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

Jamie rented a small, economical hatchback and set out for Rättvik, a town on the edge of the Siljan lake three hours outside the city.

The afternoon was closing in, the sun swimming around somewhere near the horizon by the time she arrived.

Hallberg had forwarded her an address along with Annika Liljedahl’s details. The woman was fifty-nine years old. A school teacher. No criminal record. And she lived less than a kilometre from the house she grew up in.

Jamie pulled up outside it and sighed. What was she doing here? What would she find? Was she that determined to prove her father was a good detective, or was she terrified to find out that he was the opposite? Either way, it had brought her all the way out here, and there was no point going back empty-handed. Especially not to face Wiik’s ‘I told you so.’

Jamie got out of the car and crossed the street towards the house, a red-and-white wood-panelled home surrounded by trees. They were dusted by snow, and a layer of it lay on the roof.

She approached the gate and pushed it open, shivering as she did, and paused, looking back.

The road was rural, the houses spaced distantly. There were no other cars, parked or driving. And most of the driveways were empty, the inhabitants still at work.

And yet Jamie couldn’t shake the feeling that there were eyes on her.

She scanned the houses in turn, looking in both directions, but nothing moved. She strained her eyes in the twilight.

The day was slowly being bludgeoned into submission, and the air was biting at Jamie’s cheeks as she stood.

A light came on in her peripheral and Jamie turned again, seeing an older woman step onto her porch, wrapping her arms around her stomach, flattening a long cardigan against her body.

She squinted out at Jamie, a lone stranger halfway through her front gate. ‘Kan jag hjälpa dig?’ she called. Can I help you?

‘Ja,’ Jamie replied smiling. ‘My name is Detective Inspector Jamie Johansson. Are you Annika Liljedahl?’

The woman looked back at her in confusion. ‘Yes,’ she said warily.

‘I was hoping I might ask you some questions?’

‘About what?’ She wasn’t defensive, but she was understandably cautious. ‘Can I see some identification?’

Jamie patted her coat pockets and pulled out the lanyard and card that Falk had given her. She walked forward, holding it out.

Annika took it and held it up to the light. She had a narrow face, lined with the years, her hair cut into a bob around the nape of her neck. It was the colour of charcoal. ‘Konsult?’ she asked, reading it aloud. Consultant.

Jamie nodded. ‘I’m with the London Metropolitan Police. I’m here assisting with a case.’

‘A case?’

‘A murder,’ Jamie said, taking the lanyard back. Shards of ice on the path to the house crunched under her heels. Snow had been shovelled back onto the grass either side, but the walkway was narrow. Jamie guessed she’d done it herself. The woman was slight and shovelling snow was no easy task.

‘I don’t know how I could be of help,’ Annika went on, not grasping the connection yet.

Jamie swallowed, knowing it was easier just to get it out of the way. ‘It’s concerning your relationship with Hans Sjöberg,’ Jamie said.

Realisation dawned on the woman. ‘Ah – I haven’t seen Hans since 1975,’ she replied quickly. ‘And as far as I know, he’s still in prison for what he did.’ She turned the corners of her mouth down a little. ‘And if you’re about to tell me that he got out and—’

‘Hans Sjöberg is dead,’ Jamie said.

Annika stopped speaking, holding her mouth open a little while she gathered herself. ‘Then I really don’t know how I can be of help.’

Jamie’s fingers were numbing in the cold. ‘Another girl is dead,’ she said plainly. ‘And I’m looking for the man who killed her. I don’t know if you can help, but if we don’t catch him, he will kill again.’

Annika let her hands fall, looked down the street, and then settled on Jamie. ‘Okay. Come inside. I’ll put on some tea,’ she said, beckoning Jamie up.

As she stepped onto the porch, Annika eyed her. ‘You know, you remind me of someone – but I can’t place who.’

‘You know what,’ Jamie said, laughing a little. Just one quiet, sardonic note. ‘I’ve been getting that a lot lately.’