common. They also shared the same view of women. Their wives were under their control. They knew what was going on, but never intervened.
‘Well, we may as well get this out of the way. You’re here to evaluate whether or not I can be held responsible for my actions. What do you want to know?’
Sofia looked at the man seated in front of her.
Karl Lundström had thin, fair hair that was starting to go grey. His eyes were tired and slightly swollen, and she thought they expressed a sort of mournful solemnity.
‘I’d like us to talk about your relationship with your daughter,’ she said. It was just as well to get straight to the point.
He ran his hand through his stubble.
‘I love Linnea, but she doesn’t love me. I have abused her, and I’m admitting that to make things easier for all of us. For my family, I mean. I love my family.’
His voice sounded weary and disengaged, and his apathetic tone made what he said sound false.
He had been arrested after a lengthy period of surveillance, and the child pornography found on his computer included several images and video clips of his daughter. What option did he have but to confess?
‘In what way do you think it will make things easier for them?’
‘They need protection. From me and from others.’
His claim was so peculiar that she felt it demanded a follow-up question.
‘Protection from others? Who do you mean?’
‘The sort of people only I can protect them from.’
He made a sweeping gesture with his arm, and she could smell his body odour. He probably hadn’t washed for several days.
‘If I tell the police what this is all about, Annette and Linnea can have their personal details made confidential. Because they know too much. There are dangerous people out there. A human life is nothing to them. Believe me, I know. God has nothing to do with these people, they aren’t His children.’
She realised that Karl Lundström was referring to the players in the child sex trade. In interviews with the police he had explicitly claimed that Organizatsiya, the Russian mafia, had threatened him repeatedly, and that he feared for his family’s lives. Sofia had spoken to Lars Mikkelsen, who thought Karl Lundström was lying. The Russian mafia didn’t work the way he had described, and his claims were full of contradictions. Besides, he hadn’t been able to provide the police with a single concrete piece of evidence suggesting any threat.
Mikkelsen had said he thought Karl Lundström wanted his family’s identities protected for the simple reason of saving them from any shame.
Sofia suspected that Karl Lundström might be trying to construct something that could be seen as extenuating circumstances for himself. Taking on some sort of heroic role, in marked contrast to what had actually happened.
‘Do you regret what you’ve done?’ Sooner or later she had to ask.
He looked oddly distant.
‘Do I regret it?’ he said after a moment’s silence. ‘It’s complicated … Sorry, what was your name? Sofia?’
‘Sofia Zetterlund.’
‘Of course. Sofia means wisdom. A good name for a psychologist … Sorry. OK, well …’ He took a deep breath. ‘We … I mean, me and the others, we were free to swap wives and children with each other. And I think this happened with Annette’s tacit consent. And the other wives’ as well … In the same way that we men instinctively found each other, we were also careful in our choice of wives. We met in the home of shadows, if you get what I mean?’
The home of shadows? Sofia thought. She recognised the phrase from the preliminary report.
‘Annette’s brain is switched off, somehow,’ he went on without waiting for her to reply. ‘She isn’t stupid, but she chooses not to see things she doesn’t like. It’s her self-defence mechanism.’
Sofia knew this phenomenon wasn’t unusual. There was often a degree of passivity in those close to the events that allowed this sort of abuse to continue.
But
‘Well, we may as well get this out of the way. You’re here to evaluate whether or not I can be held responsible for my actions. What do you want to know?’
Sofia looked at the man seated in front of her.
Karl Lundström had thin, fair hair that was starting to go grey. His eyes were tired and slightly swollen, and she thought they expressed a sort of mournful solemnity.
‘I’d like us to talk about your relationship with your daughter,’ she said. It was just as well to get straight to the point.
He ran his hand through his stubble.
‘I love Linnea, but she doesn’t love me. I have abused her, and I’m admitting that to make things easier for all of us. For my family, I mean. I love my family.’
His voice sounded weary and disengaged, and his apathetic tone made what he said sound false.
He had been arrested after a lengthy period of surveillance, and the child pornography found on his computer included several images and video clips of his daughter. What option did he have but to confess?
‘In what way do you think it will make things easier for them?’
‘They need protection. From me and from others.’
His claim was so peculiar that she felt it demanded a follow-up question.
‘Protection from others? Who do you mean?’
‘The sort of people only I can protect them from.’
He made a sweeping gesture with his arm, and she could smell his body odour. He probably hadn’t washed for several days.
‘If I tell the police what this is all about, Annette and Linnea can have their personal details made confidential. Because they know too much. There are dangerous people out there. A human life is nothing to them. Believe me, I know. God has nothing to do with these people, they aren’t His children.’
She realised that Karl Lundström was referring to the players in the child sex trade. In interviews with the police he had explicitly claimed that Organizatsiya, the Russian mafia, had threatened him repeatedly, and that he feared for his family’s lives. Sofia had spoken to Lars Mikkelsen, who thought Karl Lundström was lying. The Russian mafia didn’t work the way he had described, and his claims were full of contradictions. Besides, he hadn’t been able to provide the police with a single concrete piece of evidence suggesting any threat.
Mikkelsen had said he thought Karl Lundström wanted his family’s identities protected for the simple reason of saving them from any shame.
Sofia suspected that Karl Lundström might be trying to construct something that could be seen as extenuating circumstances for himself. Taking on some sort of heroic role, in marked contrast to what had actually happened.
‘Do you regret what you’ve done?’ Sooner or later she had to ask.
He looked oddly distant.
‘Do I regret it?’ he said after a moment’s silence. ‘It’s complicated … Sorry, what was your name? Sofia?’
‘Sofia Zetterlund.’
‘Of course. Sofia means wisdom. A good name for a psychologist … Sorry. OK, well …’ He took a deep breath. ‘We … I mean, me and the others, we were free to swap wives and children with each other. And I think this happened with Annette’s tacit consent. And the other wives’ as well … In the same way that we men instinctively found each other, we were also careful in our choice of wives. We met in the home of shadows, if you get what I mean?’
The home of shadows? Sofia thought. She recognised the phrase from the preliminary report.
‘Annette’s brain is switched off, somehow,’ he went on without waiting for her to reply. ‘She isn’t stupid, but she chooses not to see things she doesn’t like. It’s her self-defence mechanism.’
Sofia knew this phenomenon wasn’t unusual. There was often a degree of passivity in those close to the events that allowed this sort of abuse to continue.
But
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