Angel Maker: An Unputdownable Scandinavian Crime Thriller With A Chilling Twist (DI Jamie Johansson Book 1)

Wiik exited the car and crossed the street towards a man Jamie recognised.

Jamie watched through the window as they shook hands.

His name escaped her. Osland, or Oberland or something. He was the solicitor who had handled her parents’ estate. The supposed sale of it.

In the four years between Jamie’s mother moving her to England and her father’s death, her mother had said that her father had squandered their savings and fallen into debt. Gambling, women, drugs.

All his vices. All believable.

She had said that when he died, he’d left nothing to them. That he had had nothing left to leave to them. That she had been forced to sell the house to pay what he owed.

Jamie got out, steeling herself with a cold breath of Swedish air, and rounded the bonnet to address Osland.

‘Ms Johansson,’ he said, smiling brightly. He was overweight, his tie perching on his stomach, the buttons of his shirt straining a little under it. His face was kind, though, his chin covered in a black-and-white beard, his thin eyes hidden behind thinner spectacles. ‘It is good to see you again.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Jamie said, shaking his hand briefly. ‘I don’t understand what’s going on. What are we doing here? My mother told me that the house had been sold.’

Wiik clasped his hands behind his back while Osland spoke.

‘Your father left the house and his estate in its entirety to both you and your mother.’

‘No,’ Jamie said. ‘There was nothing to leave.’

He pushed his glasses into his face with a chubby finger and glanced at Wiik before looking back at Jamie. ‘Monetarily, perhaps not. A small amount in savings which went to your mother. His pension was forfeited due to the nature of his death.’

That he’d killed himself, Osland meant. ‘Okay,’ Jamie said, willing him to hurry up.

‘But the house was mortgage free – it belongs to both you and your mother in joint ownership. She would not be able to legally sell it without your written consent. Had you been under eighteen years of age at the time of his death, she would have had full ownership, as they never legally separated. But as you were eighteen at the time…’

Yeah. I was. It was my birthday. He killed himself on my eighteenth birthday.

Jamie’s head whirled. She could feel blood rushing in her fingers – they were stiff, aching – and a weight, like someone’s boot, crushing her chest.

Her mother hadn’t sold the house? Couldn’t. But she said she had. Why? She had hated Jamie’s father. Deeply. But to do… But…

Her mind couldn’t comprehend.

Osland’s mouth was moving then, his cheeks pushed out into reddened balls by a wide smile. He lifted his hand towards Jamie.

She couldn’t hear anything over the roar of her own blood in her ears.

Osland dropped a key into her hand, nodded to both her and Wiik – they exchanged a few muted words – and then he went back to his car, leaving the two of them standing in front of her father’s house.

Her house.

Jamie’s fingers curled over the cool brass and she drew a rattling breath, staring up at the ruin of her childhood, unsure what to do next.

‘Are you coming?’ Wiik asked, already on the path.

He looked back at Jamie as she willed her feet to move, a well of anger bubbling inside her.

‘I…’ she started, clearing her throat. ‘Wait… just wait a second.’

Wiik looked tense.

‘Can we just…’ She glanced back at the car, trying to process everything. The last years of her life here were all coming back. Like she’d been thrown from a great height, the earth of her memories rushing up to meet her.

She couldn’t. She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t face it. She didn’t have it in her. Not yet. Not like this.

She thought, hard. Looking for an out, for any path that led away from here.

‘Take me there,’ she said finally.

‘What? Where?’ Wiik narrowed his eyes.

‘The scene. Of the murder.’ The words tumbled from her mouth.

He took a step back towards her. ‘I am not able to do that.’

‘You can,’ Jamie said, wrestling with her voice, her fist now tightly balled around the key. ‘This is what I do.’ She needed this. She needed to focus her anger on something. To keep her mind straight. It was too much to take in all at once, just standing here. ‘I’m a good detective. You can use me.’

‘We have this firmly under control—’ Wiik answered back.

‘What are you expecting to find in there?’ Jamie asked, nodding towards the house. ‘My father wasn’t the note-making type. Not exactly organised.’

‘Anything will be of use in this case,’ Wiik said.

‘Anything?’ Jamie stepped forward. ‘It sounds like you have no leads, no files, and no information to go on. And if the scene was rife with evidence, I wouldn’t be here.’ She met his eye. ‘And if there’s nothing in there, then all you have is me.’

Wiik measured her, pushing his hands into the pockets of his thick coat.

‘I was there,’ Jamie said. ‘I remember the case. I remember what my father told me about it. You can use me. You should use me.’

‘You are a civilian.’

‘I’m a detective inspector with the London Metropolitan Police. And if you got my personal number, then you got it from my DCI, Henley Smith. Because if my mother hid this place from me all these years, then she sure as hell didn’t give it to you knowing I’d come back here.’ She read the lines on his still face. ‘You called her first, didn’t you? Asked her to come and grant you access here.’

Wiik looked down.

‘And she told you where to stick it, didn’t she?’

‘With more profanity, yes.’

‘And if you’re working this case – the Angel Maker? Then you must be pretty good at what you do, too.’

Wiik didn’t say anything.

‘So I’m guessing you checked me out. Even just cursorily. Even if you just asked Smith what I was like. Professional curiosity – it’s a bitch.’

His lip twitched almost imperceptibly, his face a mess of shadows and orange in the glow of the streetlights.

‘You know I’m a good detective,’ Jamie said plainly, one step short of begging. ‘And I’m the only one in the world who knows this case. So whether you think this is someone else carrying on his work, or my father caught the wrong man all those years ago, you’re going to need my help.’

By the look on his face, Wiik knew she was right. ‘It will be difficult to arrange.’

Jamie huffed a little, turning towards the car. ‘You seem capable. I’m sure you’ll manage.’

‘This case will be trying,’ he added.

Jamie’s hand froze at the handle.

‘Are you sure you’re ready for it?’ Wiik didn’t move, his hands still in the pockets of his coat. ‘Chief Inspector Smith told me of your situation. Of the circumstances of your leave. What happened last May.’

Jamie ground her teeth and pulled the door open, casting Wiik a cold, hard glance. ‘Just get in the fucking car.’