‘The perp succeeded in what was apparently his goal right from the start. Judging from what we know so far, Veronika Hammar died from cyanide poisoning, just like Viktor Algard. The poison was put in a glass of Ramlosa that stood on the table. She died in a matter of minutes. Emma Winarve, who administered CPR, ingested enough of the cyanide gas to make her lose consciousness. She’s in intensive care, in a serious condition. Veronika Hammar’s body has been taken to the morgue, and I’m hoping to have a medical examiner here by this evening. We’ve been having trouble locating one. The man came into the cafe just a few minutes after Veronika Hammar. They apparently knew each other. Maybe they had agreed to meet there, or else he was following her. Unfortunately, we had called off the police surveillance. And in this instance, Veronika didn’t have much use for the security alarm we had installed at her home,’ he added sarcastically.
‘There was no real evidence other than the glass and its contents,’ Sohlman went on. ‘No fingerprints on the Ramlosa bottle or on his coffee cup. According the waitress, the man was wearing thin leather gloves, typical driving gloves with little air holes, the kind people used to wear in the sixties, if you’ll recall. The perp sat there for about ten minutes, tops, before he vanished without leaving behind so much as a strand of hair.’
‘Did the waitress talk to him?’ asked Jacobsson.
‘No, he didn’t say a word after paying for his coffee. We do have a good description of the perp, although it sounds as if he was wearing a disguise, so I’m not sure how much the statements from the witnesses can really tell us,’ he said with a sigh. ‘But there’s one thing we do know, at any rate. The killer is a man. The question is: Who is he?’
‘Just a minute,’ said Knutas.
He got up and pulled down the white screen at the front of the room. Jacobsson, who sat closest to the switch, turned off the lights. Knutas used his computer to project an image on the screen. He’d had only a few minutes to tell Wittberg about his theory. No one else knew the identity of the killer they were looking for. The silence in the room was palpable.
A face appeared on the screen. It was a passport photo of a man in his forties. He was blond with dark eyes and an open, pleasant-looking face. It was obvious that he bore a striking resemblance to Veronika Hammar. The man was clean-shaven, and his hair was cut short. He looked like rather a decent person as he mustered a vague smile for the camera. Hardly the image of a double murderer. Knutas clicked to bring up another photo of the same man.
This one had been culled from the police records, taken fifteen years earlier. An unshaven young man with a crew cut and a wild look in his eyes, staring with hostility at the camera. Two very different portraits of the same man.
‘This is the eldest brother, Mats. According to his boss, he’s been in Mallorca for the past two weeks. But that’s not true. The charter company says that Mats never showed up at the airport to check in for his flight. Instead, he’s been shuttling back and forth between Stockholm and Gotland. I think this is the man we’re after.’
The news caused a ripple to pass through the room.
‘So it’s the half-brother. The one who grew up with foster families,’ said Smittenberg with a sigh.
Everyone was staring at the photo on the screen. Knutas told them what Mikaela Hammar had said about Mats Andersson and then added more details.
‘He’s forty-one years old and lives in Sodermalm. Veronika gave birth to him at Visby Hospital in 1966. She was only fifteen at the time. Nobody knows who the father is. The birth records list the father as “unknown”. Mats is a bachelor with no children. He works at a silver-plating company in the industrial district of Lanne in Haninge.’
‘A silver-plating company? What the hell is that?’ asked Wittberg.
‘They apply the finished surface to metal. And according to the CEO, there’s a specific substance that’s needed for the manufacturing process. Potassium cyanide.’
Knutas paused for effect as his colleagues digested this piece of information.
‘The man has quite a troubled past. He grew up with a whole series of foster families, and has been convicted of assault on numerous occasions. He has also been arrested for receiving stolen goods and for petty theft. But he’s had a clean record for the past ten years. Seems he’s been behaving himself.’
Sohlman looked at his watch.
‘It’s seven fifteen. The murder was committed around three thirty. So where is Mats now?’
‘He hasn’t left Visby, at least not using his own name,’ said Knutas. ‘The boat for Nynashamn left Visby at four forty-five, and he could have easily made it on board. It arrives in Nynas at eight o’clock, and we’ve asked to have all the passengers remain on board until the police search the whole ship. It’s going to cause a big ruckus, but that can’t be helped.’
Memories of the previous year’s hunt for a murderer flickered through Knutas’s mind. On that occasion the police had also been forced to delay a Gotland ferryboat, but their search had proved fruitless, even though the killer was actually on board. Knutas cast a surreptitious glance at Karin. A searing pain passed through his body as he remembered what a dilemma he was in. Was he really going to keep her secret?
Then he went on. ‘Our colleagues in Stockholm have been to his flat, but he wasn’t there. They’re also going to see if he might be visiting his brother Simon, since Mats has the most contact with him. And they live just a stone’s throw from each other, on either side of Slussen.
‘The question is: Where has he been staying when he comes to Gotland?’ said Knutas. ‘I’ve asked all the hotels, B and Bs, hostels, cabin rental agencies and campground owners to look through their records. Unfortunately, it’s going to take time before we hear back from all of them.’
‘He has a brother here on Gotland,’ said Jacobsson. ‘Who’s to say he’s not staying with Andreas?’
JOHAN’S MOBILE RANG as he and Pia were on their way to the cafe where Veronika Hammar was murdered. As soon as Johan took the call, Pia could tell that something was seriously wrong.
The doctor told him that Emma was in intensive care. She had been found at the very cafe they were on their way to visit. But she was just running some errands, Johan thought in bewilderment.
At that moment they had entered the roundabout at Norrgatt; Pia was driving towards the northern gate in the ring wall.
‘Go to the hospital!’ he shouted, still holding the mobile to his ear. ‘We have to go to the hospital!’
Pia quickly turned the steering wheel the other way, casting a startled look at her colleague.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Emma’s in intensive care. She was at the cafe when Veronika Hammar was killed, and she tried to save her. Now she’s in a serious condition herself.’ He pounded his fist on the side of the passenger door. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’
Pia brought the car to such an abrupt stop at the hospital entrance that the tyres shrieked against the asphalt. As Johan jumped out of the car, she yelled after him: ‘It’ll be OK. She’ll be fine!’
She could hear how hollow her words sounded.
WHEN THE MEETING of the investigative team was over, Knutas sat down at his desk and punched in the phone number for Simon Hammar in Stockholm. No one answered. The phone rang and rang, echoing in his ear. He sighed and went out to the corridor to get himself a cup of coffee from the vending machine. The whole station was buzzing with activity, and a nationwide alert had been issued for Mats Andersson. Knutas speculated what his motive could be. Was he so eager to kill his mother because she’d abandoned him when he was a newborn? If so, why had he decided to do it now, at the age of forty-one?
Thoughts of Karin and her baby flitted through his mind. It was impossible to ignore the similarities. At the same time, there were distinct differences. Mats had tried several times to contact his biological mother, to no avail. Karin had never heard from her daughter. And Mats had not been put up for adoption. Instead, he’d been sent to live with various foster families. And what role did his newfound half-brothers and -sister play in the drama? Again he tried to phone Simon at his temporary address in Gamla Stan. He was just about to give up when someone picked up. But the voice wasn’t Simon’s.
‘Hello?’
‘This is Detective Superintendent Anders Knutas. I’m looking for Simon Hammar.’
‘Anders Knutas? What in God’s name is going on?’
There was no mistaking that deep, morose voice. Knutas had worked on several cases with Inspector Kurt Fogestam of the Stockholm police.
‘Kurt? I might ask you the same question. Why are you answering this phone? It’s urgent that I speak with Simon Hammar.’
