‘OK, we need to interview everyone in Veronika’s family and social circle. Including neighbours and artist friends. She probably belongs to some sort of art society or association. Also the people who live in the summer-house area in Holmhällar. We may find an important lead out there. I’m planning to go and see Sten Bergström. He lives right nearby, so I want to talk to him again. As far as her children are concerned, we need to interview them as soon as possible.’
JOHAN WAS WOKEN by someone shaking him. He blinked at the light, and at first he had no idea where he was. Then he remembered. Last night at the Solo Club.
Afterwards he’d gone back to the office and crashed on the sofa. He was staring up at a face black with soot. It took him a second before he recognized who it was.
‘Wake up. I’ve been ringing and ringing your mobile. You’d probably just go on snoozing even if the sky was falling.’
‘Calm down,’ he groaned.
He sat up, yawned and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He had a terrible taste in his mouth. Then he stared in surprise at Pia.
‘Have you seen what you look like?’
‘Some people have been working while you’ve been lying here dreaming. Did you go out on the town last night? Or to some party?’
‘I wish. No, I was at the Solo Club, taking care of drunk little girls. What’s going on?’
Pia’s face was as black as the eyeliner she used. Her hair stuck out even more than usual, and her clothes were wrinkled and covered with black specks. The streaks on her neck matched her black mascara.
‘A cabin burned down out near Holmhällar.’
‘And?’
‘It was arson, and a woman was injured. I thought we could at least get some pictures for the wire service. I was awake when the call came in, and I happened to be down by Sudret, so I managed to take pictures while the cabin was still burning, plus I interviewed the fire chief. Then I waited for the crime techs to arrive and got one of them to confirm that they’d found a petrol can on the property along with several rags. Unfortunately, I missed the ambulance that came for the injured woman.’
‘Do you know how serious her injuries are?’
‘The fire chief thought she was just suffering from minor smoke inhalation. I called the hospital, but they wouldn’t tell me anything, of course. And by the way, it turned out to be a lucky break that I went out there.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘The cabin doesn’t belong to just anybody, let me tell you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Veronika Hammar was living there. You know – the artist who does those sheep paintings that they sell at Stora Torget? Sheep out in the pasture, back-lit sheep, sheep on the beach…’
‘Oh, right. Sure, I know those paintings.’
‘Well, she’s the one who was injured. And do you know who she was having an affair with?’
‘No.’
‘Viktor Algård. She’s the secret mistress.’
Johan slowly put down his coffee cup.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘How sure?’
‘Absolutely positive. I have a reliable source.’
‘We need two sources. Independent of each other.’
‘I don’t know whether that’s really necessary in this case.’ Pia had a sly look on her face.
‘Why not?’
‘My source is very close to the individual in question. I got the information from Andreas. You know – the sheep farmer.’
‘So?’
‘His last name is Hammar.’
Johan stared at his colleague, dumbfounded.
‘You’re dating Veronika Hammar’s son?’
‘Your powers of deduction are impressive.’
Johan turned on his computer and read the wire service news. All of the newspapers had printed pictures of the fire on the front page. Nowhere did it say that the cabin belonged to Veronika Hammar or that there was any connection between the fire and the murder of Viktor Algård.
‘But if the cabin belonged to Veronika and she was his secret girlfriend, then it sounds like the fire could have been attempted murder,’ said Johan. ‘Which means that the person who killed Algård is now after Veronika Hammar.’
‘Very smart, Sherlock. Now you get it.’
Pia turned to her computer to upload the pictures.
VERONIKA HAMMAR HAD A private room at the far end of the corridor. The ward nurse had warned Knutas that the patient was exhausted and would probably be kept in hospital another day for observation. He gently knocked on the door before entering the room. He gave a start when he caught sight of the woman lying in the bed. Veronika looked as if she had aged ten years since he last saw her. She wore no make-up, her hair was uncombed, and she had on a white hospital gown that was partly visible above the yellow blanket. She seemed to have shrunk even smaller, looking like an injured little bird with no strength left. Her throat was wrinkled, her lips chapped. She lay there motionless with her eyes closed as he came in.
‘Hello,’ he said quietly.
No reaction. He patted her hand. She gave a start and opened her eyes.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you. My name is Anders Knutas, and I’m head of the crime division here. We’ve met once before.’
‘I know who you are. I may be suffering from smoke inhalation, but I haven’t lost my memory.’ Her voice was sharp and dry.
Knutas pulled over a chair and sat down.
‘Could you tell me what happened?’
The frail woman sighed and pushed herself up into a sitting position, motioning impatiently for him to help her put two pillows behind her back. Then she rang for the nurse and asked for a glass of water.
‘The fire woke me up. It was horrible, just horrible. The room was very hot, and I saw thick smoke seeping in around the door. I broke the window and climbed out. After that, all I could do was sit and watch the whole house burn to the ground. With everything inside. All of my things, all of my memories…’
She didn’t look at him as she talked. She kept her gaze fixed on the ceiling.
Tears began running down her cheeks. Knutas waited before asking any more questions. The nurse came in with the glass of water and then left again. He shifted nervously on the chair. This was an uncomfortable situation, but since Veronika showed no sign that she would stop crying, he continued with the interview.
‘Did you see or hear anything suspicious? Did you notice any strangers in the area?’
‘I went out to the cabin the day before yesterday. I was worn out after everything that had happened – with Viktor dying and then the police interview and all the neighbours staring at me and whispering. It was too much. I went out there to escape, and I didn’t tell a soul where I was going. I don’t usually set foot out in the country until Whitsun because I hate being alone, so I’m sure nobody thought that’s where I’d go. But right from the start I had the feeling that someone was out there. Both when I took a walk and later when I went back to the cabin. Last night, before the fire started, I was convinced that there was a prowler on the property.’
‘Did you see anything?’
‘No, but it seemed that a shadow passed by outside the window. It made me nervous, and I know that I can always trust my intuition. Someone was out there. I’m sure of it.’
‘What’s your interpretation of what happened?’
‘Some madman is out to get me. There’s no doubt in my mind.’
‘How can you be so sure about that?’
Finally the woman lying in bed turned to look at him. Her expression was incredulous.
‘Surely it has to be obvious, even to the police,’ she said caustically. ‘Someone set the cabin on fire while I was inside. That means the arson was intended to kill me. I was supposed to die in the blaze. My first thought was that it had to be Viktor’s wife, Elisabeth, who did it. First she killed her husband and then she tried to kill me.’
‘That leads me to my next question,’
said Knutas. ‘During the party at the conference centre you were given a drink from an unknown admirer. Do you remember that?’
Veronika Hammar looked confused.
‘Yes, I think so,’ she said uncertainly.
‘It was a strawberry daiquiri, non-alcoholic.’
‘So?’
‘Did you taste the drink?’
Silence filled the room as Knutas tensely studied the woman. She bit her lip and turned to look up at the ceiling again.
‘I don’t really remember… Did I? I had the drink in my hand, but then I had to go to the loo, so I gave it to Viktor. I don’t think I even took a sip.’
‘And then you parted and didn’t see each other again. Is that right?’
‘That’s right. I… do you mean that…?’
‘The drink was probably poisoned.’
‘So it was intended for me?’ Veronika pressed her hands to her chest. She looked stunned, and her voice shook as she went on: ‘So you’re saying that the murderer was after me right from the start? That Viktor died by mistake? That’s terrible!’
‘Why didn’t you tell us about this before, at the first interview?’
‘It simply didn’t occur to me. I’d forgotten all about it.’
‘You said that the last time you saw Viktor was when he took your drink and you went to the ladies’ room. Is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you didn’t see him again that night?’
Veronika shook her head. Knutas didn’t take his eyes off her.
‘Then can you explain to me why the crime scene is practically covered with your fingerprints?’
Veronika’s reaction was instantaneous and unexpected.
She stared at him in dismay for several seconds before she shrieked: ‘Stop it! I can’t take this any more! I’m a fragile person. I can’t handle this sort of thing!’
Tears poured out, and now she was wailing, not just crying. The woman’s unexpected outburst nearly frightened Knutas out of his wits.
‘All right, take it easy,’ he urged her, sitting down on the edge of the bed. ‘I’m not accusing you of anything. You must realize that we need to know exactly what happened.’ He patted her clumsily on the back.
‘First somebody kills the love of my life, then someone sneaks up and sets fire to my cabin, and now you’re trying to make me a suspect! There bloody well has to be a limit to what a person has to endure. There has to be a limit even for me!’
‘Come on now,’ said Knutas in his gentlest tone of voice. ‘I’m not accusing you, but you need to tell me what you were doing in that room. Did you find him there?’
Veronika sniffed and coughed. The door opened and a nurse stuck her head in.
‘Everything all right in here?’
‘Yes, we’re fine.’ Knutas waved her away.
The nurse cast an enquiring glance at Veronika, who nodded. That seemed to satisfy her, and she closed the door again.
Knutas refilled Veronika’s glass with water from the small sink in the room. Then he tore off a piece of paper towel.
‘All right now,’ he murmured, as if speaking to a child. ‘Dry your tears and then let’s work this out, once and for all.’
‘OK,’ she whimpered. ‘I didn’t do anything. It’s just been too much to take.’
‘I understand.’
He handed her the glass and she drank the water greedily.
‘Tell me what happened.’
‘At the end of the party – at the conference centre, I mean – I went to get my coat from the cloakroom, and then I looked around for Viktor. I got lost in the corridors but finally I found the room downstairs where we were supposed to meet. I went inside and saw a light coming from the lift a short distance away. The doors were open.’
She covered her face with her hands, stammering out the words.
‘And there he was. Lying on the floor. Not moving. I went over, thinking that he was alive. His face was turned away. But when I got closer, I realized that he was dead.’
‘What did you do then?’
‘I panicked. I yanked open the nearest door and rushed home. I was terrified. I thought the murderer might still be in the room and would come after me.’
‘But you didn’t think about calling the police?’
‘I was drunk and exhausted. I wasn’t thinking straight. No one knew about our affair, and I couldn’t see why everybody should have to find out about it. And nothing could change what had already happened. My Viktor was dead.’
‘If what you’re telling me is the truth, it casts a whole new light on the case.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The fire, your explanation of why your fingerprints were at the crime scene, and everything else. It strips away any suspicions we may have had about you.’
‘What do you mean? That I’m no longer a suspect?’
‘That’s right,’ said Knutas, puzzled to see that the woman lying in the bed suddenly seemed to cheer up. ‘In fact, I’d say you’re free and clear.’
‘Are you saying that you seriously thought I was behind all this? Responsible for killing the love of my life? The man I’d finally met after an entire lifetime of dealing with miserable jerks? Because that’s what you are, the whole lot of you! It’s a chilling thought that the police would come to such an infantile conclusion: that I was a cold-blooded murderer who would kill my own dream. Unbelievable!’
Veronika Hammar was now sitting up in bed, shouting at the top of her lungs. Suddenly she didn’t seem fragile at all.
‘How dare you come here and accuse me of first one crime and then another! Here I am, suffering from smoke inhalation, the victim of arson, and I could just as easily have died in that fire. And you have the nerve to barge in here and accuse me of murder! Get out! I want you out of here! Get out, and I don’t ever want to set eyes on you again! You fucking cop! Go to hell!’
Knutas was astonished not only by the woman’s sudden outburst but by the strength of her voice.
Within seconds two nurses came running into the room and tried to calm their patient, who continued to scream and cry and wave her arms about.
They glared at Knutas but didn’t say a word to him.
In the midst of all the commotion, he left the room, relieved to make his escape.
ELISABETH ALGÅRD WAS INTERVIEWED by the police on Friday, but nothing new came of it. She had an alibi for the night of the fire since she was in Stockholm with her children. They had gone to see a film, then to a restaurant, and she had stayed overnight with her daughter. Knutas had never believed that she had had anything to do with the murder; there was something about her that made him doubt she could be the killer. And his gut feeling was usually right. At least when it came to his work.
No one had witnessed the setting of the fire, but the techs found ignition points at several different places inside the cabin. They had also recovered a petrol can and some rags. A neighbour who was out walking his dog had noticed a motorcycle parked outside the Pensionat Holmhällar, which was just a stone’s throw from the cabin. The bed and breakfast was closed at this time of year, and the car park was usually deserted. Unfortunately, the man couldn’t identify the model of the motorcycle, nor was he able to recall the licence number.
Veronika Hammar had been discharged from the hospital and was given an escort to her home on Tranhusgatan inside the ring wall. The police had installed a security alarm and added an extra lock to her front door. For the next few days she would be under police surveillance around the clock. An unmarked police car was present at all times outside her home. The authorities were hoping that the perpetrator might turn up over the weekend when he realized that once again he had failed to kill her.
* * *
As soon as the meeting was over, Knutas and Jacobsson left to interview Veronika’s son, Andreas.
Andreas Hammar owned one of the biggest sheep farms in southern Gotland. His property was on the road between Havdhem and Eke. His house wasn’t bu
ilt in the typical Gotland style; instead, it was a stone villa that looked more as if it belonged in Provence. The yellow stucco was flaking off in places, and the roof needed to be replaced. In front was a beautiful veranda with stately pillars and a flower garden. Two border collies were lying on the front lawn, keeping an eye on the chickens pecking at the ground.
Knutas had called ahead to tell him they were coming. Andreas Hammar said that he was very busy weighing the ewes, so they’d have to meet in the farmyard and talk as best they could while he continued to work. He didn’t have time to take a break.
When Knutas and Jacobsson parked, the collies began barking and a large man appeared from around the corner of the house. He wore blue overalls and heavy boots. He peered at them from under the visor of his cap and gave them a less than enthusiastic greeting.
‘Follow me in your car,’ he told the officers.
They drove along a tractor path into the fields next to the house and then stopped near a gate. Hundreds of sheep were out in the pasture and they came trotting from all directions, making an enormous din. Knutas watched in fascination as the huge flock gathered in a matter of minutes and came running towards them en masse. More disciplined than soldiers, he thought. A lorry was parked near the field. Inside the pasture, two smaller areas had been fenced off. The two dogs helped herd the sheep into the first enclosure. Andreas then shoved one sheep at a time through a chute that was covered with chicken wire and into the next pen, which was so small that there was barely enough room for the single sheep with its thick coat of wool. On the floor of the pen was a scale. It was a matter of getting the sheep to stand still for the few seconds required to register the animal’s weight. Jacobsson helped to steer the sheep into the chute and then hold them still while Andreas wrote down the weight in his notebook. Then he pushed the sheep back into the pasture. Some of the animals submitted to the procedure without protest, while others panicked and did everything possible to get away. Occasionally a sheep would go berserk and look as if it might break its spindly legs in a vain attempt to escape. Jacobsson had her hands full trying to help, and after a few minutes she was soaked with sweat.
Dark Angel Page 16
