‘Of course, I wouldn’t dream of it. What kind of ninny do you take me for? I’ve been married to a police officer for nearly thirty years. How would it look if I went around blabbing to all and sundry about everything Ingvar tells me?’
‘So, you and Ingvar, you do discuss things that are meant to be confidential?’
Gertrud sighed. ‘Fabian. Don’t tell me you never tell Sonja anything she shouldn’t really know.’
‘I’m sure that’s happened. But for her sake, I try to keep it to a minimum. And since we’re on the subject, have you mentioned this to Ingvar?’
‘I’m not sure I follow. Have I mentioned what to him?’
‘The investigation. That it’s active again.’
Gertrud looked at him as though she felt a need to recalibrate her understanding of his visit, only now realizing she had to weigh her words carefully. At that moment, raindrops began to patter against the window. Then she suddenly lit up and let out a laugh. ‘No. You know, I’ve barely seen him for days. Honestly, I have no idea when he came home last night. But it must have been in the wee hours, because I was out cold.’
‘So you didn’t see him at all yesterday?’
‘No, I did, he came home for dinner as usual. But then there was an alert or something on his phone and he had to go.’
‘What kind of alert?’
‘No idea. You should ask him.’
‘So you just didn’t have time to tell him.’
‘I suppose you could put it that way.’
She hadn’t told him after all. ‘That’s good,’ he said, nodding. ‘And I would be very grateful if you would continue to keep it to yourself.’
‘Why? You work on the same team, for Pete’s sake. And now here you are, telling me I absolutely can’t tell him.’ She shook her head. ‘I honestly don’t understand what’s going on.’
‘Gertrud, I know this may seem strange.’ He had to stay calm now and not speak too fast or too slow. The slightest hesitation and she would see right through him. ‘The reason is that it’s still such early days, it’s not clear you can even call it an investigation yet. And before I have more to show, I would prefer to keep as much as possible to myself.’
‘You’re telling me Tuvesson and the team don’t know?’
Fabian nodded. ‘Given how full our hands are already, Tuvesson wouldn’t be best pleased to find out I spent a whole hour with Reidar yesterday.’ She still wasn’t convinced. He could see it in her eyes and decided to gamble on his hand being steady enough to pick up the jug and pour himself a glass of water. ‘And I don’t know what Ingvar’s like at home. But at work, he likes to talk, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he accidentally let something slip during a coffee break.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Gertrud said with a chuckle. ‘I promise I won’t spill the beans.’
‘It’s not about spilling beans, it’s about—’
‘Fabian. I understand exactly what this is about.’ She looked at him with a gravity he didn’t know how to interpret. ‘If my silence can help you find out who did it, you have it.’ She swallowed and closed her eyes. ‘I’m never going to forget the day Ingvar came home and told me what had happened.’ But she couldn’t stop her mascara from running and eventually managed to pull out a tissue. ‘That the long-haired coroner had managed to identify the body that had drifted ashore on Ven. You see, they weren’t just our neighbours. We had dinner together and Inga and I went to yoga every week. I still don’t understand how anyone can put another human being through what she had to go through.’
‘When did he tell you?’
‘It was a Monday afternoon almost five years ago. Five years. It still feels like yesterday. I was unpacking and doing laundry after a long weekend in Berlin, which Ingvar had arranged as a surprise, when he suddenly appeared in the door to the laundry room and asked me to come into the kitchen and have a seat. He had even poured a glass of—’
‘Hold on a second,’ Fabian broke in, putting down the glass of water he still hadn’t drunk from. ‘When were you in Berlin?’
‘Thursday night to Sunday afternoon. Ingvar had arranged everything, for our anniversary. Hotel, plane tickets and even several dinner reservations. So unlike him, now I think about it.’
‘So you’re telling me you and Ingvar were in Berlin when the murder took place?’
‘Yes, what about it?’
‘Nothing. I just didn’t know that.’ He tried to squeeze out a smile, even though he could see his whole investigation falling apart before his eyes. ‘I was still in Stockholm at the time.’ If Molander had an alibi for the murder of Inga Dahlberg, everything else fell like dominoes. No matter how hard he and Elvin had fought to line them all up, one after the other. If Molander wasn’t the killer, there was no motive. It just couldn’t be true that he’d been in Berlin. ‘I’m sorry if I’m being slow, but are you one hundred per cent sure that was the weekend you went to Berlin?’
‘Like I just said, I remember it like it was yesterday.’
‘And you were together the whole time, you and Ingvar. You never split up and—’
‘Fabian, what are you getting at?’
‘Nothing. I’m just—’
‘Just what? What is this? I don’t know where you would have got such an idea, but it actually sounds like you’re suspecting my Ingvar.’
‘No, no, no, absolutely not. God, no,’ he tried to reassure her. ‘I’m just puzzled because it doesn’t match the information I have.’
‘What information?’ She stood up and pointed straight at him. ‘Ingvar and I were in Berlin, whether you want to believe it or not.’
‘Great, understood. I just wanted to make sure.’
‘I can even show you a picture.’ She walked past him to the bookshelf and picked up one of the framed photographs on it.
‘Gertrud, there’s really no need. I believe you.’
She put the photograph in his lap. ‘You can see for yourself.’
‘Gertrud, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it sound like I didn’t believe you.’ He looked at the picture, which showed Gertrud and Molander drinking coffee with a half-eaten apfelstrudel sitting between them. ‘I was just surprised you were in Berlin that particular weekend. That’s all.’
‘I don’t know if you’ve been there, but that picture was taken at Café Einstein Stammhaus, one of the few classic cafés in Berlin that survived the war.’
‘I have been there, actually,’ he said, studying the picture that gave Molander exactly the alibi he needed.
‘I clearly remember Ingvar telling me about Goebbels giving his mistress the building as a gift before it was turned into a casino. It felt very historic. And, here, look.’ She turned the frame over, undid the back, took the picture out and put her index finger on the date stamp 24 AUG 2007 from the camera at the bottom of the picture. ‘I’m sure you know this better than I do. But I do think that was the very day Inga Dahlberg was murdered.’
Fabian nodded. She was right. It was that very day. He should feel happy and relieved. Maybe it wasn’t his colleague after all. But the only thing he felt was disappointment. Until now, he’d been convinced both he and Hugo Elvin had been on the right track. One puzzle piece after the other had fallen into place, and a motive as terrifying as it was plausible had slowly crystallized. But now the rug had been pulled out from under the whole case and he was left with nothing.
‘And unless I’m misremembering, there are more pictures,’ Gertrud continued. ‘I actually think we have a whole album. Just don’t ask me where.’
‘Don’t trouble yourself.’
His phone started vibrating in his pocket, but this definitely wasn’t the time to pick up.
‘Is that your phone ringing?’
Fabian nodded and had pulled it out to decline the call when he saw that it was Molander. ‘Hi, I thought you were busy with Wessman and not to be disturbed under any circumstances,’ he said, while scanning the photograph for anything irregular.
‘Th
at’s absolutely right,’ Molander replied. ‘But for me to call and bother you is a different kettle of fish altogether.’
It might be anything. An outline that looked photoshopped, missing shadows or lighting that didn’t match the rest of the scene.
‘Have you found anything?’
‘And then some. I would suggest you drop whatever it is you’re doing and get yourself over here on the double.’
Anything that could burst this damn alibi so the stinking truth could seep out once and for all.
54
Fabian parked behind Molander’s white van and killed the engine. The radio, on which Tuvesson was being chewed out because the hunt for murder suspect and paedophile Assar Skanås was now on its fifth day, fell silent as the wipers stopped halfway across the windscreen, making the rain, which had turned torrential, form little pools that merged and grew bigger until surface tension was overwhelmed by gravity.
Molander had sounded excited and happy on the phone. Not a hint of suspicion had shone through. Perhaps he was just being his usual self, proud and impatient like no one else to show off the findings he had supposedly made.
Even so, he was far from ready to trust that impression. For Molander to have called when he was actually at his house, discussing him with Gertrud, could, of course, have been a coincidence. But it could equally well have been because his colleague had been listening to their conversation via some hidden microphone and decided to cut their meeting short before it could go too far.
If so, the question was what Molander’s plan was. It seemed unlikely that he would choose to liquidate him in Molly Wessman’s flat, though he couldn’t disregard the possibility. One person had already died there recently, and besides, Molander himself was in charge of the investigation. What made it unlikely was his two assistants; so long as they were present, he should be safe.
Even so, he took out his gun, pushed in a loaded magazine and placed it in his shoulder holster, under his jacket. Then, as an extra precaution, he sent Tuvesson a text saying Molander claimed to have found something interesting at Wessman’s and that he was on his way over to check it out.
He left his car with the key in the ignition and hurried towards the front door. A distance that, despite being barely more than fifteen feet, was long enough for him to get soaked. A doorstop was propping the front door open and outside the lift, next to a tool bag, stood a number of buckets adorned with red warning triangles, so he took the stairs.
Outside Wessman’s flat, he waited to give the water a chance to drip off before running his hands through his hair, turning on the recording function on his phone and entering.
He had considered not going, naturally, but had concluded that would only serve to raise a lot of questions, if Molander really had found something.
Bringing Klippan and someone else from the team had also crossed his mind. That would likely stop Molander from executing his plan, if in fact he had one. But only temporarily. If the man had decided to take his life, making sure they were never alone was not a sustainable solution, and nor was running away.
No, that left him with just one option – direct confrontation. And that might as well happen now as some other time. Paradoxically, it might be to his advantage, since he hadn’t been able to come up with any binding proof yet. A failed murder attempt would be more than enough to arrest him and launch an official investigation.
So his best option was to get ready and not hesitate to take charge the moment something out of the ordinary happened. Whatever out of the ordinary might mean when it came to Molander.
‘Hi there, come in, come in!’ Molander pulled off the hood of his protective suit as he walked towards him through the hallway. ‘Emil and Janos just popped out for lunch, so we have the whole place to ourselves.’
Fabian nodded and stepped on to the protective transparent plastic covering the hallway floor. Of course it was just the two of them. ‘You wouldn’t happen to have a hazmat suit for me, too, would you?’
‘Nah, as long as you stay clear of the bedroom, you’ll be fine. That’s where we’re still working. But we’re all done in here, so feel free to walk around.’
Silence fell. Fabian took the opportunity to take a step back. Arm’s length felt like a minimum requirement. ‘What have you found?’
Molander lit up. ‘Come over here. I’ll show you.’ He backed into the hallway and beckoned him over with a wave.
Why couldn’t he just tell him? If it wasn’t so typically Molander to drag these situations out, he would have refused to go any further. As it was, he had no choice but to obey.
‘You asked me to keep my eyes extra peeled, remember?’
Fabian nodded, though he had no earthly idea what Molander was talking about.
‘Don’t look so surprised. Don’t you remember? When you called me up and went on and on about that key deposit.’ Molander pointed towards the front door. ‘To be honest, I didn’t understand why you insisted on yammering about it and about potential handymen who might have had access to her home keys. But it just goes to show.’ Molander took a step towards him. ‘We’re not always supposed to understand things right away. Or like someone once said: When you choose to be puzzled, life works out in mysterious ways.’
‘Ingvar,’ Fabian said and backed up another step. ‘Why am I here?’
‘Well, well, aren’t we cranky today.’ Molander shot him a smile over the top of his glasses, which looked like they might slip off the tip of his nose at any moment. ‘You see, it’s unusual for me to be in this position. Only the second time ever, to be precise.’ He held up two fingers. ‘Which makes the whole thing especially sensitive.’
Fabian thought he understood his meaning all too well. A couple of months ago, Hugo Elvin discovered Molander's secrets. And now it was his turn to confront Molander. The problem was that he found himself unable to pull out his gun and take charge. After all, Molander hadn't said or done anything so far that warranted an arrest.
‘But, luckily, it’s just the two of us here, which actually makes this easier for a proud man like myself,’ Molander continued. ‘Because the truth is that if you hadn’t insisted on me paying extra close attention to that particular object, I would very likely have missed it.’
Fabian was thrown back into confusion, fumbling around for something to hold on to. Maybe that was exactly what he was trying to do. Confuse him and make him lose focus.
‘See that wire up by the ceiling?’ Molander gestured towards a point behind him on the right.
It was the last thing he wanted to do, but he had no choice but to turn his back on Molander. And there was, indeed, a wire, a completely ordinary white electrical cord running along the right side of the hallway where the wall met the ceiling, before disappearing through a hole.
‘That happens to be a high-speed cable for her broadband. A so-called fibre-optic cable.’
‘Okay. Sure,’ he said, in an attempt to sound interested, as he turned back to Molander.
‘Nothing strange about that. In a few years, everyone will be on a fibre-optic network. But when I noticed where that cable was running, I felt I had to have a closer look. It’s been installed the usual way, by running cable up from the basement, where the hub is, through the lift shaft and from there out to each floor. And to keep installation costs low, the modem and router are usually placed somewhere in the hallway, in a cupboard or some such. But as you see, in this case, they’ve instead run it in through the flat, all the way to the bedroom. They did a good job, too, so we know it wasn’t cheap.’
‘Maybe she wanted the router in the bedroom and was happy to pay extra for it.’ Fabian shrugged. Where was he going with this? What on earth was all this about?
‘Maybe. I’ve certainly always had terrible reception in my bedroom. At least according to Gertrud, who insists on playing Wordfeud in bed half the night.’ He shook his head. ‘But that doesn’t explain why the cable runs through the wall.’ He pointed up at the ceiling to where the cable
disappeared through a hole.
‘What’s on the other side?’
‘Precisely, what is on the other side? Finally, we’re getting somewhere.’ Molander tapped his temple. ‘Come with me and see for yourself.’ He backed further into the hallway, past a door that he pushed open with one hand. ‘What are you waiting for? Here, I thought you were really curious.’ Molander beckoned him into the room like he was luring a child with sweets.
Fabian unobtrusively put his hand to his chest to make sure his gun was where it should be before walking up to Molander and looking into the bathroom, which had spotlights in the ceiling, hand-painted tiles at chest level and a toilet, bidet and washbasin lined up along the wall on the right. On the other side was a washer and dryer with a few white plastic buckets on top, and straight ahead, a spacious whirlpool bath. In other words, a lovely upmarket bathroom where nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
Here, too, the floor was covered in plastic, a habit of Molander’s when they were done with a room but not the rest of the property. The point of the plastic was that you could go in without contaminating anything. Fabian wanted nothing more than to get out of there. But to see the cable Molander was talking about, he had to step inside completely and turn around.
The light from the spotlights in the ceiling blinded him and forced him to shield his eyes with one hand. It was warm, too, several degrees warmer than the rest of the flat. Especially down by the floor. Was the underfloor heating turned up to the max? If so, why? He was utterly confused and felt his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth while sweat soaked his already damp clothes.
What he really needed was to sit down and drink a big glass of cold water. But he couldn’t afford to let his guard down. Never mind that the heat was making him nauseous. What he had to do was stay focused, keep trying to understand what Molander had planned for him and wait for the right moment.
Motive X Page 28
