Alex Gray - The Swedish Girl

‘Mr Young?’

‘Sorry, think I was out of it,’ Colin shrugged. Would she take his diffidence for embarrassment that he had been too drunk to know what had been going on?

The DI laid down her pen and clasped her hands together, resting her chin upon them. ‘Can you tell me what she was like, Colin?’ she asked, startling him by the use of his first name.

‘She was beautiful,’ he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Then, to his horror, Colin Young began to cry.

The plane flew through a bank of pale grey clouds blotting out the dull green landscape that had been visible moments before. Henrik Magnusson sat by the window, staring out, too afraid to catch the eye of any person on this flight lest his weeping begin once more. Even the kindly smile from the purser as he had entered the cabin had made him bite his lip to control his emotions, though he wasn’t to know that the woman had given each and every passenger the same friendly greeting.

It was so different from last summer in Glasgow when he and Eva had been doing up the flat during the summer vacation. A year ago they had still been together, spending the Christmas holiday skiing at Klosters, he remembered, seeing once again that flag of blond hair streaming behind her as Eva had swished down the slopes beside him. Even then he’d had such plans for her! After university she would return to live in the family house in Stockholm and he would begin to introduce her to the ins and outs of the Magnusson Corporation. She was destined for great things, Henrik had said proudly to anyone who would listen, never tiring of telling people how much she had meant to him. But now there was a different story that the world would tell about the fate of Eva Magnusson.

As the plane banked, Henrik gripped the armrest, steeling himself not for the landing but for what awaited him beyond the confines of the approaching airport.

Dr Rosie Fergusson picked up her briefcase and pulled her coat from the peg on the back of her office door. It was another lousy day, dark and foreboding as only days in the depth of a Scottish winter could be. Then, remembering the man she was about to meet, the pathologist gave a rueful grin. Bet they have gloomier days than we do, all the way up into the northern climes, she thought. No wonder the suicide rate was so high in places like Sweden if you had to wait months and months for a glimpse of sunshine.

Outside, the rain had stopped and a weak band of light was showing in the east, but the dark clouds above surely held more bad weather, maybe even the first snows, Rosie told herself, pulling the coat collar around her neck as she slipped into the front of the Saab. It was a short ride across town to Glasgow City Mortuary where Rosie kept her other office and where Eva Magnusson’s body lay stored in the wall of refrigerators. The Swede had intimated that he wanted to come straight there from the airport and Rosie remembered the terse email letting her know when he expected to arrive.

God! How she hated this part of her job, meeting the relatives of the dead. For some reason it had become worse since Abby’s birth, something that Solly had tried to explain to her in terms of psychology. Before her pregnancy Rosie had been well able to keep all of her emotions in check, always the consummate professional when dealing with her work. But now it was as if some fairy creature had stolen away her old reserves of… what? Stoicism? Objectivity? Or had she just been a hardened bitch back then? Nowadays the pathologist’s head was filled far more with thoughts about the relatives of the deceased and she seemed to have developed a keen empathy with the bereaved to the extent that she found it difficult sometimes to keep her own tears in check.

As she entered the small parking place at the back of the mortuary, Rosie noticed the familiar blue van, its back doors opened wide and empty indicating that some other fatality would be awaiting her attention this Monday morning. A recent accident, perhaps? A sudden death, more than likely, but not one that had necessitated calling her out in the middle of the night, so probably not murder.

She smiled at the undertakers as the empty trolley passed her. They had a job to do and so had she, and if that job was all about the dead, then so be it. They were owed as much care by the pathologist and her colleagues as any sick patients in hospital, yet a different sort of caring, since it was too late for them to speak of whatever had brought them to this place.

And what had happened to the Swedish girl whose body would shortly be taken to the viewing room? That she had been strangled was quite evident. The death had probably been quick enough, but even those last suffocating seconds must have been terrifying. Whoever had committed this crime must have been strong enough to overcome the girl. Small and slight as she was, she had had youth and vigour on her side, not to mention the adrenalin rush that would have caused her to try to fight back. And the traces of semen… now had that come from the perpetrator? The victim had had sex with someone shortly before her death, a fact that was already written in the pathologist’s report. Oh, dear Lord , Rosie sighed, knowing that this was something else she was dreading having to tell the father.

The taxi stopped at the lights, letting Henrik see a different part of Glasgow from the business district with which he was familiar. Everything here looked dark, cold and dreary and, as if to underline his impressions, scraps of litter rose in a gust of wind then fell into gutters already lined with detritus. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. If he had known that parts of the city were like this… he dashed a gloved hand across his eyes. Of course he had known exactly what Glasgow was like, had even argued a little with Eva when she had made her choice to go to Strathclyde. Buying her that flat in Anniesland was meant to have protected her…

The lights changed and the taxi turned into a side street where, facing them, he saw for the first time the High Court of Judiciary in all its glory. Then the cab turned once more and drew up outside a small grey Victorian building. Taking a deep breath, Henrik Magnusson stepped out into the cold of a Scottish December and made his way to the front door of Glasgow City Mortuary.

He was a huge bear of a man, thought Rosie, ushering the Swede down the corridor to the viewing room where Eva Magnusson’s body lay. Apart from his immense height — maybe even taller than Lorimer — she noticed he was a handsome man, his blond hair cut into a smart style, his lambskin coat hugging a body that was strong and muscular. His eyes startled her they were such a vivid shade, making her remember the moment when she had drawn the dead girl’s eyelids down over their unseeing blue. That the Swedish girl’s father had the same eyes should not have unsettled her like this, but somehow it did.

Magnusson had remembered the ordinary courtesies, even at a time like this, removing his heavy leather gloves to shake hands with this woman who had performed the post-mortem examination on his beloved daughter.

She had taken his outstretched hand, told him how sorry she was for his loss, and now that these preliminaries were over they were standing side by side at the window that looked down on the body lying on top of the trolley. A sudden intake of breath and the sense that the man by her side had stiffened was all the reaction that Rosie noticed, though she stole a sideways glance at the bereaved father just to see if he wanted to speak. But there was only silence as he stood there, staring at his daughter; silence and a sense of sheer disbelief. Rosie’s eyes strayed to Magnusson’s fingers as he fiddled with his cuffs, straightening the solid cufflinks as though it was an unconscious habit. It’s stress, she thought. He needs to control even the tiniest things around him right now.