Chapter 9




“MORNING. BEFORE WE get started, let’s welcome an old friend,” Superintendent Andersson said as he started the “morning prayer.” “Hannu Rauhala from General Investigations has worked with us before.”

Inspector Hannu Rauhala nodded and raised his hand in greeting. Most of the people working in the Criminal Investigation Division knew him, since he’d worked with them on a dicey case a few years earlier.

The superintendent continued. “As many of you have noticed, Jonny isn’t here this morning. His entire family has the stomach flu. I went over to General earlier this morning and talked their superintendent into letting us borrow Hannu for a while as a substitute. Since Jonny isn’t here, could you fill us in, Birgitta, on Linda’s former partner, Pontus?”

Hans Borg took a deep breath, which made Irene look at him. She was surprised at his expression. His eyes were wide and frightened. The strangest thing of all was that Borg was staring at Birgitta Moberg. Birgitta noticed it as well and stared right back. He quickly looked down at his empty notebook, but Irene could see how his cheeks and ears were burning.

Birgitta nodded at her boss but shot Borg another direct stare before starting her report.

“Jonny and I headed over to Axel Dahlström Square, where we met Pontus Olofsson. He’s subletting an apartment on the tenth floor of the skyscraper there. It appears he moved in last week and had his final few things moved from Linda’s apartment on Saturday.”

“That is to say, Saturday the eighth,” the superintendent noted.

“That’s right. Pontus didn’t hide the fact that he took the breakup pretty hard. They’d moved in together just one year ago. According to Pontus, everything was fine until the beginning of January. Then Linda suddenly said she wanted a separation. To Pontus this came straight out of the blue. He had no clue why, but she wouldn’t change her mind. Around the same time, Pontus had a friend who was leaving to spend a year in the United States, so he was able to rent his friend’s apartment.”

“So Pontus was not happy about separating,” Andersson said.

“No, not at all. He said he didn’t have the slightest idea why Linda wanted him to move out. He asked her over and over if there was someone else, but she said that there wasn’t. She only said that she did not love him anymore. So he picked up his stuff and moved into the apartment in Högsbo.”

“What kind of alibi does he have?”

“Airtight. I checked it. He was in Borås taking part in his employer’s personnel-training program between Monday morning and Wednesday afternoon. He shared a hotel room with one of his co-workers. The night between Monday and Tuesday, he was in the hotel bar with this co-worker, and they were busy raising their glasses at around two in the morning, after which they went to bed.”

“So it seems he’s in the clear. Does he have any idea what might have happened to Linda?”

“No, but he’s extremely worried.”

“He didn’t have a clue as to where she might be?”

“No. But I did ask him about Linda’s day planner. He says she always had it with her. And when she takes her bike, she always wears a mini-backpack of light brown leather. So the missing items are these: one bicycle, one brown backpack, and Linda herself.”

“But we have her day planner, and later today the techs will give it to me to go through. Hannu will be put on Linda’s disappearance,” declared Andersson. “Hans, did you find out anything more during your house-to-house by Löwander Hospital?”

Hans Borg had returned to his usual lethargic self, but by the way he fiddled with his pen Irene could tell he was still nervous.

“Nothing new. None of the renters or homeowners near the hospital has seen a thing. I also asked about Linda yesterday. Again nothing. No one has seen anyone fitting her description around there since late Monday evening.”

“Damn it all, it looks like Linda went up in smoke,” Andersson exclaimed glumly.

The other officers in the room could only agree.

The superintendent sighed deeply and turned to Irene. “What have you got on Andreas Svärd and his boyfriend?”

Irene summarized the interrogation of Marianne’s ex-husband and his present partner. Hannu Rauhala nodded at her suggestion that he follow up Niklas Alexandersson’s alibi.

Then Irene took up Mama Bird. She repeated her conversation with Folke Bengtsson and related the search of Mama Bird’s shed shelter.

Andersson seemed surprised. “Doesn’t the welfare office take care of people like her?”

Tommy flipped through the pages of his notebook before he answered. “I spent a great deal of time calling around yesterday. All I can say is that bureaucracy has managed to make some people invisible to us—and even, maybe, to themselves. They’re bounced from department to department in the system until they finally cease to exist.”

“But we’ve all seen homeless people,” the superintendent protested.

“Homeless folks are not all alike. Many are drug-dependent. But the folks I’m talking about are mentally ill. Strange people who cannot make it in our society on their own. Or outside of society, for that matter.” Tommy stopped to sip the last of his coffee before he continued. “Homeless people are almost impossible to trace via the welfare system without a name, number, or address. All we know about Mama Bird is her nickname, as well as the fact that she tends to feed the birds when she’s at Drottning Square and that she’s been staying at Löwander Hospital’s shed since this past Christmas. We also have Irene’s imitation of Mama Bird’s speech pattern from the notes she took off of Kurt Höök’s recording. They certainly show that Mama Bird is mentally ill. I’ve also contacted people at the Salvation Army and the City Mission, and they’ve told me that help for the mentally ill is different from that for addicts. There’s a few treatment residences for the addicts, but nothing for the severely mentally ill.”

“There has to be someplace they can go!” Birgitta protested.

“The reform that included closing mental hospitals and letting the mentally ill become integrated with society has worked for many people who have families and are in contact with the social-welfare offices. But they forgot about one group of people. Those who can’t take care of themselves, even within a mental institution, are suddenly expected to handle their personal hygiene, their living quarters, their food, and their money. Many of these people also have no contact with relatives and often no friends. Many of them have committed suicide.”

“How many commit suicide?” wondered Birgitta, upset.

“No one has kept any such statistics. No one wants to know.”

“So where do these people hang out?” asked Andersson.

“They show up at cafés that the Salvation Army and other organizations run. People from City Mission drive around at night in a bus, and they’ll creep out of their hiding spots for some sandwiches and coffee.”

“So they take care of themselves as best they can.” Birgitta was more upset than ever.

“Right. The City Mission and the Salvation Army do their best to take them in if they show up. Otherwise no one bothers about them. Last night I brought this up to my better half, who’s a nurse, and she said that our society has returned them to the medieval state of the village idiot. I think she’s probably right.”

“But,” Irene countered, “you said many other mentally ill folk have better living arrangements after the reform.”

“That’s certainly true, and many people were freed from confinement, but they probably were not the long-term mentally ill. The rest have no one to take their hand, and they’ve fallen through all the cracks in the system. Nobody seems to care about them.”

“Why not?” asked Irene.

“People who need so much help cost society a great deal of money. This way they cost the state nothing. The best answer for politicians cutting the costs of government. It’s their own final solution, so to speak.”

Tommy paused, and no one else spoke up. “Anyway, today I believe I’ll contact our colleagues in Nordstan shopping mall and see if they know where Mama Bird can be found. If we don’t find her during the day, we’ll have to stake out the garden shed at night. Let’s hope she decides to show up to sleep.”

“Fine,” said Andersson. “Tommy and Irene are in charge of finding the bird lady.”

Irene watched Hans fidget in his chair. He obviously wanted to get away, which was not like him at all.

The superintendent turned to him. “Hans, put on an intensive search for Linda’s bicycle. Maybe it’s been stolen. Maybe someone has turned it in to one of the other police stations. We have its brand and serial number. If we find the bike, maybe Linda will be found close by.”

Irene thought the way Andersson put it was certain to bring bad luck, although of course he didn’t mean it like that. She watched Hans Borg nod even as he got up. He was really in a hurry to leave. Irene was surprised to see Birgitta simultaneously rise and follow him. Instinctively, she got up to follow them both.

Irene watched Birgitta sneak around the corner a few meters ahead of her. Silently, Irene followed her, and just as she was rounding the corner, she heard Birgitta’s angry voice: “Let go. That was in my in-box.”

Irene saw Birgitta snatch at a brown internal-mail envelope that Hans had just taken from the box next to Birgitta’s office. Borg didn’t reply, but he also didn’t let go of the envelope. Birgitta then kicked him in the shin. Borg yelled, and Birgitta took her chance, grabbing the envelope and dancing away with it. Irene saw Hans lower his head to charge Birgitta, and instantly she stepped between them. She blocked Borg’s hand with her forearm, pushed away his hip with her left arm, and dropped him backward with an osoto otoshi. This was not hard to do, since he had the training and quickness of a sloth. She used a firm grip to keep him down. He whimpered that she was hurting him, but she didn’t care. As long as she had a jujitsu black belt, third dan, no one would hurt a colleague. Borg now was painfully aware of that.

Andersson and Fredrik Stridh had also rounded the corner. Irene still kept her grip on Borg while he moaned. Birgitta stood holding the brown envelope tight to her chest. When she saw Andersson, she said, “Sven, we need to talk to Hans.”

Andersson took one look at the brown envelope and blanched. “What the hell! Of all the bastards!” Andersson’s neck and face went from pale to beet red. All his officers knew that this was bad indeed.

“Irene, take Hans into my office,” Andersson commanded.

Fredrik Stridh looked like he was dying to ask, but he knew enough to duck into his own room. Irene was still in the dark, but Birgitta and Andersson seemed well aware of the significance of the brown envelope. And Hans, too, of course. Without loosening the grip on his arm, Irene pulled Hans to his feet. As he straightened, she whispered into his ear, “Don’t forget I’m right behind you.”

Hans didn’t answer.

Andersson gestured to Hans to take a seat in front of the desk. Hans slumped into the chair with no resistance.

Andersson sorrowfully shook his head. “Why, Hans, why?”

Borg said nothing.

“Answer me or this goes right to Internal Investigation. I’ve seen the other pictures. Disgusting.”

Irene took the envelope from Birgitta, opened it, and pulled out some pictures. One glance was all it took. Not soft porn, either.

“That.… She … kept thinking she was so damn good and … clever.… Knew computers and was always up on the latest … All she had to do was wave her tits and get the best assignments and benefits. Talk about affirmative action. She was showing it off to everybody. But I saw through her.”

Hans looked up at Birgitta as he spit out his venom. Even though his ranting was ridiculous, Irene could see that Birgitta was holding back tears. She was smart and talented with computers, but she wasn’t the kind to flirt and flaunt. She and Fredrik had been in love at one time, but that wasn’t what Borg was spouting about.

It was hard to imagine a deeper shade of red than the red on Andersson’s face. He said nothing, however, just drew his hand over the sparse hair at the back of his neck. Finally he leaned across his desk and stared right into Hans’s eyes with barely controlled anger.

“Bullshit. Birgitta’s a good cop. You seem to have some problems, though. Go home and take a few days sick leave. This can’t be swept under the rug, you understand. I’ll have to report this to a higher level.”

Hans sat motionless. Birgitta seemed as if she wanted to speak but bit her lower lip instead.

“You can go,” Andersson dismissed Hans. “I’ll call you this afternoon.”

With one last spiteful look at Birgitta, Hans got up and lumbered out of the room. The superintendent sighed heavily and gave Irene a weary glance.

“This has been going on a while. A year and a half ago, Birgitta came to me and said someone had been sending pornographic pictures to her by internal mail. Something happened … that made her think Jonny was behind it, but Jonny denied that he was involved.”

Birgitta could not keep silent any longer. “I didn’t think it could be anyone but Jonny, the way he was always trying to cop a feel ever since I started here. Not to mention all his sex jokes. And the insinuations—” She stopped abruptly and tried to calm herself down before she continued.

“The whole thing started four years ago. Every few weeks an internal envelope would appear in my in-box with these porn pictures. When Fredrik and I were going out together last spring, it dropped off. But it all started again when I returned from Australia in October. I decided to hand over the envelopes to Sven.”

The superintendent nodded. “I have five sets locked in my drawer. We checked for prints, but there weren’t any. The last two had been addressed to Birgitta with a green felt pen. This morning Birgitta saw a similar envelope addressed with a green felt pen. I’d just walked into the hallway when she spotted it. I’d been out seeing about getting Rauhala on our team. Jonny couldn’t have left it, since he was out sick since last night, but I was the only person who knew that Jonny wasn’t coming in today. Birgitta and I decided to leave the envelope there and see if something happened, and it did.”

He absentmindedly stroked the nonexistent hair on his bald head. He seemed old and worn out. “I’ll deal with Borg now. Go on back to work.”

Irene and Birgitta left his office in silence. They stopped outside Birgitta’s room.

“I don’t know what to say. This is … unbelievable,” Irene exclaimed.

Birgitta nodded glumly. “No less true, though. In the beginning I just ignored those pictures. Thought that the whole thing would blow over. But … it never did.”

Impulsively, Irene laid a hand on Birgitta’s arm. “Let’s go get some coffee. I could use a bucket of it after this.”

Birgitta smiled. “Your universal cure for all problems—coffee.”

TOMMY HAD ALREADY started phoning to set up interviews.

“First we’re going to Nordstan shopping mall to see whether Mama Bird is hanging around there. The patrol cars are alerted, and they’ll keep an eye out for her. A foot patrol will check the garden shed all night at regular intervals just in case she shows up. At least we won’t need anyone posted there. The weather sucks, and it’s supposed to be bad all through the weekend.”

Irene looked out the window. The weather was truly bad, but at least she could stay inside where it was warm and dry. The foot patrol that she and Tommy would check in with had no such luck.

“Then I’ve made an appointment with one of the field-workers at the City Mission. We’re supposed to meet him at three-thirty if we haven’t found Mama Bird by then. He’ll also ask around in case one of his co-workers knows anything. I gave him my cell number.”

“But first it’s over to our colleagues in Nordstan.”

“Yep.”

POLICE INSPECTOR STEFANSSON had recently been appointed squad leader for Nordstan’s relatively new police station. Both Irene and Tommy knew him well from previous work.

He was sitting at a shiny new desk and seemed blinded by its glare. He wasn’t much for desk work, but it came with the promotion. He looked at them thoughtfully before he said, “Yes, I know who you’re talking about. A short, bony lady who feeds birds. It has to be her.”

Irene was surprised when Stefansson tittered. He stopped as soon as he saw their raised eyebrows. “We’ve had to deal with her quite a bit, actually,” he said. “At least once a week, someone from a grocery store calls and screams at us: ‘She’s here again.’ ”

“What does she do there?” Tommy asked.

“Steals, but only bread and other stuff you can feed to birds. She takes a shopping cart and fills it up with what she wants and then heads through the checkout line without paying. That’s when the fur flies.”

“Do they yell at her for taking stuff?”

“No, she yells at them for insisting she pay. She’s even thrown bread loaves at people’s heads and spit on them.”

“Do you know her real name?”

“No, I don’t.” Stefansson shook his head in apology.

“Where’s the most likely place we could find her?”

“Since it’s raining cats and dogs out there, I suspect she’s trying to keep dry inside the mall, in one of the shops or maybe the parking garage. Let me check with foot patrol to see if anyone’s seen her today.”

Stefansson called both foot patrols on duty inside the Nordstan shopping mall complex, but neither of them had seen the bird lady for a while. Shrugging in apology, Stefansson said, “Sorry, you’ll have to search for her yourselves. At least she hasn’t been taken to jail lately.”

AFTER THREE HOURS going through stairwells and parking garages, Tommy and Irene gave up, went to McDonald’s, and had one Big Mac apiece. It appeared that Mama Bird was nowhere to be found in the entire Nordstan shopping complex. Stefansson had called different shops to check whether anyone had seen her, but all his results were negative. No one seemed to have seen her the last few days.

“Where can she be? She’s not here. She’s not at the shed.” Irene sighed.

“I’ll give Kent Olsson at City Mission a call.” Tommy fished his cell phone from his pocket and produced a wrinkled piece of paper bearing the squad leader’s telephone number.

“Hi, this is Tommy Persson again. We haven’t found a trace of the lady here in Nordstan. Have you had better luck?” Tommy’s face lit up as he listened. “Really? That sounds promising. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” He hung up.

“Kent’s found a woman who knows Mama Bird. He told her we’d buy her a half special if she stays until we get there.”

“Finally a lead on the bird lady.”

THEY HAD THE good fortune to find a parking spot on Allmänna Vägen. In spite of the fact that they didn’t have to walk far to the City Mission Café, they were soaked through when they crossed the threshold. Kent Olsson was standing right inside the door waiting for them. He was a short, strong man in his early middle age. His reddish hair and impressive beard framed a face with friendly gray-blue eyes. After saying hello, he said, “Mimmi, the woman you are going to meet, now has a tiny apartment of her own nearby. She usually comes here to our café every day just to have someone to talk to. Her sister died five years ago, and Mimmi was able to take over the apartment. It’s her way back into society.”

“How old is she?” Irene asked.

“About sixty. But she’s able to take care of her own cooking and cleaning with only a little help from home services. She’s proud of that. But, unfortunately, she’s very lonely. She and her sister were the only two left in her family, and once her sister died, she was all alone. She has us, though.”

“Do many mentally ill people come here?” Tommy asked.

“Yes, we have many. A few here at the café, but most when we’re out in our deacon bus.”

As they were talking, they reached a door with the word café on it. Kent Olsson held it open for them. The odor of unwashed human bodies was noticeable. There weren’t all that many people around the table, which was surprising, since the weather was so bad.

“Not many people today,” Irene stated.

“No, most of them had to leave already to find a place to sleep for the night,” Kent Olsson answered.

Over by the window sat a small, plump woman. She wore a red headband and a torn jacket that had once been orange. Her smile was toothless and filled with anticipation. She got up from her chair with difficulty and held out a knobby hand. Irene took it warmly and did her best to ignore the strong urine smell the woman gave off.

“Hi. I’m Inspector Irene Huss.”

“Hi. I’m Mimmi.”

Mimmi’s voice was grating and raspy. She cleared her throat a few times and wet her lips with her tongue. It didn’t seem to help, since her tongue seemed just as dry.

“Hi, Mimmi. I’m Inspector Tommy Persson.”

From the corner of her eye, Irene noticed how some of the people closest to them listened as they introduced themselves. Then, one by one, they slunk out the door.

Irene decided to be direct. “Kent said you might know the name of a woman we’re looking for. She calls herself Mama Bi—”

“Peep! Peep! Gunnela has peeps!” Mimmi giggled.

“Her name is Gunnela?”

Mimmi nodded enthusiastically.

“Do you know her last name?”

“Hägg.”

Tommy was taking down everything in his notebook, so Irene continued. “How do you know Gunnela?”

“We lived on the same floor.”

“At the mental hospital called Lillhagen?”

Mimmi nodded again and tried to moisten her dry, cracked lips.

“How many years did you know each other?”

“All of them.”

“You mean all the years you lived there?”

“No, all the years she lived there.”

“How many years was that?”

“Don’t know.”

Mimmi appeared uninterested and tried to keep her shaking left hand still by covering it with her right hand. The result was that both hands began to shake.

“How many years did you live at Lillhagen?”

Without looking away from her vibrating hands, Mimmi answered, “Thirty-two years, five months, and sixteen days.”

“How old are you?”

“Fifty-six.”

Irene quickly did the math in her head. Mimmi must have been around twenty-four when she’d been admitted to the mental hospital. Mimmi looked at Irene again.

“I tried to live outside of Lillhagen, but it didn’t work. Now it’s better with my shot once a month.” She smiled.

“Is that all the medicine you need?”

A single nod was her answer. If the medicine lasted an entire month, it must be one powerful dose. No wonder the woman was constantly shaking.

“How old is Gunnela?”

Mimmi shrugged.

“Is she older than you are?”

“Younger. She’s much younger.”

Irene was surprised. She hadn’t expected that. “Do you know how much younger she is than you?”

Mimmi just shrugged again.

“Did she feed the birds when you were living on the same floor?”

“Every time we went outside, she fed them. She could speak with the birds. So she said.”

“Did you hang around with Gunnela very much?”

“No. She was younger.”

“Do you know where Gunnela went to live?”

The tiny woman appeared surprised. “She lived at Lillhagen, of course.”

“Do you know where she went to live after she left Lillhagen?”

“She lived at Lillhagen.” Mimmi was certain.

It appeared that Gunnela Hägg was still living in the mental institution when Mimmi had moved out. At least now they knew the name of the bird lady; they’d be able to start with Lillhagen’s records.

“Mimmi, did Gunnela have any family?”

Mimmi concentrated but finally shook her head. “No. She never had visits. I had visits.”

Irene reminded herself that they’d promised Mimmi a half special—a grilled hot dog with mashed potatoes on top. They decided to take Mimmi with them and bought her one at the nearest hot-dog stand before she went on her way.

TOMMY CALLED THE station and asked Hannu Rauhala to find out as much as he could at Lillhagen about Gunnela Hägg. Since they’d worked with him before, both Irene and Tommy were well aware that Hannu had phenomenal ways of finding vital information out of thin air. Before Tommy hung up, Hannu let them know that Niklas Alexandersson’s alibi held. He’d checked the three friends as well as employees of the Gomorrah Club. He also let them know that there’d been no progress on Linda Svensson’s disappearance. They’d sent out a missing-persons bulletin covering the entire country now.

Tommy ended the call and stared out the windshield, depressed. The world around them was dissolved into fragments of light broken by cascading rain. Irene started the car resolutely.

“It’s almost five o’clock, and I have to pick up Sammie. My dog-sitter will have a fit if I’m late two days in a row.”

Tommy nodded. “By the way, do you know if there’s a florist nearby?”

“Why do you need a florist?”

He laughed. “I have to take care of my sweetheart. Don’t you know it’s Valentine’s Day?”

Irene had forgotten, but she said quickly, “Good idea. I need a bouquet for Krister, because he’ll be home earlier than usual. We’re going to have a wonderful Valentine’s Day dinner.”

She really longed to get home.

• • •

IRENE TOOK SAMMIE for a walk in the pouring rain. Afterward she arranged the bouquet of tulips in a vase in the center of the dinner table and put out the good china. She had no idea what Krister was going to prepare, but he would have to buy ingredients on the way home, since the refrigerator was empty. She’d need to write a shopping list and get more groceries tomorrow, because Krister would be working all weekend. At least he didn’t need to go in until late afternoon. Tonight they’d have a pleasant evening. A tingling of expectation warmed the spot between her legs. It would be wonderful to spend Valentine’s Day evening without the children at home. As the clock ticked toward nine, she decided to call Glady’s Corner.

The maître d’ told her that Krister was still in the kitchen. Irene asked to speak to him. After she’d waited what seemed like an eternity, Krister came on the line.

“Hi, sweetheart. Sorry, I haven’t even had a free minute to call you. We’re totally swamped here, and Svante called in sick.”

“When do you think you’ll be home?”

“Probably ten-thirty at the earliest.”

“Oh.” Irene couldn’t hide her disappointment. At the same time, she felt so hungry she couldn’t stand it. Carefully, she asked, “Well, what should we do about our Valentine’s Day dinner?”

“Valentine’s? That’s today? No wonder there’s such a rush here. Well, we’ll have to have a Valentine’s Day lunch tomorrow instead. I’ll be dead on my feet when I get home. I’ve been working since nine this morning.”

They kissed through the phone and hung up. Irene irrationally felt abandoned. And there was nothing here for a real dinner.

She fried an egg and put it on a slice of bread that had been sitting in the bread box for a few days. Searching through the cupboards, she found a can of tomato soup, which she warmed up. There wasn’t even any near beer in the house. Her meal did not put her in a festive mood.

She turned on the TV and settled on an American cop show. Her movie counterparts killed six people in a matter of minutes with no consequences. She found that it all made her feel somewhat ill. Maybe she should just go to bed.

As she lay awake, she thought about many things. Life at home wasn’t running as smoothly as it had when Krister worked only thirty hours a week. Back then the fridge was always full and dinner was always made. He’d also done most of the grocery shopping and cleaning. Now that he was working full-time, and overtime to boot, he wasn’t able to plan things the same way. Jenny and Katarina were probably a bit spoiled. They never had to cook, go shopping, or clean. Of course, they were busy at school with their studies and their activities. How much did it cost to have someone come in and clean? Certainly that would be politically incorrect. But they probably could afford someone. It would be wonderful to come home to a clean house. Then maybe she and Krister would have enough energy for shopping, cooking, and being with the family. Not to mention the dog, Irene reminded herself, as she felt Sammie turn over in his sleep and land on her feet.

Their sex life was suffering. Suffering? Nonexistent! It must have been at least two weeks since they’d last had the chance to make love. Krister was often too tired. And, to be honest, she was often much too busy at work. But she was always too busy at work. The unbidden memory of the reporter Höök’s mischievous, glittering blue eyes under a shock of blond hair came into her mind’s eye. He was certainly very charming, that reporter, and he even resembled Krister, just ten years younger. With the kind of energy Höök gave off, he’d never be too tired to.…

The last time she glanced at the clock before she finally fell asleep, it was ten after eleven, and Krister still had not come home.

Загрузка...