‘She was, or rather is, the sister of the Murvall brothers,’ Sjoman goes on. ‘A gang of nutters out on the plain who were always causing trouble. Even if that was a long time ago now.’
‘The Murvalls! I knew it,’ Zeke says.
‘Must have been before my time,’ Malin says.
‘Tough bastards,’ Zeke says. ‘Really nasty.’
‘Evidently they found clothes in the forest with traces of DNA on them, but not enough to put together a profile.’
‘And on her body?’
‘It was raining that night,’ Sjoman says. ‘Everything got washed away, and evidently she was raped with a rough branch. She was scratched to hell, badly cut internally, it says here. They never worked out if she was penetrated any other way as well. There was no means of confirming it.’
Malin can almost feel the pain.
She raises her palms towards Sven. Thinks, That’s enough.
Maria Murvall. The angel of the lonely. What a lovers’ tryst you ended up having.
Malin can hear the words inside her. Wants to beat herself up, not be cynical now. Fors, don’t be cynical, never be cynical . . . Maybe I am already? Cynical?
‘She was never the same again,’ Sjoman continues. ‘According to the last notes, before the files were archived, she ended up in some sort of psychotic state. Apparently she’s in the secure unit at Vadstena Hospital. That’s the address given here, anyway.’
‘Have we checked?’ Malin asks.
‘Not yet, but that’s easily done,’ Zeke says.
‘Tell them it’s urgent police business if some doctor starts making a fuss.’
‘And we’ve had a message from Karin,’ Sven says. ‘She should have something for us later this afternoon about the holes in the glass.’
‘Good. I’m sure she’ll call when she’s done. What about the Old Norse angle?’ Malin asks.
‘Borje and Johan are working on it. They spoke to a Rickard Skoglof and his girlfriend Valkyria Karlsson while you were down in Jonkoping. They’re still following that angle.’
‘Did they get anything from those two?’
‘You never know,’ Sjoman says. ‘If you listen carefully, people may well say more than they think they are. We’re taking a closer look at them now.’
A woman doctor’s voice on the other end of the line.
‘Yes, we’ve got a Maria Murvall here. Yes, you can see her, but preferably no men, and as few people as possible. Oh, you’ll be coming in person, that sounds good.’
Then a long pause.
‘Just don’t expect Maria to say anything.’
27
The call from Karin Johannison came through when Malin had just got into her car and turned the ignition key.
‘Malin? Karin here. I think I know what caused those holes in the glass now.’
Malin sinks into the icy car seat. In just a second she feels cold air spreading through the car, and longs desperately for it to warm up.
‘Sorry, I was about to drive off. What have you found?’
‘I can safely say that they weren’t made by grit or stones, the edges are far too smooth for that. The holes have also caused some very large cracks, considering their size, so I think it’s impossible that anyone threw anything through the window.’
‘So what are you saying?’
‘They’re bullet-holes, Malin.’
Holes in glass.
A new door opening.
‘Are you sure?’
‘As sure as I can be. An extremely small-calibre weapon. There’s no soot or powder on the holes, but that’s often the case with glass. But it could also mean they were made by an air-rifle.’
Malin sits in silence, thoughts running through her head.
A small-calibre weapon. Was someone trying to shoot Bengt Andersson?
Air-rifle. Boys getting up to mischief?
Forensics didn’t find anything odd in Bengt Andersson’s flat. No bullet wounds in his body.
