Linda, As in the Linda Murder

94

On Friday 12 September, Anna Holt and Lisa Mattei left Växjö and travelled home to Stockholm. Holt would be returning to her secondment as superintendent of the national co-ordination office of the National Crime Unit. Johansson had already tried to lure her into his team by waving the newly instigated post of his staff officer, reporting directly to him. The thought of having to listen to all his stories wasn’t exactly enticing, and she had turned the job down. Firmly, but obviously as amiably as she could. Johansson had reacted exactly as she had expected. He had sulked like a child for a few days, but just a week later he was back to normal, greeting her with almost demonstrative friendliness whenever they bumped into each other in the corridor.

He’s like a child, Holt thought. I wonder what he’s going to come up with next time.

Lisa Mattei would be going on leave to finish her studies at Stockholm University. She was hoping to be finished by the end of the year, when her leave ran out. But she was still worried. Every academic problem she solved seemed immediately to generate two new ones, usually more interesting than the one she had just solved, and the only appealing alternative she could see ahead of her was something like the job that Anna Holt had just turned down, which Johansson would never dream of offering her.

Funny that such a highly talented man doesn’t realize what would be in his best interests, Mattei thought.

Before they left, Anna Holt had a lengthy meeting with Prosecutor Katarina Wibom, during which she handed over the hundreds of pages of interview protocols, all bar one in the form of a dialogue, and now neatly typed up and bound with the national coat of arms in blue and yellow on the cover, along with the logo of the Växjö Police. And prefaced by an introductory summary addressed to the prosecutor.

‘I’m not going to get any further with this, so you can take over now,’ she said, nodding towards the pile of files on the desk between them.

‘Well, thank you very much indeed, Anna,’ Katarina Wibom said. ‘This is more than I have any right to ask for, and certainly more than I’d hoped for.’

‘How’s it going to go, then?’ Holt asked. ‘What’s he going to get?’

‘At a guess, life for murder,’ the prosecutor said. ‘The way I see it, Månsson and his lawyer have two possible defences.’

‘And they are...?’

The first was that he and his victim had been engaging in sexual games that had gone wrong. Voluntarily on her part, even enthusiastically, then an unfortunate accident, manslaughter and a few years in prison.

‘And what do you think about that?’ Holt asked.

‘Forget it,’ the prosecutor said, shaking her head. ‘I wouldn’t even have to come up with a charge of death through neglect. What we’ve got from forensics and the medical officer would be more than enough.’

‘And you’re sure about that?’

‘Don’t forget, we’re talking about the District Court in Växjö here,’ the prosecutor reminded her. ‘Leaving aside the fact that it’s simply not what happened, even if he tries to claim it was. Hopefully his lawyer is smart enough to advise him against even trying.’

‘What else, then? What’s the other option?’

The memory lapse, the prosecutor explained. If nothing else, then as a suitable marker to show how psychologically disturbed he is. To prepare the ground for all the sexual abuse and everything else that he was subjected to when he was little, which he’ll talk about the minute he becomes the subject of a mental health examination alone with all those doctors who, unlike everyone else, can see inside people’s heads.

‘Since those nice people in white coats got the chance to add memory lapses to their box of tricks, there isn’t a single criminal who can remember a thing any more,’ the prosecutor sighed.

‘Whatever happened to the good old pathological rush of blood to the head, a decent Swedish drunken rage?’ Holt said, sighing as well.

‘That disappeared when they started to sentence all the drunks to life imprisonment even though they had absolutely no idea that they had stabbed their best friend with their pocket knife the night before. Nowadays it’s more complicated. Schnapps and vodka aren’t enough any more. Not even if you’ve spent twenty years or so pickling your brain. Forensic psychiatry is always making new advances. The whole time. Leaving people like you and me standing where we were.’

‘Will that get him off, then?’

‘Never, not in Växjö District Court,’ the prosecutor said. ‘You can forget that. Mind you, I wouldn’t want to bet on the Court of Appeal, because I’m sure that’s where we’re going to end up.’

‘Found guilty of murder, and sentenced to a secure psychiatric unit with specific parole conditions,’ Holt summarized.

‘Possibly, maybe even probably,’ the prosecutor said. ‘The only consolation under the circumstances may well be that most lawyers have a very peculiar image of what secure psychiatric care is like these days.’

‘Not exactly a bed of roses,’ Holt said.

‘Not exactly a bed of roses,’ the prosecutor agreed.