realized what Vilgot Runberg was saying. Lillemor, Barbie, was the daughter of the second victim. And eight years earlier she had seen the killer.
When Mellberg walked into the bank he felt happier and more secure than he had felt in many, many years. He who hated to spend money was now going to spend two hundred thousand – and he felt not the slightest hesitation. He was buying himself a future, a future with Rose-Marie. Whenever he closed his eyes, which actually occurred rather often during working hours, he could smell the scent of hibiscus, of sunshine, of salt water, and of Rose-Marie. He could hardly fathom what luck he’d had and how much his life had changed in only a few weeks. In June they would fly down to see the condo for the first time, and then stay there for four weeks. He was already counting the days.
‘I’d like to transfer two hundred thousand kronor,’ he said, sliding the note with his account number across the counter to the teller. He felt rather proud. There weren’t many people who could save up so much on a policeman’s salary, but every ore helped, and by now he had a sizable nest egg. Rose-Marie was putting in the same amount and they could borrow the rest, she said. But when she rang yesterday she’d said that it was important that they close the deal quickly, because another couple had also expressed interest in the apartment.
He savoured the words. ‘Another couple.’ Imagine that he had gone and become a ‘couple’ at his advanced age. He chuckled at himself. Yes, and he and Rose-Marie could give the young people a run for their money in the sack as well. She was simply wonderful. In every respect.
He was just about to turn and leave after finishing his business, when he suddenly had a brilliant idea. ‘How much do I have left in the account?’ he asked the teller eagerly.
‘Sixteen thousand four hundred,’ she said. Mellberg hesitated for a millisecond before he made his decision.
‘I’d like to withdraw all of it. In cash.’
‘Cash?’ said the cashier, and he nodded. A plan was taking shape in his mind, and it felt more right the longer he thought about it. He carefully stuffed the money into his wallet and went back to the station. To think that it could feel so good to spend money. He never would have imagined it.
‘Martin.’ Patrik sounded out of breath when he rushed into his colleague’s office, and Martin wondered what was up.
‘Martin,’ Patrik repeated, but then sat down to catch his breath.
‘Too much exercise just running down the hall?’ said Martin with a smile. ‘You should probably see about getting in shape.’
Patrik waved his hand dismissively and for once didn’t jump at the chance to exchange friendly banter.
‘They’re related,’ he said, leaning forward.
‘Who are related?’ Martin asked, wondering what had got into Patrik.
‘Our investigations,’ said Patrik in triumph.
Martin felt even more confused. ‘Well, yes,’ he said, puzzled. ‘We already confirmed that DWI is the common denominator.’ He frowned and tried to understand what Patrik was raving about.
‘No, not those investigations. Our separate investigations. The murder of Lillemor – it’s connected to the others. It’s the same perp.’
Now Martin was sure that Patrik must have flipped out. He wondered whether it was stress-related. All that work lately, combined with the stress leading up to the wedding. Even the calmest person might…
Patrik seemed to know what he was thinking and cut him off, sounding annoyed. ‘They belong together, I tell you. Listen here.’
He briefly told him what Runberg had said, and as he talked Martin’s astonishment grew. He could hardly believe it. It sounded wildly improbable. He looked at Patrik and tried to grasp all the facts.
‘So what you’re saying is that victim number two is one Jan-Olov Persson, who was Lillemor Persson’s father. And Lillemor saw the murderer when she was ten years old.’
‘Yes,’ said Patrik, relieved that Martin finally seemed to get it. ‘And it’s true! Think about what she wrote in her diary. That she recognized somebody but couldn’t quite place him. A brief meeting eight years ago, when she was just ten years old; that couldn’t have been a very clear memory, given the circumstances.’
‘But the murderer knew who she was, and he was afraid that she would connect him to what had happened.’
‘And so he had to kill her before she identified him, thereby linking him to the murder of Marit.’
‘And by extension, to the other murders,’ Martin filled in, excited now.
‘It all fits, don’t you think?’ said Patrik with the same excitement in his voice.
‘So if we catch the person who killed Lillemor Persson, we also solve the other murders,’ Martin said quietly.
‘Yes. Or vice versa. If we solve the other cases, we find the person who killed Lillemor.’
Both sat silent for a moment.
‘What have we got now to go on in the Lillemor investigation?’ Patrik asked rhetorically. ‘We have the dog hairs and we have the tape from the night of the murder. You looked at all the footage again on Monday. Did you see anything else of interest?’
Something stirred in Martin’s subconscious, but it refused to come up to the surface, so he shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t see anything new. Only what Hanna and I reported from that evening.’
‘Then we’ll have to start by checking the list of the dog owners. I got it from Annika the other day.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll go and tell the others the news.’
‘Do that,’ said Martin absentmindedly. He was still trying to remember what had slipped his mind. What the hell was it he’d seen on the video? Or not seen? The more he tried to pinpoint it, the further away it slipped. He sighed. Might as well drop it for a while.
The news hit the station like a bomb. At first everyone reacted with the same disbelief as Martin, but when Patrik presented the facts in the case they accepted the news with ever increasing enthusiasm. Once they were all informed, Patrik went back to his desk to try and formulate a strategy for how they should proceed.
‘That was some shocking news you uncovered,’ said Gosta from the doorway. Patrik simply nodded. ‘Come in, have a seat,’ he said, and Gosta sat down in the visitor’s chair.
‘The only problem is that I don’t know how to put it all together,’ said Patrik. ‘I thought I’d go over the list of dog owners that you compiled and look through the documents that arrived from Ortboda.’ He pointed at the fax lying on his desk. It had arrived ten minutes earlier.
‘Yep, there’s a good deal to go over,’ Gosta sighed, looking around at all the things pinned up on the walls. ‘It’s like some gigantic spider web, but without any clue to where the spider has gone.’
Patrik chuckled. I didn’t know you had such a poetic streak, Gosta.’
Gosta only muttered in reply. Then he got up and walked slowly around the room, his face only inches from the documents and photographs that were pinned up.
‘There must be something, some detail that we missed,’ he said.
‘Well, if you find anything I’d be more than grateful. I seem to have stared myself blind at all this.’ Patrik swept his hand round the office.
‘Personally I don’t understand how you can work with these pictures all around you.’ Gosta pointed at the photos of the dead victims that were arranged in the order they’d been killed. Elsa closest to the window, and Marit near the door.
‘You haven’t put up Jan-Olov yet,’ Gosta then said dryly, pointing at the space to the right of Elsa Forsell.
‘No, I haven’t got around to it,’ said Patrik, casting a glance at his colleague. Sometimes the man had a sudden inclination to work, the good Gosta Flygare, and this was clearly one of those times.
‘Shall I get out of your way?’ said Patrik as Gosta tried to squeeze in behind his desk chair.
‘Yes, that would help,’ said Gosta, stepping aside to let Patrik by. Patrik went and leaned on the opposite wall and crossed his arms. It was probably a good idea that someone was taking another look.
‘You got all the book pages back from NCL, I see.’ Gosta turned to look at Patrik.
‘They arrived yesterday. The only page we don’t have is Jan-Olov’s. But the police no longer had it.’
‘That’s a shame,’ said Gosta, still moving back in time in the direction of Elsa Forsell. ‘I wonder why it’s
