Inspector Anders Knutas 6 - Dark Angel

by Mari Jungstedt

  ‘And how the hell do you expect me to answer that in five minutes? What do you want to know? How often we see each other or talk on the phone? What kind of criteria am I supposed to go by?’

  ‘It hasn’t escaped our attention that your sister has broken off all contact with your mother. Why did she do that?’

  ‘Mikaela probably wanted to be able to live her own life,’ he said quietly.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Mamma has a tendency to suffocate her children. What Mikaela did was the only right thing to do.’

  ‘And why haven’t you done the same thing?’

  ‘I suppose I’m too weak. Or too strong, depending on how you look at it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I think that despite all the things she has ruined for me, I still hold on to a faint hope that everything will turn out OK in the long run. That we’ll be reconciled and that one day she’ll be happy. We’ll have a happy ending.’

  His voice faded. For a while none of them spoke. Simon lit another cigarette.

  ‘You don’t really think that you can fix things in her life so that she’ll be happy, do you?’ Jacobsson asked at last.

  ‘I guess I do. I’ve always thought that.’

  ‘Can I bum a smoke from you?’ asked Jacobsson. ‘And how about a cold beer? I’m going to open a window, whether you like it or not.’

  They stayed in that flat for several hours. Surprisingly enough, Simon decided to open up and tell them about all the difficulties he’d encountered, both in his childhood and more recently. Jacobsson proved to be very sympathetic, and she was the one who was able to encourage him to talk. Knutas mostly kept to the background, listening and watching. It was 9 p.m. by the time they left.

  As they took the lift down, Jacobsson looked at Knutas and said, ‘I don’t think it’s him.’

  THE MINUTE I got on the commuter train to Nynäshamn, I knew. The end was near. Mutely I gazed at the landscape rushing past outside the window. The rolling hills, horse pastures, and fields of Södertörn.

  In Nynäshamn I got off, bought a newspaper and some chocolate biscuits at a kiosk, and then strolled down to the ferry terminal. It was an overcast day, and the sea looked forbidding. A strong wind was blowing at the dock, and I pulled up my jacket collar over the turtleneck of my sweater.

  The weather suited my mood. I was filled with foreboding. It had to end. The boat was half empty. The tourist season hadn’t really begun yet, and it was an ordinary weekday.

  I sat down on a deckchair and closed my eyes. I didn’t want to go to the cafeteria, even though I could have used a cup of coffee. But I had no desire to talk to anybody.

  I am empty of all feeling, spent, used up and broken down like an old tractor. All those ruined expectations, all the hysterical outbursts and insane demands that I’ve had to fend off for as long as I can remember. I have no right to my own life. That’s what I have finally understood.

  She is stronger. She has won. There is only one way that I can get rid of my tormentor, my own flesh and blood, the person who long ago brought me into this wretched life. I wonder why she even decided to give birth to me. Was it in order to torture me, suck all the life out of me, obliterate me? To pass the sins of the parents down to the children in a pattern that would repeat itself, etched into the family tree for all eternity? So that the children would be afflicted, one generation after another? Trying to keep them from having a real mother and father because you never did, you fucking bitch? No one is allowed to have anything that you never had. Your children aren’t allowed to have good relationships since you never did. Your children are trying to live decent lives, but you keep trying to stop them. You’re like a huge, malicious demon standing in the road, imbuing your children with the same hatred that fills you. And they are repeating the irrational pattern that you created.

  I refuse to play along any more. There is only one way to put an end to this. And it’s finally going to happen – what I have so long yearned for. But the realization doesn’t fill me with joy or anticipation. Only a deep and profound sorrow.

  I keep my eyes closed all the way to Gotland.

  IT WAS A relief to get outside. Dusk had arrived, but the air was still pleasantly warm.

  ‘Let’s go get a bite to eat,’ Jacobsson suggested. ‘I’m starving.’

  They had booked rooms at a hotel near Slussen, so they decided to walk up to the Mosebacketerrasse restaurant. It was packed, but they managed to get a table all to themselves. Soon they were enjoying lamb cutlets and a bottle of red wine.

  ‘What makes you so sure that Simon isn’t the killer?’ asked Knutas as he dug into his food.

  ‘He just seems too unstable. Do you really think he could have got hold of some poison, and then cold-bloodedly murdered Viktor while a huge crowd of people were having a party upstairs? And after that, do you think he could have gone to Holmhällar and burned down his mother’s summer cabin where he’d spent his childhood summers? I think he seems far too weak to have done any of those things.’

  ‘Well, maybe you’re right.’

  ‘Katrina, his ex-girlfriend, says the same thing. He’d never be able to do that. Even if he might want to.’

  ‘OK, but that’s what the wives and girlfriends of criminals always say. They never would have imagined … And he never would have hurt a fly …’

  ‘It must be terrible to have a mother like her,’ said Jacobsson emphatically. ‘Someone who acts like a big baby who always needs help with everything – and then is never satisfied! From what Simon told us, it sounds as if it’d be easier to fill up the Grand Canyon with water using only a teaspoon – and at least the canyon has a bottom!’

  ‘I agree. It seems like Veronika Hammar has some kind of mental problem. That sort of behaviour doesn’t sound healthy.’

  ‘In a way, all of her children really have sufficient motive,’ said Jacobsson pensively. ‘The only way they can have their own lives is by breaking off all contact with her. Or by killing her.’

  ‘There might be something to what you’re saying. If Simon isn’t capable of it, maybe his sister Mikaela or his brother Andreas is. Or why not Mats, who was sent to live with a foster family?’

  ‘But he hasn’t had any contact with her all these years. I’d put my money on the sheep farmer,’ said Jacobsson.

  ‘Andreas Hammar? He could certainly pull it off. And isn’t there cyanide in the prussic acid that’s used as rat poison? He must have plenty of that stuff on the farm. What do you think?’

  ‘Possibly. And we’re going to talk to Mikaela tomorrow. But there’s one other potential perp. And that’s Veronika Hammar herself.’

  ‘Why would she want to murder the man she was in love with? Or burn down her own cabin?’ asked Knutas.

  ‘She could be more mentally disturbed than we suspect. Maybe Viktor Algård discovered the less attractive sides of her personality and wanted to leave her. As irrational and unbalanced as she seems to be, she could have taken revenge by murdering him. Then, to divert suspicion from herself, she burned down the cabin. She could have staged the whole scene with the drink to lead us off the track.’ Then Jacobsson gave Knutas a doubtful look. ‘But that theory seems like a long shot. Maybe we’re way off the mark by deciding that it has to be someone in the immediate family. What if the killer is somebody else entirely?’

  Knutas was starting to feel a bit drunk. He was worn out after all the events of the past week, and it was nice to be sitting in the midst of the Stockholm hustle and bustle, drinking wine with Karin.

  ‘That’s possible,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think we’re going to get any further tonight. I need to put aside everything from work and just relax. Would you like some more wine?’

  ‘Sure.’

  On his way to the bar, Knutas phoned Lina. He was feeling guilty about going off to Stockholm the minute they got back from their holiday in the country, and on top of that deciding to spend the night in the capital. He also f
elt guilty because it was so pleasant to be sitting here in the restaurant with Karin, far away from everyone and everything. Annoyed, he ordered another bottle of wine. What was wrong with him? He had no reason on earth to feel guilty. During all the years of their marriage, and they would soon celebrate their twentieth anniversary, he had never been unfaithful to Lina. His relationship with Karin was strictly professional. Only on one occasion had something like a sexual attraction occurred, and that was last summer when he had ended up at Karin’s flat after a night of drinking. All they did was sit on her sofa and listen to the Weeping Willows band while they drank champagne, but suddenly there was something in the air, something new between them that had scared Knutas. It made him so uncomfortable that he had jumped to his feet, saying that he had to go home. At the door she had kissed him on the lips. Fleetingly, but it was enough to make his head spin.

  When he’d elbowed his way back to the table, Karin gave him a smile. He noticed that she had touched up her lipstick.

  ‘By the way, I forgot to tell you. I talked to Kihlgård today. He got back the results of all the tests they did. And it was nothing. He’s fine.’

  ‘That’s good to hear. I was really concerned about him.’

  ‘The problem is that he’s overweight and doesn’t get enough exercise. So now he needs to start working out – at the gym. Can you see Kihlgård in gym shorts?’

  Knutas smiled. The image was amusing, to say the least. He pictured the stout, boisterous inspector from the National Police scampering around a room with a bunch of buff twenty-year-olds.

  Jacobsson lit a cigarette.

  ‘So what should we talk about now?’ she teased him. ‘Since you don’t want to discuss the investigation.’

  ‘It’s not as if I’m the one who has a hard time talking.’ Knutas took a sip of his wine, his eyes searching her face. ‘I’ve noticed that something has been weighing on you all winter. Actually, ever since last summer. Won’t you tell me what it is?’

  Karin didn’t answer immediately. She took several sips of her wine while deciding what to say.

  ‘There are certain things that I can’t share with you, Anders. No matter how good friends we are. I thought you realized that long ago.’

  ‘Of course I respect the fact that you don’t want to tell me everything. But can’t you at least give me a clue? Because I can see that something is bothering you, and it’s affecting your work.’

  Karin’s nut-brown eyes flashed.

  ‘Are you saying that I’m not doing my job properly?’

  ‘Come on, Karin. Of course that’s not what I’m saying. You’re an excellent police officer and you always do a good job. But you haven’t been yourself for the past six months, and I’m talking about your mood, not your professional efforts.’

  ‘OK, OK.’

  She took another sip of wine. Knutas filled her glass. He noticed that she suddenly looked nervous.

  ‘Some things that happened during the murder investigation last summer stirred up old memories from my own life. Memories that I would have preferred to forget.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Knutas could see how tense she was now, preparing to divulge what was bothering her. He could tell that it was something important. She sighed heavily. Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked so small and vulnerable that Knutas wished he could put his arms around her.

  ‘The fact is that I’ve wanted to talk to you about this for a long time. I’ve been on the verge of telling you several times. The problem is that if I do, I’m risking my whole career with the police force, and I’ll be putting you in a terribly difficult situation. I’ve wanted to spare you that.’

  ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘But I really have no choice, no matter what the consequences may be. In my heart, I’ve wanted to tell you all along. Remember Vera Petrov? She was pregnant, right?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘When we were searching for her on the boat, I looked in all the cabins on the upper deck. And afterwards, I told everybody that I didn’t find her. Well, I was lying.’

  Knutas stared at Karin in astonishment.

  ‘She and her husband were inside one of the cabins when I opened the door with my gun drawn. I recognized him at once from the boat to Gotska Sandön. And I knew that Vera was pregnant. She was in labour when I found them, and I was forced to help her give birth. The baby was literally about to pop out. I acted as the midwife, and everything went fine. She had a little girl. It was a tremendously emotional experience for me, seeing the two of them and the baby. They were so filled with joy, in spite of the hopeless situation that they were in. As if nothing else mattered at that moment.’

  Knutas listened with a growing sense of alarm. Vera Petrov had executed two people in cold blood. It sounded as if his closest colleague had actually allowed a double murderer to walk free. And she’d been lying the whole time, while he had worked so hard to solve the case, bringing in Interpol, trying to track down the killer. The hunt had gone on for months without success. The double murderer and her husband had disappeared without a trace. And here sat Karin, babbling about how happy they were to have a baby. It was one thing that she had betrayed him and the rest of her colleagues. But this was such a gross dereliction of duty that she’d never be able to work as a police officer again. She was going to end up in prison, maybe for several years. In all seriousness, he wondered whether Karin had gone mad.

  Not noticing how upset her boss was, she went on: ‘Of course I had planned to arrest them and call for back-up as soon as the child was born. But something happened. I found myself enveloped in my own grief.’

  Karin’s expression changed drastically, as if she were unbearably exposed. She looked pale, in spite of a slight suntan, and her eyes were more solemn than he’d ever seen them before. As if she were truly looking at him for the very first time. No longer hiding behind anything.

  ‘The thing is, I also had a baby once. I was only fifteen at the time, so that was twenty-five years ago.’

  Knutas stared at his colleague in surprise.

  ‘Do you mean that you’re the mother of a twenty-five-year-old?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Although I haven’t seen my child since the day she was born.’ Karin’s lips quivered and her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Come on. Let’s go,’ said Knutas, helping her up from the table.

  He put his arm around Karin, who sobbed all the way back to the hotel. Knutas escorted her to her room, unlocking the door with the key card. He made her sit down on the bed and then put some pillows behind her back. He brought her some toilet paper so she could blow her nose and gave her a glass of water.

  ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’ she asked.

  ‘Go ahead.’

  It was a non-smoking room, but what the hell.

  Karin lit a cigarette, her hands shaking. Knutas pulled over the only chair in the room and set it next to the bed. He cursed the wine for making his head spin and tried to gather his thoughts. He’d never seen Karin look so weak. The room was only dimly lit, making shadows fall across her face. Suddenly she looked like a stranger, and he wondered how well he really knew her. Maybe their close friendship was merely an illusion. He sat there in silence, waiting, with his hands clasped on his lap. His palms were sweaty, but he didn’t care; he clasped them even tighter, as if his hands needed to support each other because of what he was about to hear. Karin’s voice shook when she finally began to speak.

  ‘Just after I turned fifteen, I was raped. I was out riding my horse in the woods. The horse fell and went lame, and I had to lead him back home. On the way I stopped at the riding teacher’s farm to ask if I could use the phone. He was married and had children, but he was home alone when I arrived. We put my horse in the stable and then I went inside the house with him. Instead of letting me use the phone, he raped me, right there in the living room. I remember staring up at the big family photo over the sofa when he forced his way inside me. It hurt terribly.’ />
  Karin turned her head to look up at the ceiling, and the tears kept pouring down her pale cheeks. Her skin looked so thin, almost transparent. Knutas felt a shiver run down his back. He didn’t want to see the images that appeared in his mind; they made him feel sick to his stomach.

  She took a deep breath and then went on.

  ‘When he was finished, he said that he’d make a lot of trouble for me if I ever told anyone. Then he let me use the phone. I was in shock. It seemed so unreal. I asked my father to come and get me. I was ashamed. I felt so dirty. I’m sure you’ve heard it all before. I got home, took care of the horse, and then showered. We had dinner and I went to bed early. All I wanted was to go to sleep. When I woke up the next morning, it was like it never happened. I tried to put the whole thing out of my mind. I thought that if I tried hard enough to pretend it was just a bad dream, then I might make it go away. That’s why I didn’t say anything, not to my parents or to anyone else. A few days later I ran into him at the post office. He smiled and said hello. As if nothing had happened. My legs buckled and I almost fainted. I was so scared of him that I nearly died. I almost wanted to die. I lost all interest in horseback riding, and my parents couldn’t understand it. I did poorly in school and kept mostly to myself. I started skipping classes, pretending to have a stomach ache or thinking up some other excuse.’

  Her voice faded, and Knutas tried to digest this horrifying story. So this was the secret that Karin had kept buried all these years, the sorrow that he’d always known was there, and yet it was incomprehensible.

  He glanced at her surreptitiously as she sat there on the bed, looking like a little girl. He felt guilty, as if he were intruding just by being in the room and listening. She didn’t look in his direction; her eyes were fixed on some invisible spot on the wall. Now and then sounds were audible from outside on the street, but they were of no significance. The only important thing was right here, inside the room – what Karin was saying, the words that Knutas had unknowingly been waiting to hear for so many years. She lit another cigarette.