The Intruder

by Hakan Ostlundh

  The room was decorated in white and blue. There were the kinds of things that are usually found in hotel rooms, plus a small kitchenette in one corner. Above the bed hung a framed color photograph of windblown pines on one of the island’s beaches. All of it far away, seen through a thin curtain that only existed in his head. He had slept a couple of hours after taking a sleeping pill.

  Henrik ran his hands over the chair’s upholstery. He did not know who he was right now. What would he be without the sleeping pill and the sedative they had given him? He was given three tablets in a small bottle. To take as needed. Who would he be? Exactly what would he feel? It was as if there were different floors inside him and right now he was moving on one of the middle levels, without the possibility of seeing down to the ground floor. At the same time something told him that it wasn’t possible to live there. The air was poisonous, impossible to breathe.

  He looked out at the sky, which was light gray. Perhaps because it was early in the morning. Perhaps because it was cloudy. Perhaps because that was how he saw the world. He could not decide which. Or was there actually a real curtain hanging in front of the windows? He wanted to get up and feel, but remained seated.

  50.

  Saturday morning. Fredrik did not feel completely present. His eyes were cloudy and the back of his head heavy as lead.

  He was not the only one who was tired. It was noticeable from their movements as they sat down. But there was also an eagerness to get going, to make progress. Sara jabbed at her notepad with the back of her pen, and Ove rubbed his face with both palms, like a delayed morning washup. Gustav was sitting leaned over the table and conversing in a low voice with Leif Knutsson, who was sitting two seats away.

  At eight o’clock sharp, Göran started to go through the state of the investigation, standing in front by the whiteboard. His eyes looked uncommonly dark, more black than blue.

  “Henrik Kjellander’s information has been checked with the witnesses and times for connection with cell phone masts, and everything he said checks out, so we can remove him. He drove home from a photo shoot down at Sudret by way of Visby. There he dropped three people off at the airport about six thirty, which all three have confirmed. It also tallies with information from Gotland Air’s check-in. Henrik then took the seven thirty ferry from Fårösund. SOS Alarm took his call at seven fifty-seven, so we can expect that he was parking his car in Kalbjerga a few minutes before that.”

  Göran wrote down the set times on the whiteboard, which so far was blank, except for two portraits, one of Malin Andersson and one of her son, Axel.

  “The closest neighbor, Ann-Katrin Wedin, says that she saw two individuals bicycle past dressed in bathrobes, an adult and a child, sometime between six twenty-five and six thirty. She was sure of the time because she usually turns on the TV when she comes home from work. She leaves it on in the background with Evening Magazine on TV4. When the local news starts at six thirty she sits down and watches. And the two in bathrobes had bicycled past a minute or two before the news started. The witness thought she recognized the child as Ellen Andersson but was unsure when she didn’t recognize the grown woman as Malin Andersson. We can probably assume that it was Maria and Ellen she saw. Neither Ann-Katrin Wedin nor her husband Bengt made any other observations of individuals or vehicles during the evening.”

  Göran wrote these times down, too, and then browsed in his papers while his eyebrows glided higher and higher up on his forehead.

  “I know that we’ve questioned the ferry personnel, they usually keep good track of the Fårö residents, but it doesn’t seem as though we’ve got that information.”

  There was a throat clearing from Leif Knutsson, who was sitting all the way over by the opposite short wall.

  “I was the one who questioned him,” he said with his arms crossed over his uniform shirt.

  “Okay, then you can inform us,” said Göran.

  “Olle Holt navigated the ferry yesterday. He went on at fifteen hundred hours and was still on duty when we ordered the stop. He was a little difficult, but finally spit out the Fårö people he thought had left the island between the seven ten trip and the stop. I’m sure he keeps track of every car, but you know how they are up there.”

  There was silent nodding around the table. The Fårö residents were not known for cooperating with the police. There were even rumors going around that ferry personnel called and warned people when there was a police car on deck. Fredrik doubted if that rumor applied any longer, but it had certainly been true at one time.

  “This concerns three ferries on which the perpetrator could have left Fårö,” continued Knutsson. “Besides Fårö residents, Olle Holt remembered a little red sports car, a Mazda, a smaller white car with some kind of streamer in the rear window. He was a little uncertain there. It could have been some kind of detail on the car. And finally two older Volvo station wagons about which he did not remember any details. Then, of course, there could have been more that he forgot.”

  “Thanks, then we’ll get that into the system, too,” said Göran. “Holt couldn’t say which trip the white car was on board?”

  “No, unfortunately,” said Knutsson.

  “Too bad they don’t record on the surveillance cameras,” said Ove.

  “Exactly,” said Göran and looked at Fredrik. “How did it go with the surveillance cameras in Uppsala? Did we have any luck there?”

  He concluded with a little grimace that suggested that he did not count on any positive news.

  “No,” said Fredrik. “We were too late. The information no longer exists. I’ve asked the Uppsala police to check whether there might be any other cameras on the road between the station and the library, but it’s probably the same thing there.”

  Göran hummed disappointedly and turned to Eva Karlén, who sat closest to his right.

  “What do we have from the crime scene?”

  Eva adjusted the band that held her hair together at her neck, even though it wasn’t necessary.

  “The shoe print from the hall seems to hold. Most likely it comes from the perpetrator, but I want to have someone else double-check. It’s from the front half of the shoe. Unfortunately it has glided in step so it’s not possible to determine the size exactly, but about size seven or eight. I’ll try to find out what kind of shoe. Unfortunately, the wad of hair Malin had in her hand lacked roots, but I’ve sent it to the forensics lab for shampoo profile and hopefully mitochondrial DNA.”

  Eva continued to report on findings and observations in the hall at the house in Kalbjerga. She seemed to have everything in her head, didn’t even need to glance at the papers.

  “There are no traces of dragging in the blood around the bodies, which for one thing indicates that the victims had been unconscious or in any event incapable of moving once they landed on the floor, and for another that the perpetrator did not try to move or turn over the bodies.”

  “Is it possible to say anything more about the perpetrator based on the injuries?” asked Göran. “Height, for example?”

  Eva shook her head and shut her eyes briefly.

  “No. It’s much too messy. It’s not possible to see that sort of thing now. The medical examiner will certainly be able to, but not until the bodies have been cleaned of blood. He should have been here now, by the way, but there’s an airline strike.”

  “Good timing,” said Sara.

  “Yes, I know,” said Eva, rolling her eyes.

  “One thing I don’t get is why Malin Andersson even opens the door,” Gustav broke in. “I mean with everything that’s happened, the alarm they installed … Shouldn’t she have been more watchful?”

  “A conceivable explanation is that she knew the perpetrator,” said Göran.

  “The perpetrator may have her own key,” said Fredrik.

  The others turned inquiringly toward him.

  “If we imagine that it is the same person who is behind everything that has happened so far, the damage, the threats, and that so
meone lured Ellen away from the school, then the perpetrator has had access to keys during the time she rented the house and was able to make copies.”

  “They installed an alarm, but didn’t change the locks? Yes, of course it can be that way,” said Sara, making a face.

  “In any event, the lock is not manipulated in any way,” said Eva. “Either the perpetrator got in with a key or else Malin opened the door.”

  “Or forgot to lock,” Ove added.

  Everyone in the room looked at him.

  “I know, not likely, but we can’t rule it out.”

  Göran pointed at the times he had written on the whiteboard.

  “The perpetrator struck some time between six twenty-five and seven fifty-five. If we weigh in the doctor’s assessment it’s most probable that the murders occurred closer to six twenty-five. Assuming that the time is not random, the perpetrator must have waited for a moment when Malin would be alone in the house. She or he presumably enters the house shortly after Maria and Ellen have taken off down to the beach. In other words, the perpetrator must have kept herself hidden somewhere where she or he could observe the house.”

  “From the south you have a good view of the house from a long distance,” Eva pointed out. “She could have parked behind the pile of timber down by the mailboxes, for example. From there you can see the front door and the parking area without being seen yourself.”

  Fredrik leaned slightly over the table.

  “Isn’t that a slightly strange time of day if you are hoping that the intended victim should be home alone?” he said. “The chance, or the risk, is pretty great, on the contrary, that someone suddenly comes home, as Henrik did. Perhaps she was only there to observe them and then the opportunity presented itself.”

  “Yes,” Göran agreed. “Unfortunately there’s not much about this that’s unambiguous. Because the previous threats were directed against the whole family we can’t be certain that the perpetrator was out to kill just Malin. Perhaps she or he simply went after those who happened to be home.”

  “It’s just this thing with the child that feels so unpleasant,” said Gustav. “Why would she attack the child? It really seems as if she wants to get at all of them.”

  “So she isn’t satisfied yet, do you mean?” said Ove.

  “That can’t be ruled out.”

  Göran grasped the back support on the chair he had so far not sat down in.

  “Okay,” he said, “time to summarize. We are going to get in lists of names from those who have checked the ferry. The airplane isn’t going due to the strike, as we’ve already discussed. We have to go through the whole passenger list, naturally, but we will get a compilation of blond women traveling alone that we will prioritize. Even if I think that this perpetrator is a little too intelligent to leave on the first morning ferry. If she is still on the island and not from here, she must have gone somewhere, so we’ll check hotels, hostels, campgrounds, etc. Considering what we said about keys to the house it may even be worth checking up on the former owner.”

  “Wasn’t it Ingmar Bergman?” said Ove. “He doesn’t feel that relevant.”

  “There was someone in between,” said Fredrik. “Some colleague of Henrik Kjellander, I believe.”

  “That makes it even more interesting,” said Göran. “Will you take that?”

  Fredrik nodded.

  “Interviews with Stina Hansson and Henrik Kjellander’s sisters have highest priority. Ellen Andersson could not point out Stina Hansson, but we have to recall that this may involve several perpetrators and crimes that don’t necessarily have to be connected to each other.”

  “Or that Ellen was uncertain or didn’t dare identify her,” Sara added. “That has happened before.”

  “Exactly,” said Göran. “So Stina Hansson is relevant to the highest degree. Fredrik and Gustav, you’ll take that interview.”

  They nodded in response.

  “And Sara and Ove will take the sisters on Fårö. The sisters’ father must also be questioned.”

  Sara and Ove nodded in turn.

  “No known lunatics came up in connection with Ellen and the school, but they must be checked again, too,” said Göran, pointing at Leif Knutsson. “We have to keep all doors open. Maybe it’s not a woman we’re after this time at all.”

  He looked out over his detective inspectors and those who came from the uniformed police.

  “So does everyone know what they’re doing?”

  There was nodding around the room and one or two were already starting to stand up.

  “Good,” said Göran. “Let’s get going.”

  51.

  Fredrik had been right. Stina Hansson’s kitchen was lighter and more pleasant in the mornings when the sunshine came in through the foliage on the big trees.

  She looked more tired and paler than the last time he was there. Her hair was unwashed and the V-neck top was wrinkled.

  “Are you still on sick leave?” he asked.

  “No. You could have asked the ones who were here last night,” she said, looking at Fredrik and Gustav through narrowed eyes.

  “May we come in?” said Fredrik.

  “Sure,” she said, in a voice that sounded heavy and resigned.

  In the bathroom the cat was pawing in the litter box. They sat down at the kitchen table in the same places as during the interview the week before, Gustav on the chair where Sara had sat. Fredrik felt his head starting to wake up, but his body was still putting up resistance. Ever since the accident he had been careful about sleep. He had no idea how he would cope with hard work and little sleep. At a guess, badly.

  “So you were working yesterday?” he said.

  “Yes. You could have asked the ones who were here last night that, too,” said Stina Hansson.

  She concealed a wide yawn behind her hand. It seemed like it would never end.

  “But I’m asking you now,” he said. “That’s how this works.”

  He felt the irritation lying in wait, but so far he sounded calm and collected.

  “Okay,” she said simply, and curled up in the chair.

  “Are you cold?” he said, mostly to compensate in case he had seemed unfriendly just now after all.

  “No, it’s okay.”

  He smiled briefly at her.

  “When did you come home yesterday?”

  “Four thirty, I think. I got off a little early.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “We didn’t have that much to do, so I took the opportunity to leave early.”

  “But you’re not completely sure of the time?”

  “Not exactly. But around four thirty.”

  She was holding hard onto her upper arms, as if she was embracing herself. It really looked like she was cold.

  “Was there anyone who saw you come home, a neighbor in the building or on the street?”

  “Not as far as I know, but you can always—”

  She stopped; she had already been told.

  “We’ll ask the neighbors,” said Fredrik. “But if you know whether anyone has seen you it will go a lot smoother.”

  She nodded. The sun struck her face from the side and made her close the eye nearest to the window almost completely.

  “Were you on Fårö yesterday?” Fredrik continued.

  “No.”

  “You went straight home from work?”

  “Yes.”

  “And later in the evening, you didn’t go out then?”

  “No.”

  Stina released the hold on her upper arms and leaned forward a little.

  “She ran into me in the parking lot. I reported her. She didn’t seem to be in her right mind. I don’t know what got into her. But…”

  She looked at Fredrik, then at Gustav, as if that was something they ought to understand.

  “But what?” said Fredrik.

  “But this is something completely different. I don’t understand why anyone … I haven’t been able to sleep all night. Not since
they were here. I don’t think anyone has been able to sleep all night. And it’s really hard that the police come here as soon as something happens. You wonder what people are thinking.”

  “Your neighbors never seem to notice when you come home, so maybe they don’t notice us, either?” said Gustav.

  Stina Hansson glared at him. Two pink patches flared up on her pale cheeks.

  “I was together with Henrik fifteen years ago. What of it? And okay, I followed the car a week or two ago because I wanted to talk with him.”

  She panted out the words in a trembling, agitated voice.

  “And I’m blond and have a white car, like it says in the newspaper, that’s what you’re searching for.”

  She giggled abruptly and shook her head.

  “It’s so silly, you don’t even notice it. Huh?”

  Her voice seized up and she suddenly started crying. Her body bobbed on the chair and she hacked out sobs.

  “Stina,” Fredrik started.

  She waved one hand defensively in his direction as if he had tried to touch her. The crying jag increased in strength like a rain shower that turns into a downpour.

  Fredrik looked quickly at Gustav. It was a strong reaction. Experience had taught him that closeness to death could trigger the most varied reactions in people. Sometimes it had to do with their relationship to the deceased, but it could just as easily be death itself that struck something in them. Some closed up and seemed cold, some broke down, others became exaggeratedly pleasant and energetic. It was tempting to draw conclusions, but they would most likely be incorrect.

  “I want you to leave,” she said furiously between sobs.

  For a moment Fredrik felt awkward, both as a person and a policeman. Should they bring her in? If Stina Hansson was the perpetrator, perhaps she was about to break down completely. There would be a risk that she would kill herself.

  “Go,” she almost screamed. She showed no sign of calming down.

  “Stina. We can’t go when you are so upset.”