When Johan carefully read through all the articles about the murder, he happened to notice a brief story in
Pia turned up at nine o’clock sharp, as agreed, and then they headed south.
‘I think we should start with Birgitta Osterman. She’s the one who usually takes care of the Algards’ dogs.’
‘Do you think she’ll talk to us?’
‘I’ve already phoned her,’ said Pia with a grin.
‘Of course you have. I should have guessed.’
The farm they were headed for was located a short distance before the road ended at the Algard farm and on the opposite side. The farmhouse was an impressive limestone building with barns forming separate wings on either side and a horse pasture where a colt was restlessly trotting back and forth. The front door opened even before they could get out of the car. Birgitta Osterman was a stout woman in her sixties. She gave them a friendly smile when they introduced themselves and then invited them in, but they politely declined the obligatory offer of coffee. Instead, they all sat down outside in the comfortable patio chairs. The yard was warm with sunshine and there was no wind.
‘What do you think about the news of the murder?’
‘Well, I was certainly shocked.’ Birgitta Osterman shook her head. ‘Even though it happened up north in Visby, it still feels so close, since he was a neighbour and all.’
‘What was Viktor like?’
‘To be honest, I really couldn’t stand the man. There was something fishy about him. I could never figure him out. He was perfectly nice as a neighbour, but he always seemed wound up somehow, as if he could never relax. I always had the feeling he was hiding something, but I don’t know why. That’s just how he seemed. He was that way from the very beginning.’ She paused to look towards the Algard farm. ‘And it turned out that he wasn’t the reliable sort after all, since he suddenly wanted a divorce. Elisabeth told me about it just last week.’
Johan gave a start. This was something new, but he didn’t let on that he hadn’t known about it.
‘Do you know why he wanted a divorce?’
‘She had no idea. Nobody did. Everyone thought he must be having a mid-life crisis. But I knew that he’d found someone else.’
‘Really? What makes you think that?’
‘It’s not something I “think”. I know it for a fact.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because I saw them. Not here – oh no. It was in Stockholm. I went there one weekend to visit a friend who lives in Vasastan. It’s something I do a few times a year. We were on our way to a restaurant, but stopped for a glass of wine at a pub first. And who do you think I saw? Viktor. With another woman! I just about had a heart attack, and I had no idea what I was going to say to him. But they were sitting at the very back of the pub, and they were so wrapped up in one another that they didn’t have eyes for anybody else. They had their heads close and were practically cooing to each other. There was no question what was going on. They left soon after, and he didn’t see me. If he had, he probably would have fainted.’
‘What did she look like?’ asked Johan, trying hard not to sound too eager.
‘She was petite, with blond hair to her shoulders, in a pageboy style. Thin and expensively dressed. I never saw her face.’
‘How old?’
‘I’d guess about forty-five, maybe fifty.’
‘Have you told this to the police?’
‘No, I wasn’t home yesterday when they came around to talk to the neighbours. They left a note asking me to contact them, but I just haven’t had time yet. I’ve been out feeding the livestock this morning.’
‘When did you see Viktor in Stockholm?’
‘It was exactly one month ago.’
‘Did his wife know about this other woman?’
‘I have no idea. But she didn’t mention it to me. On the other hand, it’s not really something that you go around talking about, and we’re not exactly close friends. More like acquaintances. And I didn’t want to say anything. I’m not the sort who goes running about spreading gossip.’
THE FIRST THING that struck Knutas when he met Viktor Algard’s children at the police station was how astonishingly different they looked.
Fredrik was relatively short and robust, with an olive complexion, and he had his hair combed back, just like his father. He wore a white cotton shirt with a green-checked pullover, a preppy look that reminded Knutas of an American college boy.
His sister, Sofia, was tall and fair. She was dressed in an oversize lilac shirt, black tights and patterned canvas shoes. She also wore enormous silver earrings and a checked Palestinian scarf.
Silent and tense, they sat next to each other on a bench in the corridor outside the interview room.
Jacobsson and Knutas chose to start with the son.
The minute they all sat down, Fredrik asked for a glass of water. Knutas switched on the tape recorder.
‘I’d like to begin by expressing our condolences. As you no doubt realize, we need to ask you a number of questions.’
‘Of course.’
The young man looked at him attentively. Knutas was again struck by how much he resembled Viktor.
‘When was the last time you saw your father?’
‘On his birthday, a couple of months ago. He was born on the twenty-eighth of February.’
‘What sort of impression did he make on you at the time?’
‘He was the same as always. We were at the house in Hamra. It turned out to be quite a bash, with about fifty guests. Pappa loved to celebrate on a grand scale.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, he was a real party-person, even outside of his job. That was probably why he enjoyed his work so much. Pappa loved parties, and he was always ready to organize one at the drop of a hat.’
Knutas discerned a trace of scorn in the young man’s voice. Jacobsson came back with a glass of water and then sat down on a chair at the other end of the room. Her presence was needed as a witness to the interview.
‘And what did you think about that?’
‘It didn’t bother me. I didn’t care.’
‘What sort of relationship did you have with your father?’
‘We didn’t really have one. He was always working when we were growing up, and he was almost never home. So we didn’t really know each other very well. I’m much closer to my mother, as you can imagine.’
‘How did you react when you heard that your parents were getting a divorce?’
‘I thought it was about time.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘They were miles apart, in almost every way. They had completely different interests and never enjoyed doing the same things. Even politically they were mismatched – well, actually I don’t think Pappa even had any political opinions of his own. He was simply ignorant. Mamma devours books, while Pappa never read anything except the evening paper and glossy magazines about celebrities. They had different views about nearly everything. They didn’t even like the same kind of food. Mamma is a vegetarian, while Pappa loved rare steaks. Mamma got involved with the Red Cross and other charitable projects, while Pappa didn’t give a damn about the problems of the world. I remember once when he yelled at my mother because she’d decided to sponsor a child in Guatemala.
‘Mamma cares about her family far more deeply than he ever did. She often comes to Stockholm to visit us, but he never came with her. She has her friends and colleagues, and they like to travel together and go to the theatre. Mamma reads a lot and keeps up on social matters. If we ever wanted to discuss a current issue in world politics or some hot topic in general, Pappa never had anything sensible to say.’
Crimson patches had appeared on Fredrik Algard’s throat. He took several sips of water.
