Egon Wallin going? Obviously into town, but then where?’
‘He must have arranged to meet somebody. Either at one of the restaurants that are open late on Saturday night, or at a hotel. I can’t imagine any other possibilities.’
‘Unless he was going to someone’s house,’ said Knutas. ‘He could have been on his way to a secret rendezvous with someone who lives here.’
‘That’s also possible, of course.’
Knutas sighed. ‘In any case, it’s good that you found the murder site. Where’s the witness?’
‘Being interviewed,’ said Sohlman. ‘In the meantime, we’ll keep working here.’
‘OK. I’m going to call in everyone who can make it to a meeting this afternoon. I hope you can do your work here discreetly so that we won’t have the press on our backs.’
‘That’s going to be difficult,’ said Sohlman. ‘We need to keep a large area blocked off for most of the day. I’m hoping to map out the precise route that he took.’
‘I have a feeling that the killer was very familiar with the area,’ Knutas mused. ‘What if we’re actually looking for a Gotlander?’
Back at police headquarters, he rang Lina and explained that he was going to be busy most of the day.
Even though he’d been looking forward to having some time off, he was relieved that something was finally happening. Whenever an investigation came to a standstill for a number of days, he would start getting worried. He’d become more impatient over the years.
It didn’t take long before Sohlman rang. He was also back at headquarters to do a technical examination of Egon Wallin’s wallet.
‘Can you come down here?’ he asked Knutas.
‘Of course.’
Knutas hurried downstairs to the tech division, which was located in the basement of the building.
Sohlman had spread out the contents of the wallet on a table with strong lights overhead. ‘Everything seems to be here: credit cards, cash, business cards. The wallet had fallen into a ditch and was completely covered with snow. It’s not so strange that nobody found it until today.’
‘How much did the witness handle it, do you think?’
‘It was an elderly man out walking his dog. The dog sniffed it out of the snow. The witness saw Egon Wallin’s name and photo on the driver’s licence, so he had the good sense to drop the wallet on the ground and ring the police. He was also wearing gloves, and he kept them on, because he knew it was important not to leave his own prints. We can thank all the television crime shows for that. Unfortunately there are no fingerprints on the wallet because it was lying around outside so long.’
‘So what have you found?’
‘Well, there’s one thing that puzzles me.’
With tweezers Sohlman picked up a scrap of paper from the table. A yellow Post-it note with four numbers scribbled on it.
‘A code, apparently,’ said Knutas. ‘Could it be the PIN number for his bank card?’
‘It seems a little stupid to keep it in plain view in his wallet along with the card,’ said Sohlman. ‘Of course I know that people do dumb things like that all the time, but I don’t think it fits with Wallin’s personality.’
‘You’re right,’ Knutas agreed. ‘It must mean something else. Is there a coded keypad on the door of the gallery? In case someone forgets their key and it’s locked?’
Sohlman gave him a dubious look.
‘Wallin has run that art gallery for twenty-five years. He went there every day. Even if they’d recently changed the code, he would have had it memorized.’
‘We need to check out all possible options,’ said Knutas. ‘I’ll put Kihlgard on it. That’ll give him something to think about besides food.’
36
Erik Mattson slowly regained consciousness. As if from far away, he could hear a shower running and other sounds that he didn’t recognize. The roar of the traffic outside sounded different. It was louder than outside his own windows on Karlavagen. The air in the room was stale and stuffy, and the bed he was lying on was much softer and lumpier than the exclusive Dux mattress he was used to. His body felt bruised, and his groin ached. His head was pounding.
He opened his eyes and saw at once that he was in a hotel room. The events of the previous night came back to him, but before he had time to think any further, a big man appeared in the doorway to the bathroom. He dried off his shaved head as he stared at Erik lying on the bed. He was completely naked and without embarrassment dried off his penis, now hanging limply. The muscles bulged on his athletic body. His skin was exceptionally white, and he had almost no hair, not even around his dick. On one arm was a small tattoo shaped like a turtle. It looked ridiculous.
They had met at one of the city’s more decadent gay clubs, which Erik often frequented on Fridays. All it took was half a drink and a few long looks for the burly man to make his move. He was in a hurry; they had only had a few drinks before he wanted to leave. When Erik explained that he charged a fee, the other man had looked surprised and then left. But it wasn’t long before he was back, asking the price. Apparently the fee was acceptable, because they had left the club together and taken a cab to his hotel. He’d been rough and determined, almost to the point of violence. A few times Erik had felt scared, but the big man never crossed the line. Though he did come close. When he took a break and went out to use the toilet, Erik had quickly downed two of the little yellow pills, to deaden the pain and be able to last the night. His customer showed no sign of being finished; he seemed insatiable.
Erik felt that this episode had been tougher than usual. Sometimes he enjoyed himself, both sexually and mentally. It was as if he was escaping, as if he took pleasure in the destructive aspect of the whole thing. His life was headed downhill, and there was no other path to take. He might as well just let things happen. The pain sometimes even made him feel more content the next day. And the element of excitement was an added spice that couldn’t be underestimated. Whenever he entered a club, he knew that within a few hours he’d be involved in an extremely intimate scene with another human being. But he had no idea who in that club it would be. Of course there were pleasures in this double life of his, and it also kept him going financially. At the same time it was exhausting, both mentally and physically. Occasionally he would be struck by panic attacks, despair, and an overwhelming sense of emptiness. He quelled those feelings by popping pills and drinking excessively. A momentary escape, of course, but he didn’t see any future for himself. There was no other life for him. He was like a goldfish in a bowl of water, with no chance of ever getting out.
The man smiled at Erik, bringing him back to the present moment. With a triumphant gesture, he tossed aside the bath towel. One look at his swelling cock made Erik realize that he was still not satisfied.
37
All of the officers from the NCP had gone back to Stockholm for the weekend, except for Martin Kihlgard. Sometimes Knutas wondered whether Kihlgard had a life outside of his police work. At any rate, he knew very little about his colleague. Kihlgard never talked about his family, and he didn’t wear a wedding ring, so Knutas assumed he wasn’t married. But he had no idea what his colleague did in his free time, except eat, of course. Even today, when Knutas dropped by the office temporarily assigned to Kihlgard, he found him munching on a baguette with salami and brie. ‘How are things going?’
‘Great. I’ve checked up on that mysterious code. I started by asking myself a very simple question.’
As usual, Kihlgard was talking with food in his mouth. Knutas waited for him to finish chewing.
‘You see, I wondered how the killer happened to know that Wallin was going to leave the house again.’
