1.
The landscape of Växjö municipality with all the villages and the farms included, was a pristine winter wonderland, the trees and rooftops blanketed in a thick layer of snow. The car heater provided a welcome respite from the biting cold outside, where temperatures had plummeted overnight. Polisinspektör Mikael Hansson and his rookie companion, Polisassistent Yezda Rahimi, drove through the picturesque villages, their police cruiser moving steadily along the snow-covered roads. Their patrol was intended to be routine, checking in on the residents and ensuring everything was in order, show police headquarters face and make people feel secure and looked after.
Mikael, an experience polisinspektör with a no-nonsense demeanour, had seen it all in his years on the force. Next to him, Yezda, relatively new but highly capable, took her role seriously. Her sharp eyes missed nothing, and her keen sense to protect had already earned her Mikael’s respect. Her background in social work before joining the police force gave her a unique perspective, often allowing her to connect with people on a deeper level.
The landscape outside was serene, with smoke curling up from chimneys and the occasional figure bundled up against the cold, another shovelling snow or walking a dog trudged through the pristine white. A man wrestled a snowblower, its roar a momentary disruption in the hushed scene. It was a scene of perfect tranquillity, sharply contrasting with the call that was about to shatter their routine.
Yezda watched it all unfold from the passenger seat, a bittersweet pang settling in her chest. This small town, nestled amidst frosted pines, held a charm she hadn't anticipated. Yet, the call, the reason for their arrival, was a storm brewing beneath the surface.
As they drove through the quiet streets, Mikael glanced over at Yezda. “How are you finding the job so far?” he asked, his tone gruff but not unkind.
She turned to him, a small smile tugging at her lips. "It's… different," she admitted, her breath clouding the window for a fleeting moment. "I mean far from social services in Stockholm and ...it takes some getting used to."
Mikael chuckled, a sound as warm as the mug of coffee he clutched between his gloved hands. "Coming from the city that never sleeps, huh? Takes a while to adjust to the lullaby of snowdrifts."
Yezda couldn't help but grin. "Exactly. But," she added, a newfound warmth radiating in her voice, "there's a strange beauty to it, isn't there?"
Yezda smiled again as she looked out at the peaceful scenery. “It’s challenging, but rewarding. I feel like I’m doing something, I contribute even if it’s in small ways.”
Mikael nodded approvingly. “That’s the right attitude. Every little bit helps, especially in a community like this.”
Their radio crackled to life, interrupting the calm. The dispatcher’s voice came through, urgent and tense. “All units, we have a report of a disturbance at the old Sjöberg residence on the outskirts of Åryd. Somebody reported hearing loud noises, shouts for help and broken glass. Anybody’s close?”
Mikael’s eyes narrowed and he exchanged a quick glance with Yezda. The Sjöberg residence had been abandoned for years, its once-grand halls now standing silent and foreboding. It was a place that local children dared each other to approach on dark nights, but no one had lived there since the Sjöberg family had mysteriously disappeared a decade ago.
“Looks like our quiet morning just got interesting,” Mikael muttered, flicking on the siren and lights. The peaceful winter scene outside seemed to blur as they accelerated, the cruiser’s tires crunching through the fresh snow.
After a few kilometres he added, “I know the damn place.”
2.
As they approached the outskirts of Åryd, the scenery grew more desolate. The snow-covered fields stretched out endlessly, interrupted only by the occasional clump of trees or dilapidated farmhouse. The Sjöberg residence loomed ahead, its dark silhouette stark against the white landscape.
Yezda felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. “Do you think it’s vandals?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Could be,” Mikael replied, though his tone suggested he was less certain. “Or it could be something more serious. We’ll find out soon enough.”
They pulled up to the long, snow-covered driveway leading to the old mansion. The house itself was a grand, classic late 1800 ‘carpenter’s joy’ style building. Its once-elegant facade now crumbling and weathered. The windows were dark, and the entire place had an air of abandonment and decay.
Mikael and Yezda stepped out of the car, their breath visible in the frigid air. The silence was almost oppressive, broken only by the crunch of their boots in the snow. Mikael drew his service weapon, motioning for Yezda to do the same.
“Stay close and keep your eyes open,” he instructed, his voice low.
They approached the front door, which hung slightly ajar, creaking softly in the wind. Mikael signalled for Yezda to cover him as he pushed the door open wider with the toe of his boot. The interior of the house was just as cold and dark as the outside, the air thick with dust and the scent of mildew.
Inside, the once opulent hallways were now filled with shadows. Mikael’s flashlight beam cut through the darkness, revealing faded wallpaper and broken furniture. The sound of their footsteps echoed ominously as they moved deeper into the house.
“Dispatch, this is Polisinspektör Hansson. We’ve arrived at the Sjöberg residence. The front door was open, and we’re conducting a sweep of the interior,” Mikael reported into his radio.
“Copy that, Polisinspektör. Backup is on the way. Proceed with caution,” the dispatcher replied.
As they made their way through the house, they found nothing but silence and decay. The grand staircase, once a centrepiece of the home, was now covered in dust and cobwebs. The rooms were empty, the furniture covered in white sheets like ghosts of the past.
Just as they were about to conclude that the house was indeed empty, they heard it—a faint noise coming from the basement. It was a low, rhythmic thumping, barely audible but unmistakable in the stillness of the house.
Mikael motioned for Yezda to follow him, and they descended the narrow, creaking staircase to the basement. The air grew colder as they went down, and the smell of damp earth filled their nostrils.
At the bottom of the stairs, they found a heavy wooden door, slightly ajar. Mikael pushed it open slowly, revealing a large, dimly lit room. The walls were lined with old shelves filled with dusty jars and bottles, and in the centre of the room stood an old wooden table.
On the table lay an assortment of strange items: candles, symbols drawn in chalk, and a large, old-looking book. But what drew their attention most was the figure slumped against the far wall, bound and gagged. The rhythmic thumping was coming from the man’s foot, which he was tapping against the floor in a desperate attempt to draw attention.
3.
Yezda rushed over to the man, quickly untying the gag and the ropes binding his wrists and ankles. “It’s okay, we’re here to help,” she said soothingly.
The man, dishevelled and pale, gasped for breath. “They’re coming back,” he managed to choke out. “You have to stop them.”
“Who? Who’s coming back?” Mikael demanded, scanning the room for any other signs of life.
“The group,” the man replied, his voice trembling with fear. “They’re planning something terrible. I know. You have to stop them before it’s too late. They are planning a sacrifice.”
“A ...what?” Mikael almost shouted but the whole situation looked so weird that he shouldn’t be surprised.
Mikael and Yezda exchanged a grim look. This was far more serious than they had anticipated. And surprisingly new for the area. Mikael spoke into his radio again, urgently requesting immediate backup.
As they waited for reinforcements, they tried to get more information from the man. His name was Erik, and he had been watching the activities of that group that had recently resurfaced in the area. He could indentify some of them as the local teenagers but he had no idea about the leader. The tall man, as he kept calling him.
He had been captured while trying to get some photos with his telephone and had been held in the basement since the early hours of that day.
“They’re planning a ritual,” Erik said, his voice still shaky. “Tonight, at midnight. They believe it will give them power, or something. I don’t know all the details, black magic and all that, but it’s bad. Really bad.”
The gravity of the situation settled over them like a heavy blanket. They couldn’t afford to wait for backup; they had to act now to prevent whatever the cult was planning.
“Erik, can you walk?” Mikael asked, helping the man to his feet.
Erik nodded weakly. “I think so.”
“Good. You’re coming with us. We need to find out where this ritual is supposed to take place,” Mikael said.
They made their way back upstairs, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. The house seemed even more sinister now, the shadows deeper and more menacing.
Outside, the snow continued to fall, the world silent and still. They helped Erik into the back of the cruiser, and Mikael got behind the wheel, his mind racing. Yezda sat next to him, her expression determined.
“Erik, do you know where they might be holding this ritual?” Yezda asked, turning to look at the man in the back seat.
“There’s an old barn, about a mile from here, deeper into the woods,” Erik said, his voice still weak. “I heard them talking about it. I think one of them is Lars’ son. Lars owns the barn.”
Mikael nodded and started the car, the tires crunching through the snow as they headed towards the location Erik had described. The drive was tense, the only sound the hum of the engine and the soft whisper of the falling snow.
4.
As they approached the barn, they could see faint lights flickering inside. Mikael turned off the headlights and parked the car a short distance away. They needed the element of surprise on their side.
They exited the car quietly, making their way towards the barn. The air was filled with an eerie silence, broken only by the distant sounds of chanting coming from within. The snow underfoot muffled their steps as they crept closer.
Mikael and Yezda took positions on either side of the barn door, listening to the chanting that grew louder and more frenzied. Mikael signalled for Yezda to be ready, and with a deep breath, he kicked the door open.
Inside, the barn was dimly lit by candles arranged in a circle on the floor. Hooded figures stood around the circle, their faces hidden in shadow, chanting in a language neither Mikael nor Yezda recognized. In the centre of the circle was a large, ornate book and a small, terrified cat bound to a makeshift altar.
“Police! Drop your knives and step away from the altar!” Mikael shouted, his voice echoing through the barn.
The chanting stopped abruptly, and the hooded figures turned towards them. For a moment, there was a tense standoff, the air crackling with unspoken threats.
One of the figures, taller than the rest, stepped forward and lowered his hood. His face was twisted into a sneer, eyes gleaming with madness. “You’re too late,” he hissed. “The ritual has already begun. You cannot stop what is coming.”
Mikael’s grip on his weapon tightened. “We’ll see about that. Everyone on the ground, now!”
They hesitated, then as one, they lunged towards Mikael and Yezda. Chaos erupted as the officers fought to subdue them, the barn filled with the sounds of struggle and shouts. Yezda managed to disarm one of them and restrained him with a pair of plastic handcuffs, while Mikael wrestled with the tall guy, obviously the leader.
Erik, still weak but determined, joined the fray, helping Yezda to secure the others. Despite their efforts, the leader continued to resist, his strength fuelled by a terrifying determination.
“We have to stop the ritual!” Erik shouted, trying to make himself heard over the noise. “Destroy the book!”
Yezda glanced towards the altar, where the book lay open, its pages filled with strange symbols. She fought her way through the melee, reaching the altar and grabbing the book. With a quick, decisive motion, she tore it in half, pages ripping apart.
A sudden, piercing scream filled the barn as the tall man collapsed, clutching his head. The others fell silent, their eyes wide with fear. The cat on the altar began to meow and Yezda quickly freed the poor animal from the cords she was tied with.
The sound of approaching sirens signalled the arrival of backup, and soon the barn was filled with additional officers, securing the scene and taking the group into custody.
Mikael and Yezda emerged from the barn, Yezda just behind with Erik leaning heavily on him for support. The snow continued to fall, the world outside still and peaceful once more.
As they waited for the paramedics to arrive, Mikael looked over at Yezda. “Good work in there. You handled yourself well.”
Yezda nodded, a determined look in her eyes. “Thanks. We couldn’t have done it without Erik.”
Erik managed a weak smile. “I’m just glad it’s over.”
Mikael glanced back at the barn, his expression thoughtful. “Shit, they were ...teenagers. Did you see? They were teenagers. Makes you wonder if there may be more out there.” Yezda nodded in agreement.
5.
The shrill ring of Mikael's phone broke the silence in the car, its sudden intrusion piercing through the monotony of the road. He glanced at the display and saw the commissioner’s name flashing insistently. A call from the commissioner was rare, especially during working hours. His heart quickened with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension as he answered immediately, his voice steady despite the underlying tension.
"Polisinspektör Hansson," he said, his tone professional yet tinged with a hint of curiosity.
"Mikael, it's the commissioner," came the response, the voice on the other end tinged with an unusual urgency that immediately caught Mikael's attention. "I need a personal favour from you."
Mikael's eyebrows furrowed in curiosity. "Of course, sir. What do you need?"
"There's been a death in Gemla. Stefan Wallin," the commissioner said, pausing for a moment, as if to collect his thoughts before continuing. "He's a personal friend. Officially, it's been ruled a suicide, but I would like to have a look."
Mikael felt a jolt of surprise shoot through him at the mention of Stefan Wallin's name. Stefan was a well-known and respected figure, both in the business community and socially. The news of his death, let alone the suggestion of foul play, sent a shiver down Mikael's spine. "What makes you think that I should have a look, sir?" he asked, his voice betraying a hint of concern.
The commissioner sighed heavily, a sound filled with both grief and frustration. "Stefan was one of the most optimistic people I knew. He was successful, looking forward to a holiday with his wife, and excited about his business. It just doesn't add up. Please, Mikael, I need you to look into it. Discreetly."
"We're on our way," Mikael assured him, his mind already racing with the implications of the commissioner's request. He ended the call and turned to Yezda, who had been listening intently, her gaze fixed on him as if trying to decipher the gravity of the situation from his expression alone.
"What's going on?" she asked, her voice low and urgent, sensing the weight of the commissioner's words in the air.
"We're heading to Gemla," Mikael said, his voice grave as he started the car and pulled onto the road, the engine humming softly beneath them. "Stefan Wallin, a friend of the commissioner, has died. It's been ruled a suicide, but ...he called me. We're going to investigate."
As they drove through the winding roads towards Gemla, Mikael's mind buzzed with questions, the weight of the commissioner's request settled heavily on his shoulders. Stefan Wallin's death was not just another case; it was personal. The commissioner's doubts hung in the air like a thick fog, obscuring the truth and leaving behind only questions.
Mikael glanced at Yezda sitting beside him, her face a mask of the ignorance determination. "What do you think, Yezda?" Mikael asked, breaking the silence that had settled between them.
Yezda's eyes flickered with thought as she considered the commissioner's words. "It does seem odd," she replied slowly. "Stefan Wallin was a pillar of the community, a man with everything to live for. Suicide just doesn't fit."
Mikael nodded in agreement, his mind racing with possibilities. "We need to approach this carefully," he said, his voice grave. "If there's foul play involved, we're stepping into dangerous territory."
As they neared Gemla, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the landscape. He sighed deeply, “I thought that after Åryd the only thing waiting for me was a beer not a suicide. Sometimes this job is merciless.”
6.
The journey to Gemla was a quiet one. Polisinspektör Mikael Hansson and his partner, Polisassistent Yezda Rahimi, drove through winding roads flanked by thick forests and frozen lakes. The further they got from Växjö, the quieter and more isolated the landscape became. Gemla, with its small-town charm, seemed almost out of place in the midst of this winter wilderness. The car's engine hummed softly, creating a background noise that allowed Mikael to focus on the task ahead.
"Stefan Wallin," Mikael began, breaking the silence. His voice echoed slightly in the confines of the car. He glanced over at Yezda, taking in the furrow of concentration between her brows as she scrolled through her phone.
"Stefan Wallin, 52 years old," Yezda confirmed, her voice clipped as she read aloud from the screen. "A prominent businessman in the tech industry. Married to Ingrid Wallin, no children. Known for his philanthropy and community involvement. By all accounts, he was well-liked and respected."
Mikael nodded thoughtfully. The details Yezda had a picture of the man received in her mobile. He looked a successful and seemingly well-adjusted man. Suicide, in such a case, seemed a particularly incongruous conclusion. "And the circumstances of his death?" he asked.
"Official report says he was found in his home office, a single gunshot wound to the head," Yezda continued, swiping through the digital report. "Gun found in his hand, no sign of a struggle. Initial ruling is suicide."
"But the commissioner thinks..." Mikael trailed off, leaving the question hanging in the air. There was something about the case, some detail perhaps, that had triggered the commissioner's suspicion. It was Mikael's job to figure out what it was.
“Oh, I nearly missed it,” Yezda said and Mikael looked at her while trying to keep his focus on the road in front of them. “He was found by his partner. Oscar Blom.” And they both sighed.
"We need to approach this carefully," Mikael said finally. "We don't want to upset Stefan's family unnecessarily, especially if this turns out to be exactly what it seems."
Yezda nodded in agreement. "Absolutely. We'll start by securing the scene and conducting a thorough examination. Then we'll talk to his wife. She might be able to shed some light on his state of mind in the days leading up to his death."
“And keep this name, Oscar Blom, for later. I think that he’s the next to meet, immediately after meeting Mrs. Wallin.”
As they entered Gemla, the tranquil atmosphere of the small town was almost palpable. Neat rows of colourful houses lined the streets, their windows glowing with warm yellow light. Smoke curled from chimneys, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and baking bread. Here, in this idyllic setting, news of Stefan Wallin's death would have spread quickly, a ripple of shock disturbing the calm surface of the community.
Mikael parked the car discreetly near the Wallin residence, a large, modern house on the outskirts of town. It stood out from its more traditional neighbours with its clean lines and floor-to-ceiling windows. A sense of unease settled over Mikael as he approached the house. The silence here was different from the quiet of the countryside. It felt heavy, oppressive. Plus that it was dark. Early evening.
Yezda placed a hand on his arm in a silent gesture of reassurance. They took a deep breath together, then proceeded to the front door. A uniformed officer stood guard, his face etched with concern. He recognized Mikael and nodded curtly.
"Evening, Mikael," he greeted. "Inspector Eklund called ahead. Said you were on your way."
"Thanks, Lars," Mikael replied. "Just doing our due diligence."
Lars stepped aside to allow them entrance. The house was impeccably decorated, with modern art hanging on the walls and designer furniture arranged in tasteful groupings. An air of sterile perfection hung heavy in the air. Yet, despite the obvious wealth on display, the house felt cold and impersonal.
"This way," Lars said, leading them down a hallway towards a room at the back of the house. He stopped outside the door and gestured for them to enter.
7.
The Wallin residence was a striking contrast to the quaint charm of Gemla. The house was sleek and modern, with large glass windows that offered a panoramic view of the surrounding countryside. Its clean lines and sharp angles made it stand out among the traditional Swedish homes nearby. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow over the landscape, but the beauty of the evening was lost on the two officers as they prepared for the difficult task ahead.
As Polisinspektör Mikael Hansson and Polisassistent Yezda Rahimi approached the front door, they were greeted by a sombre-looking man in his mid-thirties. He had a tall, lean build, and his expression was one of deep sorrow mixed with professional composure.
"Polisinspektör Mikael Hansson, Polisassistent Yezda Rahimi, I'm Jonas Andersson, the family's lawyer," he said, extending a hand. His grip was firm but not overly strong, indicative of his role as a mediator in many difficult situations. "Mrs. Wallin is expecting you."
Mikael and Yezda shook hands with Jonas, exchanging brief but sympathetic nods before following him into the house. The interior was as elegant as the exterior, with minimalist décor and tasteful artwork adorning the walls. The furniture was modern, with clean lines and a neutral colour palette, creating an atmosphere of serene sophistication. Yet, despite its beauty, the atmosphere was heavy with grief, a stark reminder of the tragedy that had occurred.
As they walked through the hallway, Mikael noted the small details that spoke of a lived-in home: a pair of children's shoes neatly lined up by the door, a stack of mail on a side table, and a family portrait hanging on the wall, showing Stefan, Ingrid, and their two children, smiling and happy, blissfully unaware of the darkness that would soon envelop their lives.
In the living room, they found Ingrid Wallin sitting on a sofa, looking pale and exhausted. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and her blue eyes were red from crying. She clutched a tissue in her hand, twisting it nervously as she looked up at them. Despite her obvious distress, there was a grace and dignity about her that was hard to miss.
Mikael and Yezda introduced themselves and offered their condolences, their voices gentle and respectful.
"Thank you," Ingrid said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I still can't believe he's gone."
"We're very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Wallin," Mikael said gently. "We understand this is a difficult time, but we need to ask you a few questions about Stefan."
Ingrid nodded, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "I'll do my best to help."
"Can you tell us about Stefan's state of mind recently? Did he seem troubled or anxious?" Yezda asked, her tone soft yet probing.
Ingrid shook her head. "No, not at all. He was excited about our upcoming holiday. He was talking about his new project a lot. He seemed happy, optimistic even."
"Did he mention anything that might suggest he was worried or upset?" Mikael probed, watching Ingrid closely for any signs of hesitation or discomfort.
Ingrid hesitated, her brow furrowing in thought. "There was one thing. He mentioned receiving some strange messages recently. Anonymous emails. He didn't seem too concerned, though. He said it was probably just some prank."
Mikael and Yezda exchanged a glance, a silent communication passing between them. "Do you know where we might find his computer or any other devices he used?" Mikael asked.
"His office is upstairs," Ingrid said. "I can show you."
Jonas, sensing the strain on Ingrid, stepped in. "If you prefer, I can take them," he offered gently.
Ingrid nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Jonas."
8.
As Jonas led the way up the sleek, modern staircase, Mikael and Yezda followed, their minds already piecing together the few clues they had gathered. The house was eerily quiet, the only sound being the faint hum of the air conditioning.
They reached the second floor, where Jonas guided them to a door at the end of the hallway. "This is Stefan's office," he said, opening the door to reveal a spacious room filled with natural light. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and a large wooden desk stood in the centre, cluttered with papers, a laptop, and various office supplies.
Mikael walked over to the desk, his eyes scanning the surface for anything that might stand out. "We'll need to take his laptop and any other electronic devices," he said, pulling on a pair of gloves. "Do you know if he had a separate work phone or tablet?"
Jonas nodded. "He had a work phone, but it should be here somewhere. Let me check the drawers."
As Jonas searched the desk drawers, Yezda moved to examine the bookshelves, looking for anything that might seem out of place. "Did Stefan ever mention who might have sent those emails?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at Jonas.
"No, he didn't," Jonas replied, pulling out a sleek black smartphone from one of the drawers. "But he did mention they were quite cryptic, something about 'the truth coming out' and 'paying for his sins'. He brushed it off as a joke, but I could tell it bothered him."
Mikael frowned, taking the phone from Jonas. "We'll need to have these analyzed," he said, placing the phone in an evidence bag. "Is there anything else you can think of that might be relevant? Any recent arguments or conflicts, either personal or professional?"
Jonas shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of. Stefan was well-liked both at work and in the community. He was a dedicated family man and a successful entrepreneur. This has come as a complete shock to everyone who knew him."
Mikael nodded, his mind racing with possibilities. "We'll need to speak with his colleagues and look into his recent projects," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "Yezda, let's take these devices back to the station and see what our tech team can find."
Yezda nodded, her expression serious. "Agreed. Thank you for your help, Jonas. We'll be in touch if we have any more questions."
Jonas walked them back downstairs, where Ingrid was now sitting with a cup of tea, her face still etched with grief. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mrs. Wallin," Mikael said gently. "We'll do everything we can to find out what happened to Stefan."
Ingrid managed a small, grateful smile. "Thank you. I just want to know why this happened. He didn't deserve this."
“By the way, I suppose you are all familiar with Mr. Oscar Blom, the man who found Mr Wallin,” Mikael asked innocently. “Not as familiar he wanted to be,” answered the lawyer in a way that his occupation definitely didn’t excuse.
“Yes, Oscar. He left immediately after the police let him go and we haven’t heard of him since.” Said Mrs. Wallin.
“You don’t mind if we give him a call?” Mikael asked again in the same innocent style.
As they left the Wallin residence, Mikael and Yezda felt the weight of the task ahead. The idyllic setting of Gemla seemed at odds with the darkness they were beginning to uncover. The drive back to the station was filled with a tense silence, each officer lost in their own thoughts.
“Oscar Blom is not the popular guy, is he?” said Mikael after a period of silence.
9.
Polisinspektör Hansson and Polisassistent Rahimi were deep into the investigation of the suspicious suicide of Stefan Wallin, but they also had to keep everything under the radar of their colleagues. A close friend of the commissioner, Mikael was doing a favour but the more they were looking at it the more suspicious everything looked. And even if there was no game with the suicide there was something odd about the whole case and the last days of Stefan Wallin. Every turn in their investigation the last two days had led them back to one name: Oscar Blom, Wallin's business partner and the one who had found the body.
Rahimi had been fully pored into Wallin's recent email communications, hoping to find a clue. What she found was a tense exchange between Wallin and Blom. In Wallin's last email to Blom, he had written: "I know." The cryptic message raised more questions than it answered.
Determined to get to the bottom of the matter fast, Hansson and Rahimi decided to visit Blom the morning after their conversation with Mrs. Wallin. They found Blom in his office, a sleek and modern space that spoke of success and ambition. Despite the stress of recent events, Blom seemed composed.
"Good morning, Mr. Blom," Hansson greeted him as they entered.
"Good morning, officers," Blom replied, his voice steady. "How can I help you today?"
"We'd like to ask you a few more questions about Mr. Wallin," Rahimi said, studying Blom's reaction carefully.
"Of course," Blom said, gesturing for them to sit. "I'll do whatever I can to assist with the investigation."
Hansson and Rahimi took their seats, and Hansson began. "You mentioned in your statement to our colleagues that Mr. Wallin showed no signs of despair. Can you elaborate on that?"
Blom nodded. "Stefan was in high spirits. We were on the verge of a significant business expansion, which we planned to finalize after his trip to Italy. There was no indication that he was troubled."
Rahimi interjected, "What about the email he sent you? The one where he wrote, 'I know.' What did he mean by that?"
Blom's expression didn't change, but Rahimi noticed a slight tension in his jaw. "Stefan and I had disagreements, like any business partners. That email was part of a series of heated exchanges about the direction of our company. He didn't specify what he knew, but I assumed it was another critique of our plans."
"Did you have any personal conflicts with Mr. Wallin?" Hansson asked.
Blom shook his head. "Our disagreements were strictly professional. We had different visions for the company's future, but I respected him greatly. His death is a great loss."
After wrapping up the interview with Blom, Hansson and Rahimi headed back to the station. As they walked, Rahimi expressed her growing suspicion. "I don't trust him, Mikael. He seems too smooth, too rehearsed."
Hansson nodded thoughtfully. "The commissioner seems to share your distrust. He called Blom a conman and suggested a history of deceit."
"That's significant," Rahimi said. "I have the feeling that if i dig more i will find more about Blom."
10.
Back at the station, Rahimi began researching Blom's past while Hansson reviewed the case files. Rahimi discovered that Blom had been involved in several ventures that ended abruptly, often with his partners at a financial loss. There were whispers of fraud, but nothing had ever been proven.
Hansson, meanwhile, re-examined Wallin's personal and professional life. He found that Wallin had been under considerable stress in the weeks leading up to his death, but there was no clear reason for it. He decided to visit Wallin's office to look for additional clues.
At Wallin's office, Hansson was greeted by Emma Larsson, Wallin's secretary. She was visibly shaken by her boss's death.
"I'm so sorry for your loss," Hansson said gently. "I need to ask you some questions about Mr. Wallin. Did he seem stressed or worried recently?"
Larsson nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. "Yes, he was under a lot of pressure. He was working late almost every night and seemed very preoccupied."
"Did he ever mention any specific concerns?" Hansson asked.
Larsson hesitated, then said, "He mentioned something about financial discrepancies in the company accounts. He didn't give me details, but he was very worried about it."
Hansson's ears perked up at this. "Do you know if he was investigating these discrepancies?"
"I think so," Larsson said. "He was always on his computer, checking something. He even had some documents delivered to his home."
"Thank you, Emma," Hansson said. "You've been very helpful."
Back at the station, Hansson shared this information with Rahimi. "Wallin was investigating financial discrepancies. This could be the key to understanding his state of mind."
Rahimi nodded. "If Blom was involved in any financial misconduct, it would give Wallin a motive to confront him. That email makes more sense now."
Hansson and Rahimi decided to look into the company's financial records. They obtained a warrant and started sifting through the data. It didn't take long to find irregularities. Large sums of money had been moved in and out of the company's accounts with little explanation. Some transactions were routed through offshore accounts, making them difficult to trace.
"This is highly suspicious," Hansson said. "It looks like someone was embezzling money."
"And Blom is the most likely candidate," Rahimi said. "He had the access and the motive."
11.
And they found both fast. Blom had been siphoning off funds from the company for months, cleverly disguised as legitimate expenses. Wallin, the ever-trusting partner, seemed oblivious. But then came the email: "I know."
Had Wallin discovered Blom's embezzlement? Was that the reason for the sudden business trip to Italy – a desperate attempt to confront Blom or secure the company's future? The question hung heavy in the air.
Their investigation took an unexpected turn when they stumbled upon a shady investment firm Blom had been in contact with. The firm, notorious for its predatory lending practices, offered seemingly lucrative deals with hidden clauses that often left borrowers drowning in debt. Next logic step for the two police officers, back to Blom’s office, this time with a more confrontational approach.
"Mr. Blom," Hansson began, "we've found some irregularities in the company's financial records. Can you explain these transactions?"
Blom's face turned pale, but he quickly composed himself. "I don't know what you're talking about. Our accounts are regularly audited. There must be a mistake."
"We don't think it's a mistake," Rahimi said. "We believe someone has been embezzling money from the company. And given your history, you're the prime suspect."
Blom's composure cracked. "This is absurd! I would never steal from my own company!"
"Then how do you explain these transactions?" Hansson pressed.
Blom's eyes darted around the room, and for a moment, he looked like a trapped animal. Then he took a deep breath and said, "I don't have to explain anything to you without my lawyer present."
"You're right," Hansson said. "You have the right to remain silent. But know that we will find the truth, Mr. Blom. And if you're involved, you will be held accountable."
After leaving Blom's office, Hansson and Rahimi knew they were onto something significant. They decided to dig deeper into the offshore accounts. With the help of a financial forensic expert, they traced the funds to several shell companies, all linked back to Blom.
"This is damning evidence," Rahimi said. "Blom's been laundering money through these shell companies."
Hansson nodded. "But we need more than financial records. We need to tie him directly to Wallin's death."
The next step was to gather evidence that Blom's financial misconduct led to Wallin's demise. Hansson and Rahimi interviewed Wallin's colleagues, friends, and family, piecing together his final days. They discovered that Wallin had been planning to confront Blom about the embezzlement. The night before his death, Wallin had a heated phone call with Blom, overheard by his wife.
"Stefan was furious," Mrs. Wallin recounted. "He said something about how he couldn't let Oscar get away with this. He was determined to go public with the information he had."
This revelation was crucial. It established a motive for Blom to silence Wallin. Hansson and Rahimi now had enough to bring Blom in for questioning.
12.
At the station, Blom remained defiant. "You have nothing on me," he sneered. "This is all circumstantial."
"We'll see about that," Hansson said. "We have your financial records, testimony from Mrs. Wallin, and evidence of your offshore accounts. It's only a matter of time before we connect all the dots."
Blom's confidence wavered, but he still refused to cooperate. As a last resort, Hansson and Rahimi decided to press him on the night of Wallin's death.
"Where were you the night Stefan Wallin died?" Rahimi asked.
"I was at home," Blom said. "I already told you that."
"Can anyone verify that?" Hansson asked.
Blom hesitated. "No, I was alone."
"Convenient," Rahimi said. "You found the body. You had the motive and the opportunity."
Blom's facade finally cracked. "This is a witch hunt! I had nothing to do with Stefan's death!"
Hansson leaned in. "Then help us understand. If you're innocent, tell us what really happened."
Blom slumped in his chair, defeated. "I don't know what happened. Stefan and I argued, yes, but I didn't kill him. I swear."
"Then why the embezzlement?" Rahimi pressed. "Why the offshore accounts?"
At the station, Oscar Blom remained defiant. "You have nothing on me," he sneered. "This is all circumstantial."
Polisinspektör Mikael Hansson and Polisassistent Yezda Rahimi, however, were determined to find the truth. They had been on this case out of the blue and serving a personal favour to the commissioner without stop. They were both really tired not having a minutes rest after the Åryd case and ...Blom's arrogance only fuelled their resolve.
"We'll see about that," Hansson said, his tone calm but menacing. "We have your financial records, testimony from Mrs. Wallin, her and her husband’s lawyer who never trusted you and evidence of your offshore accounts. It's only a matter of time before we connect all the dots."
Blom's confidence wavered for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. "You won't find anything."
"Why we won’t find anything" Rahimi interjected, her eyes narrowing. "Is the labyrinth of shell companies and offshore accounts enough to hide your tracks? We’ve untangled more complex webs than yours, Blom."
Blom shifted in his seat, his bravado starting to crack. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."
"Of course you do," Hansson replied, leaning forward. "And you know what else we know? That you had the perfect motive. Stefan Wallin was going to expose you, wasn’t he? He found out about the embezzlement."
Blom’s face twitched, but he stayed silent.
"Let’s talk about the night Stefan Wallin died," Rahimi suggested, changing tactics. “What happened in Stefan Wallin house? What really happened?”
"I already told you that." Blom almost screamed at her.
"You found the body. You had the motive and the opportunity." Rahimi said with a smirk.
Blom's facade cracked. "This is a witch hunt! I had nothing to do with Stefan's death!"
Hansson leaned in, his eyes locking onto Blom’s. "Then help us understand. If you're innocent, tell us what really happened."
Blom slumped in his chair, defeated. "I don't know what happened. Stefan and I argued, yes, but I didn't kill him. I swear."
"Then why the embezzlement?" Rahimi pressed. "Why the offshore accounts?"
Blom’s silence was telling. He stared at the table, his hands clenching and unclenching.
Mikael Hansson took a deep breath, his voice dropping to a more silent and hollow tone. “How did you kill your partner, Oscar?”
Blom’s shoulders sagged. He seemed to deflate, the fight draining out of him. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "It was supposed to be simple. Just a way to get ahead. I never meant for it to go this far."
13.
The tension in the interrogation room was palpable. Hansson and Rahimi exchanged a glance, their expressions a mixture of determination and anticipation. They had been chasing Blom for months, following the trail of financial discrepancies and hidden accounts. The picture they had pieced together was damning, but they needed Blom's confession to seal the case.
Rahimi leaned forward, her voice gentle but firm. "Start from the beginning, Oscar. We need to understand everything."
Blom sighed, rubbing his temples as if trying to ward off a headache. "It all started about two years ago. The company was struggling, and I saw an opportunity. Stefan was too trusting. He handled the clients, the face of the company, while I managed the finances. It was easy to divert small amounts at first. No one noticed."
Hansson nodded, encouraging him to continue. "Go on."
"The more I took, the bolder I became. I set up offshore accounts to hide the money. It was thrilling, like a game. But then Stefan started asking questions. He was smarter than I gave him credit for. He found discrepancies, and I knew it was only a matter of time before he uncovered everything."
Blom paused, his face contorted with regret. "We had a huge argument the night he died. He threatened to go to the authorities. I panicked. I thought if I could just talk to him, explain... but he was furious. I tried to calm him down, but he wouldn't listen."
Rahimi's eyes softened slightly. "What happened next, Oscar?"
Blom's voice broke. "I didn't mean to hurt him. We struggled, and he fell. He hit his head on the corner of the desk. There was not much blood... I didn't know what to do. But then i remembered the pistol he had bought lately. We were tgether when he bought it, he wanted my advice.”
Hansson's face was impassive, though inside he felt a mixture of satisfaction and sorrow. They finally had the confession.
“So i found the pistol and i put it in his hand, finger on the trigger and then i reached with his armed hand his temple in the place he had hit and over his finger i pulled the ...trigger...” And he started crying.
The room fell silent as Blom’s confession sank in. Rahimi glanced at Hansson, her eyes reflecting the gravity of the moment. "We need to get this on record," she said quietly.
After Blom’s confession, the process moved swiftly. He was charged with embezzlement, fraud, and the manslaughter of Stefan Wallin. The media had a field day with the story, painting Blom as a greedy, deceitful villain. But Hansson and Rahimi knew there was more to it than that. Blom had been driven by desperation and fear, emotions that had led him down a dark path.
As they watched Blom being led away in handcuffs, Rahimi turned to Hansson. "Do you think justice was served?"
Hansson sighed, his expression thoughtful. "Justice is a complicated thing. Blom will pay for his crimes, but it doesn’t bring Stefan back. And it doesn’t erase the damage done to everyone involved."
Rahimi nodded, understanding his sentiment. "At least the truth is out. That’s something."
"Yes," Hansson agreed. "It is."
The End
