Linda, As in the Linda Murder

85

By now, everyone knew who Linda’s murderer was. And far too many people seemed to know him personally. The detectives were working a triple shift at full strength, and a torrent of tip-offs about Månsson was overwhelming the desks of the investigating team.

First Månsson’s supplier got in touch with his confessor in the drugs squad of the district crime unit. He certainly wasn’t the sort to shop his ordinary customers, but Månsson wasn’t an ordinary customer any more. He had never been a particularly good customer either, come to that. Used to buy a couple of times a year, mostly cannabis. Now, seeing as he himself had just landed a two and a half year sentence, maybe he was due a favour in return?

More or less simultaneously Knutsson worked out how Månsson had learned to steal cars. A former classmate from Lund called to say that he and Månsson had spent several summers in a row working in a young offenders’ institution in Skåne. Månsson had been practically minded and interested in mechanics, even though he almost made a virtue of the fact that his appearance suggested the opposite. But what he was undoubtedly best at was women. But of course they knew that already, didn’t they?

Almost everyone who called in was a young woman. More than the detectives could have possibly wished for called to tell them about their experiences with Månsson. And even more to say that they had friends who had told them about him. One of the informants was particularly interesting. She had a friend who was now thanking her stars that she was still alive. According to what she was supposed to have told the friend who made the call, she had been with Månsson on the evening of Thursday 3 July. She had realized that something wasn’t right and had left.

Two hours later she was interviewed by Knutsson and Sandberg, and, inevitably, the story she told them was rather different. But in all significant respects, and from the police’s point of view, it was still extremely interesting. And it also fitted other information they had managed to gather.

At about ten o’clock on the Thursday evening she had gone round to see Månsson in his flat on Frövägen, out in Öster. She had been there on several occasions over the summer, and it had started the way it always did. On the sofa in Månsson’s living room. But then she had suddenly put a stop to it.

‘I don’t actually know why,’ she said, looking at Anna Sandberg. ‘All of a sudden I just didn’t want to any more.’

So what had he done then, Sandberg wondered.

First he had carried on as usual, but when she started to resist he had stopped.

Had he turned violent? Did he use force against her?

‘No,’ the witness said. ‘He just got really angry. Like a little kid.’

And because the witness was just as angry herself, she had pulled her top back down, done up her trousers, grabbed her handbag and walked out.

‘Thank God,’ the witness said. ‘If I’d stayed, he’d have strangled me too.’

In fact it was probably far worse than that, Anna Sandberg thought. If you’d done exactly what you usually did, then Linda Wallin would probably still be alive today. Then she had asked the obvious questions about Månsson’s sexual preferences, and the witness had answered just like all the other women they had already spoken to.

A highly prized trophy among all the girls. Liked to take the initiative during sex. Handsome, strong, fit, a good fuck, a stallion who had mastered the various disciplines. Hard-handed if necessary and if she wanted it, open to most suggestions and ideas. But not violent, not out to hurt anyone, and certainly not trying to satisfy any sadistic tendencies of his own.

‘That’s what’s so strange,’ the witness said. ‘I never realized he was a sadist. He was never like that with me.’

Because you always did what he wanted, so he never got frustrated enough when he was with you, Sandberg thought.

You were probably just the wrong type, Knutsson thought.