Outside in reception the vultures are waiting for some sort of statement, but apart from a press release confirming the name of the victim they haven’t been given a thing. Karim is refusing to hold a press conference, wants to let the investigation proceed in peace, as he just said in the staffroom.
Johan rubs his eyes, thinking about his wife, who’s probably at home playing with the kids now.
Fredrik Fagelsjo’s father.
Jerry Petersson’s files. They haven’t even got through a tenth of Petersson’s papers yet, and now there’s a whole new set from a new murder.
In spite of their silence, television and radio news are featuring the murder heavily. There are profiles of both Jerry Petersson and Fredrik Fagelsjo. Naturally the
Waldemar is sitting at the end of the table sipping a cup of coffee. Strong and black, and he looks bored out of his mind. Huffing and puffing, he doesn’t seem to want to get down to work. Lovisa, on the other hand, is concentrating on Fredrik Fagelsjo’s computer, clicking from one document to the next. Maybe she’s hoping to find a connection between Jochen Goldman and Fredrik Fagelsjo?
Then Waldemar gets up and goes over to stand behind Lovisa, and starts massaging her shoulders, saying: ‘You like this, don’t you?’
Lovisa stands up.
Turns towards Waldemar.
Says in an ice-cold voice: ‘Don’t fucking touch me. I don’t give a damn how many young female officers you’ve sexually harassed in your time, but you don’t fucking touch me. Understood?’
Waldemar backs away.
Throws out his arms with a grin.
‘Calm down, love. No sense of humour?’
‘I’ve had an email from Interpol in Stockholm,’ Sven Sjoman says as he heads towards Malin’s desk.
The beginnings of a headache. Withdrawal, Malin thinks. But no hangover at least.
‘Jochen Goldman left Tenerife,’ Sven says. ‘Three days ago.’
‘Where’s he gone?’ Malin asks.
‘Stockholm, via Madrid. But no one knows where he went after he landed at Arlanda.’
‘So it could have been him who put the pictures through my letterbox?’
‘Unlikely. But he might have got someone else to do it. Maybe simpler for him to arrange direct from Stockholm.’
‘So he was in the country when Fredrik Fagelsjo was murdered,’ Malin says.
‘We haven’t got any connection at all between them so far, but we’ll see what the files throw up,’ Sven says.
‘We haven’t got anything on him at all,’ Malin says. ‘He’s got every right to do whatever he likes. Maybe those photographs are just part of a warped game.’
‘I still don’t get it, though,’ Sven says. ‘Why would Goldman want to come to Sweden right now?’
‘Who knows?’ Malin says. ‘But I’m convinced Jochen Goldman is behind those pictures. It can’t be anyone else. Aronsson just gave me the results of her search: no one I’ve put away who might want revenge has been released recently.’
Sven pulls in his stomach and reminds her that they have a case meeting in five minutes.
‘We really need to start making some progress here, Malin. The vultures in reception are demanding quick results.’
Tired detectives around a conference table.
Words flying through the air, summaries, new ideas. A criminal investigation that’s treading water, where every conversation and exchange risks leading their work in an emotional direction rather than a logical one.
The playground of the nursery empty.
Sven Sjoman summarises the state of the investigation.
‘We’re still going through Petersson’s files. Nothing unusual so far, no other relatives or significant figures in his life. We still haven’t found the murder weapon, probably a stone, or the knife that was used to inflict the post- mortem wounds.
‘We need to keep digging into Petersson’s relationship with the Fagelsjo family, especially Fredrik and Katarina. We also need to find out more about his dealings with Jochen Goldman. And we’re still looking into the circumstances surrounding the car crash.’
Then Sven falls silent.
Looks at Lovisa Segerberg.
‘Anything new?’
She shakes her head.
‘Nothing so far.’
‘There’s so much fucking paperwork,’ Waldemar Ekenberg snarls. ‘It doesn’t feel like we’re getting anywhere.’
‘If you feel stuck, dig even deeper,’ Karim Akbar says, and Malin thinks it sounds as if he’s trying to convince himself rather than his detectives.
‘We need to start making some progress here,’ Karim goes on. ‘We haven’t got anywhere yet.’
‘You’re right about that,’ Malin says.
‘The media are going crazy. We’ve got a press conference in two hours.’
‘Those pictures you received, of your parents. We’re assuming that Goldman’s behind them,’ Sven says, and Malin tries not to listen as he goes on about the photographs.
Then he runs through the state of the investigation into the murder of Fredrik Fagelsjo, about Axel and Katarina Fagelsjo’s questionable alibis, and the fact that Fredrik Fagelsjo’s parents-in-law have confirmed his wife’s alibi.
‘Most murders occur within families,’ Waldemar says. ‘And Axel and Katarina have plenty of reasons for wanting to get rid of that black sheep of theirs after he fucked up their finances. Maybe they were worried poor little Fredrik would crack and give them away?’
‘Do you really believe they did it?’ Malin asks. ‘Murdered their own son and brother? No matter what the reason?’
‘Even if Axel and Katarina didn’t do it themselves,’ Waldemar says, ‘they could have arranged for it to happen. That goes for both murders.’
‘But why such a grandiose gesture?’ Zeke asks.
‘To divert attention away from themselves,’ Waldemar says.
‘We just need to do more work here, into every aspect, this feels like our main line of inquiry right now,’ Sven says. ‘Try to work out what they’ve been up to recently, what calls they’ve made, to start with.’
‘Email?’ Johan Jakobsson says.
‘We’d need to seize their computers for that,’ Sven says. ‘We’ll start with their mobiles. We’ve got enough grounds for that now.’
‘It’s too early for computers,’ Karim adds. ‘After all, we’ve got nothing concrete on them at all.’
‘We spent today checking the neighbours closest to the castle again,’ Sven says, ‘and around Fredrik Fagelsjo’s house. Chances are he was there on the evening he was murdered. But no one saw anything. Linnea Sjostedt didn’t bother with her shotgun this time round.’
The detectives laugh.
‘And Karin’s report?’ Zeke goes on.
Sven nods.
‘She was quick. It’s just arrived, even though she said it would be tomorrow at the earliest. Fredrik Fagelsjo died of a blow to the back of the head. A blunt instrument, a rock, something like that. A hard blow, but not hard enough to rule out the perpetrator being a woman. And, as she said at the crime scene, it’s impossible to tell if the perpetrator is right- or left-handed. Not much blood-loss, but the blow caused severe internal bleeding in the brain that will have made him lose consciousness immediately. Time of death sometime between ten o’clock on Thursday
