differently if they hadn’t agreed to Hagman’s demands. If they had called in a negotiator. Or if they had stormed the bunker.
He gave a big sigh. It was impossible to say.
He had thought a lot about Hagman. His whole life had been colored by hatred, which had developed so strongly during his childhood. It turned out to have affected all his dealings with women. He had never managed to have any sort of long-term relationship. He lived alone and had a hard time establishing social contacts. He had quit his studies at the university and worked as a ticket collector in Stockholm’s subway system. Even his relationship with his sister was strained. They had never been good friends, in spite of the fact that the age difference between them was only a few years.
Their parents had done nothing to see to it that the sister and brother maintained any kind of contact. The mother had always favored the daughter. The father, Jan Hagman, had cared less and less about his family as time went on. He had retreated into himself. Just like the mother. Neither of them had noticed what was happening with their son-the torments he was subjected to, his loneliness, or the anxiety he felt. The result was devastating.
The children had been like two isolated islands floating through life, without support or help from anyone. Both had to deal with their own problems and their own emotions. There was no sense of unity, no family solidarity.
In some ways, Knutas could understand Jens Hagman. A person didn’t necessarily have to be mentally ill to commit murder. It was sometimes enough to be seriously abused.
The issue of poor parental contact was woven like a red thread through the entire murder investigation. It was the same with the victims. Helena Hillerstrom, Frida Lindh, and Gunilla Olsson had all had strained relationships with their parents. Knutas had a feeling that it was the same with Emma Winarve. It was one thing that both the victims and the perpetrator had in common. He wondered what the turning point was that pushed him over the edge.
Knutas got up and looked out across the sun-drenched parking lot. A ladybug was crawling along the windowsill. He let it climb onto his finger and opened the window.
It spread its wings and flew away.
