Stalker

Åhlén walks straight over to the long, plastic-covered post-mortem table with its double trough and drainage runnels.

He pulls over a chair for Saga, then places the glass jar on the slab.

She watches him put on protective overalls, a mask and latex gloves. Then he stops, quite still, in front of the jar, like an old person disappearing into a memory. Saga is on the point of saying something when Åhlén takes a deep breath.

‘The right finger of a body found in brackish water, preserved in strong alcohol at a temperature of eight degrees for four months,’ he says to himself.

He photographs the jar from various angles, then unscrews the lid bearing the words BOB Raspberry Jam.

Using a pair of steel tweezers he removes the finger, lets it drip for a while, then puts it down on the post-mortem table. The nail has come off, and is still lying in the murky liquid. A nauseating smell of rotten seawater and decaying flesh spreads through the room.

‘It’s certainly true that the finger was removed from the body long after death,’ he says to Saga. ‘With a knife or perhaps a pair of pliers or secateurs …’

Åhlén is breathing audibly through his nose as he carefully rolls the finger over so he can photograph it from every angle.

‘We can get a good fingerprint from this,’ he says seriously.

Saga has backed away, and is standing with her hand over her mouth, watching as Åhlén picks up the dead finger and holds it against a print-scanner.

The machine bleeps when the print has been scanned.

The tissue is swollen and pudgy, but the fingerprint that appears in the little screen is still very clear.

The papillary lines are really the ridges between the cells and sweat pores that develop in the epidermis while an embryo is still in the womb.

Saga stares at the oval containing a labyrinth of swirls.

The room feels full of suppressed anticipation.

Åhlén takes off his protective clothing again and logs into the computer, hooks up the scanner and clicks on the icon with the text LiveScan.

‘I’ve got a private AFIS system,’ he says straight out as he clicks another icon and types in a new password.

Saga sees him search for ‘Walter’, then click to bring up the digital image of the ID form that was compiled at the time of Jurek’s arrest. The sharp reproductions of the thumb and fingerprints from both hands were made in ink.

Saga tries to control her breathing.

Sweat is trickling down her sides from her armpits.

Åhlén whispers something to himself, and drags the best image from LiveScan across to the search box of the AFIS system, then clicks the button saying Analysis and Comparison, and immediately gets a result.

‘What’s happening?’ Saga says, and swallows hard.

The reflections of the fluorescent lights slide across his glasses. She sees his hand shake as he points at the screen.

‘The details of the initial level are rather vague … mostly just patterns,’ Åhlén explains, and clears his throat quickly. ‘The second level are so-called Galton details … you can see the length of the papillary lines and the way they relate to each other. The differences are only the result of tissue breakdown … And the third level, that’s primarily concerned with the layout of pores, and there the match is perfect.’

‘Do you mean that we’ve found Jurek?’ she whispers.

‘I’ll send the DNA to the National Forensics Lab in Linköping, but purely as a formality,’ he replies with a nervous smile. ‘You’ve found him, there’s no doubt that it’s him. It’s over now.’

‘Good,’ she says, feeling hot tears well up in her eyes.

The initial relief is full of contradictory impulses and emptiness. Her heart is still pounding hard in her chest.

‘You’ve said all along that you were sure you killed Jurek – why was it so important to find his body?’ Åhlén asks.

‘I couldn’t try to find Joona before I’d found it,’ she replies, rubbing her cheeks with her hand to wipe the tears away.

‘Joona’s dead,’ Åhlén says.

‘Yes,’ she smiles.

Joona’s jacket and wallet were found in the possession of a homeless man who hung around Strömparterren, at the end of the island housing the parliament building in Stockholm. Saga’s watched the video of the interview plenty of times. The homeless man identified himself as Constantine the First. He usually borrowed one of the fishing boats and slept outside a heating vent.

He sat in the interview room with his big beard and dirty fingers, cracked lips and a wary look in his eyes. In a rattling voice he told them about the big Finn who told him to keep his distance, before taking his jacket off and swimming out into the water. He watched him swim out towards Strömbron until he reached the fast-flowing current and disappeared.

‘You don’t believe he’s dead?’ Åhlén asks calmly.

‘Several years ago he phoned me … he wanted me to find out some information about a woman in Helsinki, in secret,’ Saga says. ‘At the time I thought the woman had something to do with the case at Birgittagården.’

‘What about her, then?’

‘She was seriously ill, she was in hospital for an operation … Her name was Laura Sandin,’ Saga says, holding Åhlén’s gaze. ‘But she was really … really Summa Linna, his wife, wasn’t she?’

‘Yes,’ he nods.

‘I tried to get hold of Laura to tell her that Joona was dead,’ Saga explains. ‘Laura had been in a cancer hospice for palliative care, but two days after Joona’s suicide she was discharged to spend her last days at home … but neither Laura nor her daughter are still at their address on Elisabetsgatan.’

‘Really?’ Åhlén says, his thin nostrils turning pale.

‘They aren’t anywhere,’ Saga says, taking a step towards him.

‘That’s good to hear.’

‘I think Joona arranged his suicide so he could go and pick up his wife and daughter and go into hiding with them.’

Nils Åhlén’s eyes are red, and his mouth is twitching slightly with emotion when he speaks:

‘Joona was the only person who believed that Jurek’s reach extended beyond the isolation unit, and as usual, he was right … If we hadn’t done this, Jurek would have killed Summa and Lumi, just as he killed Disa.’

‘Nils, I need to find Joona and tell him that Jurek Walter is dead,’ Saga says. ‘He needs to know that the body’s been found.’

She puts her hand on his arm and sees his shoulders slump when he makes his mind up.

‘I don’t know where they are,’ he eventually says. ‘But if Summa is dying, like you say … I know where you could try looking …’

‘Where?’