he had to check himself from putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Something told him that she wouldn’t appreciate it. He might even find himself on the receiving end of a right jab.
They had phoned in advance to tell Kerstin they were coming, and when she opened the door Gosta saw that she’d taken a quick shower before they arrived. Her face was bare of makeup and showed the same resignation he’d seen so many times before. It was an expression that appeared on the faces of loved ones when the worst shock had subsided, making the grief more naked and acute. It was only now that the finality of what had happened had sunk into their brain.
‘Come in,’ Kerstin said, and he noticed that her complexion had the slightly greenish pallor of someone who had been indoors too long.
Yet Hanna looked resolute as they sat down at the table in the kitchen. The flat was clean and neat but smelled a bit stuffy, which confirmed Gosta’s impression that Kerstin apparently hadn’t been out since Marit died. He wondered how she got food, whether she had somebody to shop for groceries. As if in direct reply to his question, she opened the fridge to take out milk for the coffee, and a quick look told him that it was well stocked. She also set out some buns that looked like they’d come from the bakery, so someone was apparently helping her with her shopping.
‘Do we know anything more?’ she said wearily when she sat down. It felt as though she was asking the question simply because she should, not because she cared. That was another effect of facing cold reality. She had realized that Marit was gone for ever. That awareness could overshadow for a while the longing for an answer, an explanation. Although this varied a lot, as Gosta had learned over almost forty years of service. For some loved ones the search for an explanation became more important than anything else, in most cases however it was merely one way to postpone acknowledging and accepting the facts. He had seen relatives who lived in denial for many years, sometimes even till their own journey to the grave. Kerstin was not one of them. She had faced Marit’s death, and that encounter seemed to have sucked all the energy out of her. As if in slow motion she poured the coffee. ‘Pardon me, I think one of you might have wanted tea instead?’ she said in confusion.
Gosta and Hanna shook their heads. They sat quietly for a minute before Gosta finally answered the question that Kerstin had asked.
‘Yes, we’ve received a few leads that we’re following up on.’ He stopped, unsure how much to tell her. Hanna took over.
‘We found some information that points to a connection with another murder. In Boras.’
‘Boras?’ Kerstin echoed, and for the first time since they arrived they saw a spark of interest in her eyes. ‘But… I don’t understand. Boras?’
‘Yes, we were surprised too,’ said Gosta, reaching for a bun. ‘And that’s why we’re here. To see if there’s any connection that you know of between Marit and the victim in Boras.’
‘What… who?’ Kerstin’s eyes shifted. She tucked her hair behind her right ear.
‘It was a man in his thirties. Rasmus Olsson was his name. He died three and a half years ago.’
‘But didn’t they ever solve the case?’
Gosta glanced at Hanna. ‘No, the police there decided that it was suicide. There were various indications that…’ He threw out his hands.
‘But Marit never lived in Boras. Not as far as I knew, at least. Although you might want to check with Ola.’
‘Naturally we’ll have a chat with Ola too,’ said Hanna. ‘But there’s no possible connection that you know of? One of the similarities in Rasmus’s and Marit’s death was that…’ she hesitated, ‘at the time of their death they had been forced to drink large quantities of alcohol, although they never drank. Marit wasn’t a member of any temperance society, was she? Or a member of some religious congregation?’
Kerstin laughed, and her smile gave her face a hint of colour. ‘Marit? Religious? No, I would have known about it if she was. We always went to the early service on Christmas Day, but that was probably the only time Marit ever set foot in the church here in Fjallbacka. She was like me. Not actively religious in any way, yet she retained some of her childhood faith, a conviction that there was something greater. I hope she did, at least, now more than ever,’ she added quietly.
Neither Hanna nor Gosta said a word. Hanna looked down at the table and Gosta thought he saw her eyes glistening. He understood. Even though it had been years since he had cried in the presence of the grief-stricken. But they were here to do a job, so he continued cautiously, ‘And the name Rasmus Olsson doesn’t ring a bell?’
Kerstin shook her head and warmed her hands on her coffee cup. ‘No, I’ve never heard that name before.’
‘Then we won’t take up any more of your time. If you think of anything, please call us.’ Gosta got up and Hanna followed suit. She looked relieved.
‘I’ll be in touch in any case,’ said Kerstin, remaining seated.
In the doorway Gosta couldn’t resist turning round and telling her, ‘Go out and take a walk, Kerstin. It’s such nice weather. And you need to get some fresh air.’
‘Now you sound like Sofie,’ said Kerstin, smiling again. ‘But I know you’re right. Maybe I’ll take a walk this afternoon.’
‘Good,’ said Gosta and closed the door. Hanna didn’t look at him. She was already headed for the station.
Patrik carefully set down the plastic bag containing the knapsack on his desk. He didn’t know whether it was necessary, since the Boras police had already gone through the contents three and a half years earlier, but for safety’s sake he put on rubber gloves, and not only for forensic reasons. He didn’t like the idea of touching the dried blood on the knapsack.
‘What a lonely life. So tragic,’ said Martin, who stood next to him, watching.
‘Yes, it seems as though her son was the only person she had in the world,’ said Patrik with a sigh as he unzipped the knapsack.
‘Couldn’t have been easy. Having a kid and raising him all by herself. And then the accident…’ Martin paused, ‘and the murder.’
‘And then no one believed her,’ Patrik added as he took an object out of the knapsack. It was a music player with built-in headphones. He doubted that it still worked. It seemed to have been damaged in the fall from the bridge, and it rattled ominously when Patrik picked it up.
‘How far did he fall?’ asked Martin, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to Patrik’s desk.
‘Ten metres,’ said Patrik, still concentrating on emptying the knapsack.
‘Ugh,’ said Martin with a grimace. ‘Couldn’t have been a pretty sight.’
‘No,’ said Patrik. The photos from the scene flashed before his eyes. He changed the subject.
‘I’m worried about having to divide up our resources now that we have to work on two investigations at once.’
‘I know,’ said Martin. ‘And I can guess what you’re thinking. That we made a mistake letting the media force us into a situation where we dropped the investigation of Marit’s death. But what’s done is done, and we can’t change anything now. Except distribute our favours more wisely.’
‘Yeah, I know you’re right,’ said Patrik, taking out a wallet which he laid on the desk. ‘But I’m still having a hard time forgetting about all the things we should have done differently. And I have no idea how to proceed with the Lillemor Persson investigation.’
Martin thought for a moment. ‘All we have to go on are the dog hairs and the videos we got from the production company.’
Patrik opened the wallet and began going through it. ‘Yeah, that’s about what I was thinking. The dog hairs present a very interesting lead that we have to keep working on. According to Pedersen it’s a rather unusual breed of dog; maybe there’s a list of owners, clubs, something we can use to trace the owner. I mean, with only two hundred dogs like that in all of Sweden, it should be relatively easy to trace an owner in this area.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ said Martin. ‘Do you want me to do it?’
‘No, I was thinking Mellberg should do it. Then it’ll be done properly.’ Martin gave him a dirty look, and Patrik laughed. ‘It was a joke! Of course I want you to do it!’
‘Ha ha, that’s hilarious.’ Martin turned serious and leaned over the desk. ‘What have you got there?’
‘Nothing particularly exciting. Two twenties, a tenkrona, an ID card, and a piece of paper with his home address and his mother’s phone numbers, both home and mobile.’
‘Is that all?’
