Dark Secrets (45 page)

“It hasn’t rained for a long time. We ought to go to the motel parking lot to see if there’s any evidence there.” Ursula nodded and made a note on her pad. There may have been no more than the odd shower since they had found Roger, but to imagine that there would be any physical evidence in a relatively busy parking lot a whole week after a crime might have been committed there was stretching her optimism well beyond its limits. However, she would go and take a look. Perhaps if the boy or the principal had dropped something… Sebastian looked at Vanja, who glanced at her papers once more before taking over again. Torkel didn’t say a word. Not just because the emerging hypothesis looked as if it might work. Sebastian was allowing Vanja to share the limelight. Usually there was room for only one person to shine in Sebastian’s orbit. He didn’t share. Vanja must have done something right.

“With some difficulty, Ragnar bundles Roger into his car. He never meant to harm the boy, but he couldn’t just let him leave. Couldn’t let him tell everybody. Ruin everything. They had to find a solution that was acceptable to both of them. Talk it over. In a rational, adult manner. Ragnar drives around at random, sweaty and nervous, finding himself in areas of the town that are increasingly deserted, with the unconscious boy beside him. He wonders how he’s going to get out of the situation, what he’s going to say to his student when he comes to. He is trying to get a grip on the nightmare when Roger suddenly wakes up. Ragnar doesn’t even have time to start on his calming, rational speech. Roger
hurls himself at him, hitting him over and over again. Ragnar is forced to brake. The car slews over to the side of the road and stops. Ragnar’s attempts to calm the boy are unsuccessful. Not only is Roger going to tell everyone that he screws other men, he’s also going to report Ragnar for kidnapping and abuse. Ragnar has no time to react as Roger opens the door and tumbles out. Seething with rage, Roger sets off along the badly lit street, trying to work out where he is. Where the hell are they? Where has the sick bastard brought them? The adrenaline is pumping, preventing Roger from realizing how frightened he is. The headlights of the car cast long shadows in front of him. Ragnar staggers out of the car, shouts after him, but Roger’s only response is to stick his finger up in the air. Ragnar is desperate now. He can see his entire life collapsing. The boy must be stopped. He doesn’t think. He just acts instinctively. He runs around the back of the car, flings open the trunk, and takes out his gun. Raises it quickly and with practiced hands into the correct position, gets the fleeing boy in his sights, and pulls the trigger. The boy falls to the ground.

“Not even a second passes before Ragnar grasps what he has done. He looks around in shock. No one is coming. No one is there. No one has seen or heard anything. There is still a chance that he might get away with this. That he might survive.

“Ragnar races over to the boy and realizes two things as he watches the blood pumping from the bullet hole in his back in the beam of the headlights.

“The boy is dead.

“The bullet is like a fingerprint.

“He grabs hold of Roger and drags him away from the road. Into the bushes. He fetches a knife from the car. Stands over the dead boy and exposes the bullet hole. Acting on autopilot, without really thinking, he cuts out the heart and removes the bullet. His expression is almost one of surprise as he stares at the small, bloody piece of metal that has caused so much damage. Then he looks down at the body. The bullet is gone, but it would be best if he could somehow hide the fact that the
boy has been shot. Make it look like a knife attack. His survival instinct has taken over completely by now, and Ragnar begins to stab the body in a frenzied attack.

“Afterward he puts Roger in the car, drives to Listakärr, and dumps the body. We know the rest.”

Sebastian and Vanja had finished. It was a vivid description of the course of events, and spiced up with speculation, but it was an account that sounded credible to Torkel. He looked around the room, took off his glasses, and folded them up.

“I think it’s time we had a chat with Ragnar Groth.”

“No, no, no, it wasn’t like that at all.”

Ragnar Groth shook his head, leaned forward on his chair, and held up his well-manicured hands in a dismissive gesture. The movement sent a faint whiff of Hugo Boss in Vanja’s direction, on the opposite side of the desk. The same aftershave Jonathan used to wear, she thought briefly, although that must be the only thing the two men had in common. Vanja had just gone through the first part of their theory about the night of the murder, suggesting that Groth had met Roger outside the motel and that this might have led to a disagreement. Her assertion resulted in the principal’s firm denial.

“So what was it like?”

“It never happened. I didn’t see Roger on Friday night, I’ve already told you that.”

Indeed he had. About an hour ago when they’d picked him up from the school. He had looked tired and cross when Vanja and Billy had turned up in his office. The tiredness had vanished when they explained why they were there, and it had been replaced by hurt incomprehension. They surely couldn’t be seriously suggesting that he was in any way involved in this tragic event? They certainly could; he realized that when they asked him to accompany them to the station for questioning. Groth had wanted to know if he was under arrest or being taken into
custody, or whatever the correct term might be, but Vanja had assured him that they simply wanted to ask him some questions. The principal had asked if they couldn’t talk in his office, as they had done on the two previous occasions, but Vanja had insisted that this interview must take place at the station.

It had taken time to organize the formalities of something as simple as leaving his office and the school. Groth had been very keen to ensure that it didn’t look as if he was being arrested. Vanja had reassured him. There would be no handcuffs, no uniformed officers were waiting, and he would travel in the passenger seat of an unmarked car. She had even provided him with a cover story when one of his colleagues wanted to know where he was going. Ragnar Groth’s presence at the station had been requested to see if he could identify a number of young people on some CCTV footage. The principal had thanked her for her help as they walked out beneath the gigantic figure of Christ on the front of the school.

In one of the three interview rooms Groth had then rejected coffee, water, throat lozenges, and legal representation. He had met Torkel for the first time and the three of them had sat down; Vanja and Torkel on one side of the desk and Groth on the other. He had dusted off the messy surface with his handkerchief before allowing his arms to come into contact with the desk.

“What’s that?” he had asked as Vanja picked up a small piece of molded plastic.

“This?” Vanja held it up to Groth, who nodded. “It’s an earpiece.”

“And who are you listening to?”

Vanja had chosen not to respond and simply tucked it into her ear. Groth had turned and stared at the slightly oversized mirror on one wall.

“Is Bergman behind there?” He was unable to suppress a tone of pure revulsion. Once again Vanja had chosen not to answer. But Groth had been right: Sebastian was standing in the room next door, studying the interview so that he could make brief comments directly to Vanja if
necessary. They had agreed that Sebastian shouldn’t be in the interview room. It would be difficult enough to get someone with as much self-control as Ragnar Groth to open up at all, without Sebastian’s presence to annoy him.

Vanja had placed the tape recorder on the table, listed those present, and stated the time. Then she had explained how they had followed Roger via the CCTV cameras and put forward the theory that Groth met Roger outside the motel. To begin with the principal had simply listened, his face devoid of expression. The first time he showed any kind of reaction was when the motel was mentioned. Then he shook his head silently, folded his arms across his chest, and leaned back in his chair, his body language indicating that he was distancing himself.

From Vanja.

From everything she said.

From the entire situation.

It wasn’t until Vanja had finished that he leaned forward and spread his hands.

“No, no, no, it wasn’t like that at all.”

“So what was it like?”

“It never happened. I didn’t see Roger on Friday night, I’ve already told you that.”

“But you were at the motel at the relevant time?” In the room next door, Sebastian nodded to himself. They could tie him to the time and place, and it was obvious that this bothered him.

A great deal.

So much so that he didn’t even answer Vanja’s question. Needless to say, she didn’t give up.

“That was a rhetorical question; we know you were at the motel at nine thirty on Friday night.”

“But I didn’t see Roger.”

“Ask him about Frank,” Sebastian said into his microphone. He saw Vanja’s face brighten up in the interview room, and she glanced at the
mirror. Sebastian nodded encouragingly, as if she might be able to see him. Vanja leaned across the table.

“Tell me about Frank Clevén.”

Groth didn’t answer immediately. He took the time to tug at his shirt cuffs so that they extended precisely half an inch below the sleeves of his jacket. Then he leaned back and looked calmly at Vanja and Torkel.

“He’s an old friend from the gun club. We meet up from time to time.”

“To do what?” The question came from Torkel, and Groth turned his attention in his direction.

“Chat about old times. We won bronze in the national championships, as you perhaps know. We usually have a glass of wine. Sometimes we play cards.”

“Why don’t you meet at your house?”

“We usually meet when Frank is passing through Västerås, on his way home. The motel is in a more convenient location.”

“We know that you and Frank Clevén meet at the motel to have sex.”

Groth turned to Vanja, and for a second it looked as if the very idea made him feel sick. He bent toward her and held her gaze.

“And how, may I ask, do you know that?”

“Frank Clevén told us.”

“Then he’s lying.”

“He’s married, with three children. Why would he lie about traveling to Västerås to have sex with a man?”

“I don’t know; you’d have to ask him.”

“Isn’t it true that you’re good friends?”

“I thought so, but what I’m hearing is making me doubt that.”

“We can tie you to the motel.”

“I was there. I met Frank. I’m not denying that. What I am most certainly denying is that we indulged in any sexual activities, or that I met Roger during the course of the evening.”

Vanja and Torkel exchanged glances. Ragnar Groth was good.
Admit what can be proved, deny everything else. Had they brought him in too soon? All they had, in fact, was a chain of circumstantial evidence. Secret sexual encounters, membership in a gun club, a position in society that was worth protecting. Did they need more?

In the room next door, the same thought occurred to Sebastian. They knew Groth was a man with an obvious psychological problem that found its expression through pedantic and compulsive behavior. It wasn’t too much of a leap to imagine that over the years he had developed a deep and almost impenetrable defense to protect himself against actions that he found undesirable. Sebastian had the feeling that Ragnar Groth was constantly weighing advantages and disadvantages against one another, and once he had made a decision, he shaped reality according to that decision. It became the truth. He probably didn’t even think he was lying when he said that he and Frank Clevén hadn’t had sex in that motel room. He believed it. They would probably need photographic evidence to make him confess. Photographic evidence that they didn’t have.

“Peter Westin?”

Vanja tried a new tack.

“What about him?”

“You know him.”

“The school has an arrangement with his practice, yes. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“No, we don’t have any contact except in a professional capacity.” Groth was struck by a thought and leaned forward once more. “Are you suggesting I’m having a sexual relationship with him as well?”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“Where were you at four o’clock this morning?”

“I was at home, asleep. It’s a nasty little habit of mine; I try to have a little nap around that time. Why do you ask?”

Sarcasm. In the room next door, Sebastian sighed. Groth had
regained his self-confidence. He had realized they didn’t have enough on him. They weren’t going to get anywhere. In the interview room Torkel was still trying to salvage what could be saved.

“We need to take a look at your guns.”

“What on earth for?” Genuine surprise. Vanja swore to herself. They had managed to keep it out of the press. No one, apart from the murderer, knew that Roger had been shot. It would have been a great help if Groth had thought the request was eminently reasonable or, even better, refused to let them see his guns.

“Why not?”

“I just don’t understand your reasons. I mean, the boy wasn’t shot, was he?” He looked from Vanja to Torkel. Neither of them was inclined to confirm or deny.