‘I’ll see. I’ll call you,’ she said after a long pause.
Wrong answer. That was no good.
‘No, we’ll meet in an hour. If you don’t like what I have to say, that’s fine. Just give me the chance to explain.’
It took a little while before the answer came; Lennart was actually beginning to review his options. The problem was that he didn’t have any options. He realised he needed to start working on finding a good replacement for Trolle Hermansson.
‘The usual place just after three,’ Anitha said eventually.
‘Good.’
Lennart ended the call and looked around. He had walked almost all the way down to the Freeport. He was cold, and a light drizzle had begun to fall. The tiny drops of water were almost refreshing, but the sky was growing darker and more threatening. He turned and set off back to the office, increasing his speed. First he would have a brief chat with Linda, then he would go off to a real meeting.
With his jacket on.
Vanja turned in between two crooked gateposts and followed two churned-up, muddy tyre tracks into the yard of the isolated house. She switched off the engine and for a moment they both sat there, taking in the sight before them.
To the right, in the middle of the vast yard, stood a green two-storey house with white doors and window frames. Or at least they had been white once upon a time; now the paint was flaking off, with dark rotting wood showing through in several places. The paint on the wooden panels of the house itself had also come off in big patches, and the timber beneath looked mouldy here and there. The area surrounding the house resembled a smallish scrapyard. Vanja could see at least three snow scooters, which appeared to be in working order. A Chevy pickup, a white van and a rusty Volvo 242 were parked in a row outside a carport built of logs and a tarpaulin, which had been shredded by the wind. Between the carport and a large outbuilding, which appeared to be on the point of collapse, stood an array of machines apparently arranged at random. A log splitter, a garden shredder, a lawnmower, a snow blower and something shapeless hidden beneath a large green tarpaulin. An ice drill and a strimmer were propped against the red wall of the outbuilding. On the other side of the house was a trampoline more or less covered by last year’s fallen leaves, behind a huge stack of logs. Vanja could also see a moped and a motocross bike half-covered by yet another tarp behind the trampoline, and there were garden tools and pieces of smaller mechanical equipment dotted all over the overgrown grass and protruding from the bushes. Outside the house an elkhound was tethered by a thick rope. It had leapt to its feet and started barking when they drove onto the property, and it hadn’t stopped.
Vanja and Sebastian got out of the car and walked towards the house. Before they reached it the door opened and a man stepped out onto the porch. Long hair beneath a baseball cap framed his face; a thick, matted beard began just below his eyes, making it virtually impossible to make a guess at his age. He was wearing a red checked flannel shirt and wide green trousers with lots and lots of pockets, tucked into a pair of heavy boots. Vanja and Sebastian stopped. The man came down the steps and yelled at the dog to shut up, which had no effect whatsoever.
‘What do you want?’
‘Harald Olofsson?’
The man nodded. ‘Who are you?’
Vanja introduced herself and Sebastian, holding up her police ID. Harald didn’t even glance at it.
‘I believe it was you who found a burnt-out Toyota up here in October 2003?’
‘Might have been.’
‘We’d like a word.’
‘Right.’
Harald spat to the side of Vanja and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. He rocked back and forth on his heels and looked down at the ground, so that his eyes were hidden by the peak of his cap. They didn’t need a degree in psychology to understand that the man in front of them felt uncomfortable with the situation.
‘You found it on the morning of 31 October,’ Vanja stated, taking out her notebook. ‘What did you do when you found it?’
‘I called the police, of course.’
‘Did you go down to the car?’
Harald rubbed one hand up and down his beard a few times, hoping this would give the impression that he was giving the question careful consideration, that he realised it was important, but it was a long time ago, and he needed to think back. In fact, he was wondering when he was going to have to start lying. How much did they know? Was the question about whether he had gone down to the car a test? He had had dealings with the police before, and he usually sailed through by giving evasive, monosyllabic answers until he had worked out what they already knew and what they were trying to find out. Then it was easy to adapt his responses and his story. But these two were from Stockholm. Riksmord, no less. He had no idea why they were interested in some old car accident, and he wasn’t about to ask. He intended to stick to his chosen role as the taciturn, rather slow country bumpkin from Norrland. Confirm their prejudices. He would answer their questions. Be as vague as possible. Stick to his tried and tested tactics, even though he was dealing with a new opponent. No doubt he would have to stretch the truth at some point, but not yet.
‘I did,’ he said, nodding to himself as if he had just managed to dig the memory of that morning out of the darkest recesses of his mind. ‘I went down to the car.’
‘Before you called the police?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
Harald looked up from beneath his cap and met her gaze for the first time.
‘To see if anyone was hurt.’
Which was partly true, at any rate. Harald knew he was going to have to start lying quite soon.
‘Did you touch anything inside the car?’
A huge leap. He was teetering on the edge.
‘I shouldn’t think so,’ he said evasively, as if to lessen the lie, avoid crossing the line for just a little longer.
‘Yes or no?’
She wasn’t giving up.
‘It’s nine years ago,’ he ventured.
‘How many burnt-out cars with the dead body of a woman inside have you found since then?’ asked the older man by her side, sounding distinctly irritated. ‘None, I’m guessing. Am I right?’
Harald shifted his focus, looked the man in the eye. Bergman, was that his name? He hadn’t said anything until now. Was that significant? And his question wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Harald had the feeling that this man could see through half-truths and smokescreens. Time to make a decision: the truth or a convincing lie. He opted for the former.
‘Yes.’
‘The body was burnt to a crisp, so there was no point in checking for a pulse, was there?’
‘No.’
‘So I assume it can’t be that difficult to remember whether or not you touched anything inside the car.’
‘No.’
‘So did you?’
Time for the lie.
‘No.’
‘Are you sure?’
Harald nodded several times, as if the memory had suddenly become crystal clear.
‘Yes. I walked around the car to make sure no one had fallen out, so I might have touched it, I probably did, but I didn’t open the doors.’
He fell silent. Sebastian thought he was probably exhausted after coming out with a long, coherent sentence. Harald spat again, focusing once more on the ground at his feet.
Vanja looked searchingly at him. The last response had been different, reasoned, explanatory. It had answered more than they had asked, in fact. Almost like an alibi. And now he was staring at the ground again. She was about to ask if he had any guns on the premises, and if so what they were, when Sebastian spoke.
‘Do you have children?’
Harald glanced up, genuinely surprised.
‘No.’
‘So what’s that doing here?’ Sebastian nodded in the direction of the trampoline. ‘You don’t exactly strike me as the trampolining type.’
‘Some neighbours of mine didn’t
want it any more,’ Harald replied with a shrug. ‘I’m going to sell it on the Internet.’
Sebastian looked around. Not a house in sight.
‘You don’t have any neighbours.’
‘Over there,’ Harald said, waving his hand vaguely somewhere behind Sebastian.
Sebastian turned to Vanja, met her gaze and realised she was thinking the same as him.
* * *
‘He was lying,’ Vanja said as she drove away from the isolated house and down towards the main road.
‘I know. About the trampoline, anyway.’
‘Do you think it’s stolen?’
Sebastian shrugged.
‘Maybe not by him, but I don’t think he’s got receipts for all the stuff lying around in his yard, if I can put it that way.’
Vanja nodded. A thief or a receiver of stolen goods. Whatever. First on the scene of the accident, and with a liberal attitude to what’s mine and yours; Harald Olofsson could easily remove one of the question marks in the investigation.
‘They didn’t find a handbag in the car,’ she said, glancing at Sebastian. ‘Nor a purse or wallet.’
‘They could have been destroyed by the fire.’
Possibly, but Vanja was far from convinced. As far as she could see, the investigation into the car fire had been very thorough. She was sure the technicians would have found the remains of a bag or purse if they had been there.
‘The material from the Åre police is on the back seat. Check if they found any fingerprints inside the car that they weren’t able to identify.’
Sebastian turned around and, with some difficulty, grabbed the folder that had slid all the way across to the opposite end of the seat.
‘Billy needs to check if he has any guns,’ he said as he opened the folder.
‘He’s bound to have – every bugger hunts up here, don’t they?’
‘Not with a semi-automatic pistol.’
Vanja nodded. She was glad she hadn’t got round to asking Harald about his guns; he could have objected to a house search, which would have given him plenty of time to get rid of anything suspicious after they had gone, whereas now he didn’t even know they were looking for a gun. It suddenly seemed as if the trip to Åre, which had seemed like a long shot, might actually prove useful. Vanja’s phone rang; she picked it up and glanced at the display: ‘ANNA’
For a moment she considered not answering. She wanted to carry on discussing the case with Sebastian, turning over what they knew, what they thought they knew, and what they needed to try to find out. Either her mother just wanted a chat, which Vanja couldn’t cope with right now, or she was worried about something, and Vanja didn’t have time for that either. She didn’t want to lose focus.
‘Aren’t you going to answer?’ Sebastian wondered, peering at the phone. ‘Anna – isn’t that your mother?’
‘It is.’
‘Why don’t you want to talk to your mother?’
Vanja sighed. Typical psychologist. Tell me about your childhood. If the alternative was to have Sebastian speculating and psychologising about her relationship with Anna all the way back, it was easier to answer.
‘Hi Mum,’ she said, attempting to sound as cheerful as possible.
As soon as she heard her mother’s voice she knew that something had happened. Something really bad.
* * *
‘You want to go back to Stockholm?’
Torkel’s tone made it very clear that he hoped he had misheard. Vanja was standing just inside the door of his room, shifting from one foot to the other. She was already extremely stressed over the news that her father had been taken into custody, or arrested, Anna wasn’t sure which, and she really didn’t need Torkel to make her feel as if she was letting the team down, with his raised eyebrows and his obvious disapproval. He had also misunderstood her.
‘I don’t want to, but I have to,’ she replied, stressing the fact that this was not her choice.
‘Why?’
Vanja hesitated. She would tell the others eventually, however things went, but not now. She needed to find out more. She didn’t even know what level of suspicion Valdemar was under, or what he was supposed to have done. If she told Torkel that her father was in custody, he would bombard her with questions.
Why?
What is he suspected of?
And perhaps the worst of all: Whatever it is, could he be guilty?
She had to find out the answers to those questions before she told anyone else.
‘It’s a family matter.’
Torkel’s expression changed from frustration to sympathy. Vanja suddenly realised how much she would miss him when she went to the USA. She couldn’t imagine finding another team leader who would be anywhere near as good as Torkel.
‘What’s happened?’ Genuine concern in his voice.
‘I’m sorry, I really can’t say any more, but you know I wouldn’t go unless it was important.’
Torkel looked at his best investigator. There was no doubt that she was under considerable strain. Something must have happened to her mother or father; that was all the family she had, as far as he knew. He hoped Valdemar’s lung cancer hadn’t come back. It wasn’t long since it seemed as if he had beaten it. Surely it hadn’t come back? He knew she was right; she was one of the most conscientious individuals he had ever met. Nothing came between Vanja and a case. On several occasions over the years she had put her personal and social life to one side because of the job. He would let her go, of course he would.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ he asked, and saw her visibly relax. Leaving the investigation had clearly been a difficult decision, so whatever had happened at home must be serious. Torkel wished she felt able to confide in him, but he knew better than to pressurise her.
‘Not at the moment,’ Vanja replied, shaking her head. ‘Thanks, and I’m sorry to cause problems.’
‘We’ll sort it. Go and do what you need to do.’
Vanja nodded and turned away, but hesitated in the doorway.
‘Could you ask someone to book my ticket while I pack?’
‘No problem.’
She gave him a smile that failed to reach her eyes. Haunted. She looked haunted, Torkel thought as he picked up the phone to ring Christel and ask her to sort out a flight for Vanja. In his peripheral vision he saw a figure filling the doorway. He thought Vanja had come back; perhaps she had decided to tell him what was going on after all. But no, Sebastian was leaning on the doorframe.
‘Is Vanja leaving?’
‘Yes. So what happened when you were out with her?’
‘It’s nothing to do with me.’
Torkel was taken aback, but understood that the answer wasn’t as far-fetched as it might seem. Less than two months ago, Sebastian’s presence had probably been the only thing that would have made Vanja leave an ongoing investigation.
‘I didn’t say it was.’
‘That’s what it sounded like.’
‘She said it was something to do with the family; I just wondered if you knew what it might be.’
Sebastian shook his head.
‘Her mother called, they spoke for a couple of minutes, then she drove back here without saying a word.’
‘And you’ve no idea what’s happened?’
Sebastian shook his head again and took a step into the room. He cleared his throat as if he knew that what he was about to say was unlikely to go down well.
‘I thought I’d go with her.’
Torkel looked at Sebastian with the same expression as he had been wearing just a few minutes ago. Once again he hoped he had misheard.
‘What the fuck are you saying?’
‘I thought I’d go with Vanja. To Stockholm,’ Sebastian clarified, just in case Torkel thought he was offering to drive her to Östersund.
‘Why?’
Sebastian quickly ran through a range of possible answers. Because he didn’t think he would ever be able to sleep in that room again. Because this case
was affecting him in a way that made him feel he needed some distance from it. Because the hotel was boring, the environment was boring, the case was boring. He opted for the short version.
‘Because I want to get away from this bloody mountain.’
‘Why? Can’t you find anyone to screw?’
‘Exactly. All my decisions are based on the availability of possible sex partners.’
As Sebastian spoke the words aloud, he realised to his surprise how close to the truth they were. Fortunately Torkel took the comment as the sarcasm it was meant to be.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘But the thing is, if Vanja’s going, I really don’t want to lose you as well.’
‘Be honest, what good am I doing here? We’ve got six skeletons on the side of a mountain. I need a bit more than that to come up with something useful.’
Torkel knew that Sebastian was right. Losing him wouldn’t make a scrap of difference at this stage. Torkel also thought they would probably move the whole case down to Stockholm in a few days unless something new came up. He sighed.
‘I’ll book another ticket.’
‘If you really need me, I’m only a phone call away,’ Sebastian said as he left the room. He felt quite excited. He had obviously wanted to get away more than he had admitted to himself. He would go and tell Vanja that he was coming with her. It wasn’t completely impossible that she might be quite pleased.
This didn’t feel good.
The coffee cup was still on the table, its contents cold and virtually untouched. The sausage and cheese sandwich was beside it, two bites taken. He stubbed out his fourth cigarette and exhaled the smoke with something resembling a sigh. Zeppo, who was lying by the stove, raised his head at the unusual sound. Harald Olofsson wasn’t in the habit of sighing.
Harald got up, walked over the red-and-white checked cork floor to the sink, leaned over and opened the window. Four cigarettes in quick succession had more or less filled the kitchen with smoke. The dog followed him with his eyes. Harald flung the window wide and filled his lungs with the chilly fresh air, then took a glass out of one of the dark brown cupboards above the stove. He filled it with cold water and gulped it down.
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