He was probably right. This man had seen a great deal and met a lot of people at different stages in their lives. Irene sensed that he possessed a good knowledge of human nature. He was putting into words what she had suspected when she met Rebecka.
“Did you and Inspector Thompson meet her in her apartment?”
“Yes. She has an amazingly beautiful home. But it seems a bit minimalist. Don’t misunderstand me: It’s as consciously minimal as the decor in home design magazines. But I got a feeling of. . loneliness. It didn’t feel like she ever had large parties or entertained a lot of people in her apartment. If you know what I mean.”
“Yes. You see Rebecka as a lonely person.”
Sjonell seemed to weigh his words before he answered. “As a pastor, I often run into human loneliness. It’s an illness in today’s society. Yes, I think she’s solitary. The only ones she seems to have faith in are the young man she works with and Dr. Fischer. She asked us to call Dr. Fischer when she finally managed to say a few words.”
“So he came to her apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Have you and Dr. Fischer had any contact regarding the practical details surrounding the funerals?”
“No. But I can call him this afternoon. I have a good friend who runs a very well-regarded funeral home in Goteborg. He can best help Rebecka with all the arrangements. Might it be better to postpone the funeral for a few more weeks? The possibility exists that Rebecka will become well enough to be able to travel home.”
“Yes, it may be best to wait a bit longer,” Irene agreed.
She didn’t think Rebecka would ever be able to come home, but decided not to say anything.
A CERTAIN calm had fallen over the unit before the approaching Easter weekend. It would probably last for a few days, then be broken by chaos on Easter Eve. Domestic disputes, drunks, assaults, rapes, murder; everything that usually went along with the celebration of a holiday would occur. If there was a murder, then the inspectors who were on duty would have to take care of it. For the first time in many years, Irene was going to be off duty the whole weekend. Four days free. It felt too good to be true. On the other hand, she had been on duty the whole Christmas weekend and would have to work over Midsummer, so being free for Easter was only fair.
“It seems appropriate to talk about ashes today on Ash Wednesday,” said Svante Malm.
He had shown up around three o’clock in the afternoon to make a report. Irene suspected that he had smelled the coffee all the way down in the lab. Either that, or it was the smell of the freshly baked Tosca cake. It was Tommy’s treat, since his birthday would fall on Easter Monday. The next day, Maundy Thursday, he was going to go with his whole family to Are for the season’s last ski-and-snowboarding trip. Irene didn’t envy him. Four hundred and eighty miles in an old Volvo with two adults, three children ages nine to fifteen, and a lively dog- incidentally, a daughter of Sammie’s-plus a lot of luggage, didn’t seem like a dream vacation. Even if the car was a station wagon, it would be a tight fit. Personally, she was looking forward to a relaxing weekend off with her family.
“There were definitely the remains of diskettes in the ashes. But we also found remains of videocassettes. Everything was burned pretty badly. There isn’t a chance of recovering what was on them.”
He leaned forward and took out a thick transparent plastic bag filled with small black clumps and black powder. To Irene it looked like regular ashes.
“This is interesting,” the technician said.
The gathered police officers tried to look sincerely interested.
“He-or she-had brought along charcoal with which to start a fire.”
The superintendent looked blank. With a show of patience, in a pedagogic tone of voice, Svante Malm continued, “It was cold and it started raining during the night of the murders. It wouldn’t have been easy to start a fire with the damp branches that were available in nature. So the murderer brought some charcoal, which is used in outdoor barbecues, in order to start a fire. We’ve also found traces of lighter fluid around the fire. Charcoal burns longer than regular wood. It becomes very hot and everything is thoroughly incinerated.
“Charcoal and lighter fluid. So the murderer had planned on burning the diskettes and the cassettes. He knew what he would find before the murders and what he would do with it,” Tommy concluded.
“But, of course, he had a little bit of bad luck. The wind probably blew this out of the fire, because it was caught in a bush a few meters away from it. We think it’s the cover from a match book. Advertising matches.”
Svante bent and fished out a smaller plastic bag. At first, Irene thought it was empty; but then she saw a small burned piece of light cardboard in one corner. After yet another deep rummage in the roomy bag, Svante stood and leaned a large piece of paper against the flip-over notebook stand behind him.
“An enlargement,” he said and stepped to the side so that they all could see.
Pu
Mosc
“Moscow. A Russian bastard who comes from Moscow,” said Jonny Blom. He laughed to show that it was a joke. Nobody paid attention to his remark.
“‘Pu.’ Could it be, for example, ‘public’ or ‘pub’?” Irene asked.
“Possibly. The edge of the paper ends right after the ‘u’ in ‘Pu’ and after the ‘c’ in ‘Mosc.’ I’m a bit uncertain as to whether there really is a small ‘e’ in front of the ‘Pu,’ but it looks most like an ‘e.’ It has a different appearance than the other letters. Old-fashioned script style.”
“Gothic,” said Hannu.
“If you say so. . ” said Svante.
He nodded to himself as if he had gotten something confirmed. Then he continued, “The text is white on a black background, except for the gothic ‘e,’ which is gold-colored.”
Something flickered at the very back of Irene’s memory, but it was too faint for her to make out what it was. Had she really seen that writing somewhere? She let it go, since she wasn’t sure.
She bought
You’re managing, little Kurt, she thought contentedly.
MAUNDY THURSDAY started beautifully. The weather service had promised fine weather for the entire weekend, but their promises were not very dependable. In Irene’s opinion, you could put more stock in Eva Moller’s crystal balls and spells, or magical formulas. Speaking of whom, Irene found herself wondering if she had been hypnotized or ingested some kind of hallucinogenic drug at that strange witch’s place. But then she hadn’t had time to eat or drink anything. Had what she thought she had seen and experienced really happened?
She thought about it when she put on her jacket to get the car and drive to work.
Running into Mrs. Bernhog at the gate felt like a confirmation of her thoughts. Little Felicia tumbled around on a thin pink silk leash.
“I’m teaching her to walk on a leash. Just a few minutes a day to get her accustomed,” Margit Bernhog confided.
The apricot-colored furball sat and sniffed at a faded crocus. Pollen in her nose made her start to sneeze. She was irresistibly cute, and Mrs. Bernhog tenderly picked her up. Irene couldn’t help but pat Felicia on her back. Then the kitten peered up at Irene’s face. Irene realized that she recognized the look.
“KJELL SJONELL, pastor, has called. You have his number,” said a note lying on top of the pile on her desk. He’s a morning person, this pastor, thought Irene. She felt completely exhausted, but she was going to have her Easter holiday soon. The long vacation loomed just ahead of her.
Morning prayers was quick and short. Annoyingly, Jonny Blom hadn’t shown up. He hadn’t called in, either. Irene was a bit worried, since she knew that he was down for duty for three days during the long weekend. There was no one else to cover for him, since both she and Tommy would be on leave.
Irene didn’t find Kjell Sjonell at his work number, but he answered on his cell phone. He asked if he could call back later, because he was on the way to deal with a pressing matter. It wasn’t a problem for Irene: She was planning on spending the day cleaning up her paperwork.
Sjonell called around eleven. “I apologize for not being able to speak with you when you called, but I had to
