with something. We need to look in some mausoleums at Stampen’s old cemetery. No, not dig up. These are the kind of graves that have doors and walls. Like little houses. Irene got a tip today that has to do with Basta. Do you know who to talk to when you need to have those doors unlocked?”
She listened and nodded before she said, “OK. Call if it works out.” Birgitta handed the phone to Irene.
“Hi, Irene. I asked Birgitta to see if you can come along when I question Sara Bolin. But there won’t be enough time today. Can you come with me tomorrow morning?”
“No. I’m going to meet the witness who provided the tip about the graveyard. But after eleven will be OK,” said Irene.
“Then I’ll get in touch with Sara and make an appointment after eleven.”
Irene ended the call and gave the cell phone back to Birgitta, who put it in her bag again.
“Hannu knows someone who works in Cemetery Administration. He’s going to call there first. He’ll let us know as soon as he learns anything,” said Birgitta.
If there was anyone Irene knew who could open graves, it was Hannu; she was absolutely certain of that. That’s why it didn’t come as a surprise when Hannu phoned twenty minutes later and informed them that an administrator would meet them at the cemetery gates at three o’clock.
IT WAS still overcast but a mild breeze swept through the city and dried up the streets. Birgitta and Irene walked to the old cemetery.
“Henning Oppdal and Basta went exactly this way on a late January night. The X-ray technician thought that he was going to get a good fuck but instead Basta lured him into the cemetery and unlocked an old mausoleum. No wonder the guy was badly scared,” said Irene.
“Lucky for him,” Birgitta replied.
And it probably was. On a warm afternoon in June, the parklike old cemetery looked tranquil and inviting. Ideal for a contemplative walk. It was the last place one would think of as the site of macabre necrophilic rituals.
A corpulent older man stood outside the gates. He was wearing a worn brown tweed suit and sweating heavily even though it wasn’t particularly warm. He wiped his forehead and face with a large blue-checkered cotton handkerchief.
The female police officers walked up to him and showed their IDs as they introduced themselves. When he greeted them, he held out a surprisingly soft little hand that was completely soaked with perspiration.
“Gösta Olsson from Cemetery Administration. This isn’t really according to regulation but my boss didn’t think it was necessary to consider this a grave opening, because then we would need a judge’s permission. We’re only going to take a look and see what the miserable Satanists have been up to. Amazing that they’ve gotten a key! It must be a copy since we hold all of the keys to the old graves. Many of the families have died out but the graves are protected as historical monuments. They’re unique because . . .”
The round man talked uninterrupted and gesticulated widely until they reached the larger grave sites that were clustered almost in the center of the cemetery. There were two mausoleums on one side of the gravel path and three across from them. They towered, like a Manhattan of the dead, over the other graves in the cemetery.
These mausoleums were impressive. They were somewhat larger than small cabins. Two were covered with white marble, one with black slate, and two with red granite. Their doors were either heavy iron or copper plated.
“Do you know which of the graves they had a key to?” Gösta Olsson asked.
“Unfortunately not. Our witness was scared and doesn’t remember,” Irene answered apologetically.
Apparently, Hannu had represented the case as one of suspected Satanism. Irene saw no reason to enlighten the administrator.
Olsson sighed heavily and passed the handkerchief over his face once more.
“It’s best if we go through all five. If you knew how much misery these Satan worshippers have caused! They turn over gravestones and cover them with wax and stearine. One time they even tried to dig up an old grave! It held the remains of a bishop who died at the end of the 1800s. But people who were living in the house on the other side of the street saw that there was some devilry going on so they called the police.”
Here he was forced to catch his breath, so Irene took the opportunity to suggest, “Maybe we should start with the closest