Dark Angel (30 page)

‘He has a brother here on Gotland,’ said Jacobsson. ‘Who’s to say he’s not staying with Andreas?’

JOHAN’S MOBILE RANG
as he and Pia were on their way to the café where Veronika Hammar was murdered. As soon as Johan took the call, Pia could tell that something was seriously wrong.

The doctor told him that Emma was in intensive care. She had been found at the very café they were on their way to visit. But she was just running some errands, Johan thought in bewilderment.

At that moment they had entered the roundabout at Norrgatt; Pia was driving towards the northern gate in the ring wall.

‘Go to the hospital!’ he shouted, still holding the mobile to his ear. ‘We have to go to the hospital!’

Pia quickly turned the steering wheel the other way, casting a startled look at her colleague.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Emma’s in intensive care. She was at the café when Veronika Hammar was killed, and she tried to save her. Now she’s in a serious condition herself.’ He pounded his fist on the side of the passenger door. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’

Pia brought the car to such an abrupt stop at the hospital entrance that the tyres shrieked against the asphalt. As Johan jumped out of the car, she yelled after him: ‘It’ll be OK. She’ll be fine!’

She could hear how hollow her words sounded.

WHEN THE MEETING
of the investigative team was over, Knutas sat down at his desk and punched in the phone number for Simon Hammar in Stockholm. No one answered. The phone rang and rang, echoing in his ear. He sighed and went out to the corridor to get himself a cup of coffee from the vending machine. The whole station was buzzing with activity, and a nationwide alert had been issued for Mats Andersson. Knutas speculated what his motive could be. Was he so eager to kill his mother because she’d abandoned him when he was a newborn? If so, why had he decided to do it now, at the age of forty-one?

Thoughts of Karin and her baby flitted through his mind. It was impossible to ignore the similarities. At the same time, there were distinct differences. Mats had tried several times to contact his biological mother, to no avail. Karin had never heard from her daughter. And Mats had not been put up for adoption. Instead, he’d been sent to live with various foster families. And what role did his newfound half-brothers and -sister play in the drama? Again he tried to phone Simon at his temporary address in Gamla Stan. He was just about to give up when someone picked up. But the voice wasn’t Simon’s.

‘Hello?’

‘This is Detective Superintendent Anders Knutas. I’m looking for Simon Hammar.’

‘Anders Knutas? What in God’s name is going on?’

There was no mistaking that deep, morose voice. Knutas had worked on several cases with Inspector Kurt Fogestam of the Stockholm police.

‘Kurt? I might ask you the same question. Why are you answering this phone? It’s urgent that I speak with Simon Hammar.’

‘Well, he’s here all right,’ said Fogestam glumly. ‘But I’m afraid you’re too late. Simon Hammar is dead.’

Knutas’s jaw dropped.

‘We just got the call. He fell out of a fifth-floor window. Landed on Kornhamnstorg here in Gamla Stan. The square that faces Slussen, you know? We’ve got a huge problem on our hands at the moment. Traffic is at a standstill, and a big crowd has gathered in the square. We haven’t even removed the body yet. It looks like murder. There are signs of a struggle in the flat. I can call you back later. But why are you looking for Simon Hammar?’

‘His mother was murdered here on Gotland just a few hours ago. She was poisoned with cyanide, just like Viktor Algård at the conference centre.’

‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.’

A PARALYSING SENSE
of inadequacy settled over Knutas as he put down the receiver after talking to Kurt Fogestam in Stockholm. The police seemed to be always one step behind. By all indications, Mats Andersson had first murdered his mother and then his brother. Had Simon known that he was the killer and threatened to expose him? Was that why he’d been silenced? It sounded as if Simon’s death had come suddenly, the result of anger. Knutas reasoned that if a murder were premeditated, this would not be the preferred modus operandi. Mats Andersson seemed to crave an audience, yet not to the extent that he wanted to get caught. Surely it would be almost impossible to toss a man out of a fifth-floor window in the middle of Stockholm without being seen. And Simon must have put up a lot of resistance; he was both tall and muscular. Unless he was first drugged or poisoned, of course. But why throw him out of the window? Couldn’t Mats have killed him with cyanide, just as he’d killed his other two victims?

Another puzzling element was the fact that the murderer had been able to leave the building and vanish without getting caught.

Knutas didn’t think for a minute that the perpetrator would have purposely chosen to make things so difficult for himself. No, the decision to kill Simon must have been made in great haste.

Was it even possible for the same person to have committed the two murders within only a few hours of each other? He did a quick calculation in his head. The flight between Stockholm and Visby took only thirty
minutes
. A taxi ride from Bromma airport in Stockholm to Gamla Stan took about the same amount of time.

Knutas wondered again what the motive could have been for killing Simon. Was Mats in the process of murdering all of his half-siblings? Or had he already done so? Andreas Hammar lived alone out in the country, and his body might easily go undiscovered for days. Suddenly Knutas was filled with dread.

He jumped up, grabbed his service weapon, and then knocked on Jacobsson’s door.

‘Get in touch with Stockholm!’ he shouted to Rylander as they rushed out of the station. ‘Make sure the sister on Vätö has police protection. ASAP!’

Silent and grim-faced, Knutas sat in the passenger seat as Jacobsson stomped on the accelerator, racing south. Mikaela had told them that Simon and Mats were in the habit of having lengthy, heart-to-heart talks. Simon had told his sister how much these conversations meant to him, and what a support Mats had been. Was this what had prompted the murders? Andreas Hammar wasn’t answering his phone and Knutas’s anxiety grew. Mats couldn’t possibly have reached the sheep farm after killing Simon, but he could have gone out there earlier.

Jacobsson sped towards Hablingbo, screeching around the curves. The siren was on and the other cars on the road obediently got out of their way. Knutas’s mobile rang again. It was Inspector Fogestam.

‘Anders, I have to tell you that we’ve decided this wasn’t a homicide after all. We assumed it was because several chairs had been toppled. But now we’ve found more than one suicide note. And several reliable witnesses have independently confirmed that they saw Simon Hammar jump from the window.’

‘Really? What do the notes say?’

‘There are four of them. They were on the mantelpiece, addressed to different people.’

‘Who?’

‘One for Veronika, one for Katrina, one for Daniel, and one for Mats.’

‘Could you fax them over to us as soon as possible? Have you read them?’

‘Yes. I’ve had a quick look at them. Simon writes that he’s sorry for doing what he’s about to do, but he sees no other option. The letter to his mother is quite nasty. He seems to be blaming her for the fact that he can’t bear to live any longer. Apparently her demands were so great that he couldn’t take it any more.’

‘And now she’s dead too. She died at just about the same time, damn it.’

‘Yes. It’s terrible. I’ve got to go. But I wanted you to know what we found out.’

IT WAS DARK
by the time Jacobsson parked in front of the farm in Hablingbo. The yard was deserted. No barking dogs. Not a soul in sight. The red pick-up that Andreas had driven the last time they visited him was gone. Knutas glanced at his watch. It was ten fifteen.

Cautiously they approached the house. No one seemed to be at home, and no lights were on. Knutas crept up on to the porch and tried the door. It wasn’t locked. With their guns drawn, they slowly made their way from room to room, but they soon realized that the house was empty.

The gravel crunched under their feet as they walked around the side of the main building. As they searched the property, more police vehicles turned up.

The officers gathered in the yard and then split up to continue the search. Knutas and Jacobsson got back in the car to drive over to the lambing shed and the pasture where they had previously interviewed Andreas while he was weighing the sheep. Maybe that was where they would find him, together with Mats. Knutas fervently hoped that they wouldn’t arrive too late.

They turned on to the road, which was cloaked in darkness, and headed for Havdhem. There were no streetlights and very few buildings. Occasionally they caught a glimpse of lights shining from a distant farm. They drove in silence, as if they were both expecting the worst.

‘Do you remember where to turn?’ asked Knutas.

‘Yes. It’s right up ahead.’

Jacobsson turned on to the narrow gravel road, but they hadn’t gone
more
than a few hundred yards before a flock of sheep blocked their way. Karin was forced to stop the car.

‘What the hell is this?’ she said with a sigh.

More and more sheep came crowding on to the road. All of them were bleating loudly. The sound grew to a deafening cacophony. With their open mouths and blank stares, they looked ghostly in the glow from the car headlamps. Jacobsson honked and tried to inch the car forward, but the sheep refused to budge. They surrounded the vehicle, pressing against it, as if the vehicle were their only refuge.

‘What do we do now?’

‘It can’t be that far to the lambing shed,’ said Knutas. ‘Let’s get out and walk.’

JOHAN SAT IN
the waiting room outside the intensive care ward at Visby Hospital. He hadn’t yet been allowed to see Emma. A nurse had offered him something to drink, but he found himself barely able to speak. His body felt anaesthetized; his mind was empty. He just sat there, utterly still and staring at the floor. He didn’t want to move until they came out and told him that Emma was going to be OK.

Suddenly the door to the waiting room opened. Johan didn’t even lift his head to see who came in.

Somebody sat down on the chair next to him.

‘How’s she doing?’

He recognized the voice, but hadn’t expected to see him here. It was Emma’s ex-husband Olle.

‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘I don’t know anything.’

The clock on the wall was ticking monotonously. The minutes plodded along. Both men, who were the fathers of Emma’s children, sat next to each other in silence and waited, not knowing what to expect.

Olle drummed his fingers on his leg. Johan stared at his veined hands. The ring finger which, for so many years, had worn a wedding ring given to him by Emma. Those hands that had held Emma, changed the nappies of their two children, cooked meals and built the house in Roma. In the past such thoughts had always made Johan feel angry or jealous. But this time he felt a strange sense of solidarity. Emma was important to both of them. He would never be able to erase the years that Olle and Emma had
shared
. And why should he? The faces of Sara and Filip flitted through his mind. This was their father sitting next to him, burying his anxious face in his hands. Johan closed his eyes.

Neither of them spoke.

BODIES EVERYWHERE. WHITE
, woolly, bulky, warm. And all those eyes. Hundreds of eyes staring at him. He saw nothing in their expressions. And yet there was something reassuring about them. They were clustered together in one corner of the pasture, closest to the building.

He had jumped on the motorcycle and driven into town. He had left the café and the dark angel in the throes of death. That had always been his secret name for her: the dark angel. When he was a boy, he saw her as a bright and beautiful angel who would one day come to rescue him. But she wasn’t the person he thought she was. She was a malicious, evil destroyer. He had done the right thing.

The relief he felt made him dizzy and nearly forced him off the road. He steeled himself. He had to get away, and quickly. He was on his way home. For him, home meant the three people who were the only ones who cared about him. Genuinely cared. They had opened their arms to him, taken him in, welcomed him warmly. His three siblings. It was a new feeling, and it had profoundly changed how he viewed the world. Suddenly he had a real reason for living.

Right now he longed to tell Simon what he’d done, but first he was going to talk to Andreas, since he lived so near. He couldn’t help himself. He would burst if he didn’t share the news with someone.

For the first time in his life, he felt that he had a purpose.

He passed the harbour terminal with the big white ships, which later in the evening would take him away from here. But before he left, he wanted
to
see his siblings one more time. It might be a while before he had another opportunity to visit them.

His heart warmed at the thought of them. Andreas was the strong, confident brother he could always turn to. With Mikaela he felt an intense connection. She had spoken to him with great candour, telling him about her eating disorder and how she had started to cut herself as a teenager. And about the problems that she’d had in relating to other people, never daring to trust anyone. Things had finally turned out well for her. She had found a husband who loved her with all his heart.

But he felt the closest to Simon. From the very beginning he had shared a special connection with his youngest brother. They belonged together. They’d had so many long conversations. At first Simon mostly listened, as if understanding perfectly what he was trying to say. Simon took everything he said to heart, encouraging and supporting him. Listening to all the shit he’d been carrying around for years. Suddenly he no longer had to bear the burden alone. He could share it with someone else, and the sense of relief he felt was enormous. He had found his family.