The Intruder (30 page)

He woke up with a jerk and looked toward the doorway with a guilty conscience. No one there. He looked at the clock. He could not have slept more than a couple of minutes.

Energized from his brief nap, Fredrik reached for the bottle and emptied it. He set it down on the table and caught sight of Stina’s printouts from Malin Andersson’s food blog. He had searched for potential perpetrators in the comments field of the blog posts, but what was there to say that the worst comments weren’t already edited out even before they appeared on the site?

He inserted his card into the reader and brought the computer to life. He searched online for a switchboard number for Coop, picked up the phone, and dialed the number. After some wrangling he got hold of a website technician. He quickly explained what he was looking for and was transferred again. A saucy melody invaded the receiver while he waited.

The melody stopped and he got a response from Anna Jones, who spoke in a barely noticeable British accent. He explained once again what this concerned.

“Yes,” she said, “we sift out comments that are obviously unpleasant or have no connection to the content on the site.”

“So those comments are never published at all?” Fredrik asked.

“No, it’s just me or someone else in the office who sees them. We have to approve everything before it goes up on the website.”

“Are they saved? I would like to see everything that has been removed during the past year.”

“Yikes, that can be quite a bit.”

“Really? Has there been a lot of that sort of thing on Malin’s pages?”

“Well, not specifically on hers. The Internet is full of them. Unpleasant is probably just the first name. But it’s kind of like the name of the game.”

“Okay, but you can produce them?”

“Absolutely, no problem. In general they aren’t even deleted, it’s just that they are never published. But I have to compile them. If I can have an e-mail address?”

Fredrik gave Anna his e-mail address and thanked her for the help. He hung up and looked at the clock on the computer. He would have time to give Göran a brief summary before it was time for the interview with Henrik Kjellander.

*   *   *

“That business with Coop is good,” said Göran. “Stina Hansson has been a frequent visitor to Malin’s Table.”

He got up from his chair, continuing his reasoning while he stretched his back and slowly moved toward the other end of the room.

“At the same time, there’s something that bothers me. It’s over fifteen years since Henrik Kjellander. Seriously speaking…”

Göran stopped by the big, refrigerator-like safe that was in the corner diagonally from the desk. He turned around and looked at Fredrik.

“I agree.”

“Provided that they haven’t—” Göran began.

“Started something again?” Fredrik interjected when Göran delayed the continuation.

“Exactly.”

Göran eagerly took a step forward.

“Last spring, or maybe a couple of years ago when Henrik came back. A little affair on the side. Strong emotions were brought to life in Stina, but for Henrik it’s just a little sidetrack.”

“It’s a good idea.”

“Pressure him about that. People can keep quiet for the longest time about infidelities, but in this case … If you hang Stina Hansson out as a conceivable perpetrator, he ought to talk if there’s anything to tell.”

“Can we get her held in remand?”

“Peter seems certain. Plenty of circumstantial evidence, and considering the nature of the crime, the escalation from threat to murder, it is conceivable that in the worst case the perpetrator may murder again.”

“But that is a circular argument: You have to be guilty to be dangerous.”

“Yes, but Peter is counting on the judge overlooking that in this case.”

Fredrik frowned.

“You don’t seem convinced.”

“Well,” he said, “I just see that this can crack and if it does we’ll basically be left empty-handed.”

“True. We don’t have to get too caught up about Stina Hansson. Pressure Kjellander about her, but it is also important that we find out as much as possible about him and Malin. Dig deep and wide. There may be something that both he and we have missed.”

*   *   *

Fredrik had chosen the bigger room at the end of the investigation group’s corridor, considering that it was more pleasant than the little room next to reception. At first he intended to hold the interview at the hotel, but Henrik himself wanted to come to the police station.

Henrik looked pale and dogged, his face swollen by too little sleep. His hair was tangled with old hair gel.

“How is Ellen doing?”

“I don’t know,” said Henrik quietly.

He looked down at the table.

“I understand how hard it must be to answer questions now,” said Fredrik. “I’ll try to keep this as brief as possible.”

Henrik raised his head from his hand and looked at Fredrik.

“Thanks.”

“There will quite certainly be more interviews, but for the moment there are only a few questions.”

Henrik trembled.

“What is it?” asked Fredrik.

“I’ve hardly slept a wink,” said Henrik. “Despite the sleeping pills. I … I’m a little groggy.…”

He closed his eyes and sat quite still, leaning forward slightly. Fredrik almost thought he had fallen asleep.

“Henrik?”

He slowly opened his eyes and reached out the palm of one hand in a kind of inviting gesture.

“Of course.”

Was there any point at all in holding an interview under these circumstances? Fredrik got a definite feeling that Henrik could say just about anything. Even if his eyes were open and he answered when addressed, he hardly seemed conscious.

“Stina Hansson,” said Fredrik.

Henrik Kjellander’s eyes widened a little.

“You had a relationship when Stina lived in Stockholm.”

“Yes. It ended fifteen years ago.”

“You haven’t had any contact since then?”

“No.”

“Not at all?”

“I’ve run into her in Fårösund a few times.”

Henrik seemed uninterested in the subject.

“It’s not the case that she or you made contact since you moved back?” asked Fredrik.

“No.”

“If that is the case, it’s important that we find out.”

Henrik tried to change position in the chair, but the end result was that he remained sitting the same way as before, slightly collapsed.

“Why is that important?”

Fredrik hesitated, but decided to put his cards on the table.

“There are a number of concurrent factors that indicate that Stina Hansson could be the perpetrator.”

“Stina?”

“I’m not saying that’s the case,” Fredrik emphasized, “but it is a possibility.”

“Not Stina,” mumbled Henrik.

He looked away and shook his head. Fredrik thought that he saw a little smile.

“What we don’t understand is why in that case she would have done it. But if the two of you, in one way or another, have started a relationship again, that could be an explanation.”

“What the hell,” said Henrik, looking doubtfully at Fredrik. “You don’t think I’ve been having an affair with Stina, do you?”

“I am forced to ask.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t even bother to deny it again. Fredrik believed him.

“I need help with another matter,” he said.

Henrik nodded, almost like a drunk who promises without meaning it.

“I want you to make a list of all your customer contacts and all your personal contacts in the past year.”

“Personal? You mean people I’ve gotten to know? Or do you mean all?”

“No, new acquaintances. And write down all the trips you’ve taken, where you stayed, who you saw.”

“All of them?” said Henrik skeptically.

“Everyone you can recall that you have had some kind of contact with that has been more extensive than just saying hi. The kind you’ve worked together with. Someone you met at a party and sat and talked with. Tradesmen who’ve been in the house on Fårö. The car dealer you bought your car from.”

“That was two years ago,” said Henrik.

“Okay, forget about him for now. But you understand the principle.”

“Sure,” said Henrik, swaying a little on the chair.

“Maybe it’s easier if we do it together,” said Fredrik. “If we go through your calendar, your invoices and credit card statements. That’s usually a good support for your memory.”

“Now?” said Henrik.

“Maybe you need a good night’s sleep first?”

Henrik did not answer. He turned his head away and coughed.

“What do you think?” said Fredrik.

“That will have to wait,” said Henrik.

“Before you get to sleep, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“We can talk with the doctor. You must have something so you can sleep properly.”

Fredrik was a little ashamed that his concern about Henrik was mainly about getting him in good enough condition that he could hold a reasonable interview.

“I don’t want to,” mumbled Henrik.

Fredrik froze. Had he pressured him? No, hardly.

“You don’t want to continue?”

“I don’t want to sleep.”

Fredrik forced back a paternal smile.

“You have to sleep. It’s important.”

Henrik did not answer. He had fixed his gaze on the room’s long, narrow windows that sat high up under the ceiling.

“Do you want to go back to the hotel?” asked Fredrik.

“I don’t want to sleep,” Henrik repeated.

He seemed more confused than Fredrik realized at first. It was not really possible to continue.

“Do you need anything from Fårö to be able to do such a review?” he asked anyway.

Henrik seemed to think for a while; perhaps he needed time to even understand what Fredrik was getting at.

“The computer,” he said.

“Okay, we can arrange that. Anything else?”

Henrik sat silently.

“Then we’ll see about getting the computer here. If there is anything else you think of that you need, then give me a call.”

Henrik nodded.

“I don’t have all the information, but you can talk with my agent, too,” he said. “She keeps track.”

“Where can I get hold of her?” asked Fredrik.

Without answering, Henrik stuck his hand down in his back pocket and pulled out his iPhone. He fixed his gaze on the display and browsed through the menus with his right index finger. Then his arm suddenly fell downward as if it slid off an invisible table edge. Henrik lost his grip on the phone. It fell to the floor, bounced once, and slid slowly buzzing away across the linoleum.

58.

Fredrik turned over an unused page on the notepad and searched for the number to Henrik Kjellander’s agent.

“Drake Agency, Janna Drake,” an energetic yet slightly veiled voice answered on the first signal.

Fredrik introduced himself and explained why he was calling.

“Yes, good Lord, I heard that yesterday,” said Janna Drake. “That’s completely insane. Henrik is one of those we’ve worked with the longest. He’s … well, he’s a good person, professional, easy to deal with. You’re always happy to work with him. And then this. It’s—”

She sighed into the phone.

“Do you know who did it?”

“I need your help with some information,” said Fredrik.

“Of course, anything you ask for. I’ll do all I can.”

Fredrik started by asking about a list of Henrik’s clients during the past year. Names, contact information, and a brief description of the assignment.

“I’ll compile that,” she said. “You’ll have it within half an hour.”

“Do you know Henrik personally, too?” Fredrik asked.

“Well, yes,” she said. “That depends on what you mean. Sometimes we socialize outside work, we’ve been working together a long time, but mostly it’s through work. I’ll be at some dinner with Henrik and Malin—”

She fell silent and continued a bit more hesitantly.

“A few times a year maybe. And they’ll be at our place. On that level.”

“So you’re not that familiar with his circle of acquaintances?”

“No, but many of them are photographers, I know them through work. But I know who you could talk with. Thomas Bark. He’s one of Henrik’s best friends. They’ve known each other a really long time.”

“All the way from Gotland?” asked Fredrik.

“No,” she said, “not that far back, but I think they went to the photography school together and that was seventeen years ago.”

Janna gave Fredrik Thomas Bark’s cell phone and work numbers.

“He probably knows Henrik’s friends pretty well.”

“Did you know Malin?” asked Fredrik.

“Yes, I did. It’s completely incomprehensible … Completely incomprehensible. I mean, does this sort of thing happen here? You’re a policeman. You must know.”

“Not really. It’s extremely unusual.”

“That makes it even more incomprehensible. Who would want … And Axel.”

Janna’s voice became shaky.

“How were things between Henrik and Malin?” said Fredrik.

“They were good. They were always so sweet together. I think they were doing fine.”

“Even since they moved to Gotland?”

“It seemed that way, but of course it’s hard for me to say.”

Fredrik felt satisfied with Janna Drake for the moment. He thanked her and said that perhaps he would get back to her later.

He immediately dialed the number for Thomas Bark. It rang a long time. Finally someone picked up the receiver at the other end, but without saying anything. Instead he heard a conversation going on in the room. Something about who should do what when and the name Fransson was repeated several times.

“Yes, hello,” one of the voices said at last, a little irritated.

“Is this Thomas Bark?”

“Yes, excuse me, it’s me,” said Thomas Bark, putting on a polite telephone voice.

“My name is Fredrik Broman and I’m calling from the police in Visby. I need to ask you a few questions.”

“Oh hell. I understand.”

Fredrik heard Thomas Bark breathing into the phone.

“You are a close friend of Henrik Kjellander, is that correct?”

“That’s correct. I understood that was what you wanted to ask about. I heard—”

“Have you talked with Henrik?”