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

Jamie’s eyes opened slowly and she woke from a dreamless sleep.

She swung her legs off the side of the bed and looked at her phone. It was just after six.

Wiik was picking her up at eight.

She reached for the lamp on the nightstand and flicked it on, picking up the courtesy card next to it. Breakfast at seven. Facilities at eight. Pool. Sauna. Gym. She wondered if they’d make an exception and reached for the phone next to the lamp. She needed to shake off the cobwebs, along with Wiik’s words from the last night.

Her father had needed someone. Anyone.

But everyone had been too afraid to.

And Jamie hadn’t even known.

Wiik pulled in at the kerb at two minutes before eight, the electric Volvo humming gently.

Jamie climbed in, the thick smell of coffee rich in the interior.

He looked tetchy, his face a silent scowl. ‘Here,’ he grunted, lifting a cup from the centre console. ‘Didn’t know how you took it.’

Jamie took a mouthful. ‘Black – safe guess.’ She held it in her hands, letting the warmth seep into her fingers.

Wiik pulled swiftly away.

‘Everything okay?’ Jamie asked, reading the tension in him.

‘No,’ he replied flatly. ‘Lindvall threw himself a tantrum in his holding cell at about three o’clock this morning – started screaming, threatening to smash his skull open against the wall if they didn’t let him out. Made a real mess – smeared his shit all over the place, pissed himself, threw up everywhere and then passed out, started convulsing.’ Wiik grimaced and shook his head.

‘Jesus,’ Jamie muttered, taking a big gulp of coffee. It sounded like she’d need the caffeine. ‘He okay?’

‘He was moved to hospital. He regained consciousness on arrival and tried to attack the nurse who was treating him – he’s been sedated now. They think it was a psychotic break due to the stress of the questioning.’

‘Who does?’

‘The state-appointed psychologist tasked with his mental wellbeing,’ Wiik practically spat. ‘If you ask me, a piece of shit like that should just be left to rot.’

Jamie raised an eyebrow and looked out of the window. She had wondered if pushing Lindvall like he had would yield results like this. Sometimes she hated being right.

‘The last thing I need is an investigation into my methods clogging things up.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I spoke to the attending doctor just before heading over,’ he went on. ‘Seems like Lindvall has gone into acute withdrawal now as well, and apparently he’s dehydrated, not eaten in days. Been on a real bender. System is overloaded with amphetamines. Self-destruct mode.’

Jamie listened, knowing where he was going with this. ‘Guilty conscience, you think?’

He shrugged. ‘Not like we’ll know until he comes out of it. Could be days.’

‘Shit,’ Jamie breathed. She wasn’t inclined to think Lindvall had murdered the girl, but it wasn’t out of the question. She sighed, focused on her coffee and let Wiik drive on.

The church grew in the distance until it was a white spire cut out against the grey sky above them.

They parked down the street, a row of single-story houses with red-tiled roofs between them and Per Eriksson’s church.

Wiik eyed it carefully through the windshield, massaging his chin.

On the drive over, he’d handed Jamie Hallberg’s summary of the kills – both the originals and the new. Including Claesson’s autopsy report and the original seven.

All the victims were posed with birch boughs, freshly hacked from nearby trunks with a sharp hatchet. The boughs were then stripped of branches to a length of around a 140 centimetres. The thick ends were then chopped to a point with a single, hard blow, before they were pushed through the victim’s backs and into the frozen ground.

If Eriksson was a groundskeeper, he’d have access to and experience with a hatchet. He’d know trees and how to handle wood. And with a priesthood lying in his future, the religious element was hard to ignore. And what better way to throw long-term suspicion from yourself than to enter into the church?

And now, Sjöberg was dead, and the only two people to see him alive in the last few months were his infirm wife and one of the only other suspects from the original case. The righteous Per Eriksson.

Jamie thought back to the shapeless green blob in Nyström’s front seat and wondered if it could have been Eriksson. If Nyström was bound and gagged in the boot.

‘Ready?’ Wiik asked, glancing at her.

She nodded and they got out, leaving the file on the seat.

Eriksson’s church was a modest one, its steeple stretching just a few metres above the pitched roof.

The building was made of stone, painted white, with a wide staircase leading up to it. A cemetery surrounded it on three sides and green algae stretched up the walls from the sodden earth.

The brown wooden door at the top of the steps was open, but there seemed to be no service in session.

Jamie and Wiik ascended to the church and entered, both quiet. The whole place was quiet.

There was no wind. The surrounding trees stood still, as if waiting for something.

Wiik led, not bothering to wipe his feet and shoved the inner door open, letting out as much warmth as he could.

The air inside was close. Jamie counted at least eight electric radiators in the space, all old and ticking away as they blew hot air into the rafters.

A pitched ceiling overhead was clad with wood, and rows of pews stretched towards the pulpit, a stained cross standing behind it, a circular window above like its own halo.

Wiik tsked and approached. ‘Per Eriksson?’ he called out, his voice echoing in the space.

It sustained for a few seconds and then died.

Wiik inhaled to repeat, but a door opened at the back-left of the room and a man walked out in a pair of jeans and a black shirt, a white dog collar around his throat. He was drying his hands in a tea towel, and then threw it over his shoulder. His hands were red and raw as though he’d just been washing up in boiling water. ‘Can I help you?’ he said.

Jamie measured Per Eriksson. He was about six foot two, with a full head of white hair that stuck up from his angular face. His eyes were kind, his smile disarming.

Wiik came forward. ‘Kriminalinspektör Anders Wiik,’ he said curtly, showing his badge. ‘This is my colleague, Detective Inspector Jamie Johansson,’ he added, gesturing back to Jamie.

She nodded.

He looked at her. ‘Johansson?’ he said to himself, his eyes resting on her for a moment, a look of familiarity there. He cleared his throat quickly then and turned back to Wiik. ‘What can I do for you, Inspector?’ he asked innocently.

‘We’re looking into a case that may be related to Hans Sjöberg,’ Wiik said diplomatically. ‘A murder.’

Eriksson folded his lips into a line. ‘I’m sorry to tell you, Inspector, but Hans Sjöberg is dead.’

‘We’re aware,’ Wiik said quickly. ‘But it seems that you were one of the last people to see him alive – and one of only two people to visit him in prison at all in the last few years. And, it’s curious to us that, after all this time, you would visit him while he was serving a sentence for the murder of seven girls, and then shortly after, another goes missing and then shows up murdered in the same way. The details of which only Sjöberg and a handful of others knew about.’

Eriksson was a statue before them, his hands clasped in front of him.

Wiik went on, turning out his bottom lip. ‘And considering the way they treat men like him in prison, I doubt he would have been keen to share his war stories. He spent most of his sentence in private quarters, locked away from the other inmates for his own safety. Did you know that?’

‘No, I did not,’ Eriksson replied quietly.

‘Do you see where I’m going with this?’ Wiik asked.

Eriksson didn’t speak.

‘You were one of the original suspects in this case, were you not?’

‘I was,’ Eriksson said carefully.

‘So then tell me, why does an acquaintance show up after twenty years to visit a child-killer on his deathbed?’

‘An acquaintance?’ Eriksson seemed thrown by the word. ‘Because he asked me to,’ he finished.

‘He asked you to?’ Wiik pressed.

‘Yes. Hans and I were close friends.’

Wiik glanced at her. She was still studying the tall man’s features.

Eriksson explained. ‘At least, before he was convicted. I was the groundskeeper at the church. We all knew that girls were going missing – Hans and I often talked about it. We thought it must have been someone from the congregation. We heard that they were being murdered, but we never thought that…’ He coughed and then carried on. ‘When Hans was arrested, I was more shocked than anyone. As I said, we were close friends. He was a kind man, a caring man. But afterwards, I felt betrayed… disgusted by it.’ He swallowed, tightened his shaking hands into a knot in front of him. ‘I didn’t speak to him again, didn’t visit him. Not once.’ He bowed his head a little.

‘Until a few weeks ago,’ Wiik corrected him. ‘Why?’

‘He wrote me a letter,’ Eriksson said forthrightly.

‘We need to see that letter,’ Wiik said, looking at Jamie again.

Second time in a few seconds. Was he looking for confirmation of his instincts? He’d already pushed Lindvall too far. Was he hoping Jamie might temper him this time?

‘Of course,’ Eriksson said. ‘Would you like me to get it? It’s in my desk drawer.’

‘We’ll come with you,’ Wiik replied, not wanting to leave the man alone with what could be their first piece of crucial evidence.

Though Jamie didn’t think that he’d be this forthcoming if he was guilty. And he didn’t strike her as the type. But then again, brutes of this nature rarely did show their monstrous side. Jamie knew that from experience. In fact, they were usually the most charming. The smiliest. The most easy-going. They were invisible to the naked eye. Disguised in plain sight as helpers, as shepherds of humanity. Doctors. Solicitors. Police Officers. Priests.

Jamie nodded to confirm Wiik’s intention to trail the man, and all three walked through the door from which he’d exited.

A modest kitchen with units on the left under a window and a tired table on the right greeted them. The draining board had a few plates on it, suds slowly running off them.

Eriksson led them through into a small hallway. Ahead was his bedroom and to their right a bathroom.

He didn’t seem bashful or embarrassed as he continued through to the room in which he slept. Jamie often found people got squirrelly as police entered their most private space. But not Eriksson. Was that because he didn’t feel nerves? Or was it simply because his room was spartan, as priest-like as one might expect. A single bed with a crucifix hanging above it, neatly made. A bookshelf that contained no less than six different bibles. A bedside table with a glass of water on it. A desk with a lamp and a computer, the screen displaying a website that helped you locate scripture excerpts based on keywords. A notebook was open in front of it, a few quotes written down.

Eriksson wasted no time in reaching for his desk drawer.

Wiik backed up, raising one hand to motion Jamie backwards, the other hovering next to his hip, ready to reach for his pistol.

Eriksson could pull anything from that drawer.

The wood creaked as it opened and Wiik visibly tensed, but then Eriksson was turning, a piece of paper in his hands. ‘Here,’ he said easily, handing it over.

Wiik took it and began reading.

Eriksson leaned slowly back against the desk, wincing a little as he did. The man wasn’t as spry as he used to be, it seemed. He was sitting as though his back hurt. A show for them? To throw them off? How could a clergyman with back problems carry a body into the woods and chop down trees? Surely he couldn’t.

‘Sjöberg reached out to me,’ Eriksson said unprompted, looking at the letter. ‘He knew his prognosis was grim and said he wanted to make amends.’ Eriksson sighed. ‘Apologise for lying to me all those years ago.’

Wiik snorted. ‘Rich.’

‘I’m sorry?’ Eriksson said.

‘That he wanted to make amends to you,’ he muttered, looking up from the letter. ‘Rather than the families of the girls he murdered.’

Eriksson made his mouth into a line again and offered an apologetic look. ‘I wrote back, and told him that I’d forgiven him years ago, that after I lost my faith in him, in God, that I found my way back to the church. That I now had my own congregation. And that if he was truly sorry, for lying and for everything else, that I could offer him absolution.’

‘What a load of shit,’ Wiik said, unable to keep his own views in check.

Eriksson did the Christian thing and smiled politely despite Wiik’s unveiled rudeness.

Jamie was thinking on something else. ‘How did he find you, Father?’

Eriksson turned his attention to her. ‘What do you mean?’

‘If you hadn’t kept in touch with him, not seen him in twenty years, how did he know how to reach you?’

Wiik’s gaze drifted from the page to Jamie and then to Eriksson, at which point it stopped and burnt a hole in the side of his head.

Eriksson shook his head again. ‘I don’t know – I expect that he either looked me up or—’

‘Looked you up?’ Wiik interjected. ‘We’re the police and we had a hard enough time “looking you up”. And plus, how would he do that in prison?’

Eriksson looked at Wiik, not a waiver in his face. ‘By all accounts he was a model prisoner, and prisoners have access to the internet – supervised, of course. My details are not hidden, my name, date of birth, address, it all appears on the National Lutheran Register as a matter of record, along with the date of my appointment here. And of course, contact details. I expect that simply searching for my name and date of birth online would yield accurate results.’

Jamie peered around Eriksson at his computer and wondered if a browsing-history search would show that he’d confirmed that fact recently.

Wiik didn’t look so convinced.

‘Or,’ Eriksson offered casually, ‘he got the information from his wife.’

Jamie tweaked, exchanged a look with Wiik. ‘His wife?’

Wiik jumped in. ‘Why would his wife have your information?’

‘Not my current information,’ Eriksson said, looking at each of them, ‘but the information of the seminary school I attended. I gave it to Eva before I left, in case she needed anything. They would have happily passed along the details of my appointment.’

Jamie bit her lip. ‘We questioned Sjöberg’s wife. She barely remembered your name. When were you in touch with her last?’

‘I spoke to her just a few days ago.’ Eriksson’s brow crumpled. ‘I called to offer my condolences for Hans’s death. They were still married, believed in the sanctity of marriage. I wanted to honour that. And I suspected that few others would be calling to do the same.’

Wiik made a stern humming sound. ‘She didn’t mention it.’

‘I’m not really surprised,’ Eriksson replied, exhaling slowly. ‘She was rather out of touch when I spoke to her.’

‘Out of touch?’

‘Detached. Incoherent. Lacking a grip on reality.’ His mouth made the line again, cheeks bulging around it. ‘Diagnosed or not, I fear the woman suffers from Alzheimer’s. Or similar. It’s not uncommon at her age. It’s just a shame that she has so little support.’

Wiik looked to be seething a little now, though Jamie didn’t know exactly what was getting his back up. She took over the questioning all the same.

‘I’m sorry, Father, this is all just coming as quite a shock to us. When we spoke to Eva Sjöberg, she made no mention of you. But you’re saying you were in contact with both her and her husband recently. That you and her husband were close friends. That what you discussed was of a biblical nature?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, we spoke at length about the—’

‘Murders?’ Wiik said through gritted teeth.

‘No,’ Eriksson said slowly, glancing at Jamie to make sure Wiik wasn’t about to launch himself at the man. ‘About the Bible – God. The nature of life, death. Heaven and hell. Absolution.’

Jamie stepped forward a little so that Wiik was behind her. ‘Did he tell you why he did it?’

‘Why he murdered those poor girls?’ Eriksson either was very good at feigning emotion, or was genuinely displaying it. ‘No, he didn’t. And I didn’t ask. What was done was done, the reasons inconsequential so long as he was genuinely repentant.’

‘They don’t seem inconsequential to me,’ Wiik growled.

Jamie cleared her throat, stepping forward a little more. ‘And was he? Repentant, I mean.’

Eriksson nodded. ‘Yes. I believe he was.’

Wiik scoffed behind her, and Jamie turned, shot him the sort of cold look that said, Remove yourself before I do it for you.

He set his jaw, folded the letter in his hand and held it up. ‘We’re keeping this,’ he said to Eriksson.

The priest proffered his own hand. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Anything I can do to help.’

Wiik exited the bedroom, then the kitchen, too. Jamie expected she’d find him outside, cooling off with some luck. She felt her shoulders ease a little, but wondered for a moment if he’d just left her alone with a serial killer.

She stepped back a little, shook off that train of thought, and got back to it. ‘Apologies for my partner, I don’t think he takes a very understanding stance to faith.’

‘I’m used to it.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Do you?’ Eriksson smiled at her.

‘Take an understanding stance on faith?’ Jamie raised her eyebrows. ‘In the same way that I do quantum physics. I don’t hope to ever grasp it myself, and know that I won’t, but I accept that there are people who do and that doesn’t upset me.’

Eriksson chuckled a little, amused by the answer. ‘Very well. Do you have any more questions?’

‘When exactly did you speak to Eva Sjöberg?’

‘It must have been Saturday. Yes, after my service. Around eleven in the morning, I think. Maybe a little after.’

Jamie nodded, felt for her police notebook instinctively and realised that she didn’t have it, but felt the bulge of another in her pocket. She withdrew it, looked down at the red cover and swallowed, and then turned it upside down, flipped it over, and opened the back cover. ‘Do you,’ she started, her voice catching, ‘have a pen?’

Eriksson reached behind himself and offered one to her.

‘Thanks. And I expect that phone records will show you called her?’ Jamie looked at him.

He was watching her intently. ‘Yes.’

‘What’s your number?’

He gave it, eyes never straying from her.

She wrote it down.

‘What did you speak about?’

‘I offered her consolation, told her where she could find my church if she wanted to come to a service. I offered her transport – we have a church bus with wheelchair access we use to pick up some of our older members.’

‘Did she come?’

‘Not yet, but I’m hopeful.’

‘How did you get her number?’

‘Hans gave it to me at our meeting, asked me to call her.’

Jamie nodded, writing it down. ‘How many letters did you exchange?’

‘He sent the first, I replied in turn. Then he called me to arrange it.’

Jamie didn’t ask when. She’d be able to confirm that with the prison. ‘Same number that you called Eva from?’

‘Yes, the landline here at the church,’ he said.

‘Good. Thank you.’ Jamie’s pen hovered and then tapped the pad.

‘Was there something else?’

‘Do the letters “A.M.” mean anything to you?’

‘Ante meridiem?’

Jamie shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Some context may help.’

‘It was written next to Hans Sjöberg’s name in an old notebook – the detective’s who worked the original murders.’

‘Jörgen Johansson,’ Eriksson said, looking down at the worn notebook in her hand. ‘Your father.’

Jamie froze.

He smiled, amused again. ‘You bear a resemblance, share his second name – and I’d never forget that notebook. He’d pull it out and tap his pencil on it, while he spoke.’ Eriksson smiled a little. ‘Quite like you’re doing, actually. Never write a damn thing in it, though.’

‘You remember him? And that?’ Jamie’s voice was quiet suddenly.

‘He is a difficult man to forget. And he questioned me several times. Vigorously.’

Jamie didn’t know what to say in response.

‘How is he? Still working?’

‘He’s dead,’ Jamie said, a lump in her throat.

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

She nodded once, looking at the notebook.

‘Was that the notebook? From the case?’ Eriksson asked, nodding to it.

‘No,’ Jamie said, holding it against herself. ‘A different one.’

‘But one of his?’

She swallowed. ‘Can we get back on track?’

‘Apologies.’

‘A.M. It was written next to a name – Annika Liljedahl. Does that mean anything to you?’

Eriksson thought on it for a moment. ‘I know that name.’ It seemed to dawn on him then. ‘A.M. Army medic?’ He held his hand up, finger outstretched with realisation. ‘Hans was a medic in the army for several years. I suspect “A.M.” refers to that.’

Jamie processed. It made sense that he would have some anatomical knowledge considering the kills – that’s what Claesson had said. An army medic would have just that. ‘And Annika Liljedahl?’

‘That was Hans’s first girlfriend, if I remember rightly.’

Jamie waited for him to continue before writing anything down.

‘He never went into detail, but I believe there was some sort of altercation – something to do with her parents. It caused Hans some trouble, and he left for the army soon after.’

‘What kind of trouble?’

‘As I said, he never went into detail, and I’m recalling a thirty-year-old conversation at that.’

Jamie drew a slow breath. ‘Right, of course. Thank you. Can you tell me anything else about her?’

He shook his head. ‘I can’t, I’m afraid. It was a passing topic in one of our many talks as friends when I was a groundskeeper at the church. I lived next door to Hans and Eva at the time. I spent many evenings there. They were such good people. Warm, friendly—’

‘Thank you,’ Jamie said, cutting him off. ‘I’ll be in touch if I need anything further.’

‘Of course. You know where to find me.’ He stood now, wincing again. His voice turned grave then. ‘I hope you find the man you’re looking for. If this killer is modelling himself on Hans Sjöberg, then it seems you may have your work cut out for you.’

‘Yes,’ Jamie said, closing the notebook and pushing it slowly into her pocket. ‘It does seem that way.’

‘Let me show you out,’ Eriksson said.

‘I’ll find my way,’ Jamie replied. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’

He followed her into the kitchen all the same. ‘Oh, and, Inspector?

‘Yes?’ Jamie asked, stopping at the threshold to the church and looking back.

‘If you ever need help understanding quantum physics, my door is always open.’

Jamie laughed a little. ‘I’ll remember that.’ And then she pulled it closed behind her.