The Viper (35 page)

“When your sister, Stefania, was fifteen or sixteen, she was supposed to have had a boyfriend named Leo. Is that something you remember anything about?”

“Leo, sure I remember him,” she said.

“You wouldn’t have been very old. Eight or nine,” said Göran.

“No, but it caused such … well, there was a lot of fuss over that.”

“How so?”

“Mother didn’t like her seeing him. Which is understandable. Only I don’t know what he was really like, of course,” she said.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, he was sort of going astray, but … I mean, maybe that came later.”

“Did something happen between them, between Stefania and Leo?” asked Göran.

“Not that I know of,” said Elin. “It was mostly that my parents didn’t like him.”

She let go of the shoulder strap which slid down onto the floor. Her expression revealed nothing about what she felt for her dead sister. Maybe she had put it behind her. Ten years ago.

“So your father didn’t like it, either, that she was seeing Leo?” said Göran.

“No, but I think that it was more my mother who … I mean, this isn’t something I understood back then, but more that I pieced it together later. My mother and I spoke about it. My father was more generally against it. He didn’t like the idea of boyfriends period. But it was my mother who specifically didn’t like Leo. I think she nagged my father about it and he finally put an end to it.”

“How did he do that?”

“Leo wasn’t allowed to come over.”

“But surely there are other places they could’ve met?”

“Stefania was in ninth grade. I don’t think she had the strength to stand up to him,” said Elin.

“No…”

“My father wasn’t the sort of person you talked back to,” she added.

She looked up at the clock that hung above the table, positioned so that Göran could see it from his desk.

“I don’t want to make you miss your ferry,” he said.

“That’s okay, I’ll make it,” she said.

Göran opened his mouth and then closed it again as he considered how to phrase his next question.

“You said that your father physically abused your mother. Did he hit Stefania, too?”

“No,” she said firmly, “he didn’t hit her, he didn’t hit any of us.”

She turned her gaze toward the door, longingly Göran thought, and he felt a little guilty for keeping her there.

“If you’re going to make your ferry maybe we should…”

“He never hit us, but you always wondered if he was going to. When the first time was going be,” she said and turned back to Göran. “I think Stefania thought a lot about it, but she’s dead and now he’s dead, too, so what difference does it make?”

A ray of sunlight flashed in the skylight. It hit Göran in the middle of his face and he shut his eyes involuntarily.

“I know, I’m studying psychology. Sometime I’m going to have to dig through all that. But not now and not here.”

“No,” said Göran and couldn’t think of anything more to say.

He got up slowly to indicate that she was free to go now. Elin got up, and said good-bye with a short handshake. He saw her out. He would’ve preferred not to, but station regulations required it. It was difficult to say anything more, so they walked the whole way in silence.

“Look after yourself,” he said a little too late when she was already on her way out the door.

*   *   *

SARA OSKARSSON KNOCKED
three times on the door of Emrik Jansson’s little house. The front porch was in the shade and her back felt cold. She turned to Fredrik.

“Don’t count on this giving us anything.”

“We’ll have to see,” said Fredrik.

It was silent on the other side of the door. Sara, who had seen how slowly he moved, waited without knocking again. At long last, the door finally opened.

“Sara Oskarsson, Visby Police Department,” she introduced herself. “I was here a few weeks ago.”

The dark blue eyes above the bushy beard looked at her for a brief moment before he nodded slowly twice.

“Yeah, I recognize you,” said Emrik Jansson, “but not you,” he added looking at Fredrik.

“Fredrik Broman,” he said and held out his hand and felt his fingers get squeezed by a dry cold hand.

“We’ve got a few more questions,” Sara explained.

“You’d better come inside,” said Emrik. “I’ve got food on the stove.”

“It’ll only take a moment,” she said.

“Oh, sure, that’s all it takes to burn the food, too.”

He gestured in toward the house, turned his back on them, and walked slowly into the kitchen. They followed after him and Fredrik pulled the door closed behind him. Sara was careful not to accidentally brush against any of the yellow-stained interior. She had warned Fredrik, but had gotten the feeling that he hadn’t taken her seriously.

They entered the kitchen. There was a big cast-iron frying pan spattering and sizzling away on the stove. Not altogether surprisingly, the kitchen was even more encrusted with grime than the sections of the apartment that Sara had been able to see from the hall the last time she was there. The table and benches may have been wiped off, but seemed to have a layer of grease, dirt, and tobacco residue that no amount of cleaning had any real effect on. At least not Emrik’s cleaning.

“It’s wild rabbit,” said Emrik Jansson and turned the two legs over in the frying pan with the help of a spatula and a wooden spoon. “The cat brings one in every so often. I usually take the legs and then he can make do with the rest.”

Sara felt a look from Fredrik, but avoided meeting it. Here’s one guy anyway, who eats what the cat dragged in, she thought, and couldn’t help but stare at the rabbit legs that were frying in plenty of fat.

“When I was here last time you said that you had seen Arvid Traneus riding in the family car, a silver gray SUV.”

“Driving, to be precise,” said Emrik Jansson and looked up from his cooking.

“That’s right, driving,” said Sara. “It was in the evening, Monday, the second of October.”

“Yes.”

“And that was the last time you saw him?”

“Yup. Last time anyone saw him, I understand,” said Emrik Jansson.

Teachers, thought Sara, they have an unfailing ability to make one feel like an idiot.

“And are you absolutely sure about that. You didn’t see him after Monday evening?”

“No.”

Emrik pressed one of the legs down into the frying pan with the wooden spoon.

“I think it’s just about ready. They nibble on thyme and other herbs when they’re hopping around out there, the occasional juniper berry maybe, so they come preseasoned. Salt is the only thing that’s missing,” he said glancing over his shoulder at Sara.

“Do you remember anything more from that week? Did you see Kristina Traneus or any other member of the family?”

“Kristina I saw midweek sometime, not sure what day it was. Before that I saw the car a few times, but I never saw who was sitting in it.”

“You don’t know which day?”

“Must’ve been on Tuesday.”

“During the day?”

“Yes, it was. Sometime in the afternoon.”

“So theoretically, Arvid Traneus could have been sitting in the car when you saw it on Tuesday?” asked Sara while Emrik Jansson served up his fried wild rabbit leg on a brown plate decorated with mustard-colored stripes.

“Theoretically anyone could’ve been sitting in the car,” he answered.

You just keep it up,
thought Sara.

“But all roads lead to Rome, know what I mean,” he continued.

“I know the expression, but I’m not sure what it has to do with this case,” said Sara and was about to put her hand on the kitchen counter to the right of her, but caught herself at the last second.

“There are several roads leading to that farm and there’s only one of them that passes by my hunting grounds,” said Emrik Jansson and grinned.

“Okay, now I’m with you,” said Sara, “but if we just stick to what you saw? There’s nothing else that you remember from those days; the second, third, fourth of October?”

“No,” he said firmly.

He turned his back to Sara, lifted the frying pan with both hands and carried it over to the sink. There he stopped, and stared down into the frying pan that he rested against the edge of the counter, let go of it with one hand and stroked his beard.

“I think I saw the son, Rickard, drive past.”

This time she met Fredrik’s gaze that was urging her to keep going. Emrik let go of the frying pan, which clattered into the sink.

“You think you saw him?” she said.

“I mean, I did see him, but exactly when that would’ve been…”

He fell silent and turned toward Sara.

“You didn’t mention this before,” she pointed out.

“Rickard drives past here all the time. It’s not something you think twice about.”

Sara started to sense a slight feeling of irritation gnawing away inside her. She could have started to feel tired, but instead she was feeling annoyed.

“Was it after the second of October?”

The nicotine stained tuft of beard beneath his lip bobbed up and down as Emrik smacked thoughtfully a few times.

“I’ve seen him shoot past here so often. I don’t know…”

“Do you know Rickard?” she asked.

“Know him? No, no I wasn’t around long enough to have him in my class. I left before he made it into junior high. But then you get to hear a thing or two. I’m surprised that he ended up trying to go down the finance path. It really wasn’t his thing,” he said.

“So what was his ‘thing’ would you say?” asked Sara.

“He was good at school, as far as I know, it’s not that, but he probably had more of a natural inclination toward the humanities.”

Emrik Jansson ran his tongue across his lower lip.

“That is if you’re going to believe what you hear,” he added with a sheepish smile.

He took a few steps toward Sara and Fredrik and pointed at the table.

“Is it all right if I sit down?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” said Sara, ashamed that she hadn’t thought of that before.

He had moved around with such domesticated ease in front of the stove that she had completely forgotten his unsteady legs. Fredrik pulled out a chair for him that he sank down onto with a quiet sigh.

“I’ve seen it before. Children who follow in their parents’ footsteps. It can undermine their self-confidence. It’s not a question of talent. Not primarily anyway. It’s something else.”

Emrik fingered his packet of rolling tobacco that lay on the kitchen table, but left it where it was unopened.

“It undermines their self-confidence,” he repeated.

Sara nodded and made a final attempt:

“But it was around the second of October that you saw Rickard drive past on his way to the farm?”

“I can’t say that for sure since I saw him all the time. He was always over there fixing things and doing stuff. But exactly when…”

“You were very sure when it was you saw Arvid Traneus in the car, that it was on the Monday,” said Fredrik.

Emrik looked up at Fredrik. It felt strange that they were both standing, while Emrik was sitting, thought Sara, but she wasn’t going to sacrifice herself for appearances.

“Sure, but that was different,” Emrik answered in a tone of voice that suggested that that ought to be obvious. “Traneus had came home that day, after being away in Japan for a few years.”

Emrik suddenly stopped short and turned back toward Sara purposefully.

“No, it was after Arvid had come back. That’s right. Yes, I can see it in front of me. First Arvid in the car in the evening, then Rickard. And it wasn’t the same day.”

“Which day was it then?” she asked.

Emrik Jansson sat there in silence for a moment staring down at the table, then he shook his head.

“No, I can’t say. Tuesday, Wednesday? Thursday? Can’t have been any later than that.”

“But it was after Arvid had come home? You’re absolutely sure about that?”

Emrik nodded.

*   *   *

THE CAR WAS
heading north, back toward Visby. The treetops were swaying uneasily along the coast road.

“Regardless of whether he remembers correctly or not, it’s the second thing he said that’s almost more important,” said Fredrik who was behind the wheel.

“He said a whole lot,” said Sara and opened the car window a little.

Cool air poured in over her face. Fredrik looked at her. It looked as if she was sweating.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she answered.

Fredrik fixed his gaze on the road again and picked up where he left off.

“I mean the fact that Rickard was over there several times a week. That strengthens my theory that he knew. He stayed away and stopped calling since there was no one left there to call. He was involved somehow, unless he’s actually the one who killed his father.”

“And now he’s run off?” said Sara and ran the tips of her fingers across her forehead.

“Yes.”

“But, the fact that he stopped calling and didn’t go over there could also have to do with the fact that his father had just come home. He went over there to help out his mother, then his father came. Pretty natural. And then maybe their relationship wasn’t the best, either.”

“I’ve thought about that,” said Fredrik, “but we haven’t actually found anything to suggest that. At least not to the extent that would explain why he wouldn’t get in touch for a whole week.”

“Don’t be so sure,” said Sara and then fell silent.

“What?” said Fredrik and looked at her.

Didn’t she seem just a little pale?

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” she assured him, coughed gently a few times, and then continued. “Rickard was the only son out of three children. Maybe he felt a lot of pressure to live up to something that he wasn’t suited for—Emrik hinted at something like that—and he’s spoken himself about his failed studies. That can make things tense between a father and son, make you reluctant to get in touch, even if the relationship isn’t exactly bad.”

The landscape opened up to the dark-blue sea in the west. They fell silent and looked out over the jagged waves. It looked like the wind was starting to pick up. The smell of seaweed penetrated through the cracked-open window. Sara wrinkled her nose.