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

Wiik was angry – which wasn’t what Jamie was expecting.

‘See,’ he said shortly. ‘This is why you shouldn’t have gone.’

Jamie didn’t understand. ‘What? You think this is my fault?’ she snapped as she watched a tow truck drag the little hatchback up onto its bed from across the street. An orange flashing light spun lazily on its roof.

‘Yes,’ Wiik said, a tone of clear condescension in his voice. ‘If you hadn’t gone out there, this wouldn’t have happened. We should have both gone to see Lundgren.’

‘But if I hadn’t come out here, then the killer wouldn’t have tried to scare me.’

‘Exactly.’

Jamie closed her eyes, shaking her head at Wiik’s stubbornness. ‘This is a good thing.’

Wiik stayed silent.

‘At least now we know we’re on the right trail – the killer doesn’t want us looking into the original case,’ Jamie went on. ‘We’re close.’

‘We’ve been doing nothing but look into the original case,’ Wiik replied. ‘And this is the first hint that we’ve crossed some sort of line.’

‘The killer is—’

‘We don’t know who left that note. It could have been anyone.’ Whether Wiik was just trying to punish her for going it alone, she didn’t know. But it felt like it.

‘Look – someone followed me out here,’ Jamie said flatly, checking her watch. It was after seven now and her hands were completely numb. Annika had come out and brought her another cup of tea, but otherwise, she’d been standing at the kerb waiting for the truck. ‘And when I was questioning Annika, they slashed my tyres, and put the word “stop” on a piece of paper for me to find. If that doesn’t tell you we’re on the right track, I don’t know what does.’

‘I’m under no illusions we’re not on the right track, Johansson, but this is serious. There’s a killer out there, and it’s pretty clear that he’s not got any scruples about who he kills. Nyström is missing – and if you’re right about the killer taking him off the board, then a badge doesn’t scare this guy either.’

Jamie sucked in a hard breath, staring down at the note that was under her wiper.

‘It’s not that I’m not concerned about what happened – the opposite, in fact,’ Wiik went on. ‘We’re just getting different things from it. You think that this is a path to keep following – to keep pushing this guy until, what? He takes a shot at your life? And I suppose you just expect to see him coming, roundhouse him in the face like you did Lindvall?’

Jamie gritted her teeth.

‘Jesus, Johansson, if he did follow you from the city, then that meant you were being tailed for hours and didn’t even realise it. Someone followed you all the way out there, waited for you to go into that house, and then slashed your tyres. All while you were sitting, what, twenty metres away sipping a cup of tea?’

Jamie looked up at Annika’s house. It was more like fifteen – at the most. She swallowed and said nothing.

‘If this guy wants to get at you, he can. This was showing you that. And you’ve got to think about this – if he’s taken Nyström out, if he’s threatening you – and you are on the right track, turning over the right stones – then what does that mean for Annika Liljedahl?’

Jamie’s jaw tightened, her eyes still on the woman’s house.

‘What’s to say the killer isn’t still watching the house? Waiting for you to go? What’s to say he doesn’t go in there tonight and slit her throat while she sleeps?’

Jamie lowered her eyes. ‘Okay. Okay.’ She sighed. ‘I get it.’

‘I’ve spoken to Rättvik Polis – they’re on the way over to speak to Annika, advise her to stay with family if she can, do a once-through of the neighbourhood. And they’ll increase their presence in the area tonight, too, sweep regularly for anything unusual.’

‘Will it be enough?’ Jamie asked, as much to herself as Wiik.

‘I don’t know. But it’s all they can do.’ He quietened for a moment. ‘There’s a lot going on – a lot of leads to pursue. And you have to remember – you’re not police. Not here. You’re a civilian consultant assisting with a case.’

‘I know.’

‘Do you? I’m glad of your help, really, I am—’

Jamie couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

‘—but I won’t risk your life or anyone else’s. You’re under my supervision, and what you do reflects directly on me. Alright?’

‘Yeah,’ Jamie said, unable to keep the dejection from her voice. As much as she hated it, she knew he was right.

‘Are you coming back to the city tonight?’

Jamie stared at her injured car. It was up on the truck now and the driver was securing the wheels with ratchet straps. ‘I don’t know – I doubt it. The mechanic said that his garage won’t open until the morning. I probably won’t be able to get the tyres swapped until then.’

‘Okay. Keep that note safe. We’ll hand it over to Forensics tomorrow and they can run analysis on it. We’ll go see Sjöberg’s wife to get access to his effects from the prison – get the letter from Eriksson. Get all three in together. Who knows, maybe we’ll get a hit on a handwriting match.’

‘For Eriksson?’ Jamie asked, cocking an eyebrow. ‘You don’t really think it’s him, do you?’

Wiik made an indistinct noise. ‘I’m not ruling anyone out just yet.’

The mechanic was beckoning Jamie over now. ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said, stepping down off the kerb.

‘Sure. Look after yourself, Jamie.’

He hung up, the last word ringing in her ear. It was the first time he’d used her first name.

She approached the truck, pocketing her phone. With her other hand, she reached inside her coat and touched the top of the note tucked in the pocket there. She hadn’t told Wiik that it matched her father’s notebooks. She’d seen Wiik’s – the newer ones were black, square. This was definitely from an older one. And if the killer was trying to scare her, what better way to do it than to use one of her father’s own pads?

The killer was taunting her.

The mechanic was talking now, but Jamie couldn’t hear him. His voice was just a muted echo somewhere outside her mind.

She needed to get back – to check. As fast as she could.

But right now, she had to think. Who would know about the notebooks? Who would think to use one? Why not any old random slip of paper?

She thought of the writing and what Wiik had said – the priest. Eriksson.

She’d pulled her pad out just that morning in front of him, to take notes. He’d mentioned that her father always had his but never wrote a damn thing in it. Had asked whether it was his?

Jamie exhaled hard. Fucking Eriksson. It had to be. They needed that letter that Hans had received. Needed to run analysis. They needed those phone records. They needed to know where he was on the night that the girl was murdered, the night that Nyström went missing. They needed his computer. They needed everything. And most of all, they needed to get him in an interview room. And fast.

‘… is that okay?’

Jamie looked up, realising that the mechanic – a guy in his forties with a scruffy beard – had finished speaking.

‘Uh,’ Jamie said, shaking her head, having not heard a word of it. ‘Sorry, can you say that again?’

He looked confused. ‘I said, I’ll drop you off in the middle of town – at the taxi rank – then take the car to the shop. You can pick it up in the morning. Is that okay?’

Jamie exhaled, her stomach still not settled. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Sounds great.’ She shook her head, barely registering, her mind a maelstrom.

He climbed up into the cab and Jamie went around the other side, getting in. The mechanic shoved the truck into gear and then sidled down off the verge and started along the road. Jamie stared out of the window, at the square of yellow cut out in the darkness, Annika Liljedahl’s front window, and wondered, frighteningly, whether she was the only one looking at it.

And then it was gone, obscured by trees.

The truck ploughed forward, chugging into the darkness, and Jamie leaned back closing her eyes. It had been a string of long days, and she didn’t think they were about to get any shorter.