Title: A Shadow on the Pattern

Author: halfmyheart

Rating: T

Pairings: None

Summary: Magnus had said the wrong thing, as usual, and it was going to cost him dearly, but his day from hell was just the beginning. He could never had predicted that he would end up in such a mess, but when all was said and done it was not just his life hanging in the balance.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and places are the property of Left Bank Pictures, Yellow Bird, and the BBC. This form of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Feedback: Constructive criticism is always welcomed. Please read and review.

Status: 1/?

Magnus knew by the expression on Kurt's face that he was in for yet another undeserved tongue lashing, the second in as many hours. He exhaled sharply and braced himself for the storm as Kurt stalked over to his desk.

"Magnus! Where are those files I told you to bring up from the archives? I asked for them three hours ago. What have you been doing all morning?"

Slogging through paperwork, mostly, beyond that Magnus wasn't entirely sure. Kurt had not told him exactly what he was looking for, only that the cold case files on the thirty year old Ahlström murders were to be pulled from the archives. However, the files that Kurt wanted were not housed in the archives but in the bowels of the department, old as sin and rat infested, and Magnus had not wanted to touch them with a ten foot pole.

"There wasn't much left of them," he admitted, tapping his pencil on the edge of the desk as he spoke. "The rats must have used most of the paper for nesting purposes some years ago. There was little discernable writing left, just snippets and such."

Kurt shot him a scathing glare and Magnus knew he had said the wrong thing. As usual.

"Haul your ass down there and retrieve those files, Magnus. They could very well play a pivotal role in this ongoing investigation."

Magnus huffed at the older man and decided to push his luck one step farther. He dropped the pencil and squared his shoulders doggedly. "I don't see how the Ahlström murders have anything to do with the recent Hjalmarsson murders. They occurred over thirty years ago. Any connection you might find will be a tenuous connection at best and I…"

Kurt leaned forward, his eyes blazing with anger. "Just do it, Magnus, or I…"

Luckily, the phone rang at that particular moment, cutting across Kurt's haranguing and, seeing as how Magnus was the only person in the office who knew how to answer a phone, he shot forward in his chair and snatched the receiver to his ear.

"Ystad Police, Martinsson. Yes. Mmmhmm. Of course. Wait, let me write that down. Yes. Yes. Thank you."

Magnus gentle replaced the receiver in the cradle and pretended to be absorbed in his notepad hoping that Kurt would go away.

He heard rather than saw Kurt heave a longsuffering sigh, "Get the bloody files, Magnus. Now. And when you are through with that have a look at my computer, the bloody thing isn't working."

Magnus looked up from glaring at his notepad to watch Kurt stalk back toward his office. He glanced at his watch. He had at least an hour before he could knock off for lunch. The phone rang again and no one else seemed to care enough to answer it. Frustrated beyond belief, he reached for it knowing that it was going to be an incredibly long day.

"Martinsson."

Fifteen minutes later, Magnus found himself tramping through the dusty, poorly lit basement of the department. The flashlight in his hand bounced over innumerable piles of neatly stacked cardboard boxes, some of them dating as far back as the 1950's. Normally, all of the evidence collected at crime scenes was stored in a cold room to preserve any DNA evidence, but many of the older cold case files in which there was no DNA to speak of were stored down in the basement with the rats.

"Useless," he mumbled to himself.

Sometimes he felt like Wallander's ass monkey. Go get this, go get that, find those files, answer the phone, slog through that database for three stupid letters. Anytime he tried to do any real police work with that man around, it always turned into a disaster. He always got harnessed with all the jobs no one else wanted to do. It might have something to do with his youth or it might have something to do with the fact that Magnus had the unfortunate proclivity for saying exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time which usually ended with a chewing out from Kurt that made Magnus want to fade into the walls or, at the very least, fall off the face of the earth. When Kurt was on the warpath it was best to just stand aside and let him blow by, but Magnus found it difficult not to say what was on his mind. He just needed to learn how to keep his mouth shut. Maybe stitches, or super glue, either way Magnus knew his snarky attitude was the number one cause of most of the friction between him and the older detective. Without it, the world would turn so much easier for both men. He just couldn't bring himself to stop being himself for the sake of getting along with Kurt.

Magnus came to halt near the back corner of the basement. The dusty yellow beam from his flashlight illuminated the cardboard box containing Kurt's precious evidence which Magnus had rifled through with great caution earlier. The last thing he wanted was for an errant rat to bit his fingers off.

He placed the small flashlight into his mouth in order to have the free use of both of his hands. He inhaled slowly through his nose, disgusted by the scent of dirt and decay that surrounded him, and gingerly picked up the box. A small cloud of dust billowed up and into his face and Magnus had to resist the urge to sneeze.

He despised being Wallander's bloody errand boy, and, try as he might, he could not see the connection between this old unsolved case and their current case. It seemed like a waste of time digging around in the nethers of the archives when he could be out doing some actual police work.

As he trekked back upstairs, Magnus ran into Anne-Britt in the hallway.

"What have you got there, Magnus?" She asked, eyeing the flimsy box skeptically.

"Files of the Ahlström murders for Kurt. Or, what's left of them anyway."

"The Ahlström murders? What does he want with those?"

Magnus shrugged, "who knows. He seems to think there is some sort of connection but he wasn't up for sharing. You know Wallander, he plays things pretty close to the vest sometimes."

Anne-Britt stared at the box for a moment, a thoughtful expression spreading across her features, "do you really think there is anything useful in that box. I mean, say there is a connection that we aren't seeing, those files are half eaten and incomplete now, how does Kurt expect to put the pieces together when some of them are missing and more than thirty years old?"

Magnus had wondered that himself but Kurt had not given voice to that particular set of concerns. He had already been forced to endure two rather scathing tongue lashing today, he wasn't particularly keen on being subjected to a third. "You should ask him that. Now, if you'll excuse me, Kurt is waiting for me."

Anne-Britt nodded and stepped aside to let him pass. The door to Kurt's office was partially open so Magnus pushed it the rest of the way with his foot.

"The files you asked for," he announced, dropping the box none to gently on the edge of Kurt's desk. "Will that be all?"

"No," said Kurt, "I have to go out of town. There's been another murder and I'm meeting Nyberg there. You sort through those files and look for any commonality between the Ahlström murders and the Hjalmarsson murders. I want anything, Magnus, and I don't care how trivial or insignificant it seems. These two cases are linked; I can feel it, now I just need to prove it."

Magnus started to protest, but Kurt was already heading for the door, car keys in hand. "I don't care of it takes you all day and half the night, get me something I can use." And then he was gone and Magnus was left standing in his empty office with an incredulous scowl on his face.

"Unbelievable," he muttered to himself as he hauled the box off the Kurt's desk and out to his own.

His watch said that it was twelve forty five, far too late to take his lunch break now. Magnus sat down heavily in his chair and fingered the edge of the evidence box. He was contemplating his next move when the phone rang. Once, twice, three times and no one else answered it. He groaned in frustrating but reached for the receiver.

"Martinsson," he said with a sigh.

-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-

Magnus's stomach rumbled in protest and his eyes burned from staring at the computer screen for the last several hours. He had made little headway in the Hjalmarsson/Ahlström files, but he had found something very interesting on the crime database. Wallander was on his way back to the station, presumably for Magnus to brief him on what he had found, but he was still ten minutes out of Ystad.

Tired, Magnus raked a hand through his hair and grabbed his empty coffee cup. The small canteen on the other side of the office was nearly empty this time of night, but he managed to find a small pack of crackers and a left over donut from the morning briefing. Magnus was not a fan of raspberry but he was hungry enough to eat anything that was not stale or sporting a colony of mold.

Just as he was about to refill his coffee cup, his mobile chirped in his pocket.

"Yeah?"

"Magnus, it's Kurt. I'm here. Meet me outside. Bring your computer and your coat."

"Are we going somewhere," he asked through a yawn.

"Yes."

The line went dead and Magnus stared at the raspberry donut with sad, hungry eyes, wavering on whether or not to take it with him. Was it polite to eat in front of Kurt if he had nothing to offer him, too? Magnus decided that he did not care and snatched it out of the box. He put it in his mouth, biting down on the edge to keep it from falling, and grabbed his laptop and coat from his desk.

Wallander was double parked outside the building, the engine running and an annoyed expression on his face when Magnus strode outside. Kurt looked like he hadn't slept in years and his beard was getting out of control. Magnus choose not to comment as he folded himself into the passenger side, gnawing on the donut.

"Did you bring me one," asked Kurt.

"Umm," said Magnus around a mouthful of raspberry filling.

"Never mind," snapped the older detective, shifting into drive and stomping on the gas.

Magnus grabbed the laptop to keep it from toppling into the floor as Kurt rounded the corner and accelerated toward the edge of town. "Where are we going?"

Kurt ignored him, "tell me what you found out on the crime database."

Magnus cleared his throat and brushed donut crumbs off the front of his shirt. "Well, I went through what was left of the Ahlström files like you asked me to, but I couldn't find a connection with the Hjalmarssons until I logged onto the crime database. It turns out that these two cases have some eerie similarities. According to the database, the Ahlström's, Ulf and Britta, had a young son named Niklas. He was ten years old when his parents were murdered."

"Have you been able to find a current residence for this Niklas Ahlström?" Asked Kurt, once again plowing across what Magnus was saying without allowing him to finish.

"No," Magnus responded, "that's just it though. Nicklas was missing at the time of his parent's murders and no one has seen or heard from his since."

"Was a missing person's report filed by the parent's before they died?"

"No."

"Was there a report filed by other family members after their deaths?"

"No."

"What does this have to do with the Hjalmarsson's?"

"Well, the Hjalmarsson's also had a ten year old son, Oskar, but he was found dead at the scene."

"Yes, I know, I was there," said Kurt impatiently. "What does any of this have to do with the crime database?"

Magnus smiled ruefully. "I think you were right about the two cases being connected. I can't actually give you a link beyond manner of death, but I can tell you that, while I was browsing around the database, I came across another unsolved murder from ten years ago in Gothenberg. The Lundqvist's. Father, mother, ten year old son, all dead. The parents were killed downstairs and the boy was found upstairs, posed just like Oskar Hjalmarsson." Magnus hesitated, glancing at Kurt's profile to gauge his reaction. "I think all three of these cases are connected and I think…I think we may be dealing with a serial here."

Kurt was silent for some time, brooding over the news no doubt. "Beyond manner of death and MO, what are the connections between these three families? Did they know one another, do business with one another?"

Magnus shrugged. "I don't know that there is a connection between the families other than the killer. Serial killers are pretty random after all."

"So the connection is the killer?"

"Sure, but the Ahlström's little boy was missing, not murdered. If there is a pattern, their murders don't really fit it, do they?"

"Maybe we just never found the boy. Maybe the killer's style evolved. And that is all circumstantial evidence at best; we don't know that it is a serial for sure."

"Where are we going, Kurt," Magnus asked all of a sudden.

"Back to the Hjalmarsson's house. I think we might have missed something."

"Like what?"

Kurt shook his head in irritation. "I – I don't know. A clue."

"Sure," said Magnus, biting his lip, "but that is two hours from here and I haven't eaten anything since breakfast this morning." He glanced at his watch. "It's almost nine thirty and I'm starving."

Kurt said nothing but continued to drive. Magnus thought Kurt was ignoring him until they pulled into the parking lot of a small deli on the outskirts of Ystad.

"I have to make a phone call," he said, handing Magnus a handful of change. "Get me a ham sandwich and a bottle of water."

'Have to make a phone call' was Kurt's way of telling Magnus to get lost, and the younger detective wasted no time getting out of the car. By the time he had ordered their sandwiches and made it back to the car, Kurt was off the phone and he was even more agitated than usual. He was staring out the windshield, tapping his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel.

"One ham sandwich," announced Magnus, shifting his laptop out of the seat and climbing back into the car.

Kurt took it without fanfare and threw the blue Volvo into reverse. They jerked around and out of the parking lot fast enough to give Magnus whiplash.

"Okay, then," mumbled Magnus, taking a bite of his own sandwich. It was divine but judging by the look on Kurt's face, he was not going to get to enjoy it.

"Tell me more about what you found on the database."

After exhausting all possible avenues of conversation regarding the information Magnus had obtained, the two detectives lapsed into a comfortable silence. Magnus stared out the window as the world passed them by in a blur of surreal landscape. He had always loved Sweden in the summertime, especially the countryside. There were great swathes of pine wood trees along the coast and vast fields of rape sweeping beyond the horizon and into the oblivion of the unknown as the road wound leisurely toward their destination. It was a long, lonely road from Ystad to the small town of Kivik and the white nights of summer made it seem even longer.

Magnus's mind was not on the case or the man sitting beside him as they snaked through the countryside. It was a million miles away, lost in a myriad of memories from his first days on the Ystad police force. As the youngest member of the team, Magnus had always been shunted toward the more trivial tasks of the day to day machinations of the station. Even though he had been a part of the team for several years now, Kurt still foisted mundane chores upon him and refused to allow him to take part in notifying family members of decedents. It was no secret that Kurt thought him rather impulsive and tactless, but Magnus knew that he was more than capable of handling all of the responsibilities of his job, he just wished Kurt would stop being so hard on him all the time.

Thinking of the older man, Magnus peeked toward the driver's seat. Kurt was slumped forward, looking ragged and exhausted. His pale features were highlighted by his rough beard and, had Magnus not know better, he would have guess that Kurt was ill. He knew that the Kurt had a medical condition called HONK, something Magnus found absolutely hilarious but wisely kept his mouth shut about for once, and he wondered if Kurt was taking the doctor's orders to heart. It wasn't that Magnus was particularly keen on Kurt's health, but he liked the older man despite his temper, and did not wish him any ill will. If Magnus was being honest with himself, he looked to Kurt as a sort of role model for the type of police officer he wanted to be someday. Not depressed, overweight, and far too emotionally involved, but dogged, decisive, and the best at his job.

"What are you staring at, Magnus?" Asked Kurt suddenly, breaking through Magnus's musings.

"Umm, well, I was thinking about the case," he said, stumbling through the lie.

Kurt nodded absently. "Yeah, it's been bothering me, too."

"Sure," replied Magnus, "sure."

They turned off the main road onto a small gravel driveway, and Magnus sat up straighter in his seat. "This is it, then? The house?"

"Yes," Kurt said, his voice as drawn and dark as the expression on his face. Magnus could not tell what he was thinking, but his sudden alertness caused an icy feeling to settle into the pit of Magnus's stomach.

"Something is wrong," whispered Kurt as he slammed the car into park and got out.

Magnus followed, one hand already pulling his gun from its holster on his hip. "What it is," he whispered.

"Someone has been here. The door is slightly ajar."

Kurt nodded for Magnus to check around the back, and Magnus took off toward the house, bent low and moving as soundlessly as possible in the dry summer grass. He pressed his back flat against the stone wall, just below the window. Cautiously, he peeked through the dirty glass panes. Then he ducked down and moved on toward the next window. As he approached the corner of the house, he raised his gun and swept around the hedges, ready to shoot anything that moved.

At the same moment, Kurt appeared around the other side. A strange tingling sensation, like tiny bolts of electricity, raced up and down Magnus's spine and his heart was hammering away in his chest as the adrenaline of the moment got the best of him.

He and Kurt approached the backdoor in tandem and Magnus hung back, his gun poised and steady, as Kurt reached for the doorknob and flung the door wide open.

Nothing happen.

Magnus had been expecting something, anything, but there was nothing but silence and dead air. Magnus entered slowly, creeping along in Kurt's footsteps, every nerve in his body humming with alertness. His eyes scanned everything for any sign of danger and his ears strained for the faintest sound of scuffing feet or whispered movement around every corner and every doorway.

He crept cautiously up the staircase, testing each step for creaking noises before placing his full weight on it and moving forward.

The pictures on the wall showed a happy, smiling family. There were numerous photos of a young boy with close cropped dark hair whom Mangus recognized as Oskar from the crime scene pictures he had reviewed at the station. He felt a pang of sadness wrap around his heart and squeeze, but he brushed it aside. Getting emotionally involved in a case was a bad idea.

As he neared the top of the staircase, Magnus heard a faint clicking noise that he instantly recognized as the tapping of keys on keyboard. Suddenly, the noise ceased, replaced with an emptiness that settled heavily in Magnus's stomach. He tried to steel himself for the inevitable confrontation but everything happened so fast that he barely saw it coming.

One minute he was alone on top of the staircase, one foot on the landing, one still on the stairs, his gun aimed toward the open door, and the next he was falling backwards, arms reaching out to slow his decent down the stairs, to break his fall and protect his head. He had managed to fire off one round, a bullet that went far and wide of its intended target, before the hooded figure slammed into him, full force, and sent him flailing back down the staircase.

As his head slammed into the hard wooden floor on the landing of the ground floor, he heard Kurt yelling, swearing, and a gun firing in the distance. Then everything went sideways, the world frayed and melted around the edges before it closed in around him, pulling him down into the cold, dark oblivion of unconsciousness.

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