The Intruder (27 page)

Fredrik leaned slightly over the table.

“Isn’t that a slightly strange time of day if you are hoping that the intended victim should be home alone?” he said. “The chance, or the risk, is pretty great, on the contrary, that someone suddenly comes home, as Henrik did. Perhaps she was only there to observe them and then the opportunity presented itself.”

“Yes,” Göran agreed. “Unfortunately there’s not much about this that’s unambiguous. Because the previous threats were directed against the whole family we can’t be certain that the perpetrator was out to kill just Malin. Perhaps she or he simply went after those who happened to be home.”

“It’s just this thing with the child that feels so unpleasant,” said Gustav. “Why would she attack the child? It really seems as if she wants to get at all of them.”

“So she isn’t satisfied yet, do you mean?” said Ove.

“That can’t be ruled out.”

Göran grasped the back support on the chair he had so far not sat down in.

“Okay,” he said, “time to summarize. We are going to get in lists of names from those who have checked the ferry. The airplane isn’t going due to the strike, as we’ve already discussed. We have to go through the whole passenger list, naturally, but we will get a compilation of blond women traveling alone that we will prioritize. Even if I think that this perpetrator is a little too intelligent to leave on the first morning ferry. If she is still on the island and not from here, she must have gone somewhere, so we’ll check hotels, hostels, campgrounds, etc. Considering what we said about keys to the house it may even be worth checking up on the former owner.”

“Wasn’t it Ingmar Bergman?” said Ove. “He doesn’t feel that relevant.”

“There was someone in between,” said Fredrik. “Some colleague of Henrik Kjellander, I believe.”

“That makes it even more interesting,” said Göran. “Will you take that?”

Fredrik nodded.

“Interviews with Stina Hansson and Henrik Kjellander’s sisters have highest priority. Ellen Andersson could not point out Stina Hansson, but we have to recall that this may involve several perpetrators and crimes that don’t necessarily have to be connected to each other.”

“Or that Ellen was uncertain or didn’t dare identify her,” Sara added. “That has happened before.”

“Exactly,” said Göran. “So Stina Hansson is relevant to the highest degree. Fredrik and Gustav, you’ll take that interview.”

They nodded in response.

“And Sara and Ove will take the sisters on Fårö. The sisters’ father must also be questioned.”

Sara and Ove nodded in turn.

“No known lunatics came up in connection with Ellen and the school, but they must be checked again, too,” said Göran, pointing at Leif Knutsson. “We have to keep all doors open. Maybe it’s not a woman we’re after this time at all.”

He looked out over his detective inspectors and those who came from the uniformed police.

“So does everyone know what they’re doing?”

There was nodding around the room and one or two were already starting to stand up.

“Good,” said Göran. “Let’s get going.”

51.

Fredrik had been right. Stina Hansson’s kitchen was lighter and more pleasant in the mornings when the sunshine came in through the foliage on the big trees.

She looked more tired and paler than the last time he was there. Her hair was unwashed and the V-neck top was wrinkled.

“Are you still on sick leave?” he asked.

“No. You could have asked the ones who were here last night,” she said, looking at Fredrik and Gustav through narrowed eyes.

“May we come in?” said Fredrik.

“Sure,” she said, in a voice that sounded heavy and resigned.

In the bathroom the cat was pawing in the litter box. They sat down at the kitchen table in the same places as during the interview the week before, Gustav on the chair where Sara had sat. Fredrik felt his head starting to wake up, but his body was still putting up resistance. Ever since the accident he had been careful about sleep. He had no idea how he would cope with hard work and little sleep. At a guess, badly.

“So you were working yesterday?” he said.

“Yes. You could have asked the ones who were here last night that, too,” said Stina Hansson.

She concealed a wide yawn behind her hand. It seemed like it would never end.

“But I’m asking you now,” he said. “That’s how this works.”

He felt the irritation lying in wait, but so far he sounded calm and collected.

“Okay,” she said simply, and curled up in the chair.

“Are you cold?” he said, mostly to compensate in case he had seemed unfriendly just now after all.

“No, it’s okay.”

He smiled briefly at her.

“When did you come home yesterday?”

“Four thirty, I think. I got off a little early.”

“Any particular reason?”

“We didn’t have that much to do, so I took the opportunity to leave early.”

“But you’re not completely sure of the time?”

“Not exactly. But around four thirty.”

She was holding hard onto her upper arms, as if she was embracing herself. It really looked like she was cold.

“Was there anyone who saw you come home, a neighbor in the building or on the street?”

“Not as far as I know, but you can always—”

She stopped; she had already been told.

“We’ll ask the neighbors,” said Fredrik. “But if you know whether anyone has seen you it will go a lot smoother.”

She nodded. The sun struck her face from the side and made her close the eye nearest to the window almost completely.

“Were you on Fårö yesterday?” Fredrik continued.

“No.”

“You went straight home from work?”

“Yes.”

“And later in the evening, you didn’t go out then?”

“No.”

Stina released the hold on her upper arms and leaned forward a little.

“She ran into me in the parking lot. I reported her. She didn’t seem to be in her right mind. I don’t know what got into her. But…”

She looked at Fredrik, then at Gustav, as if that was something they ought to understand.

“But what?” said Fredrik.

“But this is something completely different. I don’t understand why anyone … I haven’t been able to sleep all night. Not since they were here. I don’t think anyone has been able to sleep all night. And it’s really hard that the police come here as soon as something happens. You wonder what people are thinking.”

“Your neighbors never seem to notice when you come home, so maybe they don’t notice us, either?” said Gustav.

Stina Hansson glared at him. Two pink patches flared up on her pale cheeks.

“I was together with Henrik fifteen years ago. What of it? And okay, I followed the car a week or two ago because I wanted to talk with him.”

She panted out the words in a trembling, agitated voice.

“And I’m blond and have a white car, like it says in the newspaper, that’s what you’re searching for.”

She giggled abruptly and shook her head.

“It’s so silly, you don’t even notice it. Huh?”

Her voice seized up and she suddenly started crying. Her body bobbed on the chair and she hacked out sobs.

“Stina,” Fredrik started.

She waved one hand defensively in his direction as if he had tried to touch her. The crying jag increased in strength like a rain shower that turns into a downpour.

Fredrik looked quickly at Gustav. It was a strong reaction. Experience had taught him that closeness to death could trigger the most varied reactions in people. Sometimes it had to do with their relationship to the deceased, but it could just as easily be death itself that struck something in them. Some closed up and seemed cold, some broke down, others became exaggeratedly pleasant and energetic. It was tempting to draw conclusions, but they would most likely be incorrect.

“I want you to leave,” she said furiously between sobs.

For a moment Fredrik felt awkward, both as a person and a policeman. Should they bring her in? If Stina Hansson was the perpetrator, perhaps she was about to break down completely. There would be a risk that she would kill herself.

“Go,” she almost screamed. She showed no sign of calming down.

“Stina. We can’t go when you are so upset.”

“Yes, you can,” she said stubbornly, hiding her eyes behind her right hand.

Fredrik became more and more certain that they would have to take her along to Visby.

They sat silently at the table while Stina sniffled behind her hand. Fredrik wished he had Sara with him.

“Stina,” said Gustav. “We can’t just leave. You understand that, don’t you?”

She removed her hand, but looked down at her lap. The crying quieted a little, but did not stop completely.

“You think it’s going to be one way,” she said, “but then suddenly half your life is over and you’re still standing there staring toward the future. Do you understand?”

She looked up at them for a moment. Stina Hansson was only thirty-five. She ought to still have time, but Fredrik understood what she meant. He thought so anyway.

“It’s as if life is turning on its own axis and suddenly everything has changed even though you’re still standing in the same place,” she said quietly.

Now her voice was fragile.

“It’s like night and day. Suddenly everything is too late.”

52.

Elisabet Vogler looked challengingly at Sara Oskarsson and Ove Gahnström after closing the front door behind her.

Sara observed Elisabet while she tried to find the right words.

“I don’t know if the rumor got here before us, but Malin Andersson, wife of your half brother Henrik Kjellander, was found dead in her home yesterday evening. Her son, Axel, was also found dead in the house. I’m sorry.”

Elisabet Vogler blinked when Sara mentioned the boy, but otherwise stood mutely without batting an eye.

It was a strange situation. During their entire lives, the siblings had only met face-to-face at a funeral and were fighting over an inheritance at the moment. Even so, Sara felt that she had to show some kind of sympathy.

“Thanks.” Elisabet finally found herself.

She already had her hand on the door handle as if the whole thing was over for her. A breeze made the leaves rustle in the dry maples.

“Yes,” said Ove, “we have a few questions. Is it okay if we come in for a moment?”

Elisabet laughed as if Ove had just said something funny. She looked at him without saying anything, her head lowered slightly and pulled back as if she was studying something peculiar.

An uncomfortable silence ensued that was finally broken when Elisabet Vogler pushed down the door handle.

“Okay, okay, come in then.”

Elisabet showed them into a large, light kitchen immediately to the left of the entrance hall.

“Be my guest,” said Elisabet Vogler, making it sound like the opposite.

With an outstretched hand she showed them to a long oak table that was placed along the two windows toward the farmyard. On the table were two pewter candlesticks and over it a lamp was hanging with two white-glass shades.

“Where were you yesterday between six o’clock and eight o’clock in the evening?” Ove began the interview when they had settled down at the table.

He sat heavy and imperturbable in the chair across from Elisabet. The shirt that peeked out under a beige cotton jacket bulged the buttons over his stomach. He had his notebook out and both arms on the table.

‘“So I’m a murderer now?” Elisabet Vogler exclaimed. “I killed my sister-in-law? Is that what you mean?”

“We are following up on everyone who has any relationship to the family and who was on Fårö at the time of the crime. This is routine.”

“I had no relationship to any of them,” said Elisabet.

“A formal relationship is sufficient,” said Ove patiently.

Sara had to exert herself to remain neutral. She was annoyed by Elisabet Vogler’s condescending manner. But there was something else there, too, more nervous than self-assured.

“So, between six o’clock and eight o’clock?” Ove repeated when Elisabet did not say anything.

“Yes,” she sighed. “I was home then.”

She put her chin in the air and looked at him with her light blue eyes. Sara could not help thinking that despite her dissociative manner she was extremely naked. She had an appearance that did not conceal much.

“Was there anyone else at home then?”

“Yes, at that time of day, of course. The children and my husband were all at home.”

Elisabet turned her head away and looked out the window. A high, persistent sound forced its way in to them. It sounded like a fan on a silo.

Ove appeared to be thinking about his next question when the door opened and Ernst Vogler came into the kitchen. He stopped abruptly at the threshold and looked at Ove and Sara, adjusted his blue jeans jacket with two large hands.

Sara stood up, greeted him, and introduced Ove. The man reluctantly took her hand, squeezed it hard and quickly, and then Ove’s.

“Ernst Vogler,” he said.

“We need to ask you a few questions, too,” said Sara. She could easily imagine that Ernst Vogler would have preferred being addressed as Mr. Vogler.

“Now?” he said. “I don’t know if I have time for that.”

Sara cleared her throat.

“It would be nice if you could take the time,” she tried politely.

“Can you come back this afternoon, around four?” he said, striding farther into the kitchen and reaching for a thermos that was on the counter.

He set it down with a disappointed look.

“This concerns a murder case, so you’ll just have to answer. Otherwise we can ask the questions in Visby.”

Sara was tired of the whining resistance.

Ernst Vogler opened his eyes wide. For a moment it looked like he was thinking about lashing out at her, but then he gave up.

“Then let’s do it now,” he said simply.

“Where were you between six and eight o’clock last evening?” she asked.

“I was here at home,” he said. “That is, in my house next door.”

He pointed out the window with a slightly bent hand.

“And Elisabet was here, too,” he continued without anyone having asked. “I saw when she came.”