Dark Angel

by Mari Jungstedt

  My legs were shaking as I cycled home. I refused to cry. I was never going back there. I’d kill myself first. A big lorry rumbled past on the wide road. For a few seconds I considered pulling in front of it, right in the middle of the street. Anything to avoid going back to school. To escape all that shit. And my worthless life.

  When I parked my bike round the back and opened the door, I immediately heard the sobbing. I went into the living room, and there she sat. In a corner, with her legs pulled up, weeping.

  ‘What’s wrong, Mamma?’ I asked. ‘Did something bad happen?’

  I knew perfectly well what her answer would be. Nothing ever happened. She just cried all the time. She was always finding new things to cry about, new problems. A fuse might blow, she might drop a glass on the floor, or the car could refuse to start. It might be because a bill was more than she’d expected, or because she’d burnt the dinner, or because she had lost her keys. There were endless annoyances every day. And they all represented a catastrophe. Nothing was allowed to go wrong.

  I’d lived with her sobs all my life. I felt like a container filled with her tears. I was aware of them sloshing around inside me from the moment I got out of bed in the morning. I had no idea what I was going to do when they overflowed one day.

  ‘No,’ she whimpered. ‘I’m just sad.’

  A lump formed in my stomach; the black curtain descended in front of my eyes.

  Cautiously I approached. She smelled of perfume and a slightly stale, stuffy odour. Her face was wet, swollen and bright red. She looked grotesque.

  ‘Come here, my boy. Come here and comfort your mother.’ Her voice was whiny.

  I bent forward but avoided looking her in the eye. She stretched out her arms and pulled me close. As usual, I didn’t know what to say to make her stop crying. I couldn’t think of any words. She was sniffing and snuffling. Her tears ran down my shirt.

  ‘Oh, it’s all so awful. I work so hard, you know. It’s not easy being a single mother. I’m so lonely. And I have to do everything myself. I just can’t handle it any more.’

  She began sobbing loudly, howling and wailing, making no attempt to restrain herself in front of me.

  I was filled with both disgust and sympathy. I didn’t know what to feel or say.

  ‘Now, now, Mamma. You have us, you know,’ I ventured.

  ‘Yes, I know, and I’m so lucky,’ she sniffled. ‘What would I do without all of you? I’d fall apart. You’re all that I live for.’

  She didn’t notice the bruise on my forehead or the smell of rotten banana peel in my hair.

  She had enough to do just taking care of herself.

  THE DEATH OF Alexander Almlöv turned the focus away from the homicide investigation on Wednesday.

  Even though Knutas wasn’t in charge of the assault case, all the journalists wanted to ask him questions, since he was head of the criminal police. The story of the close friendship that had once existed between Knutas and Alexander’s father just added to their interest. He spent the entire morning on the phone.

  At the same time, one question kept nagging at the back of his mind: Could the motive for killing Viktor Algård be found in the case involving the assault on Alexander? The interviews the police had conducted at the club had produced very little, although it was likely that there were more witnesses to the beating who hadn’t yet come forward.

  Could someone close to Alexander have exacted revenge on the club owner? Knutas had seen Algård speak to the media several times about whether he considered himself responsible for some of the out-of-control behaviour among local teenagers. Each time he had brushed aside all criticism. That sort of thing might really infuriate people. Maybe somebody had finally had enough.

  Knutas still hadn’t paid a visit to the club in person after the incident. He needed to do that soon. Possibly even this afternoon.

  He went over the latest findings with Rylander, his colleague from the NCP. The skinny detective folded his lanky body into a chair in front of Knutas’s desk, holding a thick file folder containing a stack of documents. He placed the folder on the desk.

  ‘This isn’t an easy task, let me tell you. Not with so many damn people involved.’

  ‘I know,’ said Knutas sympathetically. ‘We have two murders now, with no obvious connections, other than the fact that they were both committed brazenly in the midst of a crowd of partygoers. It’s one of the hardest things for the police to handle – having to interview people who were more or less drunk when a crime was committed.’

  ‘You’re right about that,’ Rylander agreed. ‘We just have to do the best we can. So far, the interviews that we’ve conducted haven’t brought us much further. This is the most interesting of the lot.’

  He pulled a page out of the folder.

  ‘One of Algård’s closest colleagues, the pub manager called Rolf Lewin, was also at the dedication festivities at the conference centre. He was helping out at the bar.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Maybe that’s not so strange. Viktor usually brought in the same staff for his events. But during the interview it came out that Rolf and Viktor had had their differences. It might be worthwhile having another talk with the pub manager.’

  ‘What else do you know about him?’

  ‘A typical superannuated biker, if you want my honest and highly biased opinion. Lives alone in a two-room flat in Visby. Unmarried. No children. He’s about forty-five, with straggly hair that sticks out in all directions. Wears an earring and always has a cigarette between his lips. From the broken blood vessels on his nose I’d assume he drinks too much.’

  ‘OK, I guess I’ll go out and see him,’ Knutas muttered. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Not much. The two bouncers don’t exactly have a spotless past, but there’s nothing to indicate that they had anything to do with Algård’s murder. Besides, both of them have watertight alibis.’

  ‘Which are?’

  ‘That they were at home with their wives and kids on Saturday evening. They didn’t set foot outside their houses all night.’

  * * *

  By the time they finished, it was one o’clock and Knutas could feel his stomach growling. After his morning swim he was extra hungry. He knocked on the door of Jacobsson’s office and asked if she’d like to go out for some lunch. He needed fresh air and wanted to stretch his legs. The noisy lunchroom at police headquarters didn’t seem very appealing.

  There weren’t many lunch places to choose from in Visby during the winter, but the Café Ringduvan, located near the eastern gate in the ring wall, was a pleasant place. At the counter they each ordered the special of the day and then sat down at a table outside. The sun felt gloriously warm. Jacobsson lit a cigarette.

  ‘Have you started smoking again?’ asked Knutas.

  ‘You should talk. You with your pipe.’

  ‘But I never light it.’

  ‘Of course you do.’

  He was well aware that Karin smoked only when she was worried about something.

  ‘By the way, you said that later on you’d tell me what’s been bothering you. Is this a good time?’ asked Knutas.

  ‘Definitely not. We need to talk about work. And besides, I don’t know whether I’ll ever be able to talk to you about this particular problem. It’s way too serious.’

  Knutas placed his hand on top of hers. ‘I’m your friend, Karin. Don’t forget that.’

  ‘But just how good a friend are you?’

  He looked at her in surprise, startled by the question. ‘A very good friend. Probably much better than you even know.’

  ‘OK. I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Do that.’ Knutas sighed. ‘It feels like we’re just treading water. With the homicide case, I mean,’ he clarified so that she wouldn’t think he was talking about their personal relationship. Although in some ways he actually was.

  ‘I know,’ Jacobsson agreed. ‘The investigation into the assault hasn’t produced much yet. There’s nothing to indi
cate that it has anything to do with the murder of Viktor Algård. It’s just so awful that the boy died.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about his poor mother, Ingrid. I talked to her on the phone last night. She was completely beside herself, of course. Losing a child must be the worst thing that can happen to a person.’

  Knutas shook his head. He took a sip of his light beer and looked at Karin. She was staring straight ahead with a blank expression.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m not feeling very good. I’ve got to go to the loo.’

  She put out her cigarette, got up unsteadily and disappeared inside the café.

  A frown of concern crossed Knutas’s face as he watched her go.

  THE BUILDING HOUSING the Solo Club, which was so popular with young people, was located on the edge of the harbour district, squeezed between a family restaurant and a bicycle-hire shop. Knutas had made an appointment to meet the pub manager there at three o’clock, but he was a little early. The bartender offered him a cup of coffee and invited him to sit down to wait.

  After a few minutes Rolf Lewin arrived. He matched perfectly Rylander’s description of him. He was tall with a boyish physique, dyed hair that stuck straight up and pierced eyebrows. He wore a black T-shirt with a drum set printed in gold on his chest and a long gold chain. On his feet he wore a pair of black Converse trainers, just like the ones that Nils owned. But Rolf had an open, friendly face, and he smiled as he introduced himself.

  ‘As you know, we’re investigating the murder of Viktor Algård,’ said Knutas. ‘Since a boy was assaulted here right before the murder and he has now died from his injuries, we consider the incident to be of interest to our investigation.’

  ‘OK, but the police have already been here several times.’

  Knutas held up his hands as if to ward off any further objections.

  ‘I know. But right now we’d like to hear what you think about a possible link to the murder. Have you seen or heard anything suspicious? Have you noticed whether anyone has displayed a particular hatred for Algård?’

  ‘Everybody liked Viktor. He was a cheerful guy. He had good intentions, but he really had no idea what he was getting into when he started arranging special evenings here at the club for the younger kids. That’s when things went wrong. He refused to see that there were any problems. His only concern was the money he expected to make.’

  ‘So what was his reaction to the problems?’

  ‘There was trouble right from the start. There’s no use trying to hide that fact. Lots of kids were stewed to the gills even before they got here. They also smuggled in booze and drank outside the club. The bouncers did the best they could, but it was impossible for us to control everything that was going on. So of course there was a lot of drinking and fighting. We had to deal with plenty of violent incidents even before Alexander Almlöv got beaten up. But Viktor just brushed it all aside. He thought things would calm down after a while.’

  ‘What sort of violent incidents?’

  ‘Fights between pumped-up boys who’d had too much to drink. Brawls. One time a chick claimed that she’d been raped in the ladies’ room, but no one took her seriously. I wasn’t on duty that night, but I heard about it afterwards,’ Rolf hastened to add, giving the detective an apologetic look.

  Knutas frowned.

  ‘And it was never reported to the police? The rape, I mean?’

  Rolf shook his head.

  ‘I know this sounds strange, but nobody knew who she was. Not even her name or where she was from. She just came outside crying and talked to the bouncers. Her clothes were a mess and she had several cuts on her face, but she was really loaded, and then she left with a friend who was trying to comfort her. The bouncers thought the kids were just going around the corner and would come back, so they’d have another chance to talk to the girl. But she never returned.’

  ‘And they just let her go, even though she said she’d been raped?’

  ‘Afraid so. But like I said, there’s been so much trouble here during these club nights for teenagers that we just can’t control everything that goes on. It’s too much. I tried to explain the problem to Viktor, but as I mentioned, he didn’t want to hear it. We have three more of those kind of club events that were booked ages ago, but after that, it bloody well has to stop.’

  ‘Are you the one who’s in charge now that Algård is dead?’

  ‘For the time being, yes.’

  ‘And you’ve always been against holding these parties for teenagers?’

  ‘Not at first, but I quickly realized that they were getting out of hand. Even though they brought in a lot of money, it wasn’t worth the trouble. We’ve got to think of the kids too. We’ve got a responsibility, damn it.’

  ‘So you and Viktor didn’t agree about this?’

  ‘That’s putting it mildly.’

  ‘When did this rape incident occur?’

  ‘It was on Lucia evening, December the thirteenth. Almost four months ago.’

  ‘And you still have no idea who the girl was?’

  ‘No, I haven’t got a clue.’

  ‘You were working at the bar during the dedication festivities at the conference centre, isn’t that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They needed help, and I have nothing against making a little extra money.’

  ‘Did you notice anything out of the ordinary during the evening? Anyone who seemed suspicious?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘We now know that Viktor was having an affair with Veronika Hammar. Did you happen to notice them together? She was at the party too.’

  Rolf Lewin’s face lit up.

  ‘Actually, yes. They were standing at the bar, talking. Just briefly. I even served them drinks.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Well, to be precise, I mixed a drink for Veronika Hammar. I remember because it was at the request of a secret admirer.’ He rolled his eyes.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Knutas.

  ‘Well, there was this guy who came over and ordered an alcohol-free strawberry daiquiri, which he wanted to give her.’

  ‘And you gave the drink to Veronika?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘This man who ordered it – what did he look like?’

  ‘Hmm. I don’t really recall. There wasn’t anything remarkable about him. Tall, in his forties, wearing a grey suit, I think. Blond hair, a bit straggly. He wore glasses with black frames. They looked like Armani.’

  ‘But you didn’t recognize him?’

  ‘No. I’d never seen him before. I don’t think he was from around here.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Just a feeling I had.’

  Considering Rolf claims not to have remembered anything about the guy, his powers of observation are certainly impressive, thought Knutas. Then another thought occurred to him.

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘The stage show had just started, so it must have been right after midnight.’

  ‘Did you see whether Veronika drank the cocktail?’

  ‘I don’t think she did. She handed the glass to Viktor. Then he went downstairs, while she went off in another direction. There were so many people, and I was busy filling drink orders, so I didn’t give it another thought.’

  ‘Do you recall what the man said?’

  Rolf paused to think.

  ‘Let’s see now. First he ordered the drink, without saying anything in particular. After I mixed the cocktail and served it, he paid with cash and gave me a big tip.’

  ‘Try to remember exactly what happened,’ Knutas told him. ‘Did he give you exact change?’

  ‘Good Lord, how in hell am I supposed to… Wait a minute. Now I remember. He paid with a five-hundred-krona note. The drink cost eighty-five, and he told me just to give him four hundred back. That’s right. Fifteen for a tip.’

  ‘Then what?’

&nbs
p; ‘Well, when I handed him the change, he asked me to give the drink to Veronika Hammar.’

  ‘How far apart were they standing? I mean, Veronika and the stranger?’

  ‘They were at opposite ends of the bar, so maybe ten metres apart or so. And there was a big crowd there. I told Veronika that the drink was from an admirer, but when I turned to point him out to her, the guy was gone.’

  Knutas had listened to Rolf’s account with growing interest. He realized that the bartender’s story meant that the murder investigation was about to take a new and surprising turn.

  He thanked the man for his time and then hurried out of the club.

  As soon as Knutas got back to police headquarters, he asked Jacobsson to come to his office. He explained his theory, based on what he’d just learned from the pub manager. Jacobsson sat in silence on his visitor’s sofa, listening with an increasingly surprised look on her face.

  ‘So you think that Algård was killed by mistake? That the cyanide wasn’t intended for him at all?’

  ‘Exactly. It was meant for Veronika Hammar.’

  ‘So we’ve been on the wrong track the whole time.’

  ‘The man who ordered that drink is the one we need to be looking for.’

  ‘What about the glass?’

  ‘We’re going to have to search the entire building again. Look in every damn rubbish bin, and every nook and cranny in the vicinity of the conference centre. The perp obviously took the glass with him.’

  ‘So how did the poison get in the cocktail?’

  ‘Emptying a vial into the drink could be done in a flash. It wouldn’t take more than a few seconds. He could have done it while the bartender was getting change for the five hundred kronor.’

  ‘This turns everything upside down,’ said Jacobsson. ‘We’re going to have to start from scratch.’

  ‘Definitely,’ Knutas agreed grimly. ‘Let’s get everyone together for a meeting.’

  THE CABIN COULDN’T be described as luxurious. It was a typical weekend cabin from the sixties with dark brown wood panelling, a tumbledown chimney and spartan furnishings. The front door opened on to a narrow hallway. A row of hooks on the wall held jackets, coats and various bags and purses. On the floor underneath were rubber boots, wooden clogs and slippers. A couple of walking sticks leaned against the wall in one corner. The small kitchen had a window that faced the forested area on the hill. A cheap rug on the floor, wallpaper with brown flowers. A laminate countertop, a small sink and a stove that looked at least thirty years old. Further along the hall was a large bedroom with a double bed, dresser and photographs of several children on the wall. The living room had a hardwood floor and a simple fireplace. The furniture consisted of a sofa, coffee table, bookshelf and a spinning wheel.