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

The clouds were thick and oozing, the light beginning to fade. It was two in the afternoon now.

Jamie had elected to drive this time. She remembered the track leading up to the cabin had been rough and rutted, no more than an old horse-track churned back to the stone by semi-regular use. Hallberg’s Mercedes was riding on low-profile tyres and had expensive alloys. The ride wasn’t altogether made for comfort and it sat low to the ground. Jamie’s rental on the other hand was on skinny wheels with lots of sidewall, steel alloys and soft suspension that soaked up bumps. It wasn’t a four-by-four by any stretch, but this time of year, all rentals came with snow chains, and its plucky little hybrid-petrol engine would have no problem hauling Jamie and Hallberg around.

They’d already visited the four lakes at the top of Hallberg’s list, excluding the ones over a day’s drive away. Number five was just around the next bend.

Jamie slowed and pulled off the main road at Hallberg’s direction, into a stony lay-by, and then she eased down a narrow track lined with snow. This far north, the ground was completely covered with it. But the lay-by looked well driven over, and two deep tyre marks had been carved into the snow, the stone clearly visible beneath. They looked nearly black in the closing gloom, vivid against the virgin snow.

Hallberg and Jamie jostled like they were on a riverboat, neither speaking.

They were both tired and cold.

Several times they’d driven up tracks like this, got stuck in the snow, and had to get out to put the snow chains on. The trouble was that even after they’d managed to dig the car out and attach them, when they got to the end of the track, they realised they were in the wrong place and had to go back. Then, upon reaching the road, they had to take the chains off again, as the roads themselves were clear.

As such, neither could feel their hands, and they were both ready to call it a day.

The radio was droning static now, the valley sides around them blocking out any signal.

Jamie switched the lights to full beam, and they cut through the crisp air, setting the snow alight.

They ventured further from the road towards a break in the valley wall. The track began to climb now, heading for a crest that would take them down into the otherwise inaccessible bowl that held the lake.

Hallberg had given her the name, but it didn’t sound familiar. The road in didn’t feel familiar either. And this track was as alien as all the rest.

She’d never taken much notice of the trips up as a girl, but she thought she’d have recognised something.

Jamie sighed, focusing her eyes. They’d been on the move for six hours, and both were running low on energy. This was the last one. Neither said it, but both knew.

The car’s tyres fought for grip as Jamie eased it up the slope, listening to them slip and then bite on the rocks and ice. The car would shudder and rev as the wheels began to slide and then lurch forwards as they found purchase again.

Up and up they moved at a snail’s pace, the sky darkening ahead, the road no more than a black paint stroke behind them.

The city was hours away, as was any sort of rescue. If Jamie lost it here and the car slid sideways into what she had to assume was a snow-filled ditch, they’d be stranded.

But she didn’t say that to Hallberg. She just kept her eyes on the tracks ahead, and hoped to hell they wouldn’t have to get out and do the chains again. The temperature had plunged now to minus nine, and the windows were fogging at their flanks as they both breathed heavily, the tension rising by the second.

The engine whined as the car hauled itself over the last ridge, and then they were on flat ground, the sky lightening in front of them. The sun was directly at eye level now, fighting against the cloud cover as it sank towards the horizon.

Then the nose was dropping again, and they were trundling down into the shaded valley. The lake stretched out ahead, in the shape of a dead fish. Larch stretched around the walls of the bowl, shadowed and jagged. Snow had piled up next to the road, the valley sides sheltering it from the wind. It rose up next to the car as Jamie wrestled to keep the wheels straight, feathering the brakes to stop them from locking.

They squealed in protest.

The car snaked lower into the valley, a thin mist beginning to settle around them as the sun faded.

In the distance, Jamie could see a little cabin, nestled among the edge of the trees. The tracks cut right up to it, the muddy mess of tyre marks telling her the place wasn’t empty.

She could make out the shape of two vehicles, but from this distance, it was difficult to put any sort of guess on them.

She needed to focus on the track, anyway. The terrain was more than treacherous. She just hoped they could get back out when this turned out to be the wrong lake too.

She still wasn’t having any familiar pangs.

All the lakes on Hallberg’s list could have been it.

But she was afraid that none would be.

Jamie exhaled and loosened her grip on the wheel, her fingers aching.

Hallberg was leaning forward, squinting into the distance as they descended, the fog thickening with every metre.

They reached the bottom and the car flattened out, the bumper scrubbing on the snow. A rock scraped the undercarriage and Jamie squirmed in the seat, feeling the wheels sink in the mud.

She shifted up a gear to keep the revs down and gave it a little throttle, squeezing the clutch to limit the power output.

The car twisted left and right, and then picked up speed, bouncing over the uneven surface.

Jamie sighed with relief, her eyes fixed on the ground ahead.

She stole a glance up at Hallberg, who was practically pressed against the windscreen. ‘Is that…’ she started. ‘Is that the…’

Jamie followed her line of sight, doing her best to pick out the thing she was looking at. Ahead, about a hundred metres out, the headlights were reflecting on the side of what looked like… ‘The church minibus,’ Jamie said, her voice strained suddenly. She eased off the gas instinctively, all the tiredness gone from her mind.

‘Eriksson,’ Hallberg said, her voice barely a whisper. ‘What the hell is he doing all the way out—’

But she didn’t get to finish that thought. A flash burst out of the darkness ahead, somewhere in the general vicinity of the cabin. A small, white plume.

Jamie’s brain barely registered it before the bullet punctured the windscreen, tore through the cabin and blew the back window out.

The glass shattered behind them and rained down onto the parcel shelf. In front, a spider’s web of cracks rippled out in all directions, blinding them.

Hallberg ducked forward, shielding her head.

Jamie swore in shock, the bullet missing her face by inches, and ripped the wheel to the side, stamping on the brake.

The front wheels locked up, and the car began to slide, spinning the passenger side towards the shooter.

Jamie didn’t have time to think before another bullet hit the back passenger window and buried itself in the opposite side’s door pillar. The noise of it hitting the metal frame of the car made the whole thing vibrate like a bell.

The wheels dug into the soft mud in the centre of the track, the front diving into the gulley on the left, sending snow up over the bonnet.

The whole thing threatened to tip over for a moment, and then came to rest on its wheels.

Hallberg was swearing in a continuous stream. They were pinned down, in the open. And the shooter had clear line of sight.

Jamie’s brain reverted to a primal mode and she threw the driver’s door open and dived out into the snow.

She landed heavily on her front and rolled around, getting to her knees, ignoring the stinging of the ice on her fingers. She scrambled herself back against the car, panting hard, her breath rising in front of her like smoke.

Hallberg was still inside, her head between her knees, swearing.

Another shot rang out, a bullet glancing off the top of the car, sending sparks into the blackening sky.

The noise echoed as the bullet ricocheted into the distance, a deathly cry in the otherwise silent wilderness.

Jamie gritted her teeth and rolled into the open doorway, keeping low as she reached across and unfastened Hallberg’s belt, grabbing for her hand.

The girl snatched it away, cupping the back of her head, but Jamie took it again and pulled hard.

Hallberg looked at her, wild-eyed.

‘Come on,’ Jamie said, dragging her across the centre console. ‘You’ve got to get out of the car!’

Hallberg nodded quickly, slithering over the handbrake on her belly and kicking herself down into the snow next to Jamie.

Once she was clear, Jamie pushed the driver’s door closed and took stock of the situation. ‘Are you hurt? Did you get hit?’ she asked, roughly running her hands over Hallberg.

‘No – no, I don’t think so,’ she squeezed out. She looked like she was about to throw up. She obviously hadn’t been shot at before.

Jamie would have liked to have said you get used to it, but you didn’t. Her heart was hammering so hard in her chest she thought it was about to burst.

‘What do we do?’ Hallberg asked, frantic.

Jamie forced air into her lungs and got her heels under her. She started lifting herself up, turning her head to peek through the back window.

‘What are you doing?’ Hallberg hissed, as though the shooter might hear her.

Jamie edged higher, trying to get a good look at what was ahead.

The ground was flat from here to the cabin. The church van – complete with decals of a crucifix and the words Jesus Räddar – Jesus Saves – was pulled off to the left, its nose facing the frozen lake. Beyond that, the cabin stood, no more than a dark square. There was no light burning inside, no smoke rising from the chimney. Nothing to suggest life.

Jamie narrowed her eyes, trying to pick out anything else in the monochrome landscape.

Another flash rippled from just above the cabin, at the treeline, and Jamie dropped back down, wincing as the window above her exploded, showering her with glass. ‘Fuck,’ she said, protecting her skull, spitting flecks of saliva through gritted teeth.

‘What do we do?’ Hallberg asked again.

‘I don’t know,’ Jamie said, feeling the vibrations in the metal as Eriksson put another bullet into the side of the car, just for good measure. Running perpendicular to a shooter, moving from cover to cover was one thing. But from this angle, straight on – with this much open space – there was nowhere to run. And no chance of getting out of there alive.

Eriksson was no prize marksman, but it was a hundred metres up a snowy slope before they had any chance of safety. To the right was deep snow rising into a steep valley wall. And to the left was the lake. Five hundred metres of slick ice and zero cover.

She growled at the lack of options and laid her head back against the frozen metal.

‘What do we do?’ Hallberg asked again, sinking her fingers into Jamie’s arm.

‘I don’t know!’ she practically yelled back, making the woman shrink away from her.

Hallberg’s eyes began to fill. She was terrified.

So was Jamie.

But she had to think. There had to be a way out of here. Could she get in the car? Swing around, drive out? No, not a chance. The track was narrow and the car was already half off it. They’d have to get the chains on to have any chance of moving it at all and there was no way in hell they could get to the open side without taking a bullet.

They weren’t going on foot, and they weren’t going by car.

Could they call for help? How long would they take to arrive? Jamie didn’t know.

Too long.

She forced herself to breathe. To think.

The shooter had gone quiet. Conserving ammunition, choosing his shots.

Shots.

That was it.

‘Hallberg,’ Jamie said, turning to her. ‘Your pistol.’

Hallberg’s eyes lit up a little. She pulled it from the holster on her ribs and held it aloft like it was the answer to their problems.

‘Can you shoot?’ Jamie asked.

‘Shoot? At what? I don’t even know where he is!’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Jamie said, her brain beginning to work again now. The fear was there, but with a loose plan forming in her mind. ‘I just need you to draw his fire.’

‘Draw his fire? I’m not going out there!’ she protested.

Jamie turned to her now, taking her by the shoulders. ‘I don’t need you to. I just need you to keep him occupied long enough.’

‘Long enough for what?’

Jamie met her eye, a strange coolness seizing her. ‘Long enough for me to shoot back.’

Hallberg looked confused. Jamie wasn’t surprised.

‘Look,’ she said, scuttling to the back of the car. ‘He’s set up somewhere at the treeline, just above the cabin. I don’t expect you to hit him – it’s probably impossible from this distance with a pistol.’

‘I’m a good shot,’ Hallberg said, trying on something like confidence. It slipped off her like a silk veil.

‘Good. Then it’ll make him duck.’

‘I don’t understand what we’re—’

‘When I give the signal, I want you to pop up and fire—’ Jamie cut herself off, looking at the pistol in Hallberg’s hand. ‘What is that, a P226?’

‘Yeah,’ Hallberg said, seemingly thrown by Jamie’s intimate knowledge of guns.

‘Thirteen-round magazine?’

‘Yeah,’ she said again.

‘Good. Then fire six shots – count them off – every few seconds – evenly spaced. I need fifteen – no, twenty seconds.’

‘For what?’ Hallberg asked, shaking her head.

‘Ready?’

‘No!’

Jamie was at the back of the car now, and she wasn’t waiting. ‘Now, Hallberg! Go!’

Keeping close to the bumper, Jamie edged into the open.

Hallberg had no choice. Either follow the plan or watch Jamie get blown apart. She rattled out a long, shaky breath, and then moved, rising up over the bonnet, squeezing off the first round prematurely, sending it wheeling into the sky. The next was closer to the target. The third was pretty close.

Jamie just had to trust Hallberg, focus on what she was doing.

She traced across the metal of the boot and found the latch for the door. She popped it, keeping as tight to the back of the car as she could. Inside there was an old blanket. She grabbed it and pulled it towards her, the contents heavy.

Jamie listened as Hallberg put round number four into the darkness, and threw back the top flap, exposing her father’s Remington Model 700 hunting rifle. She stared down at it for a second before taking hold of the barrel, along with the small box of ammunition she’d taken from his office too, and scrambled back into cover.

She’d not wanted the CSTs to see it. Any firearm found in a search needed to be queried – and without knowing where the documents for the rifle were, Jamie didn’t want to risk it being seized. What she intended to do with the thing, she hadn’t been sure. She couldn’t take it back with her. But she didn’t want it taken into police custody.

And she was glad she’d removed it now.

Because it was about to save her life.

Hallberg sank next to her, breathing hard, clutching the shaking pistol in both hands. She had her eyes closed and Jamie thought she could see her heart hammering through her coat.

As the first round slipped into the magazine of the rifle, Hallberg’s eyes opened, then widened in shock. ‘Jesus!’ she said, recoiling from it. ‘Where the hell did you get that?’

‘It was in the boot,’ Jamie said calmly, pushing more rounds into the magazine. Each clicked into place. Five. Six. Full.

Jamie exhaled hard and snapped the magazine back into the body, dragging back the bolt. It ground a little on the metal. It had been twenty-five years without use. But her father had always maintained it perfectly. She had no doubt it would shoot.

She looked back at Hallberg. ‘Ready? Same drill.’

‘Wait – what are you going to—’

‘On my mark, okay?’

‘Jamie, wait—’

‘Now.’ Jamie moved before she lost her nerve, spinning to a knee and moving beyond the protection of the car. She pulled the rifle to her shoulder and held it tight, closing her left eye and sighting through the scope with her right. There was no wind in the bowl, and at a hundred metres, she hoped she wouldn’t have to account for bullet drop. But that was all assuming she could even see who she was shooting at.

Jamie blinked hard and scanned the landscape, forcing her eyes to focus in the dwindling light.

The sound of Hallberg’s shots echoed around the valley, the reports bouncing off the sheet ice of the lake and reverberating into the sky.

The scope was grubby, the dust on the lens stinging her eye. She could feel it tickling her eyelashes.

Jamie squinted down it, her heartbeat making the whole thing shake in her hands.

She counted off Hallberg’s trigger pulls, trying to pick out any sort of shape from the darkened trees.

One, two, three.

Jamie gritted her teeth and held her breath, jamming herself against the back corner of the car for stability.

Shit. Come on, where are you?

Four. Five.

Jamie growled, going back over the same patch of darkness for the third time. He was there. Somewhere, she knew it. She just couldn’t see him.

Six.

One shot left in Hallberg’s magazine.

And she didn’t have another.

A white rose burst from the trees ahead. An instantaneous flash of muzzle fire that disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared.

Jamie homed in on it.

Metal on metal sang behind her as Eriksson’s bullet hit the bonnet of the rental car.

Hallberg screamed.

Then she hit the ground, hard.

Was she hit?

Jamie couldn’t think about it now.

The last remnants of air left her lungs, the crosshairs falling just to the right of the flash.

She squeezed the trigger.

The rifle kicked back into her shoulder, her ears ringing, not even registering the report.

Jamie was blind for a moment, then refocused her eyes.

She couldn’t see anything.

Did she hit him?

Jamie lowered the rifle and ducked back behind the car. Her fingers were stinging from the cold, her knees frozen and wet from the snow.

She turned quickly to Hallberg, who was lying on her back, clutching her face.

‘Jesus,’ Jamie said, dropping the rifle in the snow and sliding towards her. She scrabbled through the slush, spraying mud and snow everywhere, and reached out. ‘Are you okay?’ She pulled Hallberg’s hands from her face, seeing the stark crimson of blood on her pale skin.

Jamie’s heart seized in her throat as she looked down at Hallberg’s face. She had it screwed up, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes.

Across her right cheek and ear, Jamie could see cuts – little marks sliced into the skin running towards her hairline. Eriksson’s shot must have hit the bonnet of the car just in front of her. The shot had missed, but it had sent shrapnel flying. Paint chips, pieces of metal, shards of bullet. Jamie didn’t know, but Hallberg’s face was a mess. The shards had missed her eye – just – but Jamie counted maybe a dozen individual cuts – some deeper than others.

Blood had begun seeping into her hair now.

She was whimpering, tugging against Jamie’s hands to hold her face again.

‘Hey,’ Jamie said softly. ‘I need you to look at me, okay? Hallberg?’

The girl’s eyes fluttered and then forced themselves open.

She squinted into the bludgeoned sky and then focused on Jamie.

Both eyes open.

She couldn’t see any damage.

That was a relief.

She’d be okay.

Jamie sighed a little and pulled Hallberg to a seated position, brushing snow from her shoulders. ‘You’re okay,’ she said, nodding. ‘You did good. Hold on.’ Jamie swivelled backwards and pulled the car door open, reaching into the tiny back seat where she’d thrown a beanie hat and a scarf the day before. She grabbed them both, folding the scarf up and handing it to Hallberg. She guided it towards her face and pressed. Hallberg hissed and winced.

But Jamie wasn’t paying attention to her anymore. Her ears were pricked for any sound beyond the shelter of the car.

Hallberg would be fine, if not in pain for now. Jamie’s main concern was the shooter. Had she hit him? If she hadn’t, they were all out of options.

Jamie returned to the car now, scooping the Remington out of the snow, and shook it clean. She took the beanie then and slipped it over the nose of the rifle, holding it upright so it balanced on top like the hat it was.

She stuck close to the front wheel and slowly lifted it up, motioning Hallberg to stay down with her other hand.

The top of the hat poked over the car and hovered there.

Jamie watched it, counting.

She got to ten seconds.

Nothing.

Twenty.

Nothing.

She tried to relax.

How long would she wait? How long would the shooter wait? Had he seen it? Would he take the bait? He hadn’t blown a hole through it yet, or even tried to take another shot.

Maybe Jamie had scared him off.

She lifted her head slightly until it hovered next to the wing mirror. She glanced over at Hallberg, who was staring up at her through her uncovered eye, and then nodded in reassurance.

Jamie exhaled hard and then peeked over the sill of the door, squinting into the distance.

Nothing moved.

The cabin stood silent.

Jamie swallowed and got a little higher into a crouched position now. ‘Wait here,’ she said to Hallberg, moving towards the back of the car.

‘Where are you going?’ she asked. ‘Jamie?’

But she was already gone.

If there was one thing she had in her favour, it was that she was fast. Jamie Johansson could run. She was built for it.

Rifle in hand, she got to her feet and took off, moving as fast as the conditions allowed.

She kept to the edge of the track, hammering through the fresh snow, her chest heaving and aching beneath her jacket. She told herself that if there was any hint of gunfire, a flash of a muzzle, she’d throw herself into the undergrowth. Just hurl herself into the thick ferns and snow at the side of the road. It was all she could do.

But as she ran, eyes fixed on the trees, none came.

The cabin came up quickly and Jamie suppressed a wave of memories. The smell of the larch sap, the fish hanging on a rack outside. The black coals of a burnt-out fire. They were all familiar things that were lodged deep in her mind.

Jamie blinked hard, her brain not fully grasping the situation.

She passed the church van on her left, filthy and quiet.

The vehicle next to it, too. She recognised it. It was—

She ducked instinctively, a noise coming from up ahead.

Jamie was frozen for a moment, the rifle rising to her shoulder again.

She pricked her ears, heart thundering.

Groaning.

She could hear groaning.

Low and pained.

Jamie was in the open now. She had to move.

She turned and went the other way, circling the cabin. She didn’t know whether it was a trick, a trap – or what kind of other weapons Eriksson might have. Had she winged him? He was alive. She knew that much.

The snow deepened and snatched at Jamie’s thighs as she waded behind the cabin and up the slope towards the trees.

She was breathing hard, her fingers numb, her head and neck slick with sweat.

Night was falling quickly and it was all but dark in the shadow of the trees.

The groaning was back, and louder now.

She was getting closer.

Jamie moved past the cabin completely and out onto a path in the snow – a worn track leading from the door to the woods.

She glanced back at the dark cabin, listening for any sound – any hint of a second presence.

She found none, and pushed on, following the pained cries, coming up from what she hoped was the blind spot.

She followed the path, pace quickening, and picked out the shape of a body in the dwindling light.

There, at the line where the ferns met the trees, she could see a section of snow that had been tramped flat. A rug had been laid on it – animal skins by the look of it – and some brush had been laid around the edges to form a makeshift hide. Larch branches, twigs, ferns, all dusted with snow.

She could see a rifle, the barrel poked through it, the stock laid on top of a rolled-up blanket. She looked at it for just a second – thought it was maybe a Sauer 202 – she wasn’t sure. But it was a bolt-action deer rifle, by the looks of it. Long scoped. Maybe a tactical model or modified to take the world-ending rounds it had been dishing out. But whatever it was, it packed a hell of a punch.

Her eyes moved quickly from the rifle that had nearly killed her twice now to the man who’d been firing it.

He was lying on his right side, clutching at his ribs with his right hand, his left reaching for the gun that was out of reach. Jamie could see blood oozing through his fingers – it looked like she’d hit him in the side.

He was wearing a quilted black body warmer, what looked like a jacket under it, tatty, old jeans, and a full-face balaclava. He was groaning, his lips puckered, pink and flecked with blood in the opening of the mask.

His eyes were slits, screwed up in pain.

His legs kicked sporadically, raking dirt and snow around.

She couldn’t see the exit wound – didn’t know at what angle she’d hit him, if the bullet was still in there.

But as she stepped closer to kick the rifle further out of reach, her boot squelched in a pool of blood. It was soaked into the rug and still leaking through the shooter’s fingers.

‘Jesus,’ Jamie said, looking at her feet. She lifted her head towards the car in the distance and lowered her rifle. Hallberg was still over there. Hiding.

Jamie’s brain began to work. This amount of blood, the way the bullet had struck him… She swallowed. He didn’t have long left.

But who was to say that he wasn’t already dead when she got there?

Jamie watched him on the ground, coughing now, spraying blood onto the pristine white snow.

His eyes opened, a milky green and sunken, and he stared up at her. ‘J… Jamie?’ he said, barely a whisper.

Jamie looked down at the man on the ground and her blood ran cold.

She clamped her jaw tight to stop it from shaking and knelt down in the pool of blood, suddenly very far removed from herself. She reached out for the ski mask, her fist closing about the crown of the man’s head, his name forming on her lips before she even pulled it off.

‘Robert Nyström,’ she said, dragging it from his face.

The withered man she’d known as a girl looked back up at her – the same white hair, the same thin face, the same bushy eyebrows.

Confusion came over his face, a droplet of blood running from the corner of his mouth. His head shook. He could barely hold it up. ‘I… I didn’t mean to—’

‘Shh,’ Jamie commanded, regaining herself and moving forward. ‘Don’t talk.’

She batted his hand from his flank, pulling off her jacket and stuffing it against his body.

He made a pained whine as Jamie held it against the entry wound, hard, fishing her phone from her pocket.

Robert Nyström stared up at her in silence as she dialled the emergency line.

It rang once, then connected.

Jamie spoke fast, keeping her eyes on the man who’d been as close to her father as a brother, who had helped catch the man who killed those girls. Who’d been there for her a hundred times – and wondered how long it would take for an airlift to arrive.

Jamie watched Nyström’s blood soak into the coat clamped beneath her fingers and realised that, however long it took, it was probably going to be too long.

Nyström was dying right in front of her.

And though her brain was trying every combination of the information it had, she just couldn’t make sense of it.

But she knew one thing for certain, as painful as it was to accept.

Robert Nyström was the Angel Maker.

She just didn’t know why.