The Crow Girl

The #1 international sensation, a mesmerizing and explosive thriller that reaches into the darkest corners of the human psyche and asks: How much suffering can a person inflict upon another before creating a monster? 

In a Stockholm city park, police find the tortured body of a youth. Then, they find two more, and it becomes clear that they are facing an extraordinary case—and an extraordinarily twisted killer. Detective Superintendent Jeanette Kihlberg heads the investigation, battling an apathetic prosecutor and a bureaucratic police force. She turns to the therapist Sofia Zetterlund for her expertise in psychopathic perpetrators, and under the pressure of the investigation, their lives become inextricably intertwined. As the two women draw closer to the truth about the killings, they begin to discover a hideous evil at work, and it’s much closer to them than they think. Mesmerizing and explosive, The Crow Girl is a tale of almost unfathomably heinous deeds and of the catastrophic damage, and the profound need for revenge, left in their wake.Praise for Erik Axl Sund's The Crow Girl

“Unfolds in kaleidoscopic fashion. . . . Fired up by moral concerns, this book’s engine never stops humming.” —Chicago Tribune 

“The most disturbing book you’ll read all year. . . . There’s a fantastic twist in store.” —The Guardian

“What is it about Sweden that produces such deliciously, darkly off-kilter thrillers, featuring idiosyncratic, complex characters such as Lisbeth Salander and now Detective Superintendent Jeanette Kihlberg? As Kihlberg investigates a killer who targets immigrant children, she must deal with xenophobia, extreme right-wing politics, and other hot-button issues that only deepen our morbid fascination.”
—O, The Oprah Magazine
 
“You will find [The Crow Girl] to be among the most wide-ranging and forceful Scandinavian crime novels you have encountered. . . . Complex and very dark.” —Financial Times
 
“A huge book and a landmark achievement for its authors. . . . A darkly delightful must-read.” —Crime Fiction Lover

“Bold, addictive, and timely.” —Chicago Review of Books

“Engrossing. . . . This disturbingly fascinating look at revenge, abuse, and the impact of childhood on adult choices is not for the faint of heart, but it is highly recommended for those [who] appreciate dark, psychological mysteries.” —Library Journal
 
“A breakneck journey through a plot of labyrinthine complexity. . . . Sund boldly places dissociative identity disorder at the heart of this extremely disturbing novel.” —The Times (London)
 
“Probing. . . . Full of chills. . . . A smart, rewarding psychological thriller.” —Kirkus Reviews
 
“The Swedish crime thriller tipped to make a killing. . . . Follows in the footsteps of Stieg Larsson and Henning Mankell.” —The Guardian

“Horrors abound in the pseudonymous Sund’s scathing first book that rips asunder the appearance of Sweden’s contemporary welfare state. . . . [A] challenging multifaceted descent into the abyss of evil and madness.” —Publishers Weekly

“Brutal, upsetting, and brilliantly written, it is the best crime novel of the year so far. . . . The joint authors . . . rage against misogyny and sexism. They decry child abuse and human trafficking. And, perhaps most importantly, they tell a brilliant story. . . . This novel is dark—jet-black dark. . . . The authors’ biggest triumph, however, is to make seven hundred fifty pages whizz past. . . . Terse, direct, and compelling.” —Metro (London)ERIK AXL SUND is the pen name of Swedish author duo Jerker Eriksson and Håkan Axlander Sundquist, recipients of the Special Award from the Swedish Crime Writers Academy. In addition to writing, Eriksson has been a prison librarian and the producer of an electro punk band, and Sundquist has worked as a sound engineer, musician, and artist. They live in Stockholm.

www.erikaxlsund.comThe house was over a hundred years old, and the solid stone walls were at least a meter thick, which meant that she probably didn’t need to insulate them, but she wanted to be absolutely sure.

To the left of the living room was a small corner room that she had been using as a combination workroom and guest bedroom.

Leading off of it were a small toilet and a fair--sized closet.

The room was perfect, with its single window and nothing but the unused attic above.

No more nonchalance, no more taking anything for granted.

Nothing would be left to chance. Fate was a dangerously unreliable accomplice. Sometimes your friend, but just as often an unpredictable enemy.

The dining table and chairs ended up shoved against one wall, which opened up a large space in the middle of the living room.

Then it was just a matter of waiting.

The first sheets of polystyrene arrived at ten o’clock, as arranged, carried in by four men. Three of them were in their fifties, but the fourth couldn’t have been more than twenty. His head was shaved and he wore a black T--shirt with two crossed Swedish flags on the chest, under the words “My Fatherland.” He had tattoos of spiderwebs on his elbows, and some sort of Stone Age design on his wrists.

When she was alone again she settled onto the sofa to plan her work. She decided to start with the floor, since that was the only thing that was likely to be a problem. The old couple downstairs might  have been almost deaf, and she herself had never heard a single sound from them over the years, but it still felt like an important detail.

She went into the bedroom.

The little boy was still sound asleep.

It had been so odd when she met him on the local train. He had simply taken her hand, stood up, and obediently gone with her, without her having to say a single word.

She had acquired the pupil she had been seeking, the child she had never been able to have.

She put her hand to his forehead; his temperature had gone down. Then she felt his pulse.

Everything was as it should be.

She had used the right dose of morphine.

The workroom had a thick, white, wall--to--wall carpet that she had always thought ugly and unhygienic, even if it was nice to walk on. But right now it was ideal for her purpose.

Using a sharp knife, she cut up the polystyrene and stuck the pieces together with a thick layer of flooring adhesive.

The strong smell soon made her feel dizzy, and she had to open the window onto the street. It was triple--glazed, and the outer pane had an extra layer of soundproofing.

Fate as a friend.

Work on the floor took all day. Every so often she would go and check on the boy.

When the whole floor was done she covered all the cracks with silver duct tape.

She spent the following three days dealing with the walls. By Friday there was just the ceiling left, and that took a bit longer because she had to glue the polystyrene first, and then wedge the blocks up against the ceiling with planks.

While the glue was drying she nailed up some old blankets in place of the doors she had removed earlier. She glued four layers of polystyrene onto the door to the living room.

She covered the only window with an old sheet. Just to be sure, she used a double layer of insulation to block the window alcove. When the room was ready, she covered the floor and walls with a waterproof tarpaulin.

There was something meditative about the work, and when at last she looked at what she had accomplished she felt a sense of pride.

The room was further refined during the following week. She bought four small rubber wheels, a hasp, ten meters of electric cable, several meters of wooden skirting, a basic light fitting, and a box of light bulbs. She also had a set of dumbbells, some weights, and an exercise bike -delivered.

She took all the books out of one of the bookcases in the living room, tipped it onto its side, and screwed the wheels under each corner. She attached a length of skirting board to the front to conceal the fact that it could now be moved, then placed the bookcase in front of the door to the hidden room.

She screwed the bookcase to the door and tested it.

The door glided soundlessly open on its little rubber wheels. It all worked perfectly. She attached the hasp and shut the door, concealing the simple locking mechanism with a carefully positioned lamp.

Finally she put all the books back and fetched a thin mattress from one of the two beds in the bedroom.

That evening she carried the sleeping boy into his new home.