by Anna Jansson
“It must have been the cat, he was up here last night.” Maria picked feathers from the bloody sole of her foot. She vaguely recalled the recommendations of the past few weeks to contact the county veterinarian if dead birds were found.
Still in that unsettled mood, Maria arrived at the station at eight o’clock to question Hans Moberg—he too a strange bird who had been handled roughly by life, she thought when she saw his deplorable appearance.
Moberg was sitting on one side of the table with a court-appointed attorney, Maria and Hartman on the other side. His close-sitting eyes could barely tolerate the daylight. He obviously had difficulty keeping them open without tears running out. His clothes were dirty and wrinkled, and he smelled awful. Maria lowered the blind and nodded at Hartman to turn on the tape recorder. After a few introductory questions Maria intended to lead the conversation to the night of the murder but was interrupted.
“It’s not illegal to sell medications on the Internet. Just pick up the phone and check! I’m clean. And if anyone says they’ve gotten sick from my immune-defense elixir, Teriak, they’re lying. I make it myself and I know what’s in it. Only organically grown nutrients: aloe vera, mint, red clover, cornflower, and marigold combined with black currant leaves in sesame oil. Can’t get any more wholesome than that. If someone complained because it’s too expensive it’s because they don’t understand how much time it takes to pick flowers and dry them. Can I go now? I feel so enclosed here; I suffer from claustrophobia. My doctor says that I can have heart palpitations from getting agitated like this and that it affects my blood pressure and my cortisol and cholesterol values negatively. I could die from a heart attack. Do you want to risk that?”
“It’s not your sales activity we want to talk about, I think you realize that. To start with you were demonstrably driving under the influence yesterday. The breath test showed .334 grams of alcohol per 210 liters of breath, which corresponds to 3.6 per mille if we’re going to talk health risks. But there’s not much to discuss there either right now. The question I want to ask you is: How did you know Sandra Hägg?”
“I meet so many women, it’s impossible for me to remember—”
“You must have read in the newspaper that she was murdered. That can hardly have escaped you. According to witnesses you were outside her door the night of the murder. Why were you there?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Moby squirmed and blinked his eyes. “Can I get something to relax? I don’t feel good, damn it. I can’t concentrate. I feel sick and there’s a whistling in my ears all the time, the sound comes and goes. This is just terrible. You don’t think that I …” Hans Moberg stole a glance at his attorney to get support. But the attorney’s face was blank.
“Let’s put it like this,” Hartman interjected. “You are on very, very thin ice. The only thing that can improve your situation is the truth.”
“I don’t remember much of anything. I was drunk off my ass when I went there. Yeah, I guess it doesn’t matter if I say that,” he said with a look at his lawyer. “One time or several, that doesn’t really make any difference. All you can do is go to jail. I got an email that this woman wanted to see me. She must have found me on the Internet and wanted to know where I got my wares from. I said I would come and present my assortment. She said she had the key to the door on a cord on the inside and I should let myself in because she was sick with a migraine. I was so damned drunk. She was warm when I touched her. I don’t know if she was asleep or if she was dead. There was a carafe of wine. I may have drunk that. Don’t remember. I think I fell asleep alongside her and when I woke up I realized she wasn’t alive. All of her furniture was smashed. I may have done it, but I don’t remember.” Moby perceived a cautious headshake from his attorney and fell silent.
“Did you kill Sandra Hägg?” Maria kept up the pressure.
Moby’s answer was barely audible. He lowered his head and the scar on his bare head became visible. “I think I may have done it, but I don’t remember. It’s awful, but it just goes black. It’s so horrible. I can’t remember doing it, but how did it happen otherwise?”
“Did you see anyone else in the stairwell that evening?”
“When I arrived I saw two children under the stairs and I thought they must have run away from home. They had a big plastic bag of peppermint candy. I pretended not to see them. It was like they had a secret camp there, they had put up a sheet. Then there was an older man, I think he lived on the floor below, and a white-haired woman on the same floor. Don’t tell me you found my wallet at the limestone quarry in Kappelshamn, too?” The attorney’s face underwent a transformation from calm dissociation to outright dismay.
“Did you lose it there?” asked Hartman.
“It was stolen from my car. I have to get it back.”
“What were you doing at the limestone quarry?”
“I’d arranged a date with a woman in the harbor area. I got out of the car for a short walk, but she wasn’t there. I don’t even know what her name is. I’ve only met her once.”
“You’ve met her, but you don’t know her name? That sounds a little peculiar. How did you meet?” Maria gave Hartman a look. She sensed that he was quite satisfied with the interrogation.
“She calls herself Cuddly Skåne Girl on the net. But I don’t know what her real name is. You can check my computer and see what her IP number is.”
“We’ve done that and we have a number and address. Is there anything you want to add before we speak with her?”
“Tell her I miss her. There was something special about her. I mean if she has time to visit a poor man in his prison cell—it would be a good deed.”
“Do you understand how serious this is? I get the feeling you don’t really understand what this is about. Two people are dead and you were demonstrably in the vicinity when the murders happened. Did you kill them?” Hartman pulled out a chair and sat down right across from Hans Moberg.
“No, damn it, no.” Hans Moberg dried the sweat from his face. Maria had been watching for some time how it collected and ran over his cheeks and nose. His shirt had large dark stains under the arms. He was shaking and twitching in his seat, and he was constantly wringing his hands and setting them on his lap.
“How much had you been drinking when you went to the limestone quarry?”
“No more than usual.”
“How much is that?” asked Maria.
“A couple of beers and a quart of vodka maybe … I don’t remember.”
“How often do you drink so much that you get memory lapses?”
When Hans Moberg was led back under protest to the holding cell, they remained in the interview room. Maria opened the window and let in fresh air that smelled of the sea. Yesterday’s rain had made its way slowly southward and a light fog concealed a blue sky. Next week would be sunny and warm, the meteorologists promised.
“What do you think, Tomas, is he guilty?”
“Presumably. But we have no motive other than pure madness and drunkenness. And the murder of Tobias seems planned. It doesn’t tally with it happening unpremeditated. We’ll have to speak with the district doctor so that Moberg gets help with his withdrawals. If we keep him, he should undergo a psychiatric examination. I questioned his buddy yesterday, Manfred Magnusson, nicknamed Mayonnaise. He told me that Hans Moberg checked into a mental hospital now and then for some unclear reason. He goes nuts, he said. He’s the world’s nicest buddy when he drinks moderately, but sometimes something takes over. Then he gets out of control.”
“I know Mayonnaise from another context and I’m glad I didn’t have to question him. What did the computer technician say about the email on Moberg’s computer?” asked Maria.
“Sandra emailed Hans Moberg from her home computer and asked about his products. He answered her from Tofta campground. Then a reply email comes from Sandra. She tells him to come at once and to fish out the key from the mail slot because she has a migraine and can’t get to the door.�
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“The key was on the floor in the hall with the piece of cord still attached and a bent paper clip. There was a little hole in the wood on the door right by the opening. I wondered about that when we saw the pictures. It would be possible of course to set the cord with the key there even from the outside. Purely theoretically, that is. He seems guilty. But I’d feel more confident if there was a comprehensible motive. Do you know whether IT has checked Elisabet Olsson’s computer?”
“Cuddly Skåne Girl, is that what she calls herself on the Internet?” Hartman snorted and hid a smile behind his hand.
“What would you call yourself … Cuddly Martebo Boy? She ought to be here any moment now, I’ll tell the receptionist to let us know when she arrives.”
It’s easy to acquire prejudices, even if you don’t notice them until you’re confronted with reality and must correct yourself. Cuddly Skåne Girl was wearing a navy blue suit and pumps and her red hair was cut short in a carefree style. Maria’s image had been completely different. She’d imagined a round, giggly lady in a flowery dress and straw hat, with hobbies like knitting. Besides, her dialect indicated she was from Småland, not Skåne.
“You have to be careful with your identity on the Internet,” she said. “You don’t know what kind of nutcases are out there.”
Maria offered coffee and Elisabet Olsson, Cuddly Skåne Girl, said yes to a cup, black with no sugar.
“I want you to tell us about your email contact with Hans Moberg, where and when you met or arranged a meeting.”
Elisabet Olsson laughed and at that moment she was quite lovely. “Forgive me. I don’t really know why I’m here.”
“We want to ask you a few questions as a witness. You are not suspected of anything. How did you starting exchanging email with Hans Moberg?”
“I wanted to get some Tamiflu, my doctor refused to prescribe it even though I have asthma and I think I ought to be included in the risk group of people with heart and lung disease. I’d heard rumors that he had previously prescribed medicine to all the personnel in his brother’s company. That really upset me. I Googled Tamiflu on the Internet and ended up on Doctor M’s website. He shared my frustration and we became friends and more than that, you might say. We flirted a little and decided to meet in reality. At Tofta Campground—so there were other people around. It didn’t feel that dangerous.”
“What happened there?”
“He proved to be a fraud in many ways, but a charming one.” Olsson recounted Moby’s story of a deadly disease.
Oh yes, Maria nodded to herself. She knew the type.
“I told Finn, my brother, how Hans Moberg was dying from complications of his Strabismus; we had a good laugh.”
“Finn?” Maria immediately thought of the security manager at Vigoris Health Center and her hunch proved to be correct.
“He’s worked there since the beginning and presumably they can’t manage without him. He’s extremely meticulous and capable. His boss says that he has opportunities to advance to the head office in Montreal. I think he’s very tempted by that. Although I would miss him. Who would service my computer if he was so far away?”
“Did you meet Hans Moberg on any later occasion?” Maria tried not to show how eager she was to get an answer to that question.
“No, I got an email that he was longing for me—it was barely legible, there were so many typos. I assumed he was drunk. I imagine he was trying to pick up ladies without much success, and happened to think of me when he didn’t get any nibbles. No, I didn’t reply to that. I don’t think he’s the man for me, if you know what I mean.”
“Did you email him and ask him to meet you in the industrial harbor in Kappelshamn?” Maria asked the question, mostly to get it clearly on tape. She was fairly sure what the answer would be.
“No, why would I do that? Kappelshamn? Does Hans have anything to do with the murder up there? Is that why you’re asking me about him? You know, I wondered when the police came yesterday to ‘borrow’ my computer for a couple of days.”
“Does anyone other than your brother have access to your computer?”
“No.”
“What about the password to your Hotmail address? Does anyone else know that?”
Chapter 36
Maria Wern glanced through her inbox. Most of it had to stay there without reply. The murder investigations had top priority. The articles by Tobias Westberg that Yrsa had faxed over that morning were about pharmaceutical companies. Maria skimmed through them and was especially struck by the reporting Tobias did from the city of Biaroza in Belarus. He had been there in the month of April and described the people and the surroundings in an engaging way. He clearly knew the language. While there he had interviewed a number of workers at the factory, including Sergei Bykov. It was the link that connected the three murders.
Maria rushed into Hartman’s office with papers in hand, slamming them down on the desk in front of him so that the protocol he had just been reading flew across the floor.
“Check this out! There’s a connection!”
With the help of an interpreter they reached Sergei’s wife by phone. She confirmed that Tobias Westberg had met Sergei, but she could not recall that the journalist wanted anything in particular from him. They had gone to a bar and when Sergei came home he needed help getting into bed. It had been a pleasant evening and the vodka was flowing.
As far as she knew, Tobias and Sergei had mostly talked about everyday things. How far his salary went, compared to Sweden, the social safety net in Belarus, and future opportunities for the children. Sergei told Tobias about his work with research animals and Tobias asked about animal rights activists in Biaroza. But Sergei wasn’t familiar with the concept. That was all she knew about the journalist’s visit.
Maria summarized the last part of the article for Hartman. It was about the pharmaceutical companies’ profits and was written in sharp terms. The more medications sold, the greater the profit. Tobias talked about speculation in fear. How the pharmaceutical industry uses politicians as obedient tools to draw attention to perceived threats that result in increased sales of precautionary medicine. The politician who promises the most medicine for the people wins.
In Belarus, a pharmaceutical company’s campaign to sell bird flu vaccine had failed. The people didn’t have enough money for drug purchases and the expected support from the outside world never materialized. Instead, a village was quarantined, the bird flu ran its course, and the drug manufacturer went bankrupt. The Demeter Group then bought up the supply of medicine and vaccine. For purely speculative purposes, Tobias thought. But it turned out to be a poor investment; the later outbreak of bird flu was a different type and the vaccine and medicine were ineffective.
Then he described how conditions had stiffened in the competition from companies on the open world market. Win or lose. Lower pay, longer work hours, shorter vacations, poorer employment conditions, shift work without extra compensation, tougher marketing methods. He suggested we ourselves are creating work conditions we don’t approve of by buying shares in the companies that are most competitive, not in those that have the highest ethics. This was his final point.
“Do you still think it’s so improbable that Sergei Bykov planted an infected pigeon with Ruben Nilsson?” asked Maria.
“I hope you’re wrong, but maybe so. How do we proceed? How do we find evidence for such a thing?”
“I would like to see Sandra Hägg’s apartment one more time before the barricade is taken down,” said Maria. “It may be a waste of valuable time, but sometimes you have to slow down so your thoughts can catch up. I’ll check with the technicians that it’s okay, then I'll go there.”
Maria Wern cut the barricade tape and opened the door to Sandra Hägg’s apartment. The stuffy odor struck her as unexpectedly pungent. The landlord had asked permission to renovate the apartment and was eager for the family to pick up Sandra’s belongings as soon as possible. Rental income was lost with every day that passed,
and this was not a small amount of money. He called and discussed the matter with Hartman, and Hartman was willing to remove the barricade, but Maria wanted to take one last look. It was just a gut feeling.
She wasn't sure what she expected to find. The broken furniture was still scattered across the floor, where it had ended up after Moby went berserk. Maria opened the front of the beautiful old Stjärnsund wall clock. In the living room the blinds were pulled down. Maria opened them hoping the light would help her search. The apartment was in even worse chaos than she recalled. The glass panes on the showcase were broken and there were shards on the floor. A curtain was pulled down. The white flowers had withered in their vases. A couple shelves worth of books were scattered on the floor. The bowl of grapes and cherries would have to be thrown out.
Who were you waiting for, Sandra? Tobias, or perhaps Reine Hammar? It couldn’t have been Hans Moberg. You wouldn’t have taken such pains for a business meeting with him.
The massage bench was set up along one wall, a wide deluxe model with removable headrest and extra arm support on the sides. Alongside was a wrought-iron floor candelabra, with tea lights in a spiral loop. In the kitchen the table was set for two with plates, neatly folded napkins, and wine glasses. So inviting. Someone had put the casserole and baked potatoes in the refrigerator, and they were still there untouched. Were you going to celebrate something? Were you expecting a lover? The wine carafe was found next to your bed. Who was coming to see you, Sandra? You were dressed up. The whole apartment breathed celebration.
Maria stood in the doorway to the bedroom and looked at the destruction. The shattered mirror. The bureau drawer, whose contents were spread over the floor: tights, underwear, and chemises. She opened the closet and felt along the shelves. The technicians had already gone over everything minutely, but she still had a vague sense that something might have escaped them. The garments in the closet were few but carefully selected, mostly brand-name clothes. For work Sandra had her green uniform. Perhaps it was not necessary to have so many clothes for her free time. Maria stood on tiptoe to reach the topmost shelf and found a metal box with a red cross on it, a medicine chest. It was not locked, but the key was gone. She looked at the vials. There were cough-suppressant tablets, nose drops, Tylenol, aspirin, car sickness tablets, Band-Aids, bandages, a roll of tape, and an opened bottle of rubbing alcohol. No special medicine for migraine, as far as Maria could see.