‘Murvall,’ Zeke says. ‘Isn’t that name familiar for some other reason as well?’
Malin shakes her head.
‘Me and names, Malin,’ Zeke says.
‘I’ll call Sjoman and ask him to order over the case files from Motala Police. Nordstrom there will get it sorted at once.’
Just as they are turning into Police Headquarters, the third social worker on the list calls, the one who took over after Maria Murvall.
‘It’s awful, what’s happened. Dreadful. Bengt Andersson was depressed, withdrawn. At one meeting he just mumbled, “What does keeping clean matter? What does keeping clean matter?” If I’m honest, I never drew any connection to the rape. But perhaps there was a link? But the rapist? Bengt Andersson? He wasn’t that sort of person. A woman can tell.’
Malin gets out of the car, her face forming an involuntary grimace as the cold hits her skin.
‘At any rate, I never got as close to him as Maria Murvall. She evidently cared about him outside her work as well, she got him to pull himself together. Almost like a big sister, as I understand it.’
They walk into the station.
Sjoman is standing at Malin’s desk, waving a bundle of fax paper in the air.
Their colleague in Motala evidently hadn’t needed to be asked twice.
Sven Sjoman is talking in a strained voice. Malin and Zeke are standing beside him. Malin wants to tell him to calm down, to think of his heart.
‘Bengt Andersson was one of the people the Motala force interviewed in connection with the rape of Maria Murvall. He had no alibi for that night, but none of the evidence found at the scene, nor anything else, ever pointed to him. He was just one of twenty-five of Maria’s clients who were questioned.
‘It’s pretty grim reading,’ Sjoman says, handing the papers to Zeke.
‘Reality is always worse than fiction,’ Zeke says.
‘She was, or rather is, the sister of the Murvall brothers,’ Sjoman goes on. ‘A gang of nutters out on the plain who were always causing trouble. Even if that was a long time ago now.’
‘The Murvalls! I knew it,’ Zeke says.
‘Must have been before my time,’ Malin says.
‘Tough bastards,’ Zeke says. ‘Really nasty.’
‘Evidently they found clothes in the forest with traces of DNA on them, but not enough to put together a profile.’
‘And on her body?’
‘It was raining that night,’ Sjoman says. ‘Everything got washed away, and evidently she was raped with a rough branch. She was scratched to hell, badly cut internally, it says here. They never worked out if she was penetrated any other way as well. There was no means of confirming it.’
Malin can almost feel the pain.
She raises her palms towards Sven. Thinks, That’s enough.
Maria Murvall. The angel of the lonely. What a lovers’ tryst you ended up having.
Malin can hear the words inside her. Wants to beat herself up, not be cynical now. Fors, don’t be cynical, never be cynical… Maybe I am already? Cynical?
‘She was never the same again,’ Sjoman continues. ‘According to the last notes, before the files were archived, she ended up in some sort of psychotic state. Apparently she’s in the secure unit at Vadstena Hospital. That’s the address given here, anyway.’
‘Have we checked?’ Malin asks.
‘Not yet, but that’s easily done,’ Zeke says.
‘Tell them it’s urgent police business if some doctor starts making a fuss.’
‘And we’ve had a message from Karin,’ Sven says. ‘She should have something for us later this afternoon about the holes in the glass.’
‘Good. I’m sure she’ll call when she’s done. What about the Old Norse angle?’ Malin asks.
‘Borje and Johan are working on it. They spoke to a Rickard Skoglof and his girlfriend Valkyria Karlsson while you were down in Jonkoping. They’re still following that angle.’
‘Did they get anything from those two?’
‘You never know,’ Sjoman says. ‘If you listen carefully, people may well say more than they think they are. We’re taking a closer look at them now.’
A woman doctor’s voice on the other end of the line.
‘Yes, we’ve got a Maria Murvall here. Yes, you can see her, but preferably no men, and as few people as possible. Oh, you’ll be coming in person, that sounds good.’
Then a long pause.
‘Just don’t expect Maria to say anything.’
27
The call from Karin Johannison came through when Malin had just got into her car and turned the ignition key.
‘Malin? Karin here. I think I know what caused those holes in the glass now.’
Malin sinks into the icy car seat. In just a second she feels cold air spreading through the car, and longs desperately for it to warm up.
‘Sorry, I was about to drive off. What have you found?’
‘I can safely say that they weren’t made by grit or stones, the edges are far too smooth for that. The holes have also caused some very large cracks, considering their size, so I think it’s impossible that anyone threw anything through the window.’
‘So what are you saying?’
‘They’re bullet-holes, Malin.’
Holes in glass.
A new door opening.
‘Are you sure?’
‘As sure as I can be. An extremely small-calibre weapon. There’s no soot or powder on the holes, but that’s often the case with glass. But it could also mean they were made by an air-rifle.’
Malin sits in silence, thoughts running through her head.
A small-calibre weapon. Was someone trying to shoot Bengt Andersson?
Air-rifle. Boys getting up to mischief?
Forensics didn’t find anything odd in Bengt Andersson’s flat. No bullet wounds in his body.
‘In that case they must have been rubber bullets. Could that sort of ammunition have caused any of Bengt Andersson’s injuries?’
‘No, they cause a very particular type of bleeding. I’ve seen it before.’
Engine noise.
Malin, alone in her car, on her way to see a mute, raped woman.
‘Malin, you’ve gone quiet,’ Karin’s voice comes over the phone. ‘Have you gone off the road?’
‘It’s just me thinking,’ Malin says. ‘Could you go back to Bengt Andersson’s flat and see if you can find anything new? Take Zeke with you.’
Karin sighs, then says, ‘I know what you’re looking for, Malin. You can rely on me.’
‘Will you tell Sven Sjoman?’
‘He’s had an email already.’
What is it I, we, can’t see? Malin thinks as she presses the accelerator.
This police officer, senior physician Charlotta Niima thinks, must be ten years younger than me, and the way she looks at you, through you, watchful and weary at the same time, as if she could do with a decent holiday away from all this cold. Same thing with her body: athletic, but still slow in its movements, hesitant in front of me
