78
Nothing was so desolate in winter as a campsite. Johan parked his car close to the shoreline. He got out and trudged towards the public lavatories. The whole place was quiet, deserted and closed down. The snowdrifts were higher here. It probably hadn’t been ploughed all winter. And the steep slope he was descending hadn’t been gritted either. The question was whether he’d be able to make it back up, but he wasn’t worried about that at the moment. All he wanted was to have Elin in his arms. David had said that he wanted to make an exchange, but he refused to reveal on the phone what his demands were in order to give Elin back. He said that he would tell Johan in person. Johan didn’t think he had any choice but to go along with this condition. He’d been sternly warned not to contact the police. If David got the slightest indication that Johan wasn’t alone, that would be the end of Elin.
Utter silence had settled over the beach. The open water was grey and inhospitable. The cold was raw and damp, seeping in under his clothes. As Johan approached the building with the showers and toilets, he saw a car parked some distance away, a blue Citroen. There was no one in sight. His nerves were stretched taut. He didn’t know what David looked like, only how old he was. Johan walked around the wooden building. The windows were boarded up and the doors locked. It was easy to see why David had wanted to meet him here. Close to the city, but as deserted as could be.
Suddenly he caught sight of a tall, dark-clad figure approaching from the sea. He was powerfully built, wearing a down jacket with a knitted cap on his head. Johan felt the ground swaying under his feet. The man who was walking towards him had killed two people in cold blood and taken an eight-month-old child hostage. Johan was about to stand face to face with a psychopath.
At that moment he realized what an idiot he was for not contacting the police. He was unarmed and completely at the mercy of a madman. What was he thinking? That David would simply hand over Elin?
He stood motionless, waiting, as his brain shifted up a gear.
Of course David didn’t have Elin with him. Johan felt so helpless. He wondered wildly what he should say or do in order to have the greatest chance of seeing Elin again.
David stopped a few feet away.
‘You need to stop following my father,’ he said. ‘Leave him alone from now on and you’ll get your daughter back. You have to promise, on your honour. Leave Pappa alone.’
So that’s what it’s all about, thought Johan. His visit to Erik Mattson, the fact that he’d been tailing the man. David wanted to protect his father. That was why he’d kidnapped Elin. It was that simple.
‘Yes, of course. I promise to stop at once. My daughter is much more important to me. I’ll quit right now. Just give Elin back.’
‘Elin? Is that her name? I didn’t know what I should call her.’
He smiled. Johan saw the insanity in his eyes. The man looked drugged. It was impossible to make eye contact. David kept evading his glance. Maybe he was taking anabolic steroids, considering his size.
‘Where is she?’ Johan controlled his voice, not wanting his desperation to show. He needed to stay calm.
David opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a bellow coming from the roof of the lavatory building.
‘Police! Put your hands up. Don’t move.’
David looked around in bewilderment. Johan stood as if paralysed, incapable of thinking sensibly. This couldn’t be happening.
The arrest of David Mattson proceeded without incident. Four police officers overpowered him before he even knew what was happening. He was handcuffed and led away to a police vehicle. Johan stayed where he was, watching mutely.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Knutas coming towards him. He turned to face him. ‘How did you know?’
‘Emma rang me.’
‘Where’s Elin?’
‘We’re searching the campsite now. There are a lot of buildings here, and she’s probably in one of them. Don’t worry, she’s here somewhere.’
79
The interrogation of David Mattson was conducted immediately. The impressive bulk of the suspect seemed even greater inside the cramped interview room. He sat down opposite Knutas, who was in charge of the interview. Jacobsson was also there as a witness, and she stayed in the background.
So here I am, thought Knutas, sitting in front of the killer we’ve been hunting for more than a month. It was an unreal feeling. This was what the man looked like. The murderer who had attacked his victims from behind with piano wire, who had hoisted one man up on Dalman Gate and later dragged another body to the first victim’s grave. The person who had carried out the improbable theft of a painting from Waldemarsudde. The one question that overshadowed everything else was: why? Why had he committed those terrible murders? What was behind it all? And had he also killed his own father? Knutas was longing for an explanation, but first and foremost they needed to solve a more urgent mystery. Where was Elin?
While Knutas switched on the tape recorder and arranged his papers, he studied David Mattson. He was wearing jeans and a shirt, sitting on the chair with his legs set apart and his hands clasped. So this was the face of the murderer, a twenty-three-year-old man who lived with his girlfriend in one of Stockholm’s northern suburbs and was enrolled at the university. He had no police record.
Knutas and Jacobsson did their utmost to get him to say where Elin was, but it seemed completely futile. David could not be budged. He thought that Johan had broken his promise by notifying the police about their meeting. That was why he refused to say what he’d done with Johan’s daughter. It made no difference that the police tried to convince him that Johan was innocent and that it was Emma who had told them where the meeting was taking place.
The police quickly realized that David was unaware of his father’s death. In the middle of the interrogation, the ME’s preliminary report arrived, stating that all indications were that Erik Mattson had died from an overdose of cocaine.
Wittberg summoned Jacobsson and Knutas, who briefly interrupted the interrogation to listen to him report the new information.
‘There’s something that we have to tell you,’ said Jacobsson when they returned to the interview room.
David Mattson didn’t even look up. He was stubbornly staring at his clasped hands on his lap. He’d answered their questions in monosyllables, and kept asking for more cold water. Karin had already refilled the carafe on the table numerous times.
‘Your father is dead.’
Slowly David lifted his head.
‘You’re lying.’
‘I’m afraid not. He was found this morning, at home in his flat. He was lying in bed, and according to the medical examiner, he died from an overdose of cocaine. We also found “The Dying Dandy” hanging above the bed. Your fingerprints were on the canvas.’
David Mattson stared at her for a long time, a look of incomprehension on his face. The silence in the room was palpable. Knutas wondered whether it had been wise to tell him about his father’s death before they managed to find out what he’d done with Elin.
‘When did you last see Erik?’ asked Jacobsson.
‘Saturday night,’ he replied tonelessly. ‘I went over there to have dinner. I gave him a present. We talked and talked. Then Pappa got mad, and I left…’
His voice faded away. His face changed completely. The hard, arrogant mask cracked for a moment, and without uttering a sound, the big man collapsed on to the table.
