As they drove to the station, Ernst thought about the one tiny problem that remained. How was he going to get the interrogation subject inside without any of the others noticing? Such a discovery would ruin his whole brilliant plan. Finally he came up with an air-tight idea. When they arrived, he phoned to the reception from his mobile, and in a disguised voice he told Annika that he had a package to deliver to the rear entrance. He waited a few seconds, keeping a tight grip on Morgan, then with his heart in his throat he led the way to the main entrance, hoping that Annika had hurried off to the other end of the station. It worked. She wasn’t in her usual spot. Ernst quickly pulled Morgan past reception and into the nearest interview room. He closed the door behind him and locked it, then permitted himself a little triumphant smile before he invited Morgan to sit down on one of the chairs. Someone had left a window half open to air the place out. It was unhooked and flapping in the breeze. Ernst ignored the noise. He wanted to get started as soon as possible before someone tried to poke their head in here.
‘So-o-o, my friend, here we are.’ Ernst made a big production out of turning on the tape recorder.
Morgan’s eyes had begun to wander, as he realized something wasn’t right.
‘You’re not my friend,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘We don’t know each other, so how could you be my friend? Friends know each other.’ After a moment’s pause he went on. ‘I’m supposed to pick up my computers. That’s why I came here. You said that my computers were ready.’
‘I did say that, yes,’ said Ernst with a sneer. ‘But you see—I lied. And you’re right about one thing: I’m not your friend. Right now I’m your worst enemy.’ A bit dramatic perhaps, but Ernst was cruelly pleased with that line, which he’d picked up from a movie.
‘I don’t want to be here anymore,’ said Morgan and began looking toward the door. ‘I want my computers back and I want to go home.’
‘You can forget about that. It’ll be a long time before you’re going to see your home again.’ Damn, he was good. He really ought to write screenplays. He went on. ‘We found her jacket in your cabin, and we have plenty of other forensic evidence showing you were the one who murdered her.’ Pure lies, the second part, but Morgan didn’t know that. And in this game there were no rules.
‘But I didn’t kill her. Even though I wanted to sometimes,’ he added tonelessly.
Ernst felt his heart leap. This was going better than he’d ever imagined.
‘It’s no use trying to feed me those lies. We have other forensic evidence and we have the jacket, so we don’t really need anything else. But it’s clear, it would be better for you if you told me how you did it. Then maybe you won’t have to do life in prison. You won’t be able to have any computers in there.’
Now he saw for the first time a genuine emotion in the idiot’s face. Good, it looked like panic was starting to set in. He’d be softened up soon. Now, he decided, he’d try a little trick he’d learned from NYPD Blue and the other American cop shows, and leave the guy to sweat all alone for a while. If he was given time to think about his situation, he would confess quicker than Ernst could say ‘Andy Sipowicz.’
‘I have to go take a piss. We’ll continue this conversation in a moment.’ He turned his back on Morgan and started toward the door.
Panicked, Morgan was now babbling. ‘I didn’t do it. I can’t sit in prison for the rest of my life. I didn’t kill her. I don’t know how the jacket ended up at my place. She was wearing it when she went into her house. Please, don’t leave me here. Get my mamma, I want to talk to Mamma. Mamma can work all this out, please …’
Ernst quickly shut the door behind him so the idiot’s babble wouldn’t be heard out in the corridor. After a couple of steps, Annika caught sight of him and gave him a suspicious look.
‘What were you doing in there?’
‘Oh, I was just checking something. I thought I left my wallet in one of the interview rooms.’
She didn’t look as though she believed him, but let it go. The next second, she looked out of the window and cried, ‘What in the world?!’
‘What is it?’ said Ernst, feeling a sudden pang of uneasiness in his stomach.
‘A guy just climbed out one of the windows and now he’s running toward the highway.’
‘What the hell?!’ Ernst almost dislocated his shoulder as he slammed against the door, in his haste forgetting that it was always locked.
‘Open the door, for God’s sake!’ he yelled at Annika, and she obeyed in fright. He tore open the second door and dashed out after Morgan. Morgan looked back and ran even faster. In horror Ernst saw a black mini-van approaching, and it was speeding.
‘No-o-o-o!’ he shrieked in panic.
Then came the thud and everything was quiet.
Martin wondered what it was that Charlotte and Niclas had been in such a hurry to talk to Patrik about. He hoped it was something that would allow them to remove Niclas from the list of suspects. The thought that the murderer might be the girl’s own father was too horrendous to contemplate.
He couldn’t get a handle on Niclas. Albin’s medical reports were pretty serious, and Niclas hadn’t managed to convince him that he wasn’t the one who’d inflicted the injuries on the boy. And yet there was something that didn’t fit. Niclas was a complex man, to say the least. He gave the impression of a kind and stable person when you sat eye to eye with him, but he seemed to have made a total mess of his private life. Although Martin had been no angel in his own swinging single days, now that he was living with someone he couldn’t understand how anyone could betray his better half like that. What did Niclas tell Charlotte when he came home after being with Jeanette? How could he make his tone of voice sound natural? How could he look her in the eye after rolling around in bed with his lover only a few hours earlier? Martin simply couldn’t understand it.
Niclas’s temperament was difficult to pinpoint. Martin had seen the look in his eyes when he turned up at his father’s house earlier in the day. Niclas looked like he’d wanted to kill his father. God knows what might have happened if Martin hadn’t been there.
And yet, Martin didn’t believe that he knowingly and willingly would have drowned his own daughter. And what could his motive have been?
His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps in the corridor and he saw Charlotte and Niclas hurry past. He was curious to know what the rush was.
Patrik appeared in the doorway, and Martin raised his eyebrows as he gave his colleague an inquiring look.
‘It was Sara who hurt Albin,’ Patrik said, sitting down in the visitor’s chair.
Surprised, Martin asked, ‘How do we know they’re telling the truth? Couldn’t Niclas be trying to divert attention from himself?’
‘Yeah, he could be, of course,’ said Patrik wearily. ‘But I believe them. Even though we do have to substantiate their story. They gave me names and phone numbers of people we can contact. And Niclas’s alibi does seem to hold up after all. He claims that Jeanette lied when she said he wasn’t with her, as a way to get back at him after he dumped her. And there too I’m inclined to take him at his word, although naturally we’ll have to have a serious talk with Jeanette.’
‘What a screwed-up …’ said Martin, and he didn’t have to finish his sentence before Patrik agreed.
‘Yes, humanity has not shown its noblest side in this investigation,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘And apropos of that very subject, should we get started on that interview now?’
Martin nodded, took his notebook, and got up to follow Patrik, who was already on his way out the door. To his back he said, ‘By the way, have you heard anything from Pedersen yet? About the ashes on the little boy’s shirt?’
‘No,’ replied Patrik without turning round. ‘But they were going to shift into high gear and analyze both the shirt and Maja’s overalls ASAP. I’d be willing to bet that they’ll find the ashes came from the same source.’
‘Whatever that may be,’ said Martin.
; ‘Yeah, whatever that may be.’
They entered the interrogation room and sat down across from Kaj. No one spoke at first as Patrik calmly leafed through his papers. He saw to his satisfaction that Kaj was nervously wringing his hands, and that tiny drops of sweat had formed on his upper lip. Good, he was scared. That would make the questioning easier. And considering how much evidence they’d gathered from the search of the house, Patrik didn’t feel worried in the least. If only they had evidence this good in all their investigations, life would be much easier.
Then his mood shifted. He’d come to a Xerox of the boy’s suicide note, and it was an abrupt reminder of why they did this job, and of who the man before them was. Patrik clenched his fists and looked at Kaj, who averted his eyes.
‘We actually don’t need to talk to you. We have plenty of evidence from the search of your house to put you behind bars for a long, long time. But we still want to give you a chance to explain your side of the story. Because that’s the way we are. Nice guys.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Kaj nervously. ‘This is a miscarriage of justice. You can’t hold me here. I’m innocent.’
Patrik merely nodded sympathetically. ‘You know, I almost believe you. And I might do so if it weren’t for these.’ He took some photos out of his thick folder and pushed them over to Kaj. He was pleased to see Kaj first turn pale and then red. He gave Patrik a bewildered look.
‘I told you we had skilled computer guys, didn’t I?’ Patrik said. ‘And didn’t I say that things don’t disappear just because you delete them? You’ve been very efficient at erasing stuff from your computer, but unfortunately not efficient enough. We got hold of everything you downloaded and shared with your pedo-pals. Photos, email, video files. All of it. Lock, stock, and barrel.’
Kaj opened and closed his mouth. It looked as though he was trying to shape words, but they stubbornly stuck to his tongue.
‘Not so much to say now, is there? Two colleagues from Göteborg are coming here tomorrow, and they’d like to talk to you as well. They consider our discoveries to be extremely interesting.’
Kaj didn’t say a word, so Patrik continued, determined to shake him in some way. He detested the man in front of him; he detested everything he represented, everything he had done. But he didn’t let it show. Calmly and in a matter-of-fact tone, he went on talking to him as if discussing the weather, not child abuse. For a moment he considered taking up the matter of Sara’s jacket directly, but decided at last to wait a while with that. Instead he leaned across the table, looked Kaj in the eye, and said, ‘Do you people ever think about the children who are your victims? Do you give them the slightest thought, or are you too wrapped up in satisfying your own desires?’
He hadn’t expected a reply, nor did he get one. In the ensuing silence, he went on, ‘Do you know anything about what goes on inside a young boy when he is faced with somebody like you? Do you know what goes to pieces, what you steal from him?’
Only a slight twitch in Kaj’s face showed that he’d heard him. Without taking his eyes off the man, Patrik took a sheet of paper and pushed it slowly across the table. At first Kaj refused to look down, but then he slowly lowered his gaze to the sheet of paper and began to read. With an incredulous expression on his face he looked at Patrik, who merely nodded grimly.
‘Yes, that’s precisely what it looks like it is. A suicide note. Sebastian Rydén took his life this morning. His stepfather found him hanging in the garage. I was there when they cut him down.’
‘You’re lying.’ Kaj’s hand shook as he picked up the letter. But Patrik could see that he knew it was true.
‘Wouldn’t it feel good to stop lying?’ Patrik asked him softly. ‘You must have cared for Sebastian, I’m sure of that—so do it for his sake. You can see what he wrote. He wanted it to end. You can end it.’
His tone was treacherously sympathetic. Patrik glanced quickly at Martin, who sat ready with his pen poised over his notebook. The tape recorder was humming like a little bumblebee, but Martin was in the habit of always taking his own notes.
Kaj smoothed out the letter with his fingers and opened his mouth to say something. Martin held his pen, ready to start writing.
At that very instant Annika tore open the door.
‘There’s been an accident outside, hurry!’
Then she ran off down the hall. After a second of shocked silence, Patrik and Martin ran after her.
At the last moment Patrik remembered to lock the door. They’d have to resume with Kaj later. He only hoped that the moment hadn’t passed them by.
Mellberg couldn’t deny that he felt a bit worried. It had only been a couple of days, of course, but he didn’t sense that they’d had any real father-son contact yet. Sure, maybe he should be a little more patient, but he really didn’t think he was getting the appreciation he deserved. The respect due a father. The unconditional love that all parents spoke of, perhaps combined with a little healthy fear. The boy seemed absolutely indifferent. He loafed about on Mellberg’s sofa all day long, eating enormous quantities of chips, and playing his video games. Mellberg couldn’t understand where he’d gotten such a slacker attitude. It must be from his mother. Mellberg could remember being a bundle of energy as a youth. Though he couldn’t actually recall the achievements in sports he must have made—in fact he couldn’t summon up a single memory of himself in any sort of sports context—but that was only because it had happened so many years ago. His image of himself as a youth was definitely that of a muscular boy with a spring in his step.
He looked at the clock. Not yet noon. His fingers drummed impatiently on the desktop. Maybe he ought to go home instead and spend a little quality time with Simon. It would probably make the boy happy. He realized, suddenly, that his son was probably just shy. Inside he was undoubtedly longing for his pappa, who had been absent for so long, to come and drag him out of his shell. That must be it. Mellberg sighed with relief. It was lucky that he understood kids, otherwise he might have given up by now and let the boy sit there alone and miserable. But Simon would soon find how lucky he had been in the father lottery.
With great enthusiasm, Mellberg pulled on his jacket, thinking about what they might dream up as a suitable father-son activity. Unfortunately there wasn’t much for two real men to do in this God-forsaken hole. If they’d been in Göteborg he could have taken his son on his first visit to a strip club, or taught him about roulette. As it was, he didn’t quite know what they should do. Oh, well, he’d think of something.
As he passed Hedström’s door, he thought that it was damned unpleasant about what had happened to his baby the other day. It was another sign that you had better enjoy your children now, since you never knew what might happen next. With that in mind, he convinced himself that nobody would blame him for going home early today.
Whistling, he walked toward the reception area, but stopped short when he saw doors flying open and his men running toward the front entrance. Something was going on, and as usual nobody had bothered to tell him.
‘What’s going on?’ he shouted to Gösta, who wasn’t as fast as the others and was bringing up the rear.
‘Somebody was run over right outside.’
‘Oh, shit,’ said Mellberg, and he also started running as best he could.
Right outside the entrance, he stopped. A big black minivan stood in the middle of the street. A man who was probably the driver was wandering about holding his head. The air bag had deployed on the driver’s side, and he looked uninjured but confused. In front of the vehicle, a heap lay in the street. Patrik and Annika were kneeling next to it, while Martin tried to calm the driver. Ernst stood a bit to the side, with his long arms hanging down and his face as white as a sheet. Gösta joined him, and Mellberg saw them talking quietly with each other. Gösta’s worried expression bothered Mellberg. He got an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.
‘Did anyone call an ambulance?’ he asked, and Annika answered yes. Unsure wh
at to do next, he wandered awkwardly over to Ernst and Gösta. ‘What happened? Do you know?’
An ominous silence from both of them told him that he wasn’t going to like the answer. He saw that Ernst was blinking nervously, so Mellberg fixed his gaze on him.
‘Well, is anyone going to answer, or do I have to drag it out of you?’
‘It was an accident,’ said Ernst shrilly.
‘Could you give me some details about this “accident”?’ Mellberg asked, still glaring at his subordinate.
‘I was just going to ask him some questions, and he flipped out. He was a total fucking psycho, that guy. I couldn’t help it, could I?’ Ernst raised his voice belligerently in a desperate attempt to take control of the situation that had so suddenly slipped out of his hands.
The ominous feeling in Mellberg’s stomach grew. He looked at the heap lying in the street.
‘Who is it lying under that vehicle, Ernst? Tell me.’ He was whispering, almost snarling the words, and that more than anything else told Ernst what deep shit he was in.
Taking a deep breath, he whispered, ‘Morgan. Morgan Wiberg.’
‘What the fuck are you saying?!’ roared Mellberg so loud that both Ernst and Gösta shrank back, and Patrik and Annika turned round.
‘Did you know about this, Hedström?’ asked Mellberg.
Patrik shook his head grimly. ‘No, I didn’t give any instructions for Morgan to be brought in for questioning.’
‘So-o-o, you thought you’d show off a little.’ Mellberg had lowered his voice to a treacherous calm.
‘You said that we should look at the idiot first. And unlike certain colleagues,’ Ernst nodded in Patrik’s direction, ‘I have complete confidence in your opinion and always listen to what you say.’
In a normal situation, flattery would have been the proper path to take, but this time Ernst had made such a mess of things that not even compliments were going to help.
‘Did I specifically say that Morgan should be brought in? Did I say that?’
Ernst hesitated for a moment and then whispered, ‘No.’
The Stonecutter: A Novel (Pegasus Crime) Page 37
