Inspector Anders Knutas 6 - Dark Angel

by Mari Jungstedt

  As soon as the morning meeting was over, Jacobsson and Knutas headed for Hamra to interview the widow.

  First, however, they made a detour to Bokströmsgatan and parked in front of Knutas’s house.

  ‘I just need to run in and see Nils for a moment,’ he explained. ‘He stayed home from school because he had a stomach ache this morning.’

  ‘But isn’t he sixteen by now?’

  ‘Children still need their parents. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. They’re never too old for a little parental concern.’

  Knutas gave her a wry smile as he opened the car door. Jacobsson made a choking sound, as if something had got lodged in her throat. Then she had a coughing fit.

  ‘Are you coming down with something too?’ Knutas asked.

  He pounded his colleague on the back as tears ran down Jacobsson’s cheeks. Knutas looked at her in astonishment.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she told him. ‘I must have swallowed something the wrong way. That’s all. I think I’ll wait in the car.’

  ‘OK.’

  The house was dark and silent. Knutas tiptoed upstairs so as not to wake Nils if he was asleep. Cautiously he opened the door. Nils was sitting at his desk next to the window with his back turned. His computer was on. Knutas saw at once the picture of Alexander Almlöv that had been published in the newspapers.

  ‘Hi, Nils. How are you feeling?’

  His son turned around with a start. His eyes were shiny with tears.

  ‘What are you doing at home?’

  Knutas went over to Nils and placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. The boy was much too thin. That was something he’d been noticing for a while now.

  ‘I just wanted to look in on you. Mamma said you had a stomach ache.’

  Knutas’s expression turned grim as he looked at the picture on the computer screen. The photo had been taken at Tofta beach in the summertime. Alexander, his face suntanned and his hair wet, was smiling at the camera. Now he lay in a coma.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked gently.

  ‘Nothing.’ Nils turned off the computer and went over to his bed to lie down. ‘Just leave me alone.’

  ‘But how are you feeling?’

  ‘Better. Nothing to worry about.’

  He turned over to face the wall. Knutas sat down on the edge of the bed.

  ‘Are you thinking about Alexander?’

  ‘Why are you here, anyway? Don’t you have a lot to do because of the murder and everything?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ sighed Knutas. ‘We’re on our way down to Sudret. Karin and I. She’s waiting in the car.’

  ‘So go. I’m fine.’

  ‘Shall I get you something? Are you thirsty?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yes. I said I’m fine.’

  Knutas made his way back to the car, filled with anxiety. He had to find some way to reconnect with Nils.

  They drove south, taking the coast road. It was a beautiful day with the springtime sun shining over the fields and meadows. The hides of the cattle gleamed as they grazed in the pastures. On the right-hand side of the road Knutas and Jacobsson occasionally caught glimpses of the sea, which glinted with promise. After the long and dreary winter, it was as if someone had lifted a hazy grey curtain that had been hovering over the island for months and now nature had come back to life. A few fiery red poppies were visible in places along the road, and suddenly summer didn’t seem so far away. The air was already warmer. Knutas rolled down the window.

  ‘Beautiful day,’ he said, casting an enquiring glance at Karin.

  ‘It really is.’

  ‘So how are things going?’

  ‘Fine, thanks.’

  She looked at him and smiled. She had a relatively large mouth for such a narrow face. The big gap between her front teeth was particularly endearing.

  ‘We haven’t had much time to talk lately.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’ve seemed a bit down.’

  ‘You think so?’

  Karin’s face seemed to close up. It was obvious that she didn’t want to discuss the topic. They continued driving south in silence.

  Knutas looked out of the window again, wondering what could be weighing on her. He’d worked with Karin Jacobsson for more than fifteen years and she was his closest confidante. At least from his point of view. He told her everything, including any problems he experienced with his family. She was a good listener, always willing to offer encouragement and advice. But when it came to Karin’s own personal life, that was a whole different story. As soon as the conversation turned to her, she became guarded and silent.

  A year ago Knutas had promoted Jacobsson to Deputy Detective Superintendent and second in command, which had stirred up some bad feelings at the station, even though most people were positive about her new role. Malicious comments were heard from a handful of older male officers who didn’t like being passed over for a much younger colleague who also happened to be a woman. Jacobsson’s petite stature hadn’t made it any easier for her to win their respect. The fact that she didn’t live according to the expected norms had also given rise to speculations. Although she was forty years old, she still lived alone with her cockatoo named Vincent. She devoted most of her free time to football, both as a coach and as a player in the women’s league.

  ‘Have you heard anything more about Kihlgård?’ Knutas asked, mostly just for something to say.

  ‘Yes. He was in Karolinska Hospital for a week, and they did a lot of tests, but he’s home now. The doctors don’t know what’s wrong with him.’

  ‘I didn’t even know that he was in hospital. What sort of symptoms does he have?’

  ‘He just generally doesn’t feel good. He’s suffering from nausea and dizziness.’

  ‘How long will it take to get the results of the tests back?’

  ‘A week or two.’

  ‘We should send him flowers.’

  ‘That’s a good idea.’

  He glanced at Karin. She looked more tired than usual.

  ‘You know that you can talk to me if there’s something bothering you,’ he said. ‘I’m always willing to listen.’

  ‘Thanks, Anders. I know that. Maybe we could talk some other time. Not now.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  Knutas changed the subject in order to break the oppressive mood that had settled over them.

  ‘What do you think about the case? Any ideas about a motive?’

  ‘It’s impossible to say. There are several likely motives, but I don’t think it’s any coincidence that Algård was murdered just a couple of weeks after Alexander Almlöv was assaulted. Especially considering all the criticisms that have been hurled at Algård lately.’

  ‘Who do you think is a likely candidate?’

  ‘Either someone who is close to Alexander, or someone connected to the bouncers, who both happen to be involved in criminal activities. Or maybe some fanatic who’s tired of all the youth violence and wants to take matters into his own hands. There are all sorts of variations to consider. Nine times out of ten the perp is a member of the immediate family. So it could also be someone like that.’

  ‘Maybe it’s no coincidence either that Algård was in the process of getting a divorce.’

  ‘Sure. And it’s a strange thing about this mistress of his,’ said Jacobsson pensively. ‘We need to find out who she is. And does Mrs Algård know that her husband was playing around on the side? Maybe not, if the love affair is relatively recent, but somebody in their circle of friends must know something. Do you think the mistress was at the party?’

  ‘Maybe. We’ll have to wait and see what the interviews can tell us. She may have been out of town. Maybe she doesn’t even know about the murder yet.’

  WHEN JACOBSSON AND Knutas reached the Hamra Inn, they pulled over and stopped in the deserted car park. The inn was incredibly popular i
n the summertime, but now it looked practically abandoned. Several signs indicated that the Coconut Bar was to the left, while Pepe’s Tex-Mex was on the right. The rustic wooden tables were stacked against one wall and the restaurant was glaringly empty. A few messages had been tacked up on a decrepit-looking bulletin board near the car park. ‘Flea market in Burgsvik’, ‘Weaving class in Havdhem’, ‘Alcoholics Anonymous meets every Tuesday in the Hablingbo community centre’, ‘Sheep shearing – cheap’, and ‘Lost cat’.

  ‘We need to go left here and head down towards the sea,’ said Jacobsson, turning the car on to a gravel road. The flat landscape was mostly cultivated fields. This was farm country, with one farmstead right next to another. Healthy-looking cattle grazed in the pastures and flocks of sheep stared at the car as they drove past. The sea glittered up ahead. They were almost at the southernmost tip of Gotland, far from their own familiar stomping grounds.

  They drove along a narrow road that followed the shoreline. The farm at the end of the road belonged to the Algård family. As they pulled into the gravel-covered yard in front of the house, two greyhounds appeared, barking loudly. Knutas, who was afraid of dogs, hesitantly climbed out of the car, never taking his eyes off the two animals. Jacobsson called out to them and they instantly loped over to her, barking happily. The front door of the house opened and a shrill whistle rang out across the yard. The dogs immediately stopped their romping and raced to join their owner.

  Elisabeth Algård showed Knutas and Jacobsson into the house. They sat down in a big country kitchen replete with all the farmhouse charms: blue-and-white-checked cotton curtains, exposed ceiling beams, a big brick fireplace, a scoured wood floor and a gate-legged table, which was the biggest and most rustic Knutas had ever seen. The tall windows offered an expansive view of the fields and, off in the distance, the sea. The widow served them coffee and almond buns without first asking if they’d like any. She shooed the dogs out of the kitchen and closed the door. With a heavy sigh she sat down on a chair across from the two officers. Her thin, sinewy figure was clad in jeans and a short-sleeved cotton blouse. Her wispy, smoky-coloured hair was pulled back and fastened with a clasp at the nape of her neck. She wore no make-up. Her lips were thin, making a narrow streak of her mouth. She couldn’t be described as a beauty, but she had pleasing, distinctive features. As she poured the coffee, Elisabeth Algård looked Knutas right in the eye.

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘First of all, we want to offer our condolences. Unfortunately, we do need to ask you quite a few questions. When was the last time you saw Viktor?’

  ‘Saturday afternoon, before he left for the party.’

  ‘How did he seem?’

  ‘He was in a great mood, even though he tried to hide it.’

  Knutas looked at her enquiringly.

  ‘Viktor wanted a divorce,’ she said tonelessly.

  ‘We know about that. Can you tell us why?’ said Jacobsson as she bit into a bun.

  ‘It was a bolt out of the blue. I can’t understand it. Good Lord, we’ve been married for thirty-two years. We have two grown children, this farm with all the animals and my studio. Viktor had his own company. Our life was good. It was calm and pleasant and the days passed enjoyably. All of a sudden he wanted to destroy everything we’d built together.’

  ‘When did he tell you that he wanted a divorce?’

  ‘A couple of weeks ago. Right after that boy was assaulted. At first I thought that was the reason – because Viktor was so upset by all the uproar and criticism. But he said it had nothing to do with that.’

  ‘So what did he give as his reason?’

  ‘Reason? He didn’t have a reason. He just said that he wanted to lead his own life. Have you ever heard anything like it? He said he was longing to focus on himself, on his own happiness. “You only live once,” he said, “and I don’t want to end up a bitter man.”’

  The widow shook her head.

  ‘Bitter! How could he even utter such a word, considering everything we’ve accomplished during all these years together? Two well-brought-up children who have become independent and successful individuals with their own lives. An entire farm that we renovated from the ground up. It’s frequently included on lists of the most beautiful farms on all of Gotland. We live here in this marvellous natural setting and close to the sea, which we both love. We have dogs, and we raise chickens that give us the best eggs for breakfast every day. I have my weaving, which actually now provides me with a full-time income. He has his company and the club, both of which were doing amazingly well – at least up until that awful beating incident occurred. We can afford to travel and do all the fun things we want to do. We eat well every day. So how can he talk about being bitter and wanting to finally put himself at the top of his priorities? I’m sorry, but I just don’t understand it.’

  Elisabeth Algård’s voice had risen in volume. She leaned across the table, shifting her gaze between Jacobsson and Knutas, as if trying to convince them of her own bewilderment. Jacobsson sat motionless, her hands cradling her coffee cup. Elisabeth continued her diatribe, as if a dam had burst.

  ‘And he wanted to destroy everything, tear it all down. He cared nothing about me, or the fact that he was about to shatter my whole life. And he had no consideration for the children. No, he was thinking only about himself. It was a week before my birthday when he told me that he wanted a divorce. Just like that. And this summer we were supposed to spend a month in Italy, the whole family, and rent a villa in Tuscany. That might have been the last summer the four of us spent together, since the children will probably have their own families soon. Our friends couldn’t understand it either. They couldn’t fathom why he’d want to leave me and everything we had together. They thought it was just a whim, a mid-life crisis. But I’m not so sure … And then what happens? He goes and dies only weeks later. So much for focusing on his own life. If it wasn’t so sad, I’d probably laugh myself silly. Yes, I would. The whole situation is utterly absurd.’

  At last she fell silent and paused to drink her coffee. Elisabeth Algård was not behaving at all the way Knutas had expected. He’d pictured a grieving widow overcome by despair. Instead she mostly seemed filled with rage. He realized that she must have spent the past two weeks brooding about the collapse of her marriage.

  ‘Did he have any enemies that you know of?’ Knutas asked. ‘Anyone who might have wanted to harm him?’

  ‘Of course he did. After that sixteen-year-old boy was beaten up outside the club, half of Gotland was angry at Viktor. Plenty of people even thought that he was to blame for the boy nearly getting killed. And then there’s the divorce. All of our relatives and friends were surprised by his decision. Nobody understood why he was doing this. But of course it’s ridiculous to think that someone would murder him for that reason.’

  ‘What was Viktor’s attitude towards the assault?’

  ‘Naturally he thought it was a horrible thing to happen. He was truly shocked and blamed everyone except himself. He said that it was the parents’ fault for not having better control over their kids; that the bouncers should have stepped in sooner and with greater force when they saw what was going on; that the police should have had a greater presence outside the club, since they knew about all the drinking and fighting that went on. Viktor was devastated and went over to visit the boy’s mother, but he was thrown out on his ear. She blamed him. She runs the Kloster Restaurant, which is near the club. Viktor claimed that in addition to being upset that her son had been assaulted, she was also mad at him for chasing away her customers with his rowdy club parties.’

  ‘Are you talking about Ingrid Almlöv?’

  ‘Yes. And I know that Viktor was very upset about the fact that she refused to see him. He tried several times.’

  ‘Are there other enemies your husband might have acquired because of the assault incident? Or simply because he ran the club the way he did?’ asked Jacobsson.

  ‘Of course. The bouncers were
mad at Viktor because he accused them of shirking their duties. Now they’re at risk of losing their jobs altogether. And just think about all the parents and others who have been complaining ever since the club opened.’

  ‘But as far as you know, he never received any sort of specific threats?’

  ‘No.’

  Knutas thought about what the widow had told them. They were going to have to thoroughly investigate the whole story about the assault and Viktor’s club. He decided to phone Ingrid Almlöv later in the day. He’d talked to her a number of times since her son had been beaten, but their conversation had never touched on any of these issues. He felt sick at the idea of having to broach these topics with her when her son was hovering between life and death.

  ‘Think very carefully,’ Jacobsson said now. ‘If we disregard everything having to do with the assault and the divorce, was Viktor on bad terms with anyone else? It might be related to something in the distant past. It doesn’t have to be something current.’

  Elisabeth took a bun from the plate and slowly chewed on it as she considered the question.

  ‘In that case, the only person I can think of is Sten Bergström, who lives out near Holmhällar down the road. Several years ago he started a company similar to Viktor’s. In the beginning it was just a matter of a few events. The first thing he did was handle the arrangements for a big wedding here in the area, and it was a huge success. We were even invited. After that he got so many requests to arrange weddings and other types of celebrations that he started his own business, specializing in local parties. Slightly smaller events than those Viktor handled. But the problem was that he gave his company a name that was ridiculously similar to Viktor’s, which is called “Go Gotland”. Sten Bergström called his firm “Goal Gotland”. Gradually Sten began getting requests from customers who had previously hired Viktor’s company. His business grew. Viktor got more and more unhappy and even alarmed over the competition. After a while rumours began to spread that Sten’s events were marred by drunkenness and brawls. I think he lost his licence to serve alcohol, and eventually he went bankrupt.’