watch Filip play in a match. The boy had scored his first goal and they’d celebrated afterwards with hamburgers for dinner.
Then he went to look in on Elin. Her room was next to the bedroom he shared with Emma. All of her stuffed animals were lined up in her bed, barely leaving any room for the little girl. There she lay, squeezed in between the dolls, rabbits, teddy bears and shaggy dogs, a monkey with long arms and a cuddly elephant. All of them had names, and whenever Johan or Emma kissed their daughter goodnight, they also had to kiss all the animals, one after the other, and in the proper order. He smiled and kissed Elin on the forehead, prompting a little sigh. She turned on to her side and hugged one of the rabbits even closer.
AFTER COMPLETING THE interviews with Sofia and Fredrik Algard, Knutas felt utterly confused. Never had he met two children from the same family who had such vastly different attitudes towards their father. While Fredrik’s feelings bordered on hatred, his sister Sofia had praised her father to the skies. She said that he’d been her best friend, always available and ready to help. She was devastated by her father’s death, completely undone, and she burst into tears several times during the interview. According to her, Viktor had been the best father in the world.
Knutas yawned, rubbing his tired eyes, and went to get a cup of coffee. He also bought a dry sandwich from the vending machine. He hadn’t made it home for dinner today either. He was lucky that Lina was so understanding. After all these years she had become used to his erratic schedule, and she almost never complained. Besides, as a midwife, she often had to work late herself. Things were easier now that the kids were older. Knutas suddenly pictured his son’s face. He would just gather up a few documents and then head for home before Nils went to bed.
He thought about Elisabeth Algard. Apparently there had been another woman in Viktor’s life. Who was she? It was absolutely essential that they find her. He wondered why she hadn’t come forward, especially now that the victim’s identity had been revealed on TV. On the other hand, that had happened only a few hours ago. Did she even know about the murder?
Knutas had talked to the technicians who had examined Viktor’s phones and computers. There were no text messages or emails with any woman who might be the person they were looking for. And of the friends and colleagues that the police had interviewed so far, not one had any idea who the event planner’s new love interest could have been. The only clues they had were the items that had been left behind in the flat in town.
The box was sitting on Knutas’s desk. It contained an ordinary bra, a pair of white cotton knickers, a cotton shirt, size medium, and a pair of linen trousers. A small bag held make-up and toiletries. The police had also found a handwritten note among a stack of old newspapers: ‘Thanks for yesterday. Love you. Your sweetie-pie.’ With a drawing of a flower at the bottom.
Knutas tapped the note.
According to his wife, Viktor Algard had planned to stay in town after the party at the conference centre, which seemed perfectly natural. No one had questioned his decision. That was what he usually did whenever he had to work late.
What puzzled Knutas was the fact that Algard and his mistress never seemed to have phoned each other or corresponded by email.
The police had talked to the other tenants in the building. No one had ever seen Viktor enter or leave his flat with a woman. Either the relationship was very new, or the couple must have met somewhere else. Which meant that the investigative team would have to contact all the hotels and bed-and-breakfast establishments that were open during the wintertime. Knutas wrote himself a reminder to do this.
He went back to studying the note, turning it first one way and then the other. Why hadn’t the woman come forward? He felt restless with frustration. The techs had lifted fingerprints from the flat, but found only three different sets. One belonged to Algard, the second to the building custodian who had recently repaired the window. The third set of fingerprints most likely belonged to the unknown woman.
How had they managed to keep their relationship so secret? On Gotland Knutas could hardly step outside his front door without running into someone he knew.
Maybe she lived on the mainland. Viktor Algard was a very fit fifty-three-year-old who was extremely fastidious about his appearance. Men in that time of their life – and Knutas was actually the same age – often sought out younger women. Maybe because they were afraid of growing old, or simply because they were feeling randy. A man like Viktor would certainly have had no problem attracting women. He had money and status, and plenty of women would have enjoyed basking in the spotlight that focused on him.
Knutas puffed on his pipe. They had met somewhere. The question was: Where? And how did they keep in touch?
Then, seemingly out of nowhere, an idea popped into his head. Could it be that simple?
Suddenly he was in a big hurry.
ALGARD’S PIED-A-TERRE WAS located on Hastgatan in the centre of down-town Visby, in a whitewashed two-storey building that housed four flats. The building was surrounded by a high wooden fence that prevented passersby from looking in. To Knutas’s surprise the gate in the fence was unlocked, so he was able to simply step inside. The courtyard was exceptionally beautiful with resplendent flowerbeds, lilac bushes and a bubbling fountain in the middle. On the other side of the courtyard was an artist’s studio. Knutas walked across to the studio but found it closed and shuttered. On the door hung a hand-painted sign showing a flock of sheep grazing in a pasture. Also on the sign was a name painted in ornate letters. It said ‘Veronika Hammar’.
Knutas read the name several times as his heart began pounding faster. He took a few steps back to look at the studio’s facade. Veronika Hammar was a well-known artist on Gotland. Her speciality was painting sheep in every possible and improbable guise and setting. Her paintings were not highly regarded by the local citizens, but they were certainly popular among tourists.
He had seen her in photographs from the dedication of the conference centre. Veronika Hammar had been one of the guests. And her studio shared the courtyard with Viktor Algard’s pied-a-terre. Could that be the explanation for the absence of emails and phone calls? Because they were unnecessary, given the close proximity of Viktor and Veronika? Wouldn’t the neighbours have noticed? Maybe not if they were sufficiently discreet. Knutas pictured Veronika Hammar’s face. An attractive woman, about fifty, he would guess.
Knutas turned on his heel and quickly made his way back to the police station.
VERONIKA HAMMAR LOOKED NERVOUS as she sat on the very edge of the chair in the small interview room. As if she might take off at any moment. Calm down, thought Knutas. Just stay calm. This is going to take a while.
It was almost midnight, but the fatigue he had felt earlier was completely gone. Jacobsson took the lead in the interview.
Knutas studied Algard’s lover sitting on the other side of the table. She looked younger than her fifty-six years, but he suspected that she’d had some work done to hide her age. The smooth, taut skin on her face hinted at Botox treatments. Her breasts seemed unnaturally full and positioned too high for a woman her age.
She was a striking woman, her blond hair pinned up under a colourful scarf wrapped around her head. She was petite and slender, clad in dark trousers and a dove-grey polo-neck sweater. Her lips were painted bright red, and the mascara and eyeliner had been applied with a heavy hand.
As Jacobsson made the usual introductory statements for the tape recording of the interview, she leaned back in her chair and gave Veronika Hammar a friendly look. She wanted the older woman to relax. Her voice was gentle when she asked the first questions.
‘Do you understand why you’re here?’
‘Yes,’ Veronika replied. ‘I suppose it’s because Viktor is dead.’
‘What was your relationship with him?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘How did you know him?’
Veronika’s gaze shifted.
‘Viktor and I got to know each other a couple of months ago.’
‘Surely you must have met before then. You’re a well-known artist, after all, and he was Gotland’s most important event planner. You were also about the same age, weren’t you?’
‘Well, yes. And of course we’d met before. We knew of each other’s existence, but that was about all. I’ve been invited to a lot of events, but…’
