“No, I had no idea,” murmured Johan.
So that’s the reason, he thought. Here was the explanation for why Bergdal had been arrested.
“It’s so horrible… so unreal.” She hid her face in her hands.
He reached his hand across the table and patted her clumsily on the arm. Emma’s shoulders were shaking. Her sobs came in big, ragged gasps. Cautiously Johan sat down next to her on the sofa and handed her a paper napkin. She blew her nose loudly and leaned her head on his shoulder. Johan put his arms around her to offer some comfort.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she whimpered. “I just want to get away from here.”
After she had calmed down, he walked her out to her car, which she had parked on a side street. He walked a few paces behind her, with his eyes fixed on her slumped shoulders. When they reached her car, they stood there a moment as she rummaged through her purse to find the car keys. Just as she said, “See you,” and bent down to unlock the car door, he took her arm. Very lightly. As if it were a question. She turned around and looked at him. He stroked her cheek, and then she leaned forward. Ever so slightly, just enough that he dared kiss her. A cautious kiss that lasted only a second before she pushed him away.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice.
“That’s okay. No need to apologize.”
She climbed into the car and turned the key in the ignition. Bewildered, Johan stood in the rain, staring at her through the car window. Then she swung the car out into the street and drove off. His lips were still burning from the kiss, and he was staring foolishly down the street.
Slurp, shluuump. Rubber boots, sizes 2? and 3? sloshed through the muddy field. Matilda and Johanna loved the sound when the mud tried to hold on to their boots and pull them off. Here and there the sheep had created mini lakes that they were stomping and splashing around in. The rain was pouring down, and the rosy faces of the girls were lit up with delight. They pressed their feet firmly down in the muck and then pulled them back up. Swuuup, swuuump. From a distance two little figures in rain gear could be seen out in the field. As they were playing, the girls had wandered quite a way from home. They weren’t actually allowed to go this far, but their mother hadn’t noticed. She was sitting and nursing their baby brother, immersed in a discussion about infidelity on Oprah.
“Look at this,” shouted Matilda, who was older and the more adventurous of the two.
She had caught sight of something under a bush at the edge of the field and was using all her strength to lift up the object. It was an axe. She held it out toward her sister.
“What’s that?” asked Johanna, her eyes wide.
“An axe, dummy,” said Matilda. “Let’s show it to Mamma.”
Since the axe was stained with what looked like blood and the girls had found it near the murder scene, their mother immediately called the police.
Knutas was one of the first to hear about the find. He jogged through the corridors of the police station and down the stairs to the tech department. Today all sorts of things were happening. The preliminary autopsy report had arrived in the morning, and it showed, as they thought, that Helena Hillerstrom had died from an axe blow to the head, but she had not been raped. On the other hand, she did have skin scrapings belonging to Bergdal under her fingernails, which was not particularly surprising, since they already knew about the fight. He had also spoken to SCL and learned that the panties had no trace of semen.
When Knutas came huffing and puffing through the glass door, Erik Sohlman had just received the axe in a paper bag.
“Hi, there,” he greeted Knutas.
“Did it just get here?” Knutas leaned over the bag.
“Yup,” said Sohlman as he pulled on a pair of thin latex gloves. “Let’s have a look.”
He switched on a couple more fluorescent lights that hung over the white examination table and carefully opened the bag, which had been sealed with a label that said: “Found 2001-06-06 at approx. 3:30 P.M. in a field at Lindarve Farm, Frojel. The find was made by Matilda and Johanna Laurell of Lindarve Farm, Frojel. Tel: 0498-515- 776.”
Sohlman began photographing the axe. Cautiously he turned it this way and that so he could capture it from various angles. When he was done, he straddled a stool next to the examination table.
“Now let’s see if we can find anything interesting,” he said, pushing his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. “See this on the blade?”
Anders Knutas studied the heavy blade of the axe. He could clearly see dark spots on it. “Is that blood?”
“It looks like it. We’ll send it to SCL for DNA analysis. The worst part is that they always take so damn long. It may be several weeks before we get an answer,” muttered Sohlman.
He took out a magnifying glass and turned his attention to studying the handle of the axe. “We’re in luck. Since the handle is both painted and varnished, there’s a greater chance that there will be fingerprints.”
After a moment he gave a whistle. “Look at this.”
Knutas almost stumbled as he stood up from his chair. “What is it?”
“Here, on the handle. Do you see it?”
Knutas took the magnifying glass that Sohlman handed to him. The print of a finger appeared on the handle. He turned the magnifying glass, and suddenly he could see several fingerprints.
“They seem to be from at least two different people,” said Sohlman. “Can you see that they’re two different sizes? One small and one big. That means we’re going to need prints from the two little girls who found the axe, so we can make comparisons. It must have been protected in some way. Otherwise the rain would have destroyed the prints.”
“Do you think this could be the murder weapon?”
“Absolutely. The size and type correspond to the wounds.”
Sohlman pulled out a box of soot powder, which he brushed onto the axe handle. He took out two tubes, mixing their contents into a plastic paste, which he spread on the handle, using a little plastic spatula.
“Now we have to let it harden. It’ll take ten minutes.”
“Okay,” said Knutas, controlling his eagerness. “In the meantime I’ll go get Bergdal’s prints.”
They had their answer forty-five minutes later. The fingerprint on the handle of the axe turned out to belong to Per Bergdal.
So that’s how it’s going to be after all, Knutas observed, disappointed. Bergdal had apparently murdered his girlfriend on the beach. They couldn’t be entirely sure until the results from the DNA analysis of the blood came in, but if the blood on the axe was Helena’s, there could be no doubt. The boyfriend was the perpetrator. Maybe I’m getting old, he thought. My judgment is starting to slip.
He gathered the other members of the investigative team in his office to report on the results.
“Goddamn, that’s great,” said Norrby.
“This calls for a celebration,” exclaimed Sohlman. “Let’s go out on the town for a mandatory beer. I’ll buy the first round.”
Everyone got up, chattering happily.
Anders Knutas immediately notified the county police commissioner as well as prosecuting attorney Smittenberg. He called Karin Jacobsson and Thomas Wittberg in Stockholm and told them that they could come back home. Per Bergdal would be charged that very evening. The court proceedings for the issuance of an indictment would take place over the weekend.
The news was reported to the newspapers, radio, and TV, and the case was regarded as closed. Gotland could breathe a sigh of relief.
MONDAY, JUNE 11
Johan’s week would turn out to be tougher than he thought. As soon as he set foot in the newsroom on Monday morning, he was summoned to Grenfors’s office.
“Great job you did on Gotland.”
“Thanks,” said Johan, slightly on guard. He always had a feeling that the editors wanted something special
