Dark Secrets (40 page)

“What? No!”

“Well, you’re sitting there checking me out like a lovesick teenager.”

“Fuck off.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of; that’s just the effect I have on women.” Sebastian gave her a ridiculously self-confident smile. She looked away and floored the accelerator.

This time he had definitely had the last word.

“Do you have a moment?” From the tone of her voice Haraldsson understood immediately that Hanser actually meant,
I want to speak to you. Now!
Indeed. When he looked up from his work he saw her standing there with her arms folded, and her expression was grim as she nodded toward the door of her office. But she wasn’t having things that easy. Whatever was going on, Haraldsson had no intention of allowing her to play on home ground.

“Couldn’t we do it here? I’m trying to stay off my foot as much as possible.”

Hanser looked around the open-plan office as if to establish how many colleagues sitting closest to Haraldsson would be able to hear the conversation, then, with a sigh and a movement indicative of suppressed irritation, she pulled over a chair from a vacant workstation. She sat down opposite Haraldsson, leaned forward, and lowered her voice.

“Were you outside Axel Johansson’s apartment building last night?”

“No.”

Pure reflex.

Denial.

No logical thought process.

Was she asking because she already knew he’d been there? Probably. In which case a “yes” would have been better; then he could have tried
to come up with a good reason for being there, if there was a problem. Presumably there was, otherwise she wouldn’t have come to speak to him, would she? Or did she just suspect he’d been there? In which case a denial would work. Perhaps she only wanted to praise his initiative? Not very likely. Haraldsson’s mind was whirling. He had a feeling this was going to be an exercise in damage control and that it would have been better to answer “yes” to the first question. Time up.

“Are you sure it wasn’t you?”

Too late to change his answer now, but there was no need for him either to confirm or deny what he had already said.

“Why?”

“I had a call from one Desiré Holmin. She lives in the same building complex as Axel Johansson. She said she saw him last night, and that somebody who was waiting in a car started to chase him when he got home.”

“And you think that was me?”

“Was it?”

Haraldsson thought frantically. Holmin. Holmin… Wasn’t that the little gray lady on the same floor as Johansson? Yes, it was. She’d been so interested when he’d knocked on the door and spoken to her. He’d thought he was never going to get away. He could easily imagine she was the type who sat up keeping an eye on things. To assist the police. To bring a little excitement into her gray, monotonous retiree’s life. On the other hand, it had been dark and the old lady must have been tired and maybe a little short-sighted. Perhaps slightly senile. He could get away with this.

“No, it wasn’t me.”

Hanser sat in silence, studying his face. Not without a certain level of satisfaction. Haraldsson didn’t know it but he had just made a solid start on digging his own grave. She didn’t say a word, convinced that he would carry on shoveling.

Haraldsson was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He hated the way she was looking at him. He hated the silence, which clearly said that
she didn’t believe him. And wasn’t that a little smile playing around her lips? He decided to play his trump card right away.

“How could I chase anyone, when I can hardly limp to the bathroom?”

“Because of your foot?”

“Exactly.”

Hanser nodded. Haraldsson smiled at her.
There you go, sorted.
Hanser would realize how impossible the suggestion was and leave him alone. To his surprise she stayed where she was, still leaning forward.

“What kind of car do you drive?”

“Why?”

“Fru Holmin said that the man who chased Johansson got out of a green Toyota.”

Okay, thought Haraldsson, time to play the slightly weaker cards in his hand: dark, tired, short-sighted, and senile. How far from the building had he been? Twenty to thirty yards. At least. His face broke into a disarming smile.

“Not that I wish to discredit Fru Holmin, but if we’re talking about last night then I presume it was dark, so how could she have seen what color the car was? And how old is she—getting on for eighty? I have spoken to her, and I must say she didn’t seem all that reliable. It would surprise me if she could distinguish between different makes of car.”

“It was parked under a streetlamp and she had a pair of binoculars.”

Hanser leaned back, her eyes fixed on Haraldsson. She could practically see his brain working. Like a cartoon, with the cogs spinning faster and faster. She was a little surprised; surely he could see where she was going with this?

“Well, I’m hardly the only person who owns a green Toyota. If that’s what it was.”

Obviously not
, thought Hanser. Not only was Haraldsson still digging, he had jumped down into the grave and started filling it in.

“She wrote down the license plate. You’re the only person who has that number.”

Haraldsson was at a loss for words. He couldn’t come up with a thing. His head was empty. Hanser leaned right across the desk.

“Now Axel Johansson knows we’re looking for him, and he will probably make even more of an effort to stay away.”

Haraldsson tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. Nothing. His vocal cords refused to cooperate.

“I will have to inform Torkel Höglund and his team about this. It. Is. Their. Investigation. I’m putting it as clearly as possible, since you don’t seem to have grasped the idea yet.”

Hanser stood up and looked down at Haraldsson, whose eyes were darting all over the place. If it hadn’t been such a gross error of judgment and, to be honest, if it hadn’t been Haraldsson, she would have felt a little sorry for him.

“We also need to discuss exactly where you were when you should have been at Listakärr. Desiré Holmin said the man who chased Axel Johansson wasn’t limping. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was really fast.”

Hanser turned and left. Haraldsson watched her go, his face expressionless. How had that happened? He was supposed to have gotten away with it. Damage control was the worst-case scenario. This wasn’t even on the map. The chief superintendent’s speech was a long, long way away. Haraldsson could feel the downward spiral that was his life spinning faster and faster, growing steeper and steeper. And he was falling. Helplessly.

Ursula already knew Sundstedt. He had been an investigator for the Swedish Accident Investigation Board for a while before returning to his profession as a firefighter. They had met when she was working at SKL during a complex investigation involving a private plane that had crashed in Sörmland; it was suspected that the pilot had been poisoned by his wife. They had gotten on well from the start. Sundstedt was exactly like Ursula: not afraid to get stuck in. Didn’t take any crap. He
had spotted her as soon as she got out of the car and given her a friendly wave.

“My, we are honored!”

“Kind of you to say so!”

A warm hug, a quick word about how long it had been since they’d seen each other. Then he gave her a hard hat and led her over to the ruined house.

“So you’re still with Riksmord?”

“Yes.”

“Are you here about the murder of that boy?”

Ursula nodded. Sundstedt waved in the direction of the still-smoking house.

“Do you think there’s a connection?”

“We don’t know. Have you removed the body?”

He shook his head and took her around the house. He opened the door of his car, dug out a big fireproof jacket, and held it out to her.

“Put this on. I might as well show you where the body is; you’ll only moan if you’re not involved from the start.”

“I don’t moan. I complain. With good reason. There’s a difference.”

They smiled at each other and continued on toward the house. They went in through the opening where the front door had been; it now lay to one side in the hallway. The kitchen furniture was untouched by the flames, and it looked as if it were just waiting for someone to come and sit down for lunch; the floor, however, was covered with filthy, sooty water that was still dripping from the ceiling and trickling down the walls. They went up the stairs, which were also slippery with water. The acrid smell grew stronger, making Ursula’s nose tingle and bringing tears to her eyes. In spite of the fact that Ursula had seen more than her fair share of fires, she was always fascinated. Fire transformed everyday objects in a terrifying and almost seductive way. An undamaged armchair stood among the debris. Beyond it, where there used to be an outside wall, she could see the garden and the house next door. The transience of life met the remains of normality. Sundstedt slowed
down and began to move forward more carefully. He waved to Ursula to stay where she was. The floor creaked ominously beneath his weight. He pointed to a white cover lying beside what remained of the bed. Parts of the roof had fallen in, and they could see the sky above them.

“There’s the body. We need to make the floor safe before we can move it.”

Ursula nodded, crouched, and took out her camera. Sundstedt knew what she wanted to do, and without a word he reached down, got hold of the end of the cover, and pulled it away. Beneath it lay charred wooden rafters, along with broken and unbroken tiles from the collapsed section of the roof. But protruding from under the rubble was something that was clearly a foot. It was blackened by the fire but the flesh had not been burned away. Ursula took a number of pictures, starting with the wider shots. As she cautiously moved in to take close-ups she became aware of a sweeter aroma coming through the pungent smell of the fire, like a combination of the mortuary and a forest fire. It was possible to get used to many things in her job, but the smells were always the most difficult.

She swallowed.

“Judging by the size of the foot it’s probably an adult male,” Sundstedt began. “Shall I help you take a tissue sample? There are some soft parts left around the ankle.”

“I can do that later if necessary. At the moment it would be more helpful if I had something to compare with dental records.”

“It’s going to be a few hours before I can move the body.”

Ursula nodded.

“Okay, if I’m not here then, call me right away.” She dug her card out of one of her pockets and handed it to Sundstedt. He tucked it in his pocket, replaced the cover over the body, and got to his feet, as did Ursula.

Together they began to investigate the cause of the fire. Ursula was no expert, but even she could see that a number of details in the bedroom indicated that the fire had spread extremely rapidly. Far too rapidly to be natural.

Rolf Lemmel was devastated. A close friend had rung to tell him about the fire at Peter’s house. However, he didn’t know that a body had been found in the bedroom, and when Vanja told him, he turned even paler. Flopped down on the sofa in the waiting room with his head in his hands.

“Is it Peter?”

“We don’t know yet, but it’s a strong possibility.” Lemmel’s body twisted, as if it didn’t know where to go. His breathing was heavy and labored. Sebastian fetched him a glass of water. Rolf took a few gulps, which seemed to calm him a little. He looked at the two officers. Realized that one of them had been looking for Peter earlier in the day, when he still believed his colleague had merely been delayed. At the time he had found her quite irritating. Now he felt as if he hadn’t understood the seriousness of her visit.