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

Wiik drove in silence, as though afraid to speak.

Jamie stared out of the window, wondering if this is where she wanted to be. If there was anywhere she wanted to be.

What was there to go back for, anyway? Back to her job, her… ‘life’. It was in tatters. Her old partner had moved on, retired, and their relationship was nothing but ash now. Her doing. But the truth all the same.

She had no home in London, and what few belongings she had were in a long-term storage locker.

All she had to go back to was her job – but could she face that again? Could she throw herself back into the Met? The corruption, the lies… She’d carried secrets away from there, heavy ones. She wasn’t proud of what she’d accomplished, of what she’d had to do to get the job done. But she didn’t expect that her father was proud of his choices either.

There’s right, and there’s wrong, and the cost is irrelevant. Goddamn him and his right and wrong shit. It was in her bones, her soul, seared into her mind and into her chest. It might as well have been branded on her skin.

Wiik slowed down and swung into the road that lead to Hans and Eva Sjöberg’s church. Its shell sat at the end, staring out at them, Sjöberg’s house coming up on the right.

Jamie took a breath and shook off the trepidations. She could worry about the shitshow that was her life later. Right now they had a job to do.

She cast a quick glance at Wiik. He looked pensive, but focused, determined.

The afternoon was wearing on now and Jamie was tired. They’d skipped lunch again, anxious to make headway. The case was getting murky, wires were getting crossed, and though neither said it, they both felt like they were tripping over their own feet. That much was apparent from the look in Wiik’s eye. Like a caged wolf.

He pulled in on the verge, in what Jamie thought was the exact same spot as before, and turned the key in the ignition.

Wiik turned his head slowly to look at her. ‘Okay?’ he asked, his question layered.

Jamie nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘Ready?’

‘After you.’

He gave a brief smile – one of the first Jamie had seen – one that revealed a vulnerability in him she’d ignored before. Wiik had struck her as curt, headstrong, perhaps a little full of himself. Definitely vain.

But now she was seeing more. The exterior was nothing more than a shell. And inside, he was troubled, fragile… lonely.

Jamie swallowed, watching her reflection exit the car. They were different on the outside, but more alike than she was prepared to admit to herself.

She got out and went after Wiik, following him up onto Eva Sjöberg’s porch. This time, he allowed her enough space to stand behind him. He knocked firmly and pushed his hands into his pockets out of the cold.

Their breath swam around their heads in a thick haze as the door opened in front of them. Eva Sjöberg stared up from her wheelchair.

‘Yes?’ she asked, looking from one to the other, her head wobbling back and forth a little.

Wiik’s brow furrowed as he stared down into her vacant eyes. ‘Kriminalinspektör Anders Wiik, Stockholm Polis,’ he said tentatively. ‘Do you remember us?’

She looked into the distance between them, as though scraping her mind for the memory. ‘You’re here about my husband,’ she said, as though a lightbulb had just gone off. ‘I’m afraid he’s not in at the moment.’

Wiik opened his mouth to speak, and then stopped, thrown.

Jamie cut in. ‘We know, Mrs Sjöberg. We were hoping we might speak to you, instead.’

‘I can only tell you the same as I told the other detective,’ she said, apologetically. ‘I don’t know where that poor girl is.’

‘Girl?’ Wiik asked, moving forward a little.

Jamie touched his arm, quelling him. ‘What other detective?’ Jamie asked, keeping eye contact with the woman.

‘Uh,’ she said, delving into her mind again. ‘I don’t know… Tall man, blonde hair, very serious…’

Jamie understood then. ‘Detective Johansson,’ she offered.

Eva Sjöberg’s eyes lit up. ‘Yes, that was him.’

Jamie afforded a sad smile and glanced at Wiik, who seemed to come to an understanding at the same time. The woman thought it was twenty-five years ago.

Wiik exhaled, scratching the back of his head.

They had to press on, hope that Eva would circle back around to lucidity.

Jamie cleared her throat. ‘We would just like to ask some follow-up questions if that would be alright – perhaps take a look at some of Hans’s belongings. Just to tick some boxes, standard stuff,’ she said warmly, pulling her lanyard from her pocket and holding out the ID card so Eva could read it. Wiik did the same on reflex.

Eva Sjöberg leaned forward, squinting at Jamie’s. ‘Johansson,’ she read aloud. ‘Are you and that other detective related?’ she asked, looking amused by the idea.

Jamie smiled back at her. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Just coincidence.’

Jamie and Wiik were perched on the sofa for the second time, and Eva Sjöberg was staring at them with a smile on her face, completely oblivious as to what was going on.

They exchanged glances and then looked at the woman in front of them. Jamie expected Wiik to start, but when he didn’t, Jamie took the lead.

‘Mrs Sjöberg,’ Jamie said, smiling all the while. She had to tread carefully, try not to distress her too much. ‘Do you know where Hans is at the moment?’

She looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘No, I, uh, don’t really… Um,’ she started, at odds with herself. ‘But I’m sure he will be…’ She turned to look out of the window and then saddened. ‘Oh, my. That’s right…’ she said distantly, and then looked back at the two detectives. She smiled again now, her eyes glistening. They drifted upwards from Jamie and Wiik to the crucifix hanging on the wall behind the sofa. She made a cross on her chest, clutching a tissue in her bony hand as she did. ‘I’m sorry – how can I, uh, how can I help you two?’ Her voice was barely louder than a whisper.

Jamie breathed a little sigh of relief. Lucid again. ‘When Hans passed, the prison would have delivered a box of his effects, along with his ashes.’ She watched the woman carefully, trying to be as direct as she could without being blunt. Hans had been cremated two days after his death. The day before the first body had been found.

‘Yes,’ Eva Sjöberg confirmed, raising her hand. She pointed at a corridor to their right with her knuckles. ‘He’s in the bedroom – the box, too.’

Wiik tensed next to her, leaning forward. They were both at the edge of the sofa now, elbows on knees.

‘Would you mind if we looked through his things?’ Jamie asked, keeping her voice soft. ‘I’m not sure if you remember us – we came a few days ago, enquiring about the original case that Hans was—’

‘I remember,’ Eva said, nodding. ‘Why do you need to look at his belongings?’ Her voice was sharp now. ‘He’s dead.’

‘I know, Mrs Sjöberg—’

‘Even now, two decades on, you still won’t leave us alone.’ She turned her lip out and shook her head in disgust.

‘If you’d let me just—’

‘That detective put Hans away for nothing! Beat his confession out of him, put the murder on him and—’

Jamie’s teeth were clenched now. She exhaled hard, cutting the old woman off. ‘I believe your husband was innocent.’

Eva Sjöberg stopped speaking and eyed Jamie cautiously. ‘What did you say?’

Jamie met her eyes now. Wiik was a statue next to her. ‘New evidence has come to light,’ she said, treading very, very carefully. ‘Which throws the original investigation into question.’

Wiik was barely breathing, staring at the side of Jamie’s head. She could feel his gaze on her skin, but she didn’t stop.

‘We’re rebuilding that case, and we need access to Hans’s effects in order to pursue a lead that may exonerate your husband.’ She spoke clearly, making sure every word rang true in the widow’s ears. ‘Among his effects, we hope to find a letter – and we hope that it might tie one of the original suspects to a new crime.’

Eva Sjöberg looked drawn. ‘A new crime?’ she asked, her eyes drifting to the cross above the sofa again.

Jamie nodded slowly. ‘Yes. Another killing – a young girl. Like the others.’

Eva’s jaw began to quiver. ‘Min Gud,’ she muttered. My God.

‘Would you mind if we…’

The woman nodded, swallowed hard, and then pointed to the corridor again. ‘Of course – please. In the bedroom – in the wardrobe. There should be a cardboard box.’

Wiik was on his feet before she’d even finished speaking, and Jamie fell into step behind him.

He powered through the hall and into the bedroom, pushing the door open widely.

The room was modest. An old-fashioned narrow double bed sat in the middle, a tarnished brass headboard behind it. A safety rail pivoted down from the wall next to the pillow on the left-hand side – no doubt to help Eva get in and out. Next to that a small dresser stood, a reading lamp on it. At its side was a silver urn. Hans Sjöberg. Or what was left of him. Above the bed, a wooden cross was hanging. The right-hand wall was occupied entirely by sliding mirrored doors.

Jamie and Wiik were both hit by a wall of frozen air and both gasped as they entered. The rest of the house was so hot.

Wiik turned to face the window opposite the wardrobes and made a beeline for it. It was cracked – just an inch or so. But all the heat had flooded out and the cold air had crept in.

He got halfway, about to close it, when Jamie’s brain kicked into gear. ‘Wait,’ she ordered, throwing her hand out.

Wiik froze mid-stride and looked back.

Jamie glanced over her shoulder down the corridor, listening as the sound of daytime television echoed back to her. Eva Sjöberg had resumed her daily viewing.

Jamie pushed the door closed with her heel and then looked around the room.

‘What is it?’ Wiik asked, turning back to her.

Jamie bit her lip, not wanting to say it out loud in case that made it come true. She stepped cautiously towards the wardrobe and stopped in front of it. ‘Have you got gloves?’ she asked as Wiik came up on her shoulder.

He pulled a pair of blue nitriles from his pocket and passed them to her wordlessly, watched as she pulled them on and slid the right-hand wardrobe door open.

The smell of dust rose from within, a rail full of old shirts hanging in front of them. Underneath, a unit with square-shaped compartments was filled with men’s shoes and socks. They hadn’t been touched in years by the looks of things.

Jamie pushed the doors further along and they began to overlap, exposing more of the wardrobe.

The men’s clothes became women’s clothes as they edged onto Eva’s side of the wardrobe. Jamie looked down at the empty space under the rail – saw shoe boxes, old gift bags, black bags full of clothes, and a gap about three feet wide.

Everything was covered in dust, but a clean square was present in the space. A square where, until very recently, a box had been sitting.

Jamie swallowed and looked up at Wiik. His jaw was clenched, his nostrils flaring as they both came to the same conclusion.

Hans Sjöberg’s personal effects were gone.

They both turned to look at the window, and then turned back to the door.

Jamie nosed ahead, pulled it open, and then they were both back in the living room

Eva Sjöberg looked around, startled, and then seemed to remember who they were. ‘Did you find what you needed?’ she asked.

‘Has anyone else come to see you recently?’ Jamie asked, not wasting any time. ‘Since Hans’s belongings were delivered?’

She looked down for a moment, then met Jamie’s eyes, shaking her head. ‘No, I don’t think so?’

Jamie drew a hard breath. ‘Has anyone been around the house – have you seen anyone? Through the windows? Heard anything strange? Have you left the house at any point, or—’

‘No, no,’ the woman said, reading the alarm in Jamie’s voice. ‘I haven’t seen or heard anything – what’s wrong? What’s happened?’ She leaned from the chair, trying to peer around Jamie and Wiik. ‘Is Hans alright?’ Jamie could hear the fear in her voice now.

Wiik couldn’t contain himself any longer. ‘Has anyone called you in the last few days?’

The woman stopped, thinking. ‘I don’t, uh—’

Wiik pushed past Jamie now so that he was assuming the woman’s entire field of vision. ‘Did Per Eriksson call you?’

Jesus. Eriksson. Jamie saw the train of thought now. When they’d spoken to him – he’d admitted to speaking to Hans, admitted to sending a letter back, handed over his own letter… But then he’d know. He’d know that they’d come looking for it. Would know to act fast. He knew the layout of the house, too – admitted to having been in there dozens of times back when he and Hans were friends. He’d know where the bedroom was, would know where the window was… And that to make any sort of meaningful text comparison between the note on Jamie’s car and Eriksson’s own hand, they’d need his letter to Hans Sjöberg.

She and Wiik both looked at each other and he pulled his phone from his pocket, dialling a number and going for the door.

Jamie went after him, pausing for a moment. ‘Thank you, Mrs Sjöberg. There’ll be some officers along shortly to conduct an inspection – will that be alright?’

Eva Sjöberg didn’t seem to be following.

‘Don’t go into the bedroom, okay?’ Jamie said. ‘Just wait for the officers to arrive.’

She nodded slowly, a note of fear and confusion in her voice. ‘I don’t understand what I’ve done…’

Jamie smiled at her and took a step closer, reaching out and resting a hand on the woman’s arm. ‘It’s okay,’ she said warmly. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong. They just need to take a look around – it will help to prove Hans was innocent.’

‘It will?’ She began to tear up then, laying her other hand over Jamie’s. ‘Bless you,’ she said, finding a weak smile. ‘God bless you.’