Page 36 of The Sleepwalker (Joona Linna #10)
It is eight o’clock in the morning when Joona enters the interview room, where the woman who called herself Jezebel is waiting with a guard.
She has now been identified as Jenny Gyllenkrans, a fifty-two-year-old, single, childless resident of Norrkoping who sits on the city council for the Liberal Party.
Joona says a quick hello to the guard and takes a seat across the table from Jenny.
Her face is bare, emphasising the deep furrows around her mouth, and her blonde hair loose. Instead of a pink dress, she is now wearing loose prison-issue clothing, and has been given a sling for her broken shoulder.
Before coming into the interview room, Joona spoke to Erixon. The forensic technician told him that Jenny’s car, a five-year-old Lexus, is a match for the tyre tracks found at the campsite, meaning that analysis of the strand of hair has now been given priority.
‘How is your shoulder?’ he asks.
‘A bit sore,’ she replies without looking at him.
‘Have you been given anything for the pain?’
‘It’s fine.’
‘Do you want to see a nurse?’
‘No need.’
‘Just say if you change your mind.’
‘Thank you,’ Jenny whispers, straightening the sleeve of her sweatshirt.
Stina Linton comes into the room, says hello and sits down beside Joona.
‘Shall we get started?’ he asks.
Stina quickly takes Jenny through the formalities, explaining the process and informing her of her rights and obligations before telling her that the interview will be recorded.
‘You’re being held on suspicion of attempted murder, aggravated robbery, assault and guns charges,’ Joona begins. ‘But that’s not what I want to talk to you about.’
‘OK .?.?.’ Jenny replies, a crease between her brows.
‘Do you know what I want to ask you about?’
She shakes her head, still avoiding his eye.
‘We have reason to believe that you were at Edsviken Tennis Club at around ten p.m. on the night of 27 November. Is that correct?’
‘No.’
‘We also have reason to believe you were at Bred?ng Campsite at around two a.m. on 26 November. Is that correct?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘In your own words, could you tell us what you were planning to do at Hotell Norrort in Vallentuna yesterday evening?’
‘You lured me into a trap,’ Jenny says, staring down at the table.
‘But what were you planning to do there?’ Joona presses her.
‘Nothing. Meet a guy.’
‘Are you a sex worker?’
‘No.’
‘But you pose as one?’
‘That’s not against the law.’
‘But robbery and assault are.’
‘Buying sex is illegal,’ she says, meeting his eye for the first time.
‘You frequently change your alias,’ Joona continues. ‘But always use the same picture, of a young woman – yourself, when you were around twenty.’
‘Twenty-one,’ she replies, unable to hide her surprise.
‘What happened to you then?’
Jenny looks down again. She takes a deep breath, as though she is about to start talking, but doesn’t manage a single word. Tears roll down her cheeks and drip to her lap. She dries her eyes, lifts her head and tries again.
‘When I was seventeen, I met a man through a classified ad,’ she begins.
‘He was Swedish, but he lived in Brooklyn. He’d just started an economics degree there, and he was smart and funny and loving .
.?. He sent a few sexy pictures, so I sent some back.
It was all so exciting – it felt like things were finally happening for me – but when I started planning a trip to New York to see him, something changed.
I remember wondering whether he was already married or something .
.?. Anyway, by the time I realised he’d been grooming me, it was too late.
I was embarrassed, scared, and I tried to break things off with him, but he threatened to share the pictures I’d sent with my school, said he’d send them to my family if I didn’t give him more.
That went on and on, and he kept asking for more – and worse.
I started thinking about killing myself, but I couldn’t do it because I wanted to live.
Not that I would’ve felt that way if I’d known what was going to happen next . .?.’
She pauses for a moment and dries her cheeks.
Stina passes her a tissue, and she mumbles a thank you, blows her nose and continues.
‘He forced me to go over to his place, and it turned out he wasn’t in New York after all.
He lived half an hour away, in Nacka .?.
. And he was a disgusting old man, ugly and aggressive.
He made me have sex with him, and he filmed it .
.?. and this went on until I was almost nineteen .
.?. That’s when he forced me into prostitution.
I would’ve topped myself right there and then, just to get out of it, but he showed me the messages he’d been sending my little sister and said he’d do the same to her if I refused .
.?. so I met a bunch of other men in a small flat by Gullmarsplan.
They were literally queuing to get in, and he said they could do whatever they wanted with me as long as he got paid .
.?. After three years of that, he got caught up in a police raid.
They found out he’d been grooming a whole load of girls, that he’d forced four of us to become prostitutes, and he was sent down – for two measly months.
I wanted ten million in compensation, but I only got eleven thousand .
.?. so now I’m clawing the rest of it back myself. ’
As she stops talking, she starts picking at a scratch on the table.
‘So it’s all about money?’ Joona asks.
‘Yes.’
‘And a hatred of men buying sex?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I think your hatred overwhelms you from time to time, and you use an axe rather than an iron rod and a knife.’
‘An axe?’ she repeats, fixing her absent eyes on him.
‘You’re suspected of murder, and you’re going to be remanded in custody,’ Stina Linton explains.
‘Murder?’ Jenny smiles uncomfortably.
‘Your tyres match tracks found at Bred?ng Campsite on 26 November .?.?. and we also have a blonde hair from the scene of the murder.’
‘But I haven’t murdered anyone, as far as I know.’
‘We’ll be handing the case over to the prosecutor now, and your custody hearing will start tomorrow at the latest.’
Joona’s phone buzzes, and he sees that he has a text from Erixon. He apologises and opens the message: Results in from the lab: the blonde hair from the caravan is NOT from Jenny Gyllenkrans.
He puts the phone screen-down on the table and studies Jenny for a moment before continuing the interview. She is sitting quietly with a sad look on her face, picking at a hangnail on her thumb.
‘What were you doing at Bred?ng Campsite on 26 November?’ he asks.
Jenny lets out a deep sigh and looks up at him.
‘I know why you think it was me,’ she says, briefly meeting his eye. ‘Because I’d arranged to meet a john in caravan fourteen .?.?. The place was closed for the season, which suited me just fine.’
‘OK, so you drove over there, parked by the gates, grabbed your metal bar and your knife and walked over to the caravan?’
‘Yes.’
‘What time was this?’
‘Five to one.’
‘Go on,’ says Joona.
‘I saw that the light was on in the caravan, so I thought the john must already be in there,’ she says, getting lost in thought.
‘What happened next?’ asks Stina.
‘What happened? I stopped dead,’ she mumbles.
‘Why?’
‘Because I saw a guy go round the back of the caravan.’
‘Could you describe him?’
‘Long, dark hair .?.?. I can’t really remember. Jeans and a green sweater.’
‘And what did you do then?’
‘What did I do? I heard some loud noises from inside .?.?. thuds, things breaking. And then a load of blood sprayed across the window, so I turned around and left as quick as I could. I got in the car and drove home.’
‘Did you hear any voices inside the caravan?’ asks Joona.
‘No, don’t think so .?.?. No.’
‘For the record, I need to ask if you ever set foot inside the caravan.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘And you’re sure?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What was the closest you got to the caravan?’
‘Maybe twenty metres,’ she replies.
‘You were on your way towards it, but you stopped because you saw a man outside the caravan?’
‘Yes.’
‘And then you heard noises inside?’
‘Yes.’
‘What were you thinking then?’
‘At first, I thought the john must be the aggressive type, that he’d flipped for some reason and started trashing the place.’
‘But you didn’t immediately leave?’ says Joona.
‘We’re only talking about a few seconds. But when I saw the blood .?.?. there was so much of it, all over the window. I mean, there wasn’t anything I could do. He wasn’t alone in there, he was in a fight or something, and I started thinking about gangs .?.?. I just wanted to get away.’
‘Did the man with the long hair go inside the caravan?’
‘Not that I saw.’
‘And did you see anyone else at the campsite?’ asks Joona.
‘No.’
‘Did you notice anything else?’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘Were there any other cars in the parking area?’
‘Yeah .?.?. The john’s was there, plus another one. An old banger, parked a bit further back.’
‘What kind of car did the john have?’ Joona asks, though he already knows the answer.
‘A Mercedes.’
‘Colour?’
‘Silver.’
‘And the other car?’
‘It was a rusty old Opel .?.?. a Kadett. With one of those screw-on roof rack things.’
‘What colour?’
‘Pale blue .?.?.’
‘Do you remember the registration number?’
‘No.’
‘None of it?’
‘Sorry.’
‘Was it Swedish?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Anything else? Was there any damage to the body? Any stickers, a tow bar?’
‘No idea, I just wanted to get away.’
Joona leans across the table.
‘You were parked beside the john’s Mercedes, which was over by the gates. When you reversed out of the bay, you would have pulled towards the Opel. You must have seen it in the rear-view mirror.’
‘Yeah, it .?.?.’
She trails off and starts picking at the scratch on the table again.
‘Did you see anything in the rear lights?’
‘There were some of those little tree things that smell like pine in the windscreen,’ she says, licking her lips.
‘Air fresheners?’
‘Yeah, but that was the weird thing,’ she says, meeting his eye. ‘There were probably fifteen of them hanging off the mirror, in a big bunch.’