‘What happened?’
‘Someone stretched a cord across the path and spread a thick layer of broken glass on the ground. So maybe now you’ll understand why I’m asking for your cooperation.’
Christian didn’t reply. He turned away and looked out of the window. His face was as pale as the snow outside, and his jaws were clenched. But his voice was cold and devoid of any emotion as he repeated, his eyes fixed on some distant spot:
‘I know nothing. I. Know. Nothing.’
‘Does it hurt?’ Martin looked at the man’s bandaged arms resting on top of the blanket. Kenneth nodded.
‘Are you up to answering a few questions?’ Gosta pulled over a chair and motioned for Martin to do the same.
‘Seeing as how you’ve already sat down, it seems you assume that I’m up for it,’ said Kenneth with a faint smile.
Martin couldn’t take his eyes off the bandages. It must have hurt like hell, falling on to all that glass and then having the pieces removed.
He cast an uncertain glance at Gosta. Sometimes it felt as if he’d never have enough experience to know how to proceed in the situations that he landed in as a police officer. Should he just plunge in and start asking questions? Or should he show respect for his older colleague and let him steer the conversation? It was such a balancing act. He was always the youngest, always the one sent off to do one thing or another. He too would have preferred to stay at Christian’s house, which was what Gosta had been muttering about all the way out to Uddevalla. He would have liked to interview Christian and his wife, to talk with Torbjorn and his team when they arrived; to have been in the thick of things.
He was disappointed that Patrik usually chose to work with Paula, even though Martin had joined the station a couple of years before she arrived. Of course she had experience from working in Stockholm, while he had spent his entire brief career on the Tanumshede police force. But was that necessarily such a negative thing? He knew the area, he was familiar with all the resident troublemakers, he knew how people thought and how a small town operated. In fact, he had even gone to school with a couple of the worst offenders, while they were complete unknowns to Paula. And after the rumours about her personal life had spread through the district like wildfire, many people had started eyeing her with suspicion. Martin himself had nothing against those who chose to live with a partner of the same sex, but many of the people they dealt with on a daily basis were not as understanding. So it seemed a little odd that Patrik kept on choosing Paula to work with him. All Martin wanted was to get a certain amount of respect from his colleagues. He wished they would stop treating him like some young whippersnapper. He really wasn’t all that young any more. And now he was a father too.
‘I’m sorry?’ Martin was so immersed in his own gloomy thoughts that he’d missed what Gosta had said to him.
‘I was just saying that maybe you’d like to start.’
Martin stared at Gosta in surprise. Was he a mind-reader? But he seized the opportunity and asked:
‘Could you tell us in your own words what happened?’
Kenneth reached for a glass of water standing on the table next to his bed before he realized that he couldn’t use his hands.
‘Wait, let me do it.’ Martin picked up the glass and helped him take a drink through a straw. Then Kenneth leaned back against the pillows. In a calm and matter-of-fact voice, he recounted what had happened to him, starting with tying his shoes before going out for his usual morning run.
‘What time did you leave the house?’ Martin had taken out a notebook and pen.
‘Six forty-five,’ replied Kenneth, and Martin wrote down the time without hesitation. It was his impression that if Kenneth said it was six forty-five, then that was the time. Without a doubt.
‘Do you always go running at the same time each morning?’ Gosta leaned back with his arms crossed.
‘Yes, give or take ten minutes or so.’
‘And you didn’t consider not… I mean, given that…’ Martin stammered.
‘You didn’t consider skipping your run, given that your wife died yesterday?’ Gosta interjected, without sounding unkind. And without turning the question into an accusation.
Kenneth didn’t respond immediately. He swallowed hard and then said in a low voice:
‘If there was ever a morning when I needed to go running, it was today.’
‘I understand,’ said Gosta. ‘Do you always take the same route?’
‘Yes, except sometimes on the weekend, when I do it twice. I suppose I’m a bit of a stick-in-the-mud. I don’t like surprises, adventures, or things that change.’ He fell silent. Gosta and Martin both knew what he was thinking about and didn’t say a word.
Kenneth cleared his throat and turned away so they wouldn’t see the tears welling up in his eyes. He cleared his throat again so he’d be able to speak without faltering.
‘As I said, I like routines. I’ve been running the same route now for over ten years.’
‘And I assume that plenty of people are aware of that, right?’ Martin looked up from his notebook after jotting down
‘There’s never been any reason to keep it a secret.’ A smile suddenly appeared on Kenneth’s face, but vanished just as swiftly.
‘Did you meet anyone while you were out running this morning?’ asked Gosta.
‘No, not a soul. I seldom do. Sometimes I’ll see someone who’s up early walking their dog, or someone out pushing a pram. But that rarely happens. Usually I’m alone on the path. Like this morning.’
‘And you didn’t see a car parked somewhere near your route?’ Martin received an appreciative glance from Gosta when he asked that question.
Kenneth paused to consider. ‘No, I don’t think so. I can’t say for sure. It’s possible that someone was there and I just didn’t see them. But no, I’m sure I would have noticed.’
‘So there was nothing out of the ordinary?’ Gosta persisted.
‘No, it was just like every other morning. Except that…’ His words hung in the air and tears began spilling down his cheeks.
Martin was ashamed that he found it embarrassing to see Kenneth cry. He felt at a loss for words and didn’t know whether he should do something or not. But Gosta calmly reached across Kenneth and took a tissue from the table. Then he gently wiped the tears from Kenneth’s face. After that, he again reached across and put the tissue back on the table.
‘Have you heard anything yet?’ whispered Kenneth. ‘About Lisbet?’
‘No, it’s much too early for that. It’ll be a while before we know what the medical examiner can tell us.’
‘She killed her.’ The man in the bed flinched and then seemed to shrivel up, staring into space.
‘Sorry, what did you just say?’ asked Gosta, leaning forward. ‘Who is “she”? Do you know who did this to you and your wife?’
Martin could tell that Gosta was holding his breath. He was too.
Something flashed in Kenneth’s eyes.
‘I have no idea,’ he said firmly.
‘You said “she”,’ Gosta pointed out.
Kenneth avoided looking at him. ‘The handwriting on the letters looks like it was done by a woman. So I’m just assuming that it’s a “she”.’
‘Ah, so that’s it,’ said Gosta, making it clear to Kenneth that he didn’t believe him, although he wasn’t going to say that to the man’s face. ‘There must be something that has made the four of you the targets. Magnus, Christian, Erik, and you. Someone has unfinished business with you. And all of you – well, except for Magnus – insist that you have no idea who is doing this, or why. But there must be an intense hatred behind such actions. The question is: what prompted that hatred? I have a hard time believing that none of you knows anything. You must at least have a theory.’ He leaned close to Kenneth.
‘It must be someone who’s mentally disturbed. I can’t think of any other explanation.’ Kenneth turned away again, pressing his lips tight.
Martin exchanged glances with Gosta. They both knew that they weren’t going to get anything more out of Kenneth. At least not for the time being.
