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

Jamie stepped out of the hotel, the pre-dawn crisp and clear now, the sky that bloody shade of red it turns just before dawn starts to break. A thick blanket of snow had fallen in the night and the cleaners and ploughs had already been out to sweep it into the gutters. It lay there, grey and thick, melting slowly into the sewers under its own weight.

Wiik had texted that he wanted to get an early start on questioning Mikael Gunnarson, and so did Jamie. The man had demanded his attorney be present for any conversations and had been stewing all night at HQ until he arrived. Both Jamie and Wiik wanted to get some answers out of him as quickly as possible, but if he wasn’t talking without representation, wasting their breath at three in the morning would have accomplished nothing.

And so she was out before the commuters. Before the sun, even.

The city was still drenched in darkness, but the streetlights were still burning, casting a dim glow over the shining tarmac.

Jamie shifted from foot to foot, willing blood into her fingers, the salt on the pavement crunching under heels. And then she paused and looked up across the street.

She narrowed her eyes at a narrow walkway between two buildings opposite, and tried to focus. Were her eyes playing tricks on her, or could she see a figure standing there?

Her jaw flexed and she stepped to her right, lining the mouth of the walkway up directly with her line of sight.

The streetlight died at the corner, shrouding the alley in darkness. Jamie cursed silently, forcing herself to breathe.

Her breath misted around her head, obscuring her vision. But then, it didn’t matter.

The person hiding in the shadows stepped into the streetlight.

Jamie couldn’t make out their features – they were wearing a thick parka, a black hoodie pulled up over their head, their hands in their pockets.

The figure was just standing there, not moving – they wanted to be seen. Wanted Jamie to see them.

She swallowed hard and felt her fists ball at her sides, her mind racing. The shooter? The note writer? Nyström’s kidnapper? Eriksson? Damn it. Lindvall? She was afraid to move, afraid to spook them. They had a hell of a head start on her.

But what did they want?

Jamie picked her head up, glanced left and right, seeing the street empty, and then raised her hands to show she meant no harm.

The figure turned a quarter-on, as though ready to bolt.

Jamie exhaled and then took a step forward.

The figure hovered.

What were they there for? To scare her? To let her know that they knew where she was staying? Or something else… to make contact? To reach out?

You don’t understand.

‘What don’t I understand?’ Jamie felt like yelling. But she held back, took another slow step.

The figure seemed like they couldn’t decide whether to run or face Jamie down.

She was at the edge of the kerb now and glanced down, checking her footing.

The figure squared up a little and came towards the road.

Jamie’s heart was racing in her chest.

She took another step, lifting her foot up over the mound of slush piled in front of her, and then dropped her heel onto the road.

The instant it touched, something flashed in her peripheral and she wheeled around, watching Wiik’s Volvo skidding to a halt.

Jamie lurched backwards, catching her heel on the mound of snow, and slipped, one foot now either side of the mound. She regained her balance, her hands slamming into the bonnet of his car.

She met Wiik’s eyes through the windscreen, a look of shock on his face. He threw the door open and stepped out. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

But Jamie wasn’t listening. She was already halfway across the road.

He watched as she stepped up onto the kerb and into the mouth of the walkway. But the figure was gone.

‘Shit,’ Jamie muttered, backing up and going back to the street. ‘Did you see them?’ she asked.

Wiik was standing behind his door, shaking his head. ‘See who? The crazy woman stepping into the street without looking? I almost ran you over.’

Jamie grumbled and threw a hand towards his Volvo. ‘It’s your damn electric car. Couldn’t hear the thing coming.’ She glanced over her shoulder towards the alleyway again, but there was no sign of them.

‘You’re supposed to look both ways, not listen,’ Wiik said flatly. ‘Now get in.’

Jamie sighed, rubbed her eyes, and then circled around the car and got in.

Wiik proffered Jamie a cup of coffee from the centre console.

She took it and sipped.

‘Skimmed milk, right?’ Wiik asked, knowing the answer. He didn’t look round before he pulled off.

‘That’s right,’ Jamie said, eyeing him cautiously.

‘Hallberg told me you stopped for coffee,’ he added, indicating and pulling down a side street. ‘I had her look into Eriksson, see if there was anything that would line him up as our shooter. He doesn’t own any guns, doesn’t have a hunting licence. By all accounts, the man is as clean as a—’

‘Priest?’ Jamie offered, arching an eyebrow and taking another sip of coffee. She wondered briefly if Hallberg had been forthcoming with the information on the coffee or if Wiik had probed for it.

‘As a priest ought to be,’ Wiik said. ‘But that doesn’t mean anything. We still don’t have him – not a trace. It’s like he just upped and disappeared into thin air. Apparently, he’s never missed a service before, has been a model custodian of the church and just all around amazing fucking human being.’ The scorn in his voice was unmistakable.

Jamie leaned her head back. ‘Eriksson was good friends with Sjöberg, who had a military background. Maybe he taught him to shoot? We’ll have to check with Eva Sjöberg, see if they went hunting. In fact, we should check if Hans Sjöberg owned a rifle. Maybe the letter wasn’t the only thing that Eriksson took from Sjöberg’s house.’

Wiik seemed to like that. He nodded slowly. ‘Good call.’

Coffee and a compliment? He was in a good mood this morning. Though you couldn’t tell from the scowl on his face. Maybe her brush with death had put his feelings on Jamie into perspective. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

‘Where are we on the ID for our victim?’ Jamie asked. ‘Any hits yet?’

‘Nothing so far,’ Wiik said. ‘But it’ll circulate on the news again this morning. With some luck we’ll get a positive match.’

‘And if we don’t?’

Wiik looked over at her, then went back to the road. ‘We will,’ he said. Though he didn’t sound so sure.

Gunnarson’s lawyer was, as expected, a pit bull.

Jamie and Wiik had waited on him until just after eight, at which point he swept into the building in a swirl of Italian wool and leather, striding purposefully through the HQ like a lion does its territory.

He must have been in his fifties – maybe around Gunnarson’s age, with a full head of hair that Jamie suspected was both cosmetically planted and dyed – and a jaw chiselled enough to use on a lathe. His shoulders pumped back and forth as he moved, his briefcase swinging at his side.

The lawyer, a man by the name of Lassen, entered Interview Room 1 without a word, and went around to Mikael Gunnarson’s side of the table, sitting next to him and pulling his case onto the surface.

He opened it without looking at either Jamie or Wiik, and pulled out some papers, closing the lid after a moment. Lassen then shuffled them around and placed them in front of Wiik, taking a pen from his jacket and placing it on top.

‘Sign this,’ he said, smiling like a wax figurine and clasping his hands together in front of him.

Wiik looked down at it. ‘And what is this?’

‘Release papers – to say you’re not charging my client with anything, have no intention of charging him with anything, and are therefore releasing him immediately. He was the victim of a crime, not the perpetrator, and you have no reason to hold him for questioning. As such, I would strongly recommend he be released immediately. Especially considering his personal circumstances and the horrific loss that he just—’

Wiik held his hand up to silence the man. ‘Shut up,’ he said with a sigh. ‘You’re right, we’re not charging Mr Gunnarson with anything.’

‘Then you should—’

Wiik held his hand up again, closing his eyes this time. The vein bulged in his temple, but he was keeping his temper. So far, at least. ‘If we let your client go, the person who made an attempt on his life could try again.’

‘My client has suffered a great personal loss,’ Lassen said.

Gunnarson stared blankly at the table in front of him, face and neck still splattered with his wife’s blood. His clothing had been taken from him for analysis, and he was in a set of grey sweatpants and a grey sweater. But he didn’t look especially grief-stricken. He didn’t look especially anything. Just vacant. He must have been somewhere around sixty – but he looked good for it. Healthy. Barring his stubbled chin, bagged eyes and dishevelled hair.

Jamie watched him carefully as Wiik and Lassen squared off.

‘I understand,’ Wiik said. ‘And believe us, we don’t want to be here longer than is absolutely necessary.’

‘Then let him go.’ Lassen scoffed and shook his head, sitting back in the chair. ‘I don’t see any reason that any questions couldn’t be answered at my client’s leisure in a place of his choosing, at a time more befitting.’

Wiik’s hand quivered on the table, threatening to make a fist. ‘Whether your client is directly involved in an ongoing case or not, my colleague, Detective Johansson, was on the way to speak to him last night, when she intercepted the person trying to murder him. And as his attorney, I would hope that you have his wellbeing at heart. We understand and appreciate the situation your client is in, and if you’d like to get him out of here, then I advise you to advise him to answer our questions quickly, and truthfully. And then he may go.’

Jamie was impressed by Wiik’s temperament. She didn’t think he was capable of exercising that kind of restraint. Mostly because Lassen seemed like the biggest jackass she’d ever met. Solicitors like him were the bane of detectives’ lives. But Wiik was smart, he knew his rights, and so long as he held firm and didn’t torture Gunnarson, they could still hold on to him for a while.

‘Unless, of course,’ Wiik said, sitting back himself now, ‘he has a reason not to cooperate?’

Lassen looked at Gunnarson, who shook his head just a little, but didn’t look up.

The lawyer drummed his fingers on top of his briefcase. ‘Fine. Go ahead.’

Wiik exhaled with relief.

Guys like Lassen could do this all day. Back-and-forths like that were like breathing for them. And they’d been butting heads so long all sense had been knocked clean out of them. They just had an on switch, and a goal: to get their client off, no matter what. And, of course, an extortionate hourly rate to go with that indefatigability.

Jamie measured Lassen across the table and wondered why Gunnarson had called him in? Why had he called for an attorney at all? Let alone one that would do everything in his power to excise him from police custody.

Wiik didn’t waste any more time. ‘Mr Gunnarson, do you know of any reason someone would make an attempt on your life?’

Lassen tsked. ‘If that’s the best you’ve got, then just sign the papers now.’

Wiik ignored him and focused on the man with his wife’s blood on his face. ‘I’m sure that a prominent businessman like you has made some enemies over the years,’ Wiik said. ‘Green energy steps on the toes of a lot of powerful people who are desperate to hold on to their business interests.’

Gunnarson looked up and met his eye.

‘But I don’t think that this was anything to do with your business. This was to do with Tilde.’

‘Tilde?’ Gunnarson’s voice was weak, his eyes wide and sad. ‘She’s been dead twenty-five years.’

‘I know,’ Wiik said, stepping lightly. He knew he couldn’t reveal too much of the active case. ‘But another girl has been murdered. And we’re looking at possible connections between this case and Tilde’s.’

‘The Angel Maker.’ Gunnarson’s words echoed around the sound-deadened room, and Jamie shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her mind going back to the clearing. Her first night in Sweden. The girl, on her knees, the boughs driven through her back.

‘He was caught,’ Gunnarson said, more firmly now. ‘Put in prison.’

Wiik nodded. ‘He was. But more information has come to light now. Other deaths have been linked to that case.’

‘Other deaths?’

Lassen sighed loudly. ‘Is there a question coming?’

Wiik held Gunnarson’s attention. ‘It appears that as well as the girls that were killed, that parents were also targeted.’

Gunnarson stayed quiet.

Jamie tried to read his face, but all she found was confusion.

‘Did you or Åsa ever experience anything that might have led you to believe that your lives were in danger? Then, or after?’

Gunnarson stared at Wiik and then shook his head slowly. ‘No, not until…’ He trailed off, jaw quivering, and wiped his eye with his thumb.

Wiik nodded. ‘Last night. Okay.’ He took a breath, changed tack. ‘We’re just trying to connect the dots right now, looking for more leads. What can you tell us about Tilde?’

‘Tilde?’ The name of his daughter got caught in Gunnarson’s throat. ‘She was a sweet girl. Kind, beautiful.’

‘You and your wife never had another child?’

‘We hadn’t planned Tilde – but Åsa, she was…’ He found it difficult to say her name, too. He’d lost his daughter, and now his wife. Jamie was surprised he was keeping it together at all. ‘She was thirty-six when we found out she was pregnant.’

Wiik and Jamie both just listened.

‘We had always worked so much – we didn’t have time for children. But then, suddenly, we were having one. We went to see a doctor – and they told us that waiting any longer would only decrease the chances of having a healthy child. That the older Åsa got…’

Wiik nodded, encouraging him to go on.

‘But work was difficult. We always had nannies, au pairs, to look after her. She didn’t have many friends, you know?’ Gunnarson looked up over Wiik’s head. ‘So we were,’ he started again, his voice catching, ‘we were recommended this group – a church group.’

Jamie felt her pulse quicken.

‘It was a Sunday-school type thing. Not heavily religious, but apparently there were other girls there around Tilde’s age. Lots of them. They met a few times a week. We thought it would be good for her, you know? To meet new people…’ He sobbed then, breaking down a little.

Lassen glared at Wiik but kept his mouth shut. He knew that curtailing things here would only prolong the time spent in this room.

Jamie watched Gunnarson, not able to imagine what he was feeling. The guilt he must have felt. He and his wife didn’t have time for Tilde, so they’d sent her to a church group to make friends. And it just so happened to be the church group run by Hans and Eva Sjöberg. The one that would ultimately get her raped, kidnapped, murdered.

Jamie swallowed the lump in her own throat and sat up straighter. ‘Who recommended the church group to you?’

Gunnarson was a little thrown by the question, but looked over at Jamie anyway. ‘Uh,’ he said between sobs. ‘I don’t know – the nanny, I think? She was from the city. She attended the church.’

Wiik already had a notepad at the ready and glanced at Jamie, nodding her to go on.

‘Do you remember her name?’ Jamie asked.

Gunnarson shook his head. ‘No, I don’t. There were lots – we were with an agency. They would arrange them.’

Lots? The word set something off in Jamie’s head. ‘Why were there lots of nannies?’

‘I don’t know – Åsa dealt with it. Some weren’t suitable – others were just here on exchange programmes or doing it for a little money while studying. We had nannies from the time she was born until…’

Jamie nodded. ‘The nanny that recommended the church group – was she with you long?’

Gunnarson shook his head. ‘No, not long. A few months, that was all.’ He gave a little sideways glance at Lassen.

Jamie and Wiik both picked up on it, exchanging a glance themselves, that momentary look enough to set them on edge.

Jamie swallowed. ‘Why was she only with you for such a short time.’

Gunnarson looked at Lassen again now and the pit bull gave a slight nod of approval that he could go on.

Jamie didn’t know whether he had any idea what Gunnarson was about to say, but he sat a little straighter, ready to interject if need be.

Gunnarson began kneading his hands. ‘Tilde, uh – she didn’t like her – I think.’ He added the last bit quickly, then coughed a little, looked down at the table.

Jamie didn’t want to stray too far from the original line of questioning, but her back was firmly up. ‘Didn't like her? Why not?’

He shook his head, and then looked at Lassen, whose eyes had now narrowed as he watched his client. This was a fine line to tread for him.

‘Mr Gunnarson?’ Jamie asked, pressing.

He set his jaw and then exhaled shakily. ‘I don't know – she just didn’t. I don't remember why. And I don't see why this is relevant anyway—’

‘It's not,’ Lassen said, cutting off his own client. ‘It has nothing to do with anything and I'd appreciate it if you’d stay on-topic rather than trying to dredge up decades old, irrelevant information that you couldn't reasonably expect my client to have any memory of.'

‘Okay.’ Jamie nodded. This wasn’t going anywhere. But the reaction alone from Gunnarson and his lawyer told her that they needed to look into it. And that was something. They could get the agency’s name, look up the dates leading up to Tilde’s death, track the nanny down. Question her, too. ‘Do you remember her name, at least?’ Jamie asked, giving it one last try.

Gunnarson shook his head, refusing to meet Jamie’s eyes, and then looked at Lassen hopefully.

‘This won’t take much longer,’ Jamie said, feeling the air change a little. ‘The last nanny’ – Lassen opened his mouth but Jamie held her hand up to signal that she wasn’t going to keep asking the same questions – ‘was she a regular at the church?’

Lassen didn't look at him, but touched Gunnarson’s arm in a way he had probably done a hundred times before.

Gunnarson seemed to relax a little, a signal definitely given. ‘I don’t know,’ Gunnarson said, more definitely now. ‘It was twenty-five years ago.’

Wiik seemed to sense the sudden wall that had gone up too, and repositioned himself on his chair, letting Jamie carry on with the questions, watching Gunnarson like a hawk.

‘Did Tilde know any of the other victims, do you know? Were they friends, or…?’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know.’

Jamie was growing uneasy. ‘Do you know how many girls were in that church group?’

‘I don’t.’

‘Did you ever attend the church yourself?’

‘No.’

‘Are you religious?’

‘No.’

Lassen stepped in now. ‘This interview is going nowhere and these questions are pointless. I hardly think Mr Gunnarson or his wife were targeted because of their religious views.’

Jamie ignored him. ‘Mr Gunnarson – it’s difficult to imagine that you just placed your child in the care of this nanny and allowed her to take your daughter to a church group that you’d never been to and didn’t know anything about.’ She was pushing, just a little, just to see.

Gunnarson’s sadness boiled into anger. ‘You don’t think I feel guilty enough about it already?’

‘Would you say,’ Jamie said, very carefully, ‘that you neglected Tilde, or just ignored her?’

Lassen slapped his briefcase now and pushed back from the table, buttoning up his blazer. ‘This interview is over,’ he said coldly. ‘Mikael, we’re leaving. Any further questions that you have, you can direct to me, and Mr Gunnarson will reply at his earliest convenience. You have no charges to bring, no reason to keep my client in custody, and he’s been more than accommodating. But we will not sit here and allow his parenting skills to be slandered without cause the night after his wife has been murdered – and by the sounds of it, because of historical police negligence.’ He cast a scornful eye at Jamie and then Wiik, and then frogmarched Gunnarson out of the room.

Wiik didn’t say a word, and didn’t move. The door closed behind Gunnarson and his attack dog, and then Wiik let out a long sigh, tapping his pen on his blank notepad.

‘Sorry,’ Jamie said. ‘I shouldn’t have pushed so hard.’

Wiik reflected for a moment. ‘No, you were right to. I sensed something was off too. And now we know.’

‘What do we know?’

Wiik stopped tapping and looked at her. ‘That Mikael Gunnarson knows more than he’s saying about his daughter’s death.’