“Did you come alone?”
“Yes.”
“Tell us about the evening.”
“At first it was very pleasant. We had dinner and drank a lot of good wine. It had been a year since the whole gang had seen each other. After dinner we started dancing. No one had to go to work the next day, so I think everybody was really planning to party.”
“How did the fight start between you and Per Bergdal?”
Kristian laughed nervously and stroked his short, neatly trimmed beard, which actually wasn’t much more than a stubble. “Yes, well, that was really stupid. I don’t know what got into him. He acted like some kind of damned Neanderthal. It started with me dancing with Helena, the way I usually do. Suddenly Per came rushing over like some sort of tornado and yanked her away from me. I hardly had time to react. Then I saw them going out through the balcony doors. Out onto the veranda in back, I mean. I didn’t pay much attention. I started dancing with Beata instead. After a while Helena came racing back inside. She was sobbing and ran into the bathroom. And she didn’t come out. I didn’t see her again that evening.”
You never saw her again at all, thought Knutas, but he didn’t say anything except “Then what happened?”
“I went out to talk to Per, but no sooner did I walk through the door than I got punched right in the face. Fucking idiot,” he muttered half to himself, shaking his head.
“Didn’t you strike back?”
“I’m sure I would have if the others hadn’t come out and separated us. After that the party was over, of course. He certainly succeeded in wrecking the whole thing.”
“Where did you go afterward?”
“I shared a cab with Beata and John. They live in Visby, and I live in Brissund.”
“So they got out of the cab and you continued on home by yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Do you live alone?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
His reaction to the question surprised them. Kristian Nordstrom turned bright red in the face.
“What the hell business is that of yours?”
“Everything is our business,” replied Knutas calmly. “At least for as long as this murder investigation is going on. Answer the question.”
“I don’t have an answer.”
“Are you gay?”
The color of Nordstrom’s face got even redder, if that was possible. “No.”
“Come on,” coaxed Knutas. “You’re a good-looking guy. I’m sure you’re aware of that yourself. You seem to have a good job, you’re single, and you’re in your prime. Have you ever had any long-term relationships?”
“What the hell is this? What’s the point of all these questions? Are you psychologists?”
“No, we’re police officers. And we want to know the answer.”
“I’ve never been married or engaged, and I’ve never lived with anyone, either. My job requires me to travel two hundred and fifty days a year. So maybe it’s not inconceivable that this has something to do with the matter,” said Nordstrom sarcastically. “If you want to know whether I’m sexually active, the answer is yes. You can have sex in lots of different ways, and I don’t need anything else in my life right now.”
He started to get up from his chair. “Is that enough, or is there something else you want to know? How about which positions I like best?”
Both Norrby and Knutas were surprised at his vehement reaction.
“Take it easy. And sit down,” Knutas urged him.
Nordstrom sat down again and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. This guy’s the sensitive type, thought Knutas. He would have to proceed more cautiously.
“How was your relationship with Helena Hillerstrom?”
“Good. We were good friends. We’ve known each other since middle school.”
“Was there ever anything between you besides just friendship?”
“No. There never was.”
“Did you have other feelings for her, feelings that went beyond mere friendship?”
“Obviously I thought she was pretty. Everyone did. Well, you’ve seen her yourself.”
“Nothing ever happened between the two of you?”
“No.”
“Why not, do you think?”
“No clue. It just never happened.”
“According to Per Bergdal, you and Helena had something going, as he put it. For a while a long time ago.”
“Bullshit.”
“Where do you think he got that idea?”
“No clue. He’s so damn jealous. He imagines all sorts of things.”
They didn’t get much more out of Kristian Nordstrom during that first interview. He was allowed to go home, with the promise to inform them if he had plans to leave the island.
Afterward the two officers had a cup of coffee together to sum up their impressions.
“We need to keep an eye on this guy,” said Knutas.
“Yes, he seems like he’s walking on pins and needles. An incredibly hotheaded person,” agreed Norrby, looking thoughtful. “We should ask more of the people in their circle of friends to corroborate what he said.”
Knutas concurred. “I’m going to have someone check up on him right away.”
FRIDAY, JUNE 8
In a classroom at the small Kyrck School in Roma, Emma Winarve was getting ready for the final day of school. Outside the window, Roma’s wooden church tower loomed against the gray sky. The apple trees were in bloom, and next to the schoolyard Mr. Matton’s sheep were hungrily grazing on the early summer grass.
The classroom, which was decorated with birch leaves and lilacs, would soon be filled with sixteen expectant eight-year-olds who had a long summer vacation ahead of them.
She had been gone several days and wanted to be alone for a moment before her pupils came rushing in.
Three unreal days had passed since Helena was murdered. She couldn’t comprehend that it had really happened. She had cried and talked, and talked and cried, and talked some more. With Olle, with the friends that she and Helena had in common, with everyone who had been at the party, with Helena’s parents and neighbors, and with her colleagues here at school. Per Bergdal was in custody in Visby and was not permitted to speak to anyone.
Emma had been in contact with the police and with the prosecuting attorney. She had begged and pleaded to be allowed to talk to Per, with no results. They refused to budge. He was forbidden to have any sort of contact with the outside world, for reasons associated with the investigation.
Emma was convinced that he was innocent. She wondered what his life would be like after this was all over, vilified by the media as he was. Everyone would have some doubts about him, at least until they found the real murderer. And who could that be? She shuddered at the thought. Was it someone Helena had met by chance? Or someone she knew? Someone she hadn’t told Emma about?
Of course, she and Helena knew each other well, and of course, they always told each other everything. At least she thought they did. Or did Helena have secrets that she hadn’t shared with Emma? These were the kinds of