Marked for Life (9 page)

The big parking deck was deserted, and when he got out of the car his steps echoed against the concrete slabs that surrounded him.

Ten minutes before closing, Henrik entered the brightly lit Swedbank branch office. Three customers were waiting with queue numbers in their hands. One bank official with back-combed hair and a young look was helping customers; the other counters were closed.

Henrik showed his search warrant and was promised help if he could wait the ten minutes that remained of official hours of operation. So he sat down in an egg-shaped armchair, listened to an advertising jingle that insisted that everybody was welcome to H&M, which was located on the second floor of the mall. He studied the shoppers going past.

“Well now, Chief Inspector. Please come with me.”

The bank official signaled to Henrik and showed him the way in behind the counter. They sat down beside a long table in a small conference room. The bank manager, a shortish woman in her fifties with a flowery red blouse, entered the room and joined them at the table.

Henrik explained why he was there.

“I'm grateful that you came to us in person. As you know, we are restricted by bank confidentiality. I spoke to your colleague earlier today,” said the woman.

“Ola?”

“Yes, Ola, and we gave him all the details about the Juhlén account.”

“I know, and it was clear that Hans Juhlén withdrew forty thousand kronor every month here, at your bank. It is extremely important that we can ascertain why he withdrew such a large amount of money.”

“We rarely ask what customers are going to use their money for, but we are most restrictive when it comes to large cash withdrawals. Customers who want to withdraw more than fifteen thousand in cash must notify us in advance.”

“I understand, but in that case Hans Juhlén must have given you advance notice many times,” said Henrik.

“No, he wasn't the person who did it,” said the woman.

“Well, who, then?”

“It was his wife, Kerstin Juhlén.”

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

GUNNAR ÖHRN WAS
listening to the reporter on the car radio who announced that after an upcoming item about the history of a Swedish charity organization, he promised to play a legendary track. When the first notes came out of the speaker, Gunnar immediately recognized the voice of the singer and he drummed on the steering wheel in time to the lovely rock music.

Bruce Springsteen.

“The Boss. Oh yeah!” he called out.

Gunnar turned up the volume and drummed even harder to the refrain.

He sneaked a glance at Anneli Lindgren, who was sitting next to him in the passenger seat, to see if she was impressed by his solo on the wheel. But she wasn't. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the headrest.

It was half past three in the afternoon. For the last ten hours she had worked at the murder scene out at Viddviken. When Gunnar had arrived, she had been standing there in wading boots with the water up to her waist. She walked back to the shore to meet him.

“How are you getting on?” Gunnar had asked.

“I've got some water samples,” Anneli answered and unfastened the shoulder straps before pulling off the waders. “We've combed through the area. Not even worth thinking about shoe prints as it seems a whole lot of people walk across here.”

“Have you dragged the bay?”

“Twice, but no other weapon.”

“And the bullet? Did you find it?”

“Yes. And we also found something interesting. Come, I want to show you something.”

Gunnar had followed Anneli away from the bay up to the gravel road. After twenty meters, she had turned off from the heavily compacted track and stepped out into the grass edging, carefully bending back some undergrowth in front of her. Gunnar then leaned forward to see what she wanted to show him. A smile immediately spread across his face.

Tire tracks were visible on the ground.

And they were deep.

Anneli had been exultant to discover the tracks. Now she sat in Gunnar's passenger seat and said nothing.

Gunnar turned the volume down. “Tired?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Can you manage a briefing? I've called in everybody for 4:00 p.m.”

“Sure.”

“I can give you a lift home after.”

“That's kind, but I've got to get my car home. Adam has his football practice at eight o'clock. Have you forgotten?”

“Oh Christ, yes, of course today is Wednesday.”

Gunnar leaned his elbow against the window and put his index finger under his nose.

“But I can give him a lift too. I mean, if you want me to. We can all go together,” he said.

“Yes, if you'd like to...that'd be nice.”

Anneli rubbed under her eyes.

“Oh no,” said Gunnar and put his hand on his forehead.

“What's the matter?” said Anneli.

“I've forgotten it again. The big box in the attic.”

“It's not a big deal.”

“But it's the last box with your things.”

“Well, if it's been up in the attic until now perhaps it can stay there a bit longer.”

“This evening I'll put it right next to the front door. Then I'm absolutely bound to remember to take it with me.”

“Good idea.”

There was silence for a few seconds.

“Nice that you're coming along with us this evening. Adam will be happy,” Anneli said.

“I know,” said Gunnar.

“I'll be happy too.”

“I know.”

“Won't you be happy?”

“Anneli, stop it. There's no point.”

“Why isn't there?”

“Because.”

“Have you met somebody?”

“No, I haven't. But we've decided to have it like this now.”

“You've decided, yes. Not me.”

“Okay, this time it was me. I really want it to be like this now. I think things are okay between us. That we keep it on a good level, I mean.”

“On your level.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing.”

“I was just trying to be friendly by giving you and Adam a ride, what's wrong with that?”

“You don't have to give us a ride. We can manage well without your help.”

“Okay, let's skip it, then.”

“Yes, let's do that.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Gunnar muttered something, and turned up the volume on the radio just in time to hear the last tones of that damned rock track fade away.

* * *

Anneli walked a few steps behind Gunnar down the corridor. Her lips were pursed as she glared at his back. She knew that he felt her gaze, so she glared a bit harder just for the sake of it.

Gunnar stopped a moment by his office.

Anneli noticed a fax from the National Forensic Lab, SKL, in his in-tray. Probably important. But she didn't say anything, just walked straight on. She was well aware that he would immediately read the fax anyway. She went down the corridor, still with a grumpy look on her face. But as soon as she entered the conference room she straightened up and switched off her private side.

Since Anneli and Gunnar chose never to discuss their relationship with anybody, they never showed their feelings openly either. They'd been a couple before she was employed by the criminal investigation unit in Norrköping, where Gunnar was the senior officer. When the position of criminal technician was advertised on the police intranet, Anneli had compiled her CV, with her experience at SKL in Linköping, and sent in the application to the head of the department as stated, who in this case happened to be her lover. Anneli had not seen any obstacles to working together with her life partner.

Gunnar, for his part, found himself in a dilemma, and first considered setting Anneli's application aside because of a possible conflict of interest. But since Anneli's professional experience outshone that of all the other applicants, Gunnar's decision to employ her made the most sense. The fact that Gunnar and Anneli had kept the relationship secret made his decision easier, and they decided to continue to be as discreet as possible in their professional life.

But the rumor of their relationship spread anyway and some malicious gossip circulated that Anneli had landed the job by sleeping with her boss. It didn't make any difference that she had a unique talent for discovering out-of-the-ordinary evidence, such as broken vegetation or a faint tire track that others would miss. The only thing certain coworkers chose to see was that she was in a relationship with her boss.

What many people didn't know, or couldn't be bothered to find out, was that Anneli and Gunnar had an on-and-off relationship. For the sake of their son they had attempted to live together, but when the boy turned ten years old last month, they agreed to call it quits. Their commitment wasn't strong enough to stay together as a couple. Their emotions were like a roller coaster; all told they had moved in together and then separated seven times. The last stint of living together had lasted ten months. Recently it was Gunnar who told Anneli he wanted a break.

Anneli pushed aside all thoughts of Gunnar now as she said hello to Mia and Ola, who were sitting at the table.

Mia immediately said, “A witness has seen a white van at Viddviken.”

Anneli was going to answer when Gunnar rushed in. He was holding the fax from SKL in his hand.

“They've identified the fingerprints on the threatening letters,” Gunnar said excitedly. “Where's Henrik?”

“He's interviewing Kerstin again. Evidently she has lied about a lot of money,” Ola quickly replied.

“That's not the only thing she has lied about. I must get hold of Henrik right away!”

* * *

Peter Ramstedt's neck was bright red as he stepped into the interview room for the second time that day. The lawyer swung his briefcase up onto the table, grabbed a notepad and pen out of it and then dropped the case to the floor. He unbuttoned his jacket with both hands and swept the two sides back like a cape before settling down on the chair. Now he sat there with his arms crossed and clicked his pen incessantly with his right thumb.

Henrik Levin smiled vaguely to himself. He had the trump card in his hand. The statements from the bank staff were very important, but it wasn't until Gunnar phoned him that the last bits of the puzzle had fallen into place.

“I'd like to ask you...” Henrik said to Kerstin Juhlén, who was sitting with her shoulders hunched and yellow plastic slippers sticking out under the table, “...do you normally shop with cash or a bank card?”

Kerstin stared up at him.

“Card.”

“You never use cash?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“Well, on the odd occasion perhaps.”

“How often would you say?”

“I don't know. Once a month, I should think.”

“Where do you withdraw your cash from?”

Ramstedt continued to click his pen.

Henrik wanted to grab the pen off him and squirt the ink onto the lawyer's red tie.

Kerstin interrupted his thoughts.

“Well, when I need to, I use an ATM.”

“Which ATM?”

“The one in Ingelsta, next to the café.”

“Do you always go to the same one?”

“Yes.”

“How much money do you usually get out?”

“Usually five hundred kronor.”

“You don't go to a bank teller to withdraw money?”

“No, never.”

Kerstin put her little finger up to her lips and bit at her nail audibly.

“So you have never visited a bank?”

“Well, yes, of course I have.”

“When did you last visit a bank?”

“Perhaps a year ago.”

“What did you do when you went?”

“Perhaps it was even longer ago. I can't really remember.”

“So you haven't been in a bank since then?”

Silence.

Henrik repeated the question: “So you haven't been in a bank since then?”

“No, I haven't.”

“Strange,” said Henrik. “We have two witnesses who can confirm that you have been seen at the bank in Hageby.”

Ramstedt stopped clicking.

For a few moments there was silence.

Henrik could hear his own breathing.

“But I haven't been there,” said Kerstin anxiously.

Henrik got up and walked to one corner of the room. He stood underneath a camera fastened to the ceiling and pointed at it.

“In all bank premises they have cameras like this, which register all customers who come and go.”

“Hang on a moment,” said Ramstedt, getting up too. “I need to have a few words with my client.”

Henrik pretended not to hear him.

He returned to the table and looked straight at Kerstin.

“So I ask you again. Have you been to the bank at Hageby?”

Ramstedt quickly put his hand on Kerstin's shoulder to stop her from answering.

But she answered anyway.

“Perhaps, I may have.”

Henrik sat down on the chair.

“For what purpose were you there?”

“Withdrawing money.”

Ramstedt let go of Kerstin's shoulder, sighed and sat down again.

“How much money did you withdraw?”

“A few thousand. Two, perhaps.”

“Stop lying now. You have withdrawn forty thousand kronor from your joint savings account each month for the past ten months.”

“Have I?”

“As I said, I have two witnesses, Kerstin.”

“Don't answer,” Ramstedt urged her, but again Kerstin ignored him.

“Well, then I must have, mustn't I,” she said quietly and with that response, her lawyer lost his control and threw his pen across the room.

Henrik instinctively ducked even though the pen passed by him at a distance. It hit the door and fell to the floor. Henrik looked at Ramstedt, then smiled to himself. He said nothing, which he knew would irritate the lawyer more than any verbal response. Instead he calmly returned to the subject.

“What did you want the money for?”

“Clothes.”

“Clothes?”

“Yes.”

“So you have shopped for clothes for forty thousand kronor a month?”

“Yes.”

“I don't mean to be offensive, but for that much money I think you can buy considerably better clothes than a T-shirt and some plastic sandals.”

Kerstin quickly pulled her feet in under the table.

“For the last ten months either you or your husband have been receiving threatening letters from somebody,” he said.

“I don't know anything about that.”

“I think you do.”

“No, I don't. I swear. It was you who told me about the letters.”

“So you have never seen the letters? Never touched them?”

“No, no, no! I haven't. I haven't.”

“Okay. But now you are not telling the truth again. The fact is, we have analyzed the letters and found fingerprints on them.”

“Oh yes?”

“And they are your fingerprints.”

Kerstin started looking around nervously.

“May I say what I believe is the truth?” said Henrik. “I don't think you've bought clothes with that money. I think you have taken the money and given it to the person who sent the threatening letters. There were ten threatening letters and you have withdrawn a large sum of money ten times.”

“No... I haven't...”

“Now you disappoint me, Kerstin. Tell the truth now. Tell us what really happened.”

Ramstedt got up, adjusted his jacket and went to pick up his pen by the door. Behind Henrik's back he tried, with the help of body language, to get Kerstin to not say another word. But her shoulders were already sunk.

She swallowed.

And started telling her story.

All of it.

* * *

Henrik lingered in the interview room and stared for a minute. The interview was over, but he was still thinking. He replayed the sequence in his head. When Kerstin's lip started to tremble. When she dried the tears on her cheeks. When she described what her husband had done.