‘No, here’s a picture of him and Eva.’ He held it up for Martin. A young Rasmus had his arm around his mother’s shoulders, and they were both smiling at the camera. Rasmus towered over his mother, and there was something protective about his pose. It must have been taken before the accident. After that their roles had been reversed. Patrik carefully put the photo back in the wallet.
‘There are so many lonely people,’ said Martin, staring into the middle distance.
‘Yes, there certainly are. Are you thinking of anyone in particular?’
‘Well… I was thinking of Eva Olsson. But also of Lillemor. Imagine not having anyone to mourn you. Both of her parents dead. No other relatives. Nobody to notify. The only thing she leaves behind are a couple of hundred hours of recorded reality shows that’ll gather dust in some archive.’
‘If she’d lived closer I would have gone to her funeral,’ Patrik said quietly. ‘No one deserves to be buried without someone mourning her. But I hear the funeral is in Eskilstuna, so I won’t be able to attend.’
They sat in silence for a while. They could both envision a coffin being lowered into the ground, with no family and no friends present. So inexpressibly sad.
‘A notebook,’ Patrik suddenly exclaimed, breaking the silence. It was a thick black book with gold edges. It seemed that Rasmus had taken good care of it.
‘What’s in it?’ asked Martin.
Patrik leafed through some of the pages, which were covered with writing. ‘I think they’re reminders about the animals at the pet shop. Look here: “Hercules, pellets three times a day, give fresh water often, clean cage every day. Gudrun, one mouse per week, clean the terrarium once a week.”’
‘Sounds like Hercules is a rabbit or guinea pig or something, and I would guess that Gudrun is a snake.’ Martin smiled.
‘Yes, he was certainly meticulous, that Rasmus. Just as his mother said.’ Patrik went through all the pages in the notebook. They all seemed to be notes about the animals. There was nothing to arouse their interest.
‘That seems to be everything.’
Martin sighed. ‘Well, I didn’t expect we’d find anything earthshattering. But we could always hope.’
Patrik was putting the notebook at the bottom of the knapsack when a sound made him react. ‘Wait, there’s something else in here.’ He took out the notebook again, put it down on the desk, and reached his hand into the bag. When he pulled out what was lying on the bottom, he and Martin gave each other an incredulous look. This wasn’t anything they’d expected to find. But it proved beyond all doubt that there was a connection between the deaths of Rasmus and Marit.
Ola didn’t sound particularly happy when Gosta rang him on his mobile. He was at work and would have preferred that they wait to interview him. Gosta, annoyed at Ola’s superior attitude, was not in a generous mood; he told Ola to expect them at the Inventing company within half an hour. Ola muttered something about ‘the power of authority’ in his melodic Norwegian-Swedish, but he knew better than to object.
Hanna still seemed to be in a bad mood, and Gosta wondered why as they got into the car and headed for Fjallbacka. He got the feeling that she might have problems on the home front, but he didn’t know her well enough to ask. He only hoped that it wasn’t something serious. She didn’t seem at all interested in small talk, so he left her alone. As they drove past the golf course at Anras, she looked out of the window and said, ‘Is this a good golf course?’
Gosta was more than willing to accept this peace offering. ‘The best! The seventh hole is notorious. I once made a hole-in-one here – not on the seventh though.’
‘Well, I’ve learned enough about golf to know that a hole-in-one is good,’ said Hanna with a smile, the first of the day. ‘Did they break out the champagne in the clubhouse? Isn’t that the custom?’
‘Indeed,’ said Gosta, his face lighting up at the memory. ‘They did offer me champagne, and all in all it was the most fantastic round of golf. My best to date, actually.’
Hanna laughed. ‘Yes, it’s probably no exaggeration to say that you’ve been bitten by the golf bug.’
Gosta looked at her with a smile, but he had to shift his eyes back to the road when they entered the narrow road past Morhult. ‘Well, I don’t have much else to do,’ he said, and his smile died.
‘You’re a widower, I understand,’ Hanna said kindly. ‘No kids?’
‘No.’ He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t want to talk about the boy, who would have been a grown man by now, if he’d survived.
Hanna didn’t ask anymore, and they rode in silence all the way to Inventing. When they climbed out of the car they saw many curious eyes turned towards them. An annoyed Ola met them as soon as they stepped inside the doors.
‘Well, this had better be important, now that you’re disturbing me at work. Everybody is going to be talking about this for weeks.’
Gosta understood what he meant, and actually they could have waited another hour. But there was something about Ola that rubbed Gosta the wrong way. His reaction might not be dignified or professional, but that’s how he felt.
‘Let’s go into my office,’ said Ola. Gosta had heard Patrik and Martin describe Ola’s extremely orderly home, so he wasn’t surprised when he saw the office. Hanna, on the other hand, hadn’t heard that information, and so she raised an eyebrow. The desk was clinically clean. Not a pen, not a paper clip marred the shiny surface. The only thing on the desk was a green blotter to write on, and it was placed in the exact centre of the desktop. Against one wall stood a bookcase filled with binders of correspondence. Arranged in tight, upright rows, with neatly handwritten labels. Nothing was out of place.
‘Have a seat,’ said Ola, pointing to the visitor chairs. He sat down behind the desk and leaned his elbows on the desktop. Gosta couldn’t help wondering whether he was going to get shiny spots on his suit from all the polish that must have been applied. He could probably see his face in it.
‘So what’s this about?’
‘We’re investigating a possible connection between the death of your ex-wife and another murder.’
‘Another murder?’ asked Ola, seeming for an instant to drop his controlled mask. A second later it was back in place. ‘What murder is that? Not that bimbo who was killed?’
‘You mean Lillemor Persson?’ said Hanna. Her expression showed quite clearly what she thought of Ola speaking so disparagingly about the murdered girl.
‘Yes, yes.’ Ola waved his hand dismissively, showing with equal clarity that he didn’t give a toss about Hanna’s opinion of the way he expressed himself.
Gosta had an overwhelming urge to provoke the guy. He would have liked to take his car keys and put a big scratch across the top of that shiny desk. Anything to knock Ola off balance and disrupt his repulsive perfection.
‘No, we’re not talking about the murder of Lillemor Persson.’ Gosta’s tone was icy. ‘We’re talking about a murder in Boras. The victim’s name was Rasmus Olsson. Do you have any knowledge of him?’
Ola looked genuinely shocked. But that didn’t mean a thing.
‘Boras? Rasmus Olsson?’ His words sounded like an echo of the conversation they’d had with Kerstin an hour earlier. ‘No, I don’t recognize that name. Marit never lived in Boras. And she absolutely didn’t know any Rasmus Olsson. At least not as long as we were together. After that I have no idea what she did. Anything is possible, considering the depths she had sunk to.’ His voice was dripping with contempt.
Gosta stuck his hand in his pocket and touched his car keys. His fingers were itching to disfigure that desk.
‘So you don’t know of any connection between Marit and Boras, or the person we mentioned?’ Hanna repeated Gosta’s question and Ola looked at her.
‘Am I not making myself clear? Instead of forcing me to repeat everything, maybe you should take notes.’
Gosta took a tighter grip on his car keys. But Hanna didn’t seem fazed by Ola’s sarcastic tone. She went on calmly, ‘Rasmus was also a teetotaller. Could that be the connection? Any sort of temperance group or the like?’
‘No. There isn’t any connection, and I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal about the fact that Marit didn’t drink. She simply wasn’t interested.’ He stood up. ‘If you don’t have anymore relevant questions, I’ll get back to work. Next time I’d prefer that you visit me at my home.’
Lacking any more questions and sincerely wanting to leave the office and get far away from Ola, Gosta and Hanna stood up too. They didn’t bother to shake his hand or say goodbye. All such pleasantries seemed a waste of
