Linda, As in the Linda Murder

40 Växjö, Monday 28 July

At the week’s first morning meeting of the investigative team, the head of the preliminary investigation, Detective Superintendent Bengt Olsson, was able to announce that they had set a new Swedish record. The Olssonian DNA-sampling offensive in Växjö and the surrounding district was rolling on unchecked, and during the weekend they had passed five hundred voluntary samples, not to mention a bloody paper handkerchief and an apple-core. Their future colleague, trainee police officer Löfgren, had been discounted from the investigation with the help of the usual cotton-bud, while their mentally troubled colleague Claesson had been dropped thanks to his own healthy eating habits, and without his having any idea of what had happened.

Unfortunately, Detective Superintendent Jan Lewin took the opportunity to tell them how the previous record had been set. He and National Crime had been involved on that occasion as well. Another murdered woman, up in Dalarna. Close to five hundred samples had been obtained in that case, but sadly the Petra murder was now several years old, still unsolved, and practically abandoned. Then Lewin had made the mistake of deciding to add a far too lengthy personal observation on the subject.

‘I remember my first murder investigation involving a young woman,’ he said, sounding as if he were talking out loud to himself. ‘It’s almost thirty years ago now, so a lot of you sitting here weren’t even born then. The Kataryna murder, as it was called in the papers. In those days we’d never even heard of DNA, and we all knew that if we were going to solve our cases we almost always had to do it the old-fashioned way, without a lot of forensic help and scientific methods. Forensics was something they did in court once us ordinary officers had found the man who did it.’

‘Sorry, Lewin,’ Bäckström interrupted, pointing at his watch. ‘What do you think about getting to the point before lunch? Because the rest of us have quite a bit to do.’

‘I’m getting to that,’ Lewin said, unconcerned. ‘In those days our clear-up rate for murder cases was over seventy per cent. Today we manage to solve less than half, in spite of all the new technology and all the new methods. I can’t believe that our cases today are that much more difficult than they used to be.’

‘So what do you think it depends on?’ Sandberg suddenly asked. ‘You must have given it some thought.’

‘Oh yes, I’ve certainly given it some thought,’ Lewin said. ‘Take this business of DNA, for instance. When it works, then obviously it’s a tremendous resource. If you find good DNA evidence, like in this case, and if you find the person who left the evidence.’

‘So what’s the problem?’ Sandberg persisted.

‘If it’s good DNA, then there’s a risk that you get so carried away that you neglect everything else. ‘All the good old-fashioned and systematic police work.’

‘You mean, to catch the person who did it you can’t just run about like headless chickens?’ Sandberg said with a smile.

‘Yes, that’s one way of putting it,’ Lewin said.

The final point on the programme that morning was Sandberg’s presentation of what they now knew about the assault early on Sunday morning.

‘So many of the details are so vague that I can’t help feeling she might have made it all up,’ she said.

‘But why would she have done that?’ Olsson said. ‘That’s surely not the sort of thing anyone would make up?’

‘I’m getting to that,’ Sandberg said, suddenly sounding very like her twenty-years-older colleague, Detective Superintendent Jan Lewin.

There were no witnesses who saw either the attack inside the lobby of the building, or even a glimpse of the perpetrator. There was absolutely no forensic evidence, even though Enoksson and his colleagues had literally hoovered up everything from the alleged crime scene and in its immediate vicinity. All they had was the victim’s own story, about an assault that she managed to fend off by putting up fierce resistance. She claimed to have both bitten and scratched her assailant. There was also her description of the attacker.

‘There’s nothing wrong with the description,’ Olsson insisted. ‘I think it sounds very good. What is it she says? A single attacker, about twenty years old, well built and in good shape, approximately 180 centimetres tall, black baseball cap, black T-shirt, baggy black jogging trousers, a pair of those white running shoes, tattoos on both arms. Some design with curling black snakes or dragons on both upper arms, stretching down past the elbows almost to his wrists. And he threatened her in English, but with such a thick accent that she’s sure he wasn’t English or American. Probably eastern European or something like that. It’s no secret, at least not to those of us based here, that that’s often exactly what they look like. It’s actually starting to be quite a problem.’

‘Yes, it’s a fantastic description,’ Sandberg agreed. ‘Considering what she was going through at the time, she certainly made sure she got a good look.’

‘I agree with you, Anna,’ Bäckström grinned. ‘She seems to be a very alert young lady. And it matches the profile we got perfectly. And it looks like she’s also found the time to appear in both the evening papers and on television, to say how terrible it was. She’ll probably be presenting the weather on TV3 soon, or flashing her tits on that farm where they make that programme.’

‘Thanks, Bäckström,’ Sandberg said for some reason. ‘That’s one of the things that’s been bothering me. Normally girls who’ve been subjected to something like this can’t even bear to look at themselves in the mirror. They can hardly talk, even to those closest to them. They just want to be left in peace.’

Bäckström had risen from the ashes left by trainee police officer Löfgren, had already identified his next prey, and quickly jumped back into the flames again. Immediately after the meeting he took young Thorén aside to find out how he was getting on with committee member Karlsson.

‘You were absolutely right, Bäckström. Mr Karlsson doesn’t seem like a very nice person,’ Thorén said, before giving a quick outline of his findings.

‘We need a DNA sample from the bastard,’ Bäckström said keenly.

‘Already sorted,’ Thorén said, and explained about their colleagues’ previous efforts in Malmö.

‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me that before?’ Bäckström asked crossly. ‘Is it a secret or something?’ Running round like headless chickens, he thought.

‘Sit down, Lewin, sit down,’ Bäckström said warmly, gesturing towards the visitor’s chair in front of his desk. ‘How are things going with your own little constructions? Are you starting to make any sense of them?’

‘I’m sure they’ll work out,’ Lewin said neutrally.

He also had two concrete proposals that might offer a step in the right direction. First, to interview Linda’s mother again. The two interviews that had already been conducted hadn’t been sufficiently thorough, in Lewin’s opinion. If he wanted to be critical, they didn’t really provide anything that they wouldn’t have been able to find out without talking to her. And he also wanted them to have another go at trainee police officer Löfgren.

‘You know I always listen to you,’ Bäckström said generously. Even though you were on the point of fucking up half the force with that black bastard, he thought.

‘My suggestion is that we get Rogersson to interview Linda’s mother,’ Lewin said. ‘Rogersson’s extremely thorough when it comes to that sort of thing.’

‘Yes, it’s odd, isn’t it?’ Bäckström agreed. ‘Even if he drinks like a Russian and keeps running to the toilet.’

‘I’ve never noticed that,’ Lewin said curtly. ‘But you’re probably better informed than me on that point, Bäckström.’

‘There’s been some talk, if I can put it like that,’ Bäckström said with a grin. ‘What about the black? Who’s going to deal with him?’

‘If you mean young Löfgren, I was actually thinking of talking to him myself,’ Lewin said. ‘I have a feeling he might be more willing to talk now that he’s no longer a suspect.’

‘Bound to be. It’ll be a breeze this time,’ Bäckström agreed. And you, Lewin, will probably end up getting the Nobel Prize sooner or later.