidden Child, The Drowning

‘Okay,’ said Patrik, looking thoughtful. He didn’t bother to take notes. He knew that he’d receive a copy of the autopsy report before he left.

‘Anything else?’ He could hear how hopeful he sounded. A week had gone by with no leads to advance the investigation. He was grasping at the slightest straw.

‘Well, we were able to pull some interesting hairs out of her hand. I’m guessing that the perpetrator undressed her to remove any possible evidence, but missed the fact that she had grabbed onto something, presumably when she was dying.’

‘So they couldn’t have come from the rubbish bin?’

‘No, not considering the way they were gripped in her fist.’

‘Yes?’ Patrik felt the impatience like a heat in his body. He saw from Pedersen that this was good, that they would finally get something useful. ‘What sort of hairs are they?’

‘Actually, “hairs” was a somewhat inaccurate description on my part. It’s fur from a dog. From a wire-haired Galgo Español to be exact. All according to the National Crime Lab.’ He placed the paper with NCL’s report before Patrik. It mercifully covered the photo of Lillemor.

‘Is it possible to match the fur with a specific dog?’

‘Yes and no,’ replied Pedersen shaking his head a bit regretfully. ‘Canine DNA is just as specific and identifiable as human DNA. But just as with people, the follicle has to be attached to extract DNA. And when dogs shed their hair, the follicle is not usually included. In this case there were no follicles. On the other hand, it’s a plus that the Galgo Español is a very uncommon breed of dog. There are probably only about two hundred in all of Sweden.’

Patrik looked at him with wide-eyed amazement. ‘Do you know this off the top of your head?’

Pedersen laughed. ‘Those CSI series on TV have given our reputation a terrific boost. Everybody thinks we know everything about everything! But unfortunately I have to disappoint you. It just so happens that my father-in-law is one of the two hundred people who own a Galgo Español. And every time we meet I get to hear everything about that damn dog.’

‘I know what you mean. My ex-wife’s father was the same, only with him it was cars.’

‘Yes, in-laws can get obsessed about things – but I suppose we all can.’ Pedersen laughed but then turned serious. ‘If you have any questions about the dog hairs that were found, you’ll have to ask NCL directly. All I know is what they told me in this report, and I’ll give you a copy.’

‘Great,’ said Patrik. ‘I just have one more question. Was there any sign of sexual assault in connection with Lillemor’s death?’

Pedersen shook his head. ‘There was no indication of that. Which doesn’t mean that the murder wasn’t sexually related, but there’s no evidence pointing to rape.’

‘Thank you for your help,’ Patrik said, starting to get up from his chair.

‘How’s it going with your other case?’ Pedersen said all of a sudden, and Patrik fell back into his chair. There was guilt written all over his face.

‘That … that has been badly neglected,’ he said, shamefaced. ‘What with the TV and newspapers and bosses ringing every five minutes asking if we’re getting anywhere with the Lillemor murder the other case has more or less been put on the back burner. But that’s going to change now.’

‘Well, whoever did it is someone the police should catch ASAP. I’ve never seen anything like it. What a cold-blooded way to kill someone.’

‘Yes, I agree,’ said Patrik listlessly. He was thinking of Kerstin’s voice on the telephone a couple of hours earlier. How lifeless and hopeless she had sounded. He couldn’t forgive himself for neglecting the investigation of Marit’s death. ‘But I hope to get some answers today.’ He got up, took the stack of papers that Pedersen handed him, and thanked him with a handshake.

Back in his car, he headed for the place where he hoped to find a few more answers. Or at least some new questions to ask.

‘Did you get anything good out of Pedersen?’ Martin listened on the phone and took notes as Patrik gave him a quick rundown of what Pedersen had said.

‘That part about the dog hair should prove useful. At least it gives us something specific to go on.’ He kept listening.

‘Cuts? Yes, I understand what you’re getting at. One person seems of particular interest.

‘Another interview? Okay, sure. I can take Hanna along and we’ll bring her in. No problem.’

After he put the phone down, Martin sat quietly for a moment. Then he went to find Hanna.

Exactly half an hour later they were sitting in the interview room with Jonna facing them. They hadn’t had to go far to find her. She was at her job at Hedemyr’s, just across the street from the station.

‘So, Jonna. Last time, we spoke with you about Friday night. Is there anything you’d like to add?’ Out of the corner of his eye Martin saw how Hanna was watching Jonna like a hawk. She had an ability to look so stern that even he felt compelled to reel off all his sins. He hoped she would have the same effect on the girl in front of them. But Jonna averted her eyes, looked down at the table, and simply mumbled a reply.

‘What did you say, Jonna? You’ll have to speak up, because we can’t hear what you’re saying!’ said Hanna insistently. Martin saw how the sharpness in her voice forced Jonna to look up. It was impossible not to obey Hanna’s demands.

Quietly, but now clearly, Jonna said, ‘I’ve told you all I know about Friday.’

‘I don’t believe you have.’ Hanna’s voice cut through the air like one of the razor blades Jonna used on her arms. ‘I don’t think you’ve told us even a fraction of all you know!’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Nervous, Jonna tugged at her sleeves compulsively. Martin glimpsed the scars under her jumper and shuddered.

‘Stop lying to us!’ Hanna spoke with such force that even Martin gave a little start. Damn, she was tough.

Hanna continued, now in an insidiously low voice, ‘We know that you’re lying, Jonna. We have evidence that you’re lying. Now is your chance to tell us exactly what happened.’

A shadow of uncertainty passed over Jonna’s face. Her fingers were picking incessantly at her big knitted jumper. After a moment’s hesitation she said, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Hanna’s hand slammed the tabletop. ‘Stop talking shit! We know that you cut her.’

Jonna’s eyes anxiously found Martin’s, and he said in a calmer tone of voice, ‘Jonna, if you know anything more, we need to hear it. Sooner or later the truth will come out, and it would look much better for you if you could give us an explanation.’

‘But I …’ She glanced nervously at Martin, but then her body slumped. ‘Yes, I cut her with a razor blade,’ she said quietly. ‘When we were arguing, before she ran off.’

‘Why did you do that?’ said Martin calmly.

‘I … I … don’t really know. I was just so mad. She’d been talking a lot of trash about me, because I, like, cut myself, and I just wanted her to know how it feels.’

She shifted her gaze from Martin to Hanna.

‘I don’t get why … I mean, I don’t usually get mad like that, but I’d been drinking a bit and …’ She stopped talking and looked down at the table.

Her entire demeanour was so withdrawn and sad. Martin had to stop himself from giving her a hug. But he reminded himself that she was being interviewed in a murder case. He glanced at Hanna. Her face was rigid, her expression remote, and she didn’t seem to have any sympathy for the girl.

‘Then what happened?’ she said harshly.

Jonna fixed her eyes on the table as she answered. ‘That was when you showed up. You talked to the others and with Barbie too.’ She raised her eyes and looked at Hanna.

Martin turned to his colleague. ‘Did you see that she was bleeding?’

Hanna seemed to think it over, but then slowly shook her head. ‘No, I must admit I missed that. It was dark, and she had her arms crossed, so it was hard to see. And then she ran off.’

‘Is there anything else you haven’t told us?’ Martin’s tone was gentle, and Jonna replied by giving him a grateful look.

‘No, nothing. I promise.’ She shook her head vigorously, and her long hair fell over her face. When she swept it back they saw the whole network of cuts on her forearm, and Martin couldn’t help gasping. Jesus Christ, that must have caused her so much pain. He could hardly bear to tear off a plaster, and the thought of slicing into his own flesh … no, he could never do that.

After a questioning look at Hanna, which she answered with a shake of her head, he gathered up his papers.