The Beige Man (33 page)

Irene picked up the mail and newspapers in the hallway and went into the kitchen to fetch the watering can. Unlike her daughter, Gerd had a green thumb and loved her flowers. The windowsills were filled with beautiful potted plants. Even during the darkest time of the year, she managed to cultivate flowers to brighten the place up. Right now two glorious cerise-pink orchids were holding court in the living room window.

In the doorway of the galley kitchen she stopped and gazed at the familiar interior. Her father had painted the cupboard doors white at the same time as he had redone the walls in her room; he had redecorated the rest of the apartment too, and since then nothing had changed in her childhood home, although the cooker and refrigerator had been replaced in the mid-1980s when the newly formed residents’ association had secured a good deal with a supplier and had replaced all the white goods in the building. The stairwells and the yard had been renovated, and the general maintenance had been contracted out to a service company. Since then the snow simply lay where it fell, unless one of the council plows happened to end up in Guldheden by mistake. Irene sighed; things had been better in the past. She filled up the watering can and added a generous dose of plant food. None of Gerd’s plants was going to die of thirst during her absence. Irene was determined to make sure of that.

When she had finished she suddenly thought about Sture’s plants. Who was looking after his apartment? He had no children, and Irene hadn’t heard of any close relatives. And when should she tell her mother about Sture’s death? She reminded herself of her earlier thoughts: there was never a good time to deliver news like that. She ought to tell her as soon as possible.

“W
HERE THE HELL
have you been? I’ve been looking for you,” Jonny said accusingly.

“Good to see you too,” Irene replied. She had no intention of telling him where she’d been. It had nothing to do with him.

Jonny glared at her, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other before he reluctantly came out with it. “You seemed to get on well with that little shirt-lifter Niklas Ström. Tommy and I had another go at Billy, but it’s a waste of time. He’s as silent as a fucking freemason!”

Irene thought that was probably because the two police officers represented everything Billy had learned to distrust: middle-aged men, authority figures and homophobes. The latter applied primarily to Jonny.

“I’m happy to sit in when you speak to Niklas. I’ll just take off my coat,” she said, heading into her office.

“Interview room two in half an hour,” she heard Jonny’s voice behind her.

Tommy wasn’t there. It occurred to her that it had been a while since she had spoken to him. It wasn’t that she had anything in particular on her mind, but it was good to chat with old friends and colleagues from time to time. As she was hanging up her coat, the intercom crackled into life.

“Hi, Tommy. I’m on my way down.”

Irene recognized Superintendent Linda Holm’s voice, and all her instincts as an investigator kicked in. Where were Tommy and Linda Holm going? Together? She decided to find out, from sheer curiosity.

She quickly slipped into the corridor and strolled along to the exit, which was the door leading to the elevators. She could hear the sound of Linda Holm’s high-heeled boots approaching along the corridor. A few meters ahead of Irene, the superintendent of the trafficking unit swung around the corner, making for the elevators. She seemed to be in a hurry, and obviously hadn’t noticed Irene, who continued walking calmly toward the glass door. As Irene opened the door she saw
Linda step into an elevator. The display showed that she had stopped on the second floor; presumably she was going to the cafeteria. Wild horses couldn’t have stopped Irene from going to the same place. It’s a free country, she thought. If I want a cup of coffee, then I want a cup of coffee, and I’m perfectly entitled to go to the cafeteria.

She spotted Tommy right in the corner. He was already sitting at a table, and he was waving. Not at Irene, but at Linda, who was holding a steaming cup in one hand and a cellophane-wrapped sandwich in the other. Irene decided to follow her example. She hadn’t had time for lunch because she’d spent her break in Gerd’s apartment.

Nonchalantly she strolled over to the counter and picked up a coffee and a cheese roll. After a brief hesitation she grabbed a liver paste sandwich as well, then she stood there holding her little tray and gazing around the way you do when you’re hoping to see someone you know. As if by chance, she glanced over toward the corner. There wasn’t much point in joining Tommy and Linda, who were already sitting opposite each other deep in conversation, maintaining eye contact. She would only be intruding.

Fortunately she spotted Hannu sitting on his own.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.”

His attempt at a smile was more of a feeble grimace. She had never seen Hannu looking so … devastated. That was the word that came into her mind. Devastated.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“Okay.”

It wasn’t much of a response, so she tried again.

“When is Birgitta coming home?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Is your mother-in-law still here?”

“Yes.”

She had grown used to Hannu and his taciturnity, but this was pushing it even for him.

“When is Birgitta coming back to work?”

“Don’t know. A week maybe.”

Things were looking up. Two sentences in a row!

“How is she?”

“Better.”

“Good.”

You’re known by the company you keep, as Gerd used to say. A glance at Hannu’s haggard face made her ashamed of her thoughts. It was hardly surprising if he didn’t feel like chatting. He had more than enough to deal with right now. The look he gave her as he put down his coffee cup was dull and weary. He rubbed one eye with his index finger.

“I’ve been thinking,” Hannu said. “He wasn’t warmly dressed.”

It took a few seconds for Irene to work out who he was talking about. “You mean Torleif.”

“Yes. He had frostbite. Because he had never intended to be outdoors.”

Irene didn’t answer, but took a bite of her cheese roll while she thought about what he had said. He would get to the point eventually.

“He knew exactly how to dress when it’s very cold. But he was forced out. And they took his car.”

“The guys who escaped from Gräskärr? Niklas and Billy?”

“Yes. That’s what must have happened.”

“I’ve been thinking along those lines as well …”

“But there’s a problem.” Hannu caught her eye. “Why didn’t he call the police?”

Irene opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Good question. Why didn’t he call the police when someone stole his car?

“He had a cell phone. It’s been found, by the way,” she said.

“I heard.”

Irene thought out loud. “Maybe he couldn’t use his cell. It’s the latest model. Perhaps he hadn’t learned how it works,” she hypothesized.

“Possibly. But …”

“Look at you two, having a cozy little chat!” came a familiar voice behind Irene.

She turned around with a sarcastic comment aimed at Tommy and his companion on the tip of her tongue, but quickly swallowed it. He was standing there all alone, smiling at her. There was no sign of Linda Holm.

T
HE TIME SPENT
in custody was beginning to take its toll on Niklas Ström. There were dark circles under his eyes, suggesting a severe lack of sleep. His entire body constantly twitched and jerked uncontrollably, and it was completely impossible for him to sit still. The frequency of involuntary snorts and inarticulate noises also seemed to have increased. Irene noticed that his nails were bitten down to the quick.

Jonny started the interview, but soon handed over to Irene. He couldn’t get Niklas to answer a single question properly. Irene had carefully considered her approach.

“Niklas, are you scared of ending up back in jail with an extended sentence?” she asked.

He immediately looked up from his frantically drumming fingers and met her gaze. “What the fuck do you think?” he snapped.

“Let me explain something. At the moment you and Billy are suspected of murder, or involvement in a murder. And I’m not talking about running down a guy who later died of his injuries. I’m talking about the murder of a young girl.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Are you fucking crazy, you …”

Niklas tried to get up from his chair, but was stopped dead
by Irene’s voice, which sliced through the air like the crack of a whip, “Sit down! Listen to me!”

He slumped back down on the chair and stared defiantly at her. Irene noticed he had beautiful aquamarine eyes.

“This is something we have to look into because we have evidence that you and Billy were in the area when the murder was committed. We found your fingerprints in the car that belonged to the man who was run down. The car must have been stolen on the day he died. And the girl was also killed that same evening.”

She paused and looked searchingly at him. He refused to meet her eye and sat with his head down, grunting repeatedly. His upper body rocked back and forth as if an invisible person were gently shaking him.

“It’s going to take us a long time to investigate the girl’s death. You and Billy will be held in custody for a lengthy period. There is also a risk that the officers concerned will draw the wrong conclusions. The court may do the same. This means that you might be given a considerably longer sentence than you really deserve. In order to avoid this, we need your help. We have to know the truth.”

She fell silent again to see whether he was listening and had understood what she was saying. His face was twitching violently, and loud groans were forcing their way out of his mouth. The prospect of spending an unspecified amount of time in custody was clearly causing him great distress. The risk of a longer sentence wasn’t exactly appealing either.

“Niklas. Tell me exactly what happened on the night of January seventeenth. You will save both yourself and Billy a whole lot of grief. You’ve done what you’ve done, and you’ll go down for that. But surely it’s unnecessary to put yourselves through the lengthy process of a homicide inquiry? Is there anything you’d like to tell me about the girl?”

“What fucking girl? I don’t know nothing about no fucking
girl! We …” He stopped and looked insolently at her. “I didn’t see no fucking girl!”

“So what did you see?”

By now he was writhing around on the chair so violently that he was in danger of falling off. His anguish was clear.

“Sit still, for God’s sake!” Jonny yelled.

Irene had almost forgotten that he was there. The effect on Niklas was instantaneous. His movements grew even more pronounced, and he glared at Jonny, his beautiful eyes burning with hatred. Something told Irene that Niklas had often heard those particular words.

“Niklas, listen to me. I am trying to help you. I am trying to explain to you what is going on,” she said.

The important thing was to sound calm and trustworthy. She felt as if she and the hyperactive boy on the other side of the table had managed to establish some kind of fragile contact, and then Jonny came trampling in and shattered a trust that was thinner than sheet ice that had formed overnight. She threw him an irritated look before turning her attention back to Niklas.

“We are investigating two crimes. Both crimes took place at virtually the same time. First of all there is the hit-and-run, which had a fatal outcome. The witnesses saw two guys in a BMW that had been stolen on Stampgatan. Outside the TV studios they hit a man who died immediately from the injuries he sustained. We will be arranging a lineup for the witnesses with you and Billy. You both fit the descriptions we have been given. Stealing cars and running people down are serious offenses. But they are nowhere near as serious as premeditated murder. And that’s the second crime we are looking into. That will lead to a lengthy jail term.”

She paused to let her words sink in. Niklas didn’t say anything, but Irene had a strong feeling that he was listening.

“When we found the BMW in flames on the road leading
down to the canoe club, we naturally carried out a detailed search of the area. Lots of police officers and dogs—you know how it goes. And we found the body of a young girl. She had been killed at approximately the time when the BMW drove onto that road, and her body was hidden close by.”

Irene sent up a silent prayer that Jonny would have the sense to keep quiet. For once it seemed as if her prayer had been answered. Niklas twitched and looked sharply at her.

“You mean the girl in that cellar? Like some kind of root cellar? It has to be, right? Are you crazy? We were …” He broke off, staring at Irene.

She took no notice, and calmly continued. “So you’ve read and heard about the murder. Yes, it’s the girl in the root cellar. You have to understand that we cannot simply dismiss any suspicion that you were involved. You were there. You had the opportunity. And—”

“That’s a fucking lie! We never …” Niklas was breathing heavily and seemed to be in danger of hyperventilating.

“I can understand that you don’t want to be linked to a premeditated murder. But in order for us to remove that suspicion, you have to tell the truth. You have to tell us what really happened that night.”

Niklas remained silent for a long time, chewing on a bloody fingertip. Both knees bobbed up and down as he rapidly flexed his toes. His breathing was shallow and audible.

“I need to … think. And I want my lawyer!” he said firmly.

“Of course. We’ll contact your legal representative right away, then we can meet again this evening or tomorrow,” Irene said.

She had to make a real effort to hide her disappointment. Naturally Niklas had every right to have his lawyer present, but she felt as if he had been on the point of starting to talk.

She switched off the tape recorder and got ready to leave. Niklas was on his feet.

“We didn’t see nothing! There was no one there! Just the car,” he said suddenly.

Irene stiffened and her mouth went dry. She mustn’t say the wrong thing now!