The Gallows Bird (25 page)

‘Well, whoever did it is someone the police should catch ASAP. I’ve never seen anything like it. What a cold-blooded way to kill someone.’

‘Yes, I agree,’ said Patrik listlessly. He was thinking of Kerstin’s voice on the telephone a couple of hours earlier. How lifeless and hopeless she had sounded. He couldn’t forgive himself for neglecting the investigation of Marit’s death. ‘But I hope to get some answers today.’ He got up, took the stack of papers that Pedersen handed him, and thanked him with a handshake.

Back in his car, he headed for the place where he hoped to find a few more answers. Or at least some new questions to ask.

‘Did you get anything good out of Pedersen?’ Martin listened on the phone and took notes as Patrik gave him a quick rundown of what Pedersen had said.

‘That part about the dog hair should prove useful. At least it gives us something specific to go on.’ He kept listening.

‘Cuts? Yes, I understand what you’re getting at. One person seems of particular interest.

‘Another interview? Okay, sure. I can take Hanna along and we’ll bring her in. No problem.’

After he put the phone down, Martin sat quietly for a moment. Then he went to find Hanna.

Exactly half an hour later they were sitting in the interview room with Jonna facing them. They hadn’t had to go far to find her. She was at her job at Hedemyr’s, just across the street from the station.

‘So, Jonna. Last time, we spoke with you about Friday night. Is there anything you’d like to add?’ Out of the corner of his eye Martin saw how Hanna was watching Jonna like a hawk. She had an ability to look so stern that even he felt compelled to reel off all his sins. He hoped she would have the same effect on the girl in front of them. But Jonna averted her eyes, looked down at the table, and simply mumbled a reply.

‘What did you say, Jonna? You’ll have to speak up, because we can’t hear what you’re saying!’ said Hanna insistently. Martin saw how the sharpness in her voice forced Jonna to look up. It was impossible not to obey Hanna’s demands.

Quietly, but now clearly, Jonna said, ‘I’ve told you all I know about Friday.’

‘I don’t believe you have.’ Hanna’s voice cut through the air like one of the razor blades Jonna used on her arms. ‘I don’t think you’ve told us even a fraction of all you know!’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Nervous, Jonna tugged at her sleeves compulsively. Martin glimpsed the scars under her jumper and shuddered.

‘Stop lying to us!’ Hanna spoke with such force that even Martin gave a little start. Damn, she was tough.

Hanna continued, now in an insidiously low voice, ‘We know that you’re lying, Jonna. We have evidence that you’re lying. Now is your chance to tell us exactly what happened.’

A shadow of uncertainty passed over Jonna’s face. Her fingers were picking incessantly at her big knitted jumper. After a moment’s hesitation she said, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Hanna’s hand slammed the tabletop. ‘Stop talking shit! We
know
that you cut her.’

Jonna’s eyes anxiously found Martin’s, and he said in a calmer tone of voice, ‘Jonna, if you know anything more, we need to hear it. Sooner or later the truth will come out, and it would look much better for you if you could give us an explanation.’

‘But I . . .’ She glanced nervously at Martin, but then her body slumped. ‘Yes, I cut her with a razor blade,’ she said quietly. ‘When we were arguing, before she ran off.’

‘Why did you do that?’ said Martin calmly.

‘I . . . I . . . don’t really know. I was just so mad. She’d been talking a lot of trash about me, because I, like, cut myself, and I just wanted her to know how it feels.’

She shifted her gaze from Martin to Hanna.

‘I don’t get why . . . I mean, I don’t usually get mad like that, but I’d been drinking a bit and . . .’ She stopped talking and looked down at the table.

Her entire demeanour was so withdrawn and sad. Martin had to stop himself from giving her a hug. But he reminded himself that she was being interviewed in a murder case. He glanced at Hanna. Her face was rigid, her expression remote, and she didn’t seem to have any sympathy for the girl.

‘Then what happened?’ she said harshly.

Jonna fixed her eyes on the table as she answered. ‘That was when you showed up. You talked to the others and with Barbie too.’ She raised her eyes and looked at Hanna.

Martin turned to his colleague. ‘Did you see that she was bleeding?’

Hanna seemed to think it over, but then slowly shook her head. ‘No, I must admit I missed that. It was dark, and she had her arms crossed, so it was hard to see. And then she ran off.’

‘Is there anything else you haven’t told us?’ Martin’s tone was gentle, and Jonna replied by giving him a grateful look.

‘No, nothing. I promise.’ She shook her head vigorously, and her long hair fell over her face. When she swept it back they saw the whole network of cuts on her forearm, and Martin couldn’t help gasping. Jesus Christ, that must have caused her so much pain. He could hardly bear to tear off a plaster, and the thought of slicing into his own flesh . . . no, he could never do that.

After a questioning look at Hanna, which she answered with a shake of her head, he gathered up his papers.

‘We’re going to want to talk with you some more, Jonna. I need hardly add that it doesn’t look good that you withheld information in a murder investigation. I trust that you will notify us voluntarily if you remember or hear anything more.’

She nodded softly. ‘Can I go now?’

‘Yes, you may go,’ said Martin. ‘I’ll show you out.’

As he left the interview room he turned to look at Hanna, who was sitting at the table rewinding the tape recorder. Her expression was grim.

It took Patrik a while to find his way in Borås. He’d been given directions how to get to the police station, but once he was in Borås nothing seemed to add up. But after a little assistance from some locals he managed to find the station and park the car. He didn’t need to wait more than a few minutes in reception before Inspector Jan Gradenius appeared and showed him to his office. After saying a grateful yes to a cup of coffee, Patrik sat down in one of the guest chairs. The inspector sat down behind his desk and gave him a curious look.

‘Well,’ said Patrik, taking a sip of the very good coffee, ‘we’ve got a pretty strange case on our hands in Tanumshede.’

‘You’re referring to the murder of that reality-show girl?’

‘No,’ said Patrik. ‘We got a call about a car accident the week before the murder of Lillemor Persson. A woman had driven off the road, down a steep slope, and crashed into a tree. At first it looked like a single-car accident with a fatality, which was backed up by the fact that the woman had been extremely drunk before she died.’

‘But that wasn’t what happened?’ Inspector Gradenius leaned forward with interest. He was pushing sixty, Patrik guessed, tall and athletic and with a thick mane of hair that was now grey, but probably used to be blond. Patrik couldn’t help feeling jealous when he compared his receding hairline with Gradenius’s abundant growth. He realized that the way things were going he would probably look more like Mellberg than Gradenius when he reached that age. Patrik sighed to himself, took another gulp of coffee and then answered the inspector’s question.

‘No. The first sign that something didn’t add up was that everyone who knew the victim swore that she never touched even a drop of alcohol.’ He saw Gradenius’s eyebrows shoot up but continued his account. In time the inspector would draw his own conclusion.

‘That was undeniably a warning flag, and when the autopsy later indicated some odd circumstances, then . . . well, we finally concluded that the victim had been murdered.’ Patrik could hear how dry and impersonal police language sounded when he had to describe what was actually a tragedy. But it was the language they both knew and whose nuances they understood.

‘And what did the autopsy show?’ said Gradenius, his eyes fixed on Patrik. He looked as though he already knew the answer.

‘That the victim had a blood alcohol level of point six-one, but a large part of the alcohol was found in her lungs. There were also signs of trauma and bruises around her mouth and inside her throat, and tape residue on the lips. There were also marks around her ankles and wrists, which indicated that the victim had been bound in some manner.’

‘I recognize everything you’re telling me,’ said Gradenius, picking up a folder lying on his desk. ‘But how did you find out about me?’

Patrik laughed. ‘Overzealous documentation, according to one of my colleagues. We were both at the conference in Halmstad a couple of years ago. One of the assignments was to agree on an unsolved case to present in each group. Something that we were puzzled about but didn’t know how to proceed. You presented a case that made me think about our current one. I had saved my notes, so I was able to check that my memory jibed before I rang you.’

‘Not bad, I must say. I’m impressed that you would remember. It’s lucky for both of us. That case has bothered me for years, but the investigation came to a dead end. I’ll be happy to give you all the information we have, and maybe we can get yours in return?’

Patrik nodded his assent and took the stack of papers that Gradenius handed him.

‘Can I take these with me?’

‘Certainly, they’re just copies. Would you like to go through the information together?’

‘I’d like to look through it on my own first. Then I can phone you; I’m sure I’ll have plenty of questions. And I’ll see to it that you get a copy of our material tomorrow.’

‘Excellent,’ said Gradenius, standing up. ‘It would be good to resolve this matter. The victim’s mother was completely shattered, and is still suffering. She rings me occasionally. I’d like to have something to tell her.’

‘We’ll do our best,’ said Patrik. He couldn’t wait to get back and read through the file. He had a feeling that this would mark a turning point. It had to.

Lars flung himself on the sofa and put his legs up on the coffee table. He’d been so tired lately. That constant, paralysing weariness that overwhelmed him and refused to let go. His headaches had also been more frequent; it was as if one gave birth to the next. The exhaustion and the headaches formed an endless spiral that dragged him down deeper and deeper. He cautiously massaged his temples, relieving the pain a bit. When he felt the pressure of Hanna’s fingers on his, he put his hands in his lap, leaned back, and closed his eyes. Her fingers continued to massage and knead. She knew precisely the place to rub. She’d had a lot of practice lately.

‘How are you feeling?’ she said softly as she gently moved her fingers back and forth.

‘Fine,’ said Lars, noticing how the concern in her voice seeped inside him and settled like an unwelcome irritant. He didn’t want her to worry. He hated it when she worried.

‘You don’t look it,’ she said, stroking his forehead. The caress was wonderful, but he couldn’t relax because of all her unspoken questions. Annoyed, he swept away her hands and sat up.

‘I feel fine, I said. Just a little tired. It’s probably spring fever.’

‘Spring fever,’ said Hanna with a laugh that was both bitter and ironic. ‘Are you blaming springtime now?’ She was still standing behind the sofa.

‘Yeah, what the hell else is there to blame it on? Maybe the fact that I’ve been working non-stop lately. Both on the book and trying to keep those fucking idiots over at the community centre on the straight and narrow.’

‘Such a respectful way to talk about your clients, or patients rather. Do you actually tell them that you think they’re idiots? A good way to facilitate the therapy, I should think.’

Her voice was sharp, and she clearly intended for him to feel its sting. He didn’t understand why she did that. Why couldn’t she simply leave him alone? Lars reached for the remote and sat back down on the sofa, with his back to Hanna. After surfing through the channels for a while, he stopped on
Jeopardy
and tested his knowledge against the contestants. He knew all the right responses.

‘Do you have to work so much? And with that show?’ she added. Everything she left unsaid charged the air between them.

‘I have to do some sort of work,’ Lars replied, wishing that she would shut up. Sometimes he wondered if she understood him at all. Understood all the things he did for her sake. He turned to look at her.

‘I’m doing what I have to do, Hanna. Just like always. You know that.’

Their eyes locked for a second. Then Hanna turned and left. He watched her go. A while later he heard the front door shut.

On the TV
Jeopardy
was still spitting out challenges.

They were all much too easy.

‘Well, what do you think of the show so far?’ Uffe cracked open a beer for each of the girls, who giggled as they took them.

‘Great,’ said the blonde.

‘Yeah, great,’ said the brunette.

Calle knew he wasn’t in the mood to do this tonight. Uffe had dragged in two of the groupies that hung about outside the community centre, and now he was in the midst of a big charm offensive. As well as he could manage, anyway. Charm wasn’t exactly his strong suit.

‘Who do you like best then?’ Uffe put his arm round the blonde girl and moved closer. ‘Me, right?’ He poked her in the side and laughed, receiving a delighted giggle in reply. Encouraged, he continued, ‘Well, it’s not much of a competition. I’m the only real man here.’ He took a swig of beer straight from the bottle and then pointed his beer bottle at Calle.

‘Take this guy, for example. One of those typical slick Stureplan dudes, not the sort for a pair of lovelies like you. All they know how to do is whip out their pappa’s credit card.’ The girls giggled again and he went on. ‘Mehmet, on the other hand.’ He pointed to Mehmet who was lying on his bed reading a book. ‘He’s about as far from a slick dude as you can get. A real, genuine working-class greaseball. He’s the guy who knows how to get ahead. But he can’t escape the fact that Swedish flesh is the best.’ He stretched out his arms and then tried to slip his hand under the blonde’s jumper. She instantly caught on to what he was up to, and after an anxious glance at the camera, she shoved his hand away discreetly. Uffe looked displeased for a moment, but quickly recovered. It would take a while for the girls to forget the presence of the camera. But after that it would be clear sailing. His goal with these few weeks on the show was to do a bit of bumping and humping under the covers. Shit, he could become a legend by doing that. He’d got pretty close on the island, if only that lame chick from Jokkmokk had been a little drunker.