the interview, told them Ehrenstierna’s name without giving them his number, probably assumed they had it. Then he asked to call his wife Christina, and Sven couldn’t see any reason not to let him. They had enough to hold him for a number of less serious offences, but as far as the murder of Jerry Petersson was concerned, Fagelsjo was so far just a name that had cropped up in the investigation. Not enough for a search warrant in conjunction with a murder investigation, but they had seized his car, which was being examined by Forensics.
‘Let’s start with today’s events,’ Johan says. ‘Why did you try to run when the police indicated that you should pull over?’
Fagelsjo gives his lawyer an anxious look, as if he’s wondering how they’re going to direct this interview the way they want, and not fall into any traps laid by the police. The lawyer nods at him to answer.
‘I got scared,’ Fagelsjo says, quickly wiping a few drops of sweat from his upper lip. ‘I knew I’d had too much to drink. And I didn’t want to get caught for drink-driving again and end up inside Skanninge. So I panicked and tried to run. It was as if my mind went blank and then, once I’d started, there was no going back. Ridiculously stupid. I really must apologise.’
‘A fucking apology probably isn’t going to be enough,’ Waldemar says.
‘No swearing, please,’ Ehrenstierna says, and Waldemar clenches his jaw and says: ‘You could have killed innocent people. We’ve got you for drink-driving, obstructing police officers, reckless driving, and probably another dozen charges. Are you an alcoholic?’
Ehrenstierna says nothing.
‘Perhaps you’d like to admit that your guilty of those offences?’ Waldemar says.
‘I won’t make the procedure any more difficult,’ Fagelsjo says. ‘And no, I’m not an alcoholic. But sometimes I drink a bit too much. Doesn’t everyone? I panicked. And I’m guilty of driving while intoxicated. But that isn’t the main reason why I’m sitting here, is it?’
‘No,’ Waldemar says, leaning over the table.‘The main reason we want to talk to you is the murder of Jerry Petersson.’
‘I don’t suppose you tried to escape because you thought we were going to arrest you in connection with the murder?’ Johan asks.
‘My client has already explained why he tried to escape when you attempted to pull him over,’ Ehrenstierna says.
‘I didn’t even know that Petersson had been murdered. My lawyer told me a short while ago.’
Ehrenstierna nods.
Then the look in Fagelsjo’s eyes changes and he starts talking before Ehrenstierna has a chance to stop him.
‘Let me put it like this. You found the clown dead. Murdered, even. Great news, I don’t mind saying so.’
Fagelsjo’s body, so tired up to now, comes to life, every muscle seems to flex.
That’s cheap, Johan thinks, and looks at Waldemar with an expression that means: Keep pushing.
Ehrenstierna puts a hand on Fagelsjo’s shoulder and says: ‘Take it easy, Fredrik.’
‘So you wanted to see him dead?’ Waldemar asks.
‘My client isn’t going to answer that.’
‘You can trust us,’ Johan says. ‘We mean you well. If you had nothing to do with the murder, then we want to know, and if you did, then we’ll try to make the best of the situation. Surely you’d agree that it looks odd that you tried to escape? There’s something you want to say. Isn’t there?’
‘My client won’t be answering that either. And he has explained why. .’
‘What were you doing last night and this morning?’ Waldemar asks.
‘I was at home with my wife.’
‘Are you sure?’ Waldemar says.
‘Can she confirm that?’ Johan asks.
‘She can confirm that,’ Ehrenstierna says. ‘They were out at the Villa Italia, in Ledberg, where you caught up with my client.’
‘So you weren’t out at Skogsa?’ Waldemar says.
Neither of the men on the other side of the table answers.
‘We’ve heard that there were financial difficulties behind the sale of Skogsa. Is that correct?’ Johan asks instead.
‘I was tired of all that crap,’ Fagelsjo says. ‘It was time to sell up. Father’s too old and I didn’t want to take over. Nor did my sister.’
‘So there’s nothing you want to tell us? About bad business decisions? About why you hate Jerry Petersson, the clown who took over? The man you wanted to see dead?’
Waldemar’s voice is angry as he tosses the words across the table.
‘That Petersson,’ Fagelsjo says. ‘He was the worst sort of upstart, the sort who could never understand the importance of an estate like Skogsa. But he paid handsomely. And if you think I had anything to do with this, good luck to you. Prove it. Like I said, I got scared and I panicked. I’m prepared to take my punishment.’
‘Did you know Petersson from before?’
‘I knew who he was,’ Fagelsjo says. ‘We were at the same high school, the Cathedral School, at the same time. But I didn’t know him at all. We didn’t move in the same circles. We might have been at a few of the same parties. It’s a small world, after all.’
‘So you didn’t really have anything to do with each other? Neither then, nor later on?’
‘Only when the castle was going to be sold. But even then I didn’t actually meet him.’
‘I’m surprised,’ Waldemar says. ‘I thought your sort all went to Sigtuna or Landsberg.’
‘Lundsberg,’ Ehrenstierna says. ‘It’s Lundsberg. Even I went to Lundsberg. Have you got any more questions for my client? About his education, or anything else?’
Waldemar gets up quickly, fixing his snake’s gaze on Fagelsjo’s eyes.
‘Tell us what you know, you bastard. You’re hiding loads of shit, aren’t you?’
Fredrik Fagelsjo and his lawyer jerk back.
‘You were out at the castle, you wanted to pay Petersson back for taking the land away from you, didn’t you? You lost your grip and stabbed him, over and over again. Confess!’ Waldemar shouts. ‘Confess!’
The door of the room flies open, Karim rushes in, switches off the tape recorder, and he and Johan help calm Waldemar down as Sven tells Fagelsjo and his lawyer that the prosecutor has decided to remand him in custody under suspicion of aggravated drink-driving and aggravated reckless driving.
Ehrenstierna protests, but feebly, aware that the decision has already been taken and that he can’t do anything about it here and now.
Fagelsjo’s face is a mystery, Johan thinks, as the young aristocrat is led out of the room by a uniform.
Noble, but evasive. His anxious eyes superior now. Johan thinks, he knows we don’t have anything on him. But he could very well be guilty. And from now on, he’s our prime suspect.
Malin drops Zeke off outside his red-painted house.
‘Take the car,’ he says. ‘But try to drive carefully.’
He slams the door behind him, not in anger but exhaustion, and walks away.
The black tiles of the house are like a reluctant drum for the raindrops.
There’s a light on in the kitchen.
A Saturday at work tomorrow. No chance of getting any time off while they’ve got a completely fresh murder.
Sven Sjoman has called a meeting for eight o’clock. Police Constable Aronsson spoke to Fredrik Fagelsjo’s wife Christina immediately after Johan Jakobsson and Waldemar Ekenberg finished questioning him. His wife gave him an alibi for the night of the murder, said he probably panicked when they tried to pull him over, that he sometimes drank too much but that he wasn’t an alcoholic.
Malin lets the engine run in neutral, trying to summon the energy to drive off into the evening, but how, tell me how, she thinks, am I going to be able to face the hours that remain of today?
She doesn’t feel up to getting to grips with anything. What happened yesterday feels unreal, as if it took place a thousand years ago, if it actually happened at all.
She puts the car in first gear.
As she’s about to drive off she sees Zeke open the front door and run out into the rain, she can see the
