“I asked him if he spends any time at the stable, and he said that he’s there now and then. The staff at the stable confirm this. He would also occasionally drive Fanny home.”
“Does he have a police record?”
“No. On the other hand, there have been a number of complaints filed against him for suspected neglect. His family used to raise sheep, and the animals were evidently treated badly, according to the person who complained. Eriksson no longer has any sheep.”
“I want to talk to him myself. Where is he?”
“I think he’s at home. He lives in… oh my God!”
Jacobsson abruptly fell silent.
“What is it?”
“Stefan Eriksson lives in Gerum, which is only a couple of miles from the place where Fanny Jansson’s body was found.”
“I’m ten minutes from there. I’m on my way.”
Gerum is not a real town. It’s just a church with a few scattered farms right next to the large and inaccessible Lojsta Heath. The landscape is flat, but Stefan Eriksson’s farm and surrounding property were the exception. It stood on a hill with a panoramic view of the area. The farm consisted of a stone farmhouse with two wings and a large barn. A late-model Jeep was parked outside along with a BMW.
When Knutas rang the bell, he heard dogs barking inside. No one came to the door.
He took a stroll around the farm and looked in the windows of the separate wings. One was apparently used as an artist’s studio, and there were paintings leaning against the walls. A painting of a woman’s face was set on an easel in the middle of the room. Crowded onto a table splotched with paint were cans and tubes of paint along with paintbrushes.
As he peered in the windows, Knutas was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing his throat behind him. The detective was so startled that he jumped and dropped his pipe on the ground. A man was standing right behind him.
“Can I help you with something?”
Stefan Eriksson was almost six foot six inches tall, by Knutas’s estimate. He had on a blue down jacket and a black knit cap.
Knutas introduced himself. “Could we go inside to talk? It’s starting to get cold.”
“Of course, come with me.”
The man led the way inside. Knutas was practically knocked down by two Dobermans, who seemed beside themselves with joy.
“So you’re not afraid of dogs?” asked Eriksson without making any attempt to calm the animals.
They sat down in what must have been the good parlor. To think that people still have rooms like this, thought Knutas. A remnant of bygone times.
Stefan Eriksson was clearly fond of antiques. A mirror in an elaborate gold frame hung on the wall. Next to it stood a bureau with curved legs and lion’s claw feet; along one wall stood a grand cabinet with rounded feet. The room smelled stuffy and dusty. Knutas felt as if he were sitting inside a museum.
He declined the offer of coffee. His stomach growled, reminding him that lunchtime was long past.
“Well, I don’t really understand what you want. I’ve already talked to the police,” said the tall man, who had sat down on a plush armchair. The dogs had settled at his feet, with their eyes fixed on their master.
“I need to ask you a few additional questions, but first I would like to express my condolences.”
The man sitting across from him did not change expression.
“It’s true that Fanny was my cousin, but we hardly knew each other. And we’re not real cousins, anyway. My father-”
“I know about the family ties,” Knutas interrupted him. “How often did you see each other?”
“Very rarely. Sometimes at someone’s birthday celebration. There were problems with her mother, so they didn’t always come. Majvor can’t keep away from the bottle.”
“How well did you know Fanny?”
“There was a big age difference between us, so we didn’t really have anything in common. She was a little girl who sometimes came to visit with her mother. She never said anything. You’d be hard-pressed to find a more silent girl.”
“You own a horse at the stable where Fanny worked. Didn’t you ever see each other there?”
“That old nag is practically useless. It costs a lot more to keep her than she ever brings in from racing. But of course I do stop by the stable once in a while. Occasionally Fanny was there at the same time.”
“Did you sometimes give her a lift home?”
“Not very often.”
“Which car did you drive?”
Stefan Eriksson shifted uneasily in his chair. A frown appeared on his face.
“What are you getting at? Am I under suspicion?”
“Not at all,” said Knutas dismissively. “I’m sorry if I seem pushy, but we have to talk to everyone who knew Fanny.”
“I understand.”
“So which car did you drive?”
“The BMW that’s parked outside.”
“You knew Henry Dahlstrom, too, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I was an apprentice for him eons ago when I was still in school. After I graduated I sometimes filled in for him at GT, and I also worked as a temp at Master’s. I mean, Master Pictures, his company.”
“How did you happen to meet him?”
“I’m interested in photography, and he was teaching a course that I attended when I was in high school. And then, as I mentioned, I was an apprentice for him.”
“Did you keep in contact over the years?”
“No. When the business folded, he went completely downhill.”
“Do you still take photographs?”
“When I can. I’m married and have children and we moved out here. The cafe that I own in town also takes up a lot of my time. It’s Cafe Cortado, on Hastgatan,” he added.
Knutas detected a note of pride in the man’s voice. Cafe Cortado was one of the most popular cafes in town.
Suddenly the dogs rushed for the door and began barking. Knutas gave a start. Eriksson’s face lit up.
“That’s my wife and kids. Just a minute.”
He got up and went out to the entryway. The dogs were barking wildly and jumping around.
“Hi, sweetheart. Hi, kids. How are you?”
Eriksson’s voice took on an entirely different tone. It was suddenly filled with love and warmth.
His wife and children had clearly been out celebrating Lucia. Maja Eriksson came in to say hello. She was dark and sweet and soft-spoken. Knutas noticed the tender way in which Eriksson looked at his wife.
No, he thought. It can’t possibly be him.
He thanked the man for his time and left.
The discovery of Fanny’s body caused a big stir in the media. The evening papers devoted a great deal of attention to the news, as did Regional News and the local media on Gotland. There was much heated debate about what could have happened to the girl. The newspapers printed maps that allowed their readers to locate exactly where Fanny was found. The farms that were closest to the site received visits from reporters and photographers. The newspapers were filled with speculations and hunches about what the motive behind the murder might be, and the TV and radio stations broadcast interviews with the stable staff as well as with the girl’s neighbors and classmates.
Without talking to Johan, Max Grenfors had called Majvor Jansson and persuaded her to agree to an interview. Grenfors was very pleased with his success in getting the mother to tell her story as an exclusive on Regional News. But he encountered quite a different reaction from Johan, who refused to interview her, which prompted Grenfors to give him a real tongue-lashing.
“I’ve managed to get her to agree to an exclusive interview, so of course we’re going to talk to her!”
