Dark Angel (8 page)

‘How does it work?’ asked Knutas.

‘The cyanide instantly blocks the airways. You could say that the cells are suffocated, and the victim will have trouble breathing immediately after ingesting the poison. I presume it’s sometimes used as a method of committing suicide because it’s such a lethal substance. If you take a sufficient amount of cyanide, you will definitely die. And it happens so fast, taking anywhere from thirty seconds to a few minutes, depending on the amount. The Nazi Hermann Goering killed himself by swallowing a cyanide capsule when he was sentenced to death for genocide at the Nuremberg trials.’

‘How difficult is it to get hold of cyanide?’

Sohlman shrugged.

‘These days you can buy just about anything on the Internet. Or make it yourself if you have an interest in chemistry. It may also be used in certain industries. I don’t really know.’

‘We’ll need to find out about that,’ said Knutas. ‘Will you look into it, Thomas?’

‘Sure. At the same time, I think we have to ask ourselves what type of person would use poison to commit a murder. It indicates a certain amount of calculation. And who would be capable of handling such a dangerous poison?’

‘Something that distinguishes a killer who uses poison is the absence of physical contact between the perpetrator and the victim,’ Sohlman interjected. ‘That type of murderer watches the victim ingest the poison, but usually leaves the scene as quickly as possible. So he doesn’t leave any incriminating evidence behind. No fingerprints or strands of hair, no skin scrapings, no blood. In this case, the perp did drag the victim into the lift, but he must have felt a need to hide the body for some reason. There’s also a psychological aspect. Death by poison is often extremely painful, even though it happens fast, which indicates that the motive is most likely personal. So the victim and killer knew each other; they had some sort of relationship.’

‘If we assume that someone put cyanide in Algård’s drink, shouldn’t he have noticed from the smell that something was wrong with it?’ asked Jacobsson. ‘Since it would have smelled so strongly of bitter almonds?’

‘Hmmm,’ said Sohlman and then paused, rubbing his chin. ‘That depends. I’ve heard that only fifty per cent of human beings are able to smell the scent of bitter almonds. Algård might have belonged to the group that can’t. Or else it all happened so fast that he noticed the smell too late. It’s also possible that he was forced to drink the poison. We found a chair toppled over at the crime scene. And he’d suffered a blow to the head.’

Silence settled over the room, as if everyone were trying to imagine what might have happened on the night of the dedication festivities. Knutas broke the silence.

‘Let’s leave the speculations for now and concentrate on what we know about Viktor Algård. I didn’t really know him. I only met him a few times in connection with various events that he’d organized. Anyone else know him?’

Everyone shook their heads.

‘OK.’ Knutas glanced down at his notes. ‘Algård was fifty-three years old, born and raised in Hamra. Married, with two grown children who live on the mainland. A son who’s twenty-eight and a daughter who’s twenty-six. He’d worked as an event planner for years, and I know that he was quite successful. His problems started when he bought a building down by the harbour and turned it into a club for teenagers. We all know what has gone on since then. There has been trouble at that club from the very beginning, and now, to top it all, we have the recent case of assault and battery.’

Knutas got up, picked up a red marker and began writing on the whiteboard at the front of the room.

Assault
.

‘The incident that took place in front of his club is an important factor, and we need to explore a possible connection, of course. According to several witnesses, Algård was in the process of divorcing his wife.’ Knutas wrote the word
Divorce
on the whiteboard. ‘Wittberg, can you tell us more?’

‘The Algårds filed for divorce in district court a week ago. They’ve been married more than thirty years. We’ve just started on the interviews, and unfortunately we haven’t been able to talk to any of the family members yet. We’ll be meeting with his wife, Elisabeth Algård, later today. Both children will also be interviewed – I hope sometime today. The only people we’ve talked to so far are employees of his company, which specialized in PR and event planning. Algård had two people on staff and his company is called Go Gotland. The office is located on Hästgatan and the client list includes major players, such as Wisby Strand, Kneippbyn and the municipality of Visby itself. I’ve talked to the two employees, a young guy named Max and a girl called Isabella. They had only good things to say about Algård as a boss. In addition, both of them are positive that he was having an affair. They hadn’t seen him with another woman, but apparently he’d exhibited all the signs of being in love. They said that he’d started having lunch with someone, but he refused to tell them who it was. He was gone from the office for long periods of time, and would return looking flushed and very pleased with himself. He’d started going to a gym – apparently he used to work out, but had let it lapse – and he’d even hired a personal trainer just a few weeks ago. He’d told his employees that he was going to take a trip to Paris in May, and he’d contacted an estate agent to help him find a large flat in the centre of Visby, since he was planning to sell his small pied-à-terre.’

‘So now we have another motive,’ said Smittenberg, twirling the ends of the moustache he’d recently affected. ‘The mysterious mistress.’

Knutas wrote
Mistress
on the whiteboard and then turned again to Thomas Wittberg.

‘You might as well write
Wife
, while you’re at it,’ Smittenberg suggested. ‘From what I gather, Elisabeth Algård doesn’t have an alibi, does she?’

Knutas did as the prosecutor requested.

‘There’s one theory that may be a long shot, but we still can’t rule it out,’ Wittberg interjected. ‘The fact is, the conference centre has been a very controversial construction project. It’s possible that someone murdered Algård to protest against the dedication of the building.’

‘A statement from rabid environmentalists, maybe? That sounds really credible,’ Jacobsson teased him.

‘We need to keep all avenues open,’ Knutas countered, his voice sharp.

He added the words
Conference Centre
to the list and again turned to Wittberg.

‘What have you found out so far from talking to the waiters and service personnel?’

‘According to a bartender, shortly after midnight Algård told him that he was going to take a break. It was the first time all evening that he left the party. After that no one saw him again.’

‘And no one missed him?’ asked Jacobsson in surprise.

‘The dinner was over by the time he took a break, and then the dancing started up and there was a lot of commotion. We’re talking about more than five hundred guests, after all. The people that we’ve interviewed so far seem to have taken it for granted that Algård was on the scene somewhere, but none of them can pinpoint exactly the last time they saw him.’

‘Was he alone when he left?’

‘Yes, he headed downstairs to the section of the building that was closed off for the evening.’

‘The perp could have been someone he worked with,’ said Jacobsson. ‘What do we know about any problems on the job? We should look into that.’

Knutas wrote
Work Colleague
on the board.

‘As of now, we haven’t come up with anything significant other than the trouble at his club,’ said Wittberg. ‘We need to keep working.’

THE GROUP FROM
the National Criminal Police in Stockholm arrived in the afternoon. There was none of the hullabaloo that always ensued whenever Martin Kihlgård was part of the group, and Knutas reluctantly had to admit that he missed his charismatic colleague. Even though Kihlgård frequently drove Knutas crazy, at least he was entertaining. Jacobsson politely greeted their newly arrived associates, but displayed what seemed like a deliberate lack of interest in talking to them. Knutas found that annoying. It wasn’t their fault that Kihlgård was ill.

In charge of the group was an inconsequential-looking man by the name of Rylander. Under his direction, they immediately set to work on the most pressing task: scheduling and recording the huge number of interviews. Some had already been conducted, but hundreds of others still needed to be done.

Viktor Algård’s two children were coming to the police station to be interviewed, but his wife couldn’t muster the strength to do the same. So the police would have to go to the Algård house. Knutas thought that was actually just as well. He wanted to see Algård’s home to get a better picture of what the man was like as a person. The police had already searched the house without finding anything of interest. The same could not be said of the victim’s flat on Hästgatan. In the bathroom the police had found perfume, a hair dryer and other feminine toiletries. In the bedroom were shoes and clothing belonging to a woman, but of course they might be his wife’s. Knutas had decided to wait to ask about these items until he could talk to Elisabeth Algård in person.

As soon as the morning meeting was over, Jacobsson and Knutas headed for Hamra to interview the widow.

First, however, they made a detour to Bokströmsgatan and parked in front of Knutas’s house.

‘I just need to run in and see Nils for a moment,’ he explained. ‘He stayed home from school because he had a stomach ache this morning.’

‘But isn’t he sixteen by now?’

‘Children still need their parents. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. They’re never too old for a little parental concern.’

Knutas gave her a wry smile as he opened the car door. Jacobsson made a choking sound, as if something had got lodged in her throat. Then she had a coughing fit.

‘Are you coming down with something too?’ Knutas asked.

He pounded his colleague on the back as tears ran down Jacobsson’s cheeks. Knutas looked at her in astonishment.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘It’s nothing,’ she told him. ‘I must have swallowed something the wrong way. That’s all. I think I’ll wait in the car.’

‘OK.’

The house was dark and silent. Knutas tiptoed upstairs so as not to wake Nils if he was asleep. Cautiously he opened the door. Nils was sitting at his desk next to the window with his back turned. His computer was on. Knutas saw at once the picture of Alexander Almlöv that had been published in the newspapers.

‘Hi, Nils. How are you feeling?’

His son turned around with a start. His eyes were shiny with tears.

‘What are you doing at home?’

Knutas went over to Nils and placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. The boy was much too thin. That was something he’d been noticing for a while now.

‘I just wanted to look in on you. Mamma said you had a stomach ache.’

Knutas’s expression turned grim as he looked at the picture on the computer screen. The photo had been taken at Tofta beach in the
summertime
. Alexander, his face suntanned and his hair wet, was smiling at the camera. Now he lay in a coma.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked gently.

‘Nothing.’ Nils turned off the computer and went over to his bed to lie down. ‘Just leave me alone.’

‘But how are you feeling?’

‘Better. Nothing to worry about.’

He turned over to face the wall. Knutas sat down on the edge of the bed.

‘Are you thinking about Alexander?’

‘Why are you here, anyway? Don’t you have a lot to do because of the murder and everything?’

‘Yes, I do,’ sighed Knutas. ‘We’re on our way down to Sudret. Karin and I. She’s waiting in the car.’

‘So go. I’m fine.’

‘Shall I get you something? Are you thirsty?’

‘No.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yes. I said I’m fine.’

Knutas made his way back to the car, filled with anxiety. He had to find some way to reconnect with Nils.

They drove south, taking the coast road. It was a beautiful day with the springtime sun shining over the fields and meadows. The hides of the cattle gleamed as they grazed in the pastures. On the right-hand side of the road Knutas and Jacobsson occasionally caught glimpses of the sea, which glinted with promise. After the long and dreary winter, it was as if someone had lifted a hazy grey curtain that had been hovering over the island for months and now nature had come back to life. A few fiery red poppies were visible in places along the road, and suddenly summer didn’t seem so far away. The air was already warmer. Knutas rolled down the window.

‘Beautiful day,’ he said, casting an enquiring glance at Karin.

‘It really is.’

‘So how are things going?’

‘Fine, thanks.’

She looked at him and smiled. She had a relatively large mouth for such a narrow face. The big gap between her front teeth was particularly endearing.

‘We haven’t had much time to talk lately.’

‘No.’

‘You’ve seemed a bit down.’

‘You think so?’

Karin’s face seemed to close up. It was obvious that she didn’t want to discuss the topic. They continued driving south in silence.

Knutas looked out of the window again, wondering what could be weighing on her. He’d worked with Karin Jacobsson for more than fifteen years and she was his closest confidante. At least from his point of view. He told her everything, including any problems he experienced with his family. She was a good listener, always willing to offer encouragement and advice. But when it came to Karin’s own personal life, that was a whole different story. As soon as the conversation turned to her, she became guarded and silent.

A year ago Knutas had promoted Jacobsson to Deputy Detective Superintendent and second in command, which had stirred up some bad feelings at the station, even though most people were positive about her new role. Malicious comments were heard from a handful of older male officers who didn’t like being passed over for a much younger colleague who also happened to be a woman. Jacobsson’s petite stature hadn’t made it any easier for her to win their respect. The fact that she didn’t live according to the expected norms had also given rise to speculations. Although she was forty years old, she still lived alone with her cockatoo named Vincent. She devoted most of her free time to football, both as a coach and as a player in the women’s league.