Dark Angel (6 page)

It was Pia Lilja on the line.

‘Hi, were you asleep? Well, rise and shine. A man was found murdered at the conference centre, and it’s not just anybody.’

‘When? Now?’

Johan’s voice was groggy. He cleared his throat and gently moved his daughter, who was sleeping soundly with her mouth open.

‘From what I understand, they found him just a short time ago. It’s Viktor Algård. Can you believe it?’

Pia sounded out of breath. He could hear her going outside as she talked.

‘I’m on my way out to the car. I’ll meet you at the conference centre.’

‘OK. How’d you find out about this?’ he asked as he climbed out of bed.

‘The body was discovered by someone on the cleaning staff, and I happen to know one of their colleagues. See you there.’

She ended the call. Johan wasn’t surprised that she’d heard the news so
fast
. Pia had an amazing network of contacts that extended all over the island. She had been born and raised on Gotland with six siblings and relatives in every parish. This meant that she had at her disposal countless conveyors of information who kept her up to date on everything going on. Not that it was always newsworthy.

Johan cautiously poked Emma.

Her hair had fallen over her face. Endearingly, she stretched out her long legs, turned over and pulled the covers closer around her. He gave her another poke, a bit harder. This time she reacted by sitting up in bed with a big yawn. She peered at him, not yet fully awake.

‘What is it?’

‘Viktor Algård was found murdered in the conference centre. I’ve got to go.’

He kissed his wife on the forehead and left the room before she even had time to respond.

Half an hour later Johan parked his car outside the conference centre. Uniformed officers were putting up crime-scene tape.

He said hello to his fellow reporters from the local radio station and newspapers. Word had obviously spread quickly. Pia was already busy with her camera. She had taken up position in a side street and had been filming through one of the big picture windows until she was chased off by a policeman.

‘The body’s still here,’ she told Johan. ‘God, how awful. There was blood on the floor. I hope I got something, but I’m afraid it’s probably just footage of the detectives’ backs.’

‘Maybe that’s just as well,’ said Johan dryly.

Pia was a highly professional cameraperson, but sometimes she lacked a sense of what was ethically acceptable to show on TV.

The minutes were ticking by and they needed to get back to their office soon if they were going to get the story edited before the evening broadcast. The editor in Stockholm had already called to say that the national news programme also wanted to include a report about the murder. So they needed to be quick about it. None of the police officers was willing
to
say anything, and Knutas had not made himself available to talk to the press.

At that moment the detective superintendent happened to come out of the building. He was immediately showered with questions by the assembled reporters. He briefly answered a few of them before climbing into a police car.

Johan finished the report by doing a stand-up in front of the conference centre, presenting the meagre information that they’d been able to gather so far.

‘The dedication of the new conference centre here in Visby was a lavish affair with more than five hundred guests. But the festive celebration had a tragic end. Just after four o’clock this afternoon, a man was found dead inside the centre. He attended the party last night but apparently never left the building. The cleaning staff found his body in the area directly behind me, inside an employee lift on the ground floor of the centre. That part of the building was not used during yesterday’s festivities. Evidence found at the scene, including traces of blood on the floor, indicate that a crime was committed. The police have confirmed to Regional News that the case is being treated as a possible homicide. The conference centre and surrounding streets have been cordoned off, and this evening the police are going door-to-door to interview anyone who might have seen anything. The police dogs have also been brought in. As of now, no arrests have been made, and so far there is no known motive for the crime.’

IT WAS LATE
by the time Knutas finally had a moment to himself. He had called Lina to tell her what had happened, and to let her know that the family should go ahead and eat dinner without him. He had no idea when he’d be home.

The body had been transported to the morgue, and from there it would be taken to Stockholm and the Forensics Division in Solna.

Knutas had already had a long conversation with the medical examiner. She told him that it was very possible that the cause of death was cyanide poisoning, but she wouldn’t be able to say for sure until she’d done the post-mortem. She was hoping to have time for it on Tuesday. At this point she couldn’t say much about the blow to the victim’s head. Knutas had known the ME for a long time. She was utterly meticulous and never made any statements until she was absolutely sure of the facts.

Knutas took out his old curved pipe from the top desk drawer. This evening the investigative team had held its first meeting in order to parcel out the necessary tasks. The top priority was to focus on those friends and family members who were closest to Algård.

Knutas was sorry that Karin Jacobsson wasn’t able to attend the meeting. She was both his deputy and best friend at work. She had gone to Stockholm for the weekend to celebrate her fortieth birthday. He’d tried to ring her in the morning to wish her a happy birthday, and again this evening to tell her about the murder, but she hadn’t answered either call, which worried him a bit. It wasn’t like Karin to switch off her mobile.

Something had been going on with her over the past six months. She
was
more reserved and taciturn than usual, if that was even possible. She’d always been reticent about her personal life – that was something Knutas had been forced to accept. On the other hand, when it came to her job, she was alert, outgoing and assertive, always ready and willing to participate. But lately he’d noticed a significant change. Karin seemed to be constantly slipping into her own thoughts and daydreaming at their meetings. She also seemed to be having trouble concentrating on her work. It was as if some sort of veil had come down between them. Something was getting in the way, but he had no idea what it was. It was frustrating, because he needed her as much as ever – maybe even more now.

He pushed these worries aside and went back to thinking about the murder case. What about the motive? he thought. What could it be? There was no indication that Viktor Algård had been killed during an attempted robbery. He still had his wallet and Rolex watch.

So far they hadn’t been able to interview his wife, Elisabeth. When the police went to the family home in Hamra to deliver the news of Viktor’s death, she had been suffering from a severe migraine, which made it impossible for her to answer any questions. She had asked them to come back another time. The police decided to postpone the interview until later. The two Algård children were grown up and lived on the mainland. They had been informed about their father’s death and would be flying to Gotland the next day.

Did the wife have any motive for killing her husband? Or could the murder have anything to do with the terrible assault on the teenager outside the Solo Club a few weeks ago? Algård had been very much involved in the case, giving statements both to the police and to the press, because he was the owner of the club. A sixteen-year-old boy had been beaten so badly that he’d had to be transported by helicopter to Stockholm. He ended up in a coma and was still unconscious, a patient in the intensive care ward of the neurosurgery division of Karolinska Hospital.

It had proved nearly impossible to find out exactly what happened that night. There were many witnesses, but they gave conflicting accounts. Most of them were very young and exceedingly drunk. It had been
dark
and difficult to see what was going on or who was doing what. Three teenage boys had been arrested. Viktor Algård landed in real hot water afterwards. Ever since the club opened, plenty of people had questioned his decision to hold parties for underage kids at the club. He was subjected to harsh criticism because alcohol was sometimes sold to minors in connection with the parties, resulting in frequent drunkenness and brawls. On the night in question, things got seriously out of hand. The bouncers stationed at the club entrance were accused of failing to intervene effectively when the fight broke out. It later turned out that both men also lacked the necessary training. One was an old jailbird; the other was a member of a motorcycle gang which had a dubious reputation on the island. Several demonstrations had been held to protest about the increasingly brutal incidents of youth violence. The newspapers had been filled with outraged letters to the editor ranting about the ineptitude of politicians, the failure of parents to take responsibility and the ever-growing exposure of teenagers to violence via the Internet, computer games and TV.

It seemed plausible that Algård’s murder might be somehow connected. The whole episode had certainly made him plenty of enemies.

Knutas couldn’t resist lighting his pipe. Then he opened the window and stared out into the darkness. He wasn’t in charge of the case dealing with the assault on the teenager. He’d assigned it to another colleague. He’d had to, because he happened to be personally and emotionally involved: he knew the victim quite well. For many years Alexander Almlöv had been in the same class as his own son Nils, and the boy’s father used to be one of Knutas’s best friends. Both families had spent a good deal of time together. But a few years ago, the friendship had ended abruptly. And then Alexander’s father had died.

It was all a very sad story.

FIVE HOURS AFTER
Knutas left his office, he was back again. His eyes were stinging with fatigue as he opened the door to the police station and said hello to the sergeant on duty.

He had barely settled himself at his desk before someone knocked on the door. Karin Jacobsson poked her head inside. Knutas felt a wave of relief when he saw her. It was almost ridiculous how much he missed her whenever she wasn’t at work.

‘Hi. What the hell is going on here? I was shocked when the sergeant told me about it. Viktor Algård, of all people! And nobody told me anything!’

She plopped down on the visitors’ sofa in front of Knutas’s desk and fixed her intense gaze on his face. She flung one jeans-clad leg over the other and straightened her black shirt, which looked like something his daughter Petra would wear. In terms of her appearance, Jacobsson tended to look like a teenager. She was unusually slender for a police officer and only five foot three, a tomboy with dark hair cut short and brown eyes that she rarely accentuated with any make-up other than a trace of mascara.

‘Nobody told you anything?’ Knutas repeated dryly. ‘I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried to reach you on your mobile.’

She threw out her hands.

‘My phone ran out of juice yesterday afternoon and, like a bloody idiot, I’d left the charger at home. On the other hand, I was off duty, you know. I had a good time in town, went out to eat, and then caught the night ferry
home
. I slept like a rock in my cabin and didn’t wake up until we arrived. I just had time to stop by my flat before coming here.’

‘And you didn’t listen to your voicemail?’

‘No. How was I supposed to know that Viktor Algård would get himself murdered and, to cap it all, at the dedication festivities for the conference centre? Thanks for the flowers, by the way. They were left outside my door. That was a nice surprise.’

‘You’re welcome. As I said, I did try to call you.’

‘So tell me all about it.’

‘Algård’s body was found inside an employee lift on the floor below the banquet hall. That part had been closed off for the evening. Presumably he never left the building after the dedication ceremony and celebration. At four o’clock yesterday afternoon the cleaning staff found his body. He probably died from cyanide poisoning.’

‘Cyanide?’ said Jacobsson, raising her eyebrows. ‘That sounds rather unlikely. Are you sure?’

‘We won’t be sure until we get the report from the post-mortem, but everything points in that direction. The victim’s complexion was bright pink, and he actually smelled of bitter almonds.’

‘Bitter almonds?’

‘Yes. Apparently cyanide has the same smell.’

‘I’ve heard that bitter almonds can be poisonous if you eat too many of them – but you’d have to scoff fifty or so. As if anyone would ever do such a stupid thing. Who in the world even uses them nowadays?’

‘I assume they’re used as ingredients in Swedish curd cake and almond buns. Aren’t they?’

‘I’m always surprised by the range of your knowledge, Anders.’ She gave him a wry smile. ‘You don’t really do much baking, do you?’

‘You’re forgetting my upbringing.’

Knutas’s parents had run a bakery on their farm in Kappelshamn in the north of Gotland. Even though their speciality was unleavened flatbread, Knutas had grown up surrounded by all sorts of baked goods.

‘But it wasn’t bitter almonds that caused his death. It was cyanide,’ he said.

‘Is there anything to indicate that the murder is connected to all that uproar about Algård’s club – and the latest assault case?’

‘Not so far. But it’s certainly an interesting theory.’

‘Is Alexander’s condition still unchanged?’

Knutas nodded gloomily.

‘Did you know Algård?’ asked Jacobsson.

‘I wouldn’t say that I knew him exactly. But we’d always exchange a few words whenever we met. I’ve attended a number of parties that he arranged. He was a nice guy, cheerful and easy-going and very sociable, of course. He had to be, in order to do that kind of job.’

‘Was he married?’

‘Yes, although we haven’t been able to interview his wife yet.’

‘Any children?’

‘Two. Both grown. They live on the mainland, but they’ll be here today.’