The Find, page 13
They were waiting for Isa to start the meeting, but she kept looking at the whiteboard. Magnus had failed to show up. He had sent a summary of the interview by email and had gone silent after that.
“Inspector Lindström?”
Isa suddenly jumped up and approached the board.
“Okay,” she started, “anything new?”
“Inspector Wieland talked about a red car, right?” Berger said.
“Yes, Marian Bergqvist was stalked by someone in a red car,” Isa confirmed.
“Well, at a certain moment the Nordin family possessed a red Volvo. This was in the period between 1990 and 1997.”
“This makes little sense. It cannot have been Peter Nordin. Why would his son not recognize his own father? Or it must have been someone else in that red car.”
“But there is more,” Berger continued. “Remember that in the Ida Nilsson’s case they interrogated a man about the disappearance of the girl?”
Isa nodded.
“Well, that man was Peter Nordin. Someone had seen him driving around the neighborhood when she disappeared. The police traced back his car and interviewed him. He declared that he was confused and that he had been driving around not knowing where he was. This statement was later also backed by his wife and doctor. At that time, he was prescribed heavy medication to treat his depression. They admitted him to a psychiatric hospital shortly after the incident where he stayed for six months.”
“When was this?” Isa asked.
“At the beginning of 1992. I got the information from Janus.”
There was a moment of silence while all eyes were focused again on Isa.
“So, let’s recap... last September Alexander Nordin found the remains of Katrien Jans. Nine bodies were buried in Sandviken. Girls that had disappeared over a period of thirty years. During that period four families regularly spent their summers together close to the area where the bodies were found: Nordin, Bergqvist, Norman, and Radić. Coincidence or not, the fact is that Josip Radić was arrested for the abduction of Katrien Jans, but later acquitted. The same Josip Radić recently disappeared after a mysterious phone call to Alexander Nordin, his longtime friend, with the request to meet him at his place to talk about... something, we don’t know what. Fact two is that one of the missing girls was the best friend of Natasha Bergqvist’s daughter, Sara. Fact three is that Peter Nordin, the father of Alexander, was seen in the neighborhood when Ida Nilsson went missing. Fact four: someone stalked the girls in the days and months before their disappearance.”
“Fact five... Peter Nordin was employed by Ikea as a salesperson between 1985 and 1999... he resigned when his mental health deteriorated,” Nina added, “he would have access to plenty of plaids that were used to wrap the girls after their death.”
“Peter Nordin, is he the one?” Isa asked.
“He died on 8 September 2016. Stina Jonasson was abducted on 7 September 2016, the day before. He could have taken her and killed her the same day and then taken his own life. He was mentally unstable. Maybe it was more than a depression. Maybe he was trying to fight these urges and finally committed suicide... out of guilt?”
“Okay, thanks, Nina. Let’s see if we can get a search warrant, based on this. Let’s also talk to the psychiatrist who has treated Peter Nordin. He might know something more. And Mrs. Nordin.“
“She called,” Nina replied.
Isa turned to her protégé, surprised.
“Why?”
“Alexander still needs to give his statement regarding the burglary, and she asked if she could bring him to the police station. She wanted to do that yesterday but neither you nor inspector Wieland were available so they will come this afternoon.”
“Alright, I’ll talk to her,” Isa continued, and she stared at the pictures again.
“Somehow... somehow it doesn’t feel right,” she whispered.
Nina joined her in front of the whiteboard.
“I know,” Nina answered.
Isa turned around and addressed the young men.
“Did you find any other missing girls that could be related to this case?”
“There are plenty of reports about missing teenage girls in the surroundings of Uppsala, mostly girls that ran away from home and were found later. Three cases might be interesting for us to take a closer look, but we haven’t gotten the time yet to...”
“Then do it quickly... a life might be at stake,” she yelled and left the room, with Nina running after her.
“Isa, it really makes little sense,” she said, “Peter Nordin is dead... if one of the abductions is related to this case, it can’t have been him.”
“Damnit... I feel like... like...,” Isa gasped, worn out by the emotional stress. Of course, Nina was right.
“Like we are being played,” Nina complemented.
CHAPTER
12
M
OTHER AND SON ARRIVED at the police station that afternoon. Alexander was sitting next to his mother in the interview room, getting agitated. There was something disturbing about police rooms and policemen. It was like his entire life was up for scrutiny. Irene Nordin was calm and controlled in every way. Everything in her posture showed that she was a classy, elegant and highly educated woman, that had learned to be composed in every situation. She had been brought up to show no unnecessary display of emotions in confrontations like this, very different from her son, who had a hard time keeping his nervous tics under control. Anxiety and fear were written all over his face.
Isa took a few deep breaths before entering the room. Control. She needed to keep herself under control. No staring, no exuberant laughter or loud talking. But their eyes crossed, just for a second, and immediately she felt the goosebumps ran all over her body. No, this was not a good idea. How could she be focused when he was right in front of her?
He looked pale and tired, and part of his face was still all blue and swollen. He hadn’t recovered from the concussion yet. It was too early. Maybe it was best to call off the interview and let him recover first. Yes, this would be so much better. For him... and for her.
She was gaping at him, slightly too long to go fully unnoticed by Irene and Magnus. Alexander turned his eyes away and gawked at his hands again. He did this a lot lately. Like a little boy, feeling caught.
Ten fingers, six steps to the door, 342 steps to the car in the parking lot, 18 songs on the radio during the drive to the police station, ... It was all good.
“Mrs. Nordin, Mr. Nordin, apart from the burglary we would like to ask both of you some questions about your late husband and father,” Magnus started the conversation, “I hope this will not be a problem?”
“No... we will try to help in every way we can,” Irene answered calmly. Her son was less restrained. Why did they want to talk about his father? While he had never admitted it to himself, was there any chance that his father was responsible for all this? Did the police have any evidence? Why?
Inspector Wieland opened the file on the table, took out a pen and wrote a few things, before he addressed Alexander, sitting across from him.
“You said Josip Radić contacted you a few days ago. When was this?”
“Five days ago. He called me in the evening, around nine or maybe even later. I don’t quite know anymore.”
He tried to keep his eyes fixed on Magnus.
“What was the conversation about?”
“It was short. He said he wanted to talk, and if we could meet as soon as possible... like the next day. It was urgent.”
“Any idea what he wanted to talk about?” Magnus continued.
“No, not really.”
“You didn’t call him again to ask for more information?” Magnus asked.
“Not at that moment, no,” Alexander said, “but I tried to call him after the burglary to find out if he was fine. I got no reply. Every time it switched to voicemail.”
“I see,” Magnus wrote a few sentences on the paper in front of him. Alex’s hands were trembling. She hadn’t taken her eyes off him during the entire conversation. How could he be calm? What would inspector Wieland think? Maybe he had something to hide? Obviously, she had no problems with the uneasiness of the whole situation. While he... he felt like a love-struck teenager ashamed of the stupid things he would do or say.
“And then what happened?”
“The next day, around 8pm, I walked to his apartment, rang a few times but there was no one. If at that moment a woman hadn’t entered the apartment block, I would have just left. But I slipped inside, took the elevator and got out on the fourth floor. The door was unlocked and there was a light shining inside the room, so I entered. The room was a mess. Everywhere... papers on the floor, chairs knocked over... it took a few seconds to realize that this was the scene of a burglary. And then I heard a sound coming from behind. I wanted to turn around but at that moment someone hit me, and I lost consciousness.”
“They found you outside of the apartment. How did you get there?”
“I, I don’t know for certain. I think I must have crawled out.”
“Or someone helped you,” Magnus interrupted.
His stare, stern and forceful, was only intended to intimidate the witness.
Alexander remembered the blurry image of the bearded man. It was Josip. It must have been him. Josip had helped him, but he had run off and left him on the floor in front of his apartment. Why?
“No, no, I don’t think so,” he answered.
“Now, let’s go back to the reason Josip might have called you. You see, the timing is quite interesting. Do you think he might have called you because he knew something about the girls that were found?”
“Why would he do that?” Irene Nordin asked quickly. ”What would he know?”
“He was directly involved in the disappearance of at least one of the girls. Maybe he remembered something... something that was related to your deceased husband?”
“What do you mean?” Irene asked.
“We have a few questions about your husband,” Isa broke the silence. So far, she had let her partner lead the conversation.
“The police questioned your husband in 1992 regarding the disappearance of Ida Nilsson.”
Irene was baffled, and she quickly turned her head away from her son as she heard him say: “Mom?”
She had never told Alex. It hadn’t been one of Peter’s finest moments. She still remembered him sitting at the table in the police office. That person hadn’t been her husband. The mumbling, the perplexed look, the trembling of the hands, rocking back and forth on the chair, it had petrified her. How could a perfectly sane man spiral down to the mere shell of a madman, locked in a world of his own, oblivious about the people around him? Unmindful about her, his wife.
“This was all a misunderstanding. My husband was only questioned and never arrested.”
“The story he told was rather strange and incoherent,” Isa remarked, “claiming that he was being followed.”
“He was heavily under the influence of medication... heavy medication to treat his depression. He was delusional, erratic and disconnected. He should have been at home, not driving around, but... I lost track of him. It was my fault.”
She folded her hands and although her words sounded emotional, her posture was not.
“He admitted having seen the girl that afternoon?”
“That is all very well possible, but did your colleagues at that time have any proof he was involved?”
There was silence. Neither Isa nor Magnus said anything.
“I didn’t think so. I remembered they searched his car, tried to trace back his whereabouts that day. They even searched our home... but nothing.”
“You know, Mrs. Nordin, this doesn’t seem the behavior of a depressed person,” Magnus intervened.
“Are you a medical doctor,” Irene said in a stoic manner, “I don’t think you are qualified to make these statements.”
All the time, Alex had been still, following the ping pong conversation between his mother and the inspectors with increasing amazement.
“You owned a red Volvo at the beginning of the 1990s. Correct?”
“Yes, it was the same car that my husband drove when he was questioned about the disappearance of the girl. How is this relevant?”
“We have a witness that claims a vehicle, very similar to the one you and your husband owned, was used to stalk a young girl at the beginning of the nineties... in Sandviken.”
After mentioning this, he turned to Alex. Would he remember?
There was no reaction.
“Who? And who would remember this after so many years? There are plenty of red cars. I don’t think...”
“Marian Bergqvist.”
The next moment, he was back in that car. The passenger window in the back was half turned down, and he felt the wind blowing through his hair and the sun rays on his face. He tried to put his hand outside, but he was too small. The man in the front had his hands tightly on the steering wheel. He couldn’t see the face and he didn’t quite know who it was, but it all felt so familiar. He didn’t feel scared at all. In the distance, he saw his friend Marian walking along the hiking trail, close to the trees. He wanted to call out to her, but then he saw how frightened she was when she turned around and noticed the car. She ran, and the car sped up. The carefree feeling suddenly gave way to fear, and he threw himself on the back seat, his fingers firmly plunged into the leather cover. As he felt the car increasing in speed, he cried. He wanted to get out.
***
He said nothing. There could be only one explanation... it must have been his father. But he wasn’t ready to give up on his dad yet. It felt like disloyalty. Maybe he hadn’t interpreted the situation correctly.
“It was no secret that we had a red car. Marian Bergqvist must have known. Why didn’t she say anything?”
Irene went on the offensive.
Magnus and Isa looked at each other. It was a puzzle why she hadn’t made the link with the Nordin family. Maybe Marian knew her stalker. Maybe she knew it hadn’t been Peter.
“Well... I see you have no real explanation for that. Everything you told me is circumstantial, no direct evidence, just speculations.”
“Stina Jonasson disappeared the day before your husband died. What happened those two days? After all those years, was Peter finally remorseful and did he take his own life?”
“I found my father,” Alex interrupted.
And just like that, the conversation almost dropped dead. He pulled the strap of his watch; the fingers trembling. Irene stared at it; everyone did. It seemed endlessly repetitive. She put her hand on his to stop it, but he pushed it away.
It seemed like yesterday when he put the key in the lock, turned it and opened the front door. It was already dim outside, but he did not switch on the light. He knew perfectly well where everything was in the hallway: the wardrobe to hang his coat, the small table with the glass bowl where everyone put the keys. His mother’s keys were gone. That was strange. She had no plans to go out, not with his father being so ill. Where was she? It stayed quiet when he called his dad.
His eyes were not accustomed to the darkness yet. For a moment, he stood perfectly still. At the top of the stairs was a strange shadow he didn’t recognize. It looked like a person, but then again not. It was as if a man was floating above the ground. He turned around to switch on the light. When he finally looked up...
“He was hanging from the handrail of the stairs... in the hallway.”
Did he just say this aloud? The words just came out, in an unstoppable flow.
“His face was all blue and the expression: it was... horrible. I tried to get him down, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t get him down, I couldn’t... if I had been faster, he might still have been alive. If I had come home earlier, I could have stopped him.”
If, if, if.
That day, he hadn’t counted the steps to the door. It could have been an odd number. The buttons of the coat hadn’t faced the window, and it hadn’t been perfectly aligned with the other jackets. It was all his fault. Why had he given up on these habits?
Isa watched as the fingers of his right hand fumbled from his watch to the inside of his wrist, the scar she'd seen that night.
Suddenly she leaned forward and put her hands on his right hand. She wanted him to stop, and he did. Why did she touch him? Magnus stared at her hands. It was a simple gesture, but nothing shocked him more. Alexander Nordin was not entitled to this kind of affection from her, but he was, and only he. It was inappropriate, but it felt so right. Her fingers softly moving over his, his heartbeat resonating through the layers of skin. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Magnus’ stunned facial expression and quickly she removed her hands.
“Alex, according to the coroner’s report, your father must have been dead for hours when you found him. You could not have saved him.”
Alex? Since when had she been on a first name basis with him? The anger, seeded by the glances they had exchanged and fueled even more by her compassionate attitude, was now growing to proportions he could hardly contain. Alexander Nordin and his mother were suspects. If he could, he would have arrested him then and there. Why? It didn’t matter. It was jealousy whispering in his ears.
“But I would like to know your father’s whereabouts in the days leading up to his death,” Magnus interrupted them. “Mr. Nordin, since you were your father’s keeper, maybe you can enlighten us about his activities. Did he leave the house?”
His reaction was slow. The words barely seemed to permeate.
“Mr. Nordin?”
