At the end of the 1990s, the Swedish writer Anders de la Motte (born 1971) trained as a police officer. He recalls a turning moment in an interview just before a Thursday roundtable: a classmate brought cake for his birthday, and suddenly three doors that usually stayed closed at the end of the corridor swung open. Three officers emerged, their breath tinged with menthol and tobacco, eyes red, silent, then they nodded and left. The encounter left a mark. Those officers, rarely seen or acknowledged, never made eye contact. De la Motte describes them as worn-out cops who had once tasted glory but were sidetracked by the system, waiting for retirement while remaining civil servants. He called them wandering souls. This image sparked the creation of a Missing Case Unit, a concept that centers the Malmö police and features a striking inspector, Leo Asker, as the protagonist. In Spain, the character’s introduction is noted in a publication line.
De la Motte continues: those late-night shifts during a full moon produced sensational calls. People claimed to have seen aliens, zombies, or that the king himself was spying. He kept notes. Sometimes a voice would insist that these officers were not pursuing anyone. He felt compelled to investigate lost cases that others avoided.
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Leo finds himself pushed aside by a former boss and an old flame when a young woman from a well-connected family vanishes during a business deal. The novel also explores urban exploration, or urbex, a hobby the author shares with a friend to explore abandoned industrial sites, hospitals, Cold War bunkers, and hidden tunnels leading toward the mountains. A shift in the unit’s makeup mirrors a broader call to engage with marginalized communities in policing. Clues emerge from a massive railroad model left by a serial killer, offering a tangible symbol of evil. The author notes the eerie resonance with a fictional reference and acknowledges it was a creative jump, even if it says something about him, he smiles.
Amid the pandemic and the war in Ukraine, shelters in Sweden see more people preparing for worst-case scenarios
The hero’s childhood is marked by a paranoid father, a prepper building a bunker for the end of the world. The relationship between them is intense and combustible. Today many individuals and companies market gear for disaster readiness, from water storage tanks to off-grid cooking gear. The narrative reflects concerns about neutrality and the presence of larger geopolitical tensions, noting that Sweden remains in a delicate position amid broader alliances and the looming possibility of conflict in the region.
What brought happiness?
De la Motte stepped away from police work after eight years. He describes an impatience shared with Leo: a drive to see results and act fast. He moved into the private sector as a security manager for a technology company across Europe, the Middle East, and Africa, where writing began in earnest. He weighed the pros and cons in an Excel sheet, but his partner offered a simple solution: answer the burning question, What makes me happy? The result is a body of work that has sold millions of copies across fifteen novels.
Recollecting his policing days, he recalls training for dangerous moments. The uniform provided a sense of work, and hanging it up could release a flood of memories—some tragic, some fierce, some tied to children. Fear lasts only moments, but pain and sorrow can linger far longer.
Social commentary
De la Motte notes that, like many Nordic crime writers, he honors a tradition led by writers such as Maj Sjöwall, Per Wahlöö, and Henning Mankell. Though the writing seeks reader satisfaction first, it also engages with social issues such as racism and machismo. The work is not framed as a mission to build reputation or to deliver a moral message, yet it remains attentive to real-world concerns.
The author reflects on gender dynamics in the narrative. He notes that the hero’s experiences include the weight of masculine culture and stereotypes, and he explores role reversals, letting a female character rise in prominence within the story’s moral economy.