more convinced that he’d had something to do with the murders. And the theft of the painting. He was an expert on Nils Dardel, after all.
His ponderings were interrupted by the ringing of his mobile. It was Emma, who wanted him to buy some nappies on his way home.
To Johan’s disappointment, Elin was already in bed for the night by the time he got home. How quickly we get used to new routines, he thought. Before, he was used to being away from her for weeks on end; now he hated not being able to say goodnight and nuzzle her neck before she went to sleep.
Emma had made salmon pasta, and they had a glass of wine with their dinner. Afterwards they curled up together on the sofa, sharing what was left of the wine.
‘So what did you think of the pastor? We’ve hardly had any time to talk about it,’ said Emma, stroking his hair.
‘She was all right, I suppose.’
‘Do you still think we should get married in a church?’
‘That’s what I’d like.’
They’d had this discussion many times since they agreed to get married. Emma wanted to get the wedding out of the way without a lot of fuss.
‘I’ve already gone through the whole circus once before,’ she said with a sigh. ‘That was enough.’
‘But what about me? Doesn’t what I want count for anything?’
‘Of course it does. But can’t we find some sort of compromise? It’s OK that you don’t want to go to New York and get married at the consulate, even though I think that would be terribly romantic. I can understand that you want all of our family and friends to be present. But not in a church, and not in a white dress, and definitely not with an awful cake that we have to cut together.’
‘But sweetheart, I want to walk down the aisle with you. I want to wear a tux and see you in a white wedding gown. That’s a dream image that I’ve always had in my mind.’
He looked so serious that Emma had to laugh.
‘Are you for real? I thought only girls had those kinds of fantasies.’
‘What sort of sexist remark is that?’
‘Johan, I just can’t. I really can’t go through that whole thing again. It would be like replaying the past. Can’t you understand that?’
‘No, I really can’t. Replaying? How can you call it a replay? I’m the one you’re going to marry, Emma. You can’t compare me to Olle.’
‘No, of course not. But all the work, all the preparations… not to mention the expense. I don’t really think my parents would want to pay for another wedding.’
‘To hell with the money. I want the whole world to know that we’re getting married. And it doesn’t have to be that expensive. We can serve wine in a box and chili con carne. What does it matter? We can have the party in the garden in the summertime.’
‘Are you crazy? You want to have the party here? Not on your life!’
‘If you keep on like this, I’m going to think that you really don’t want to go through with it after all.’
‘Of course I want to marry you.’
She showered him with kisses until he completely forgot what they’d been arguing about.
O n Monday morning when Johan arrived at the editorial offices, he noticed at once that something wasn’t as it should be. He held up his arm to prevent Pia, who was right behind him, from going inside. They collided in the doorway. They were both holding coffee cups, and the hot liquid sloshed over the sides as Johan stopped her.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked in surprise.
‘Wait a second,’ he said, holding up a finger to hush her. ‘There’s something strange here.’
The Regional News office was a long, narrow room; at one end a map of Gotland and Faro usually hung on the wall. Now it was gone. Someone had put up a photograph in its place, yet in the dim light Johan couldn’t tell what the picture was. But that wasn’t the only thing. Something was fishy with the computers. All three were on, even though he was sure he’d turned them off before leaving the office the previous evening. He whispered this to Pia. Cautiously he stepped forward. There wasn’t a sound. He opened the door to the broadcast booth, but it was empty.
‘Huh,’ said Pia. ‘Maybe somebody from Radio was working here overnight.’
‘Shh.’ Johan gave her another nudge.
When he got close enough to the far wall to see what the photograph showed, at first he couldn’t believe his eyes.
It was a picture of himself, sitting in his car outside Erik Mattson’s house. The picture was dark, but it was still possible to see that he was staring up at a window.
Slowly he sank down on to a chair, without taking his eyes off the photo. ‘What’s wrong?’ he heard Pia saying behind him.
Johan couldn’t say a word.
72
The entire team was present at the police meeting on Monday morning. Someone had made coffee and set on the table a basket of fresh cinnamon rolls from the Siesta pastry shop. Kihlgard was whistling merrily. Knutas guessed that he was the one who had brought the provisions. Kihlgard loved to munch, as he put it.
The murder of Hugo Malmberg had pushed the controversy about Karin Jacobsson’s promotion on to the back burner. Knutas was grateful for that.
The meeting began with Jacobsson reporting on what she’d discovered about Hugo Malmberg’s background.
‘So who’s the son who was given up for adoption?’ asked Wittberg.
‘I think it would be worthwhile checking out one potential candidate,’ said Jacobsson. ‘Someone who was invited to Egon Wallin’s gallery opening, who was in Visby at the time of Wallin’s death, who has a special interest in Nils Dardel, and who also happened to rent the cottage at Muramaris. He’s in his forties, and he’s been popping up in the investigation like a jack-in-the-box right from the start.’
‘Erik Mattson,’ exclaimed Kihlgard. ‘That soft-spoken, ultra-correct man who has made so many public statements with regard to the theft at Waldemarsudde! Could he really be the perp?’
‘But that’s impossible. He’s much too thin,’ objected Wittberg. ‘Do you really think he could have hoisted Egon Wallin up in the gate and dragged Hugo Malmberg — his father — to the cemetery? Not on your life.’
‘He could have had help, of course. I realize that he couldn’t have done it alone.’ Jacobsson glared at Wittberg. Apparently the promotion controversy wasn’t completely forgotten, after all.
‘And the motive would be… what? The fact that his biological father had abandoned him?’ Wittberg looked dubious.
Lars Norrby was quick to chime in. ‘And what about Egon Wallin? Why would Erik Mattson kill him?’
‘Obviously I don’t have answers to all the questions,’ said Jacobsson crossly.
‘So you haven’t checked to see whether Mattson really is the son given up for adoption?’ Knutas gave Jacobsson an enquiring look.
Her face fell. ‘Well, no…’ she had to admit. ‘I haven’t.’
‘Maybe that would be a good idea before we start jumping to conclusions.’
Even though his tone of voice was a bit stern, he sympathized with Jacobsson when he saw the pleased expressions on the faces of Wittberg and Norrby.
Later that afternoon, there was a knock on Knutas’s door. Jacobsson came in and sat down with a dejected look.
‘I’ve talked to Erik Mattson’s adoptive parents — Greta and Arne Mattson, who live in Djursholm. They’ve never told Erik that he was adopted. So he has no idea that Hugo Malmberg is his father.’
‘What sort of relationship does Mattson have with his parents?’ Knutas asked.
