‘On the grass and in the dirt where he was found we’ve secured tracks from a pushchair, as well as others from a small vehicle. The tyre tracks belong to a lorry, and we’ve already spoken to the refuse collector driving it, so we can write that off.’
‘So someone could have used a pushchair or shopping trolley to get the body there?’
‘Yes, definitely.’
‘Could the boy have been carried there?’ ?hlund asked.
‘If you’re strong enough it wouldn’t be a problem. The boy didn’t weigh more than forty-five kilos.’
The room fell silent, and Jeanette presumed that like her the others were imagining someone walking around carrying a dead boy wrapped in a black garbage bag.
?hlund broke the silence. ‘When I saw how badly abused the boy was, I immediately thought of Harri M?kel?, and if it weren’t for the fact that I know he’s locked up in Kumla, well –’
‘Well, what?’ Schwarz interrupted with a grin.
‘Well, I’d have said he was the man we are looking for.’
‘You reckon? And you don’t think that thought’s already occurred to the rest of us?’
‘Stop squabbling!’ Jeanette leafed through her papers. ‘Forget M?kel?. I’ve got information from Lars Mikkelsen at National Crime about a Jimmie Furug?rd.’
‘So who’s this Furug?rd?’ Hurtig asked.
‘A former UN soldier. First two years in Kosovo, then one in Afghanistan. He last served with the UN three years ago, and left with decidedly mixed references.’
‘What makes him of interest to us?’ Hurtig opened his notebook and leafed through to a fresh page.
‘Jimmie Furug?rd has several convictions for rape and violent assault. Most of the people he assaulted were either immigrants or homosexual men, but it looks as if Furug?rd also has a habit of beating up his girlfriends. Three rape charges. Found guilty twice, cleared once.’
Hurtig, Schwarz and ?hlund looked at one another, nodding slowly.
They’re interested, Jeanette thought, but not really convinced.
‘OK, so why did our little hothead stop working for the UN?’ ?hlund asked. Schwarz glared at him.
‘From what I can see, it came shortly after he was reprimanded for using prostitutes in Kabul on several occasions. No other details.’
‘And he’s not locked up at the moment?’ Schwarz asked.
‘No, he was released from Hall Prison at the end of September last year.’
‘But are we really looking for a rapist?’ Hurtig said. ‘Anyway, how come Mikkelsen mentioned him? I mean, he works with crimes against children, doesn’t he?’
‘Calm down,’ Jeanette said. ‘Any sort of sexual violence could be of interest to our investigation. This Jimmie Furug?rd seems to be a pretty unpleasant character who’s not above attacking children. On at least one occasion he was suspected of assaulting and attempting to rape a young boy.’
Hurtig turned to look at Jeanette. ‘Where is he now?’
‘According to Mikkelsen he’s disappeared without a trace, so I’ve emailed von Kwist about issuing an arrest warrant, but he hasn’t replied yet. I imagine he wants more to go on.’
‘Unfortunately, we don’t have much to go on from Thorildsplan, and von Kwist isn’t the smartest prosecutor we’ve got –’ Hurtig sighed.
‘Well,’ Jeanette interrupted, ‘for the time being we go through the usual routine while forensics do their thing. We work methodically, and without any preconceptions. Any questions?’
They all shook their heads.
‘Good. OK, everyone back to work.’
She thought for a moment, tapping her pen on the desk.
Jimmie Furug?rd, she thought. Evidently something of a split personality. Doesn’t seem to regard himself as gay, and struggles with his desires. Full of self-loathing and guilt.
There was something that didn’t make sense.
She opened one of the two evening papers she’d bought on the way to work but hadn’t had time to read. She’d already noticed that they had pretty much the same front page, apart from the headlines.
She closed her eyes and sat completely still as she counted to one hundred, then picked up the phone and called Prosecutor von Kwist.
‘Hello. Have you read my email?’ she began.
‘Yes, I’m afraid I have, and I’m still trying to work out your thinking.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What I mean is that it looks like you’ve completely lost your mind!’
Jeanette could hear how upset he was.
‘I don’t understand …’
‘Jimmie Furug?rd isn’t your man. That’s all you need to know!’
‘So …?’ Jeanette was starting to get angry.
‘Jimmie Furug?rd is a dedicated and well-regarded UN soldier. He’s received a number of commendations, and –’
‘I do know how to read,’ Jeanette interrupted. ‘But he’s also a neo-Nazi and has several convictions for rape and violent assault. He used prostitutes in Afghanistan and –’
Jeanette stopped herself. She realised that the prosecutor wasn’t going to listen to her opinion. No matter how badly mistaken she thought he was.
‘I have to go now.’ Jeanette regained control of her voice. ‘We’ll have to pursue other lines of inquiry. Thanks for your time.’
She hung up, then put her hands down on the table and closed her eyes.
Over the years she had learned that people could be raped, abused, humiliated and murdered in countless different ways. Clenching her hands in front of her, she realised that there were just as many ways to mismanage an investigation, and that a prosecutor could obstruct the work of an investigation for reasons that were anything but clear.
She got up and went out into the corridor, heading for Hurtig’s office. He was on the phone, and gestured to her to sit down. She looked around.
Hurtig’s office was the antithesis of her own. Numbered box files on the bookshelves, folders in neat piles on the desk. Even the plants in the window looked well cared for.
Hurtig ended the call and put down the phone.
‘What did von Kwist say?’
‘That Furug?rd isn’t our man.’ Jeanette sat down.
‘Maybe he’s right.’
Jeanette didn’t answer, and Hurtig pushed a pile of papers aside before he went on.
‘You know we’re going to be a bit late starting tomorrow?’
Jeanette thought Hurtig looked rather embarrassed. ‘Don’t worry. You’re only going to help bring in a few computers full of child porn, then you’ll be back.’
Hurtig smiled.
Gamla Enskede – Kihlberg House
JEANETTE KIHLBERG LEFT police headquarters just after eight in the evening of the day after the body was found at Thorildsplan.
Hurtig had offered to give her a lift home, and she had thanked him but declined, on the pretext of wanting to walk down to Central Station before catching the train out to Enskede.
She needed to be alone for a while. Just let her mind float.
As she was heading down the steps to Kungsbro strand her mobile buzzed to say she’d got a text. It was from her dad.
‘Hi,’ he wrote. ‘Are you OK?’
By the time she approached Klarabergsviadukten her thoughts were back on the job again.
One family with three generations of police officers. Grandad, Dad and now her. Grandma and Mum had been housewives.