Lars Anderson's POV
Lofbergs Arena, Karlstad, Sweden
Sunday, October 10, 2021
I walked back to the FΓ€rjestad Bollklubb Karlstad (FBK) locker room, joking with my teammates after another win. I'd returned home and quickly signed with my hometown team in the top-tier Swedish Hockey League after I left the Minnesota Wild. At first, the press had been all over me, and the fans of other teams had been brutal. The jeering was constant, and some opposing team fan girls showed up in bondage gear like ball gags and collars when we'd play.
Thankfully, that provocation stopped after the second murder. People started looking at me as more of a victim who'd lost his fiancΓ© to a madman instead of a deviant sexual creature. I was, of course. It didn't take long to look up a few needy sluts from the old days and renew acquaintances.
I put my gear in my locker and showered, changing into a suit for the post-game interviews. I'd scored twice, so there was no getting out of it. I walked into the room where Coach Sven was already talking. The room got quiet as I sat down. "That was a fun game," I started.
The local television reporter stood, camera rolling beside her. "Lars, what is your reaction to the news of your wife's killer committing suicide?"
"Wait, WHAT?"
She looked down at her notes. "Saint Paul Police confirmed that Michael Klinesmith, the former Ramsey County Attorney, jumped from the balcony of his tenth-floor condominium yesterday. Inside his home, investigators found a partial suicide note confessing to a murder in Minneapolis last month, plus three pieces of jewelry belonging to the Book Killer murders. DNA evidence confirmed blood belonging to Tracy Hardin was on the necklace found at the scene."
It was unreal. Michael was a member of the Society and Tracy's previous Master. When Tracy asked for my collar, Michael released her without a fight. We'd remained friends since, and hearing he was a serial killer blew my mind. "Wow. When did that come out?"
"About an hour ago," she replied.
"It's the first I've heard of it. Tracy was a wonderful woman, and it ripped my heart out to have her taken from me by such a vicious killer. Thank God he won't kill again," I said. The emotion got to me, and I didn't want to break down in front of them. "Excuse me," I said. I practically ran back to the locker room.
My teammates gave me space to grieve again, giving me pats on the back or words of encouragement as they filed out. When the place was nearly empty, Coach Sven sat down near me. "I'm sorry you found out like that, Lars."
"I loved her," I replied. "I couldn't protect her, and now I can't even watch her killer get justice."
He put his hand on my shoulder. "That fucker had no problem killing helpless women, but he couldn't take the thought of going to jail," he told me. "I've looked at those news reports, and they make me sick. You know what I think?" He looked straight into my eyes. "FUCK that guy. I hope he burns in hell."
"Yeah." He looked away, and I thought about what I needed to do. I'd fled Minnesota to avoid the press, but I should be able to get back now. "Coach, I need to go back to the States and wrap things up. I still have to move out of my apartment, and I need to say goodbye to my fiancΓ© since I skipped her funeral."
"How much time do you need?"
"A week or so."
"Do what you have to do, Lars. Say goodbye to her, and come back when you are ready."
"Thanks, Sven." I grabbed my stuff and headed out to my car.
Naturally, a reporter was waiting near the arena exit. "Mr. Johnson, what would you say to the man who killed your fiancΓ© if he were still alive?"
I thought about it for a second. "I wouldn't say a thing. Nothing I could say would take away the pain, and I don't care why he did it. That's between him and God. Now, excuse me." I walked past her to my car and drove home.
I didn't get home until late, so I took a flight leaving Monday afternoon. I had a short flight to Oslo, then to Amsterdam, before finally boarding the plane for the long flight to Minneapolis. With the time change, it was only nine at night when I landed at the airport. I was glad I caught a nap on the flight because I was dragging! With customs and car rental, it was almost midnight when I arrived at my St. Paul apartment.
I slept for twelve hours straight.
When I woke up, I headed to Police Headquarters to speak to Detective Maloney, the lead detective on my fiance's murder case. He met me at the front desk and escorted me to his desk upstairs. After exchanging pleasantries, I got down to business. "You are convinced Michael Klinesmith killed my Tracy?"
"It's conclusive, and we closed the file this morning," he said. "Michael was always a suspect in this case, but we didn't have enough direct evidence to tie him to the murder."
"You had the whiskey glass," I said.
"True, but with how he staged the murder to match the book, that wasn't definitive. I have to hand it to him for following David Hardin's books. We were focused on David Hardin because we thought Michael got set up, and all the evidence led to David. Even if we arrested Michael, the evidence he planted created tons of reasonable doubt if it went to trial. We got lucky."
"Why do you say that, Detective?"
"He killed a girl before he killed Tracy, but he left enough evidence to tie him to the murder. Minneapolis Homicide was closing in on him. We figure he got wind of the investigation and killed himself."
"That's convenient," I said.
"His wife has the money in their marriage. Laura froze his accounts and filed for divorce, so he didn't have the resources to run. Jail would mean a quick death or permanent solitary, so he jumped. People react in different ways to the threat of prison. It happens."
"I guess." Something didn't add up. "The news reports said you found jewelry belonging to Tracy on his confession to Allison's death." Maloney nodded. "Was it this?" I pulled out my phone and showed him a picture of a sterling silver necklace with a round ring. It was the 'everyday' BDSM slave collar she could wear that the normies wouldn't recognize, but those in the lifestyle would. When we were in a scene or at a Society event, I replaced it with a thick leather one.
"Yes. Blood on it belonged to the victim."
"I bought it for her when we started dating. She never took it off."
"I'm sorry about that. Miss Hardin's personal effects will go to her parents now that the case is closed, but I'm sure you can get it from them if you want."
"Thank you." I changed tactics again. "What else ties Klinesmith to the three murders?"
"The trophies he took," Maloney said.
"No phone records? Vehicle sightings? Eyewitnesses?"
"He was careful after his first one, and now he's dead. I'm sorry for your loss, Lars, but her killer is beyond our reach now. The case is closed."