Marked for Life (8 page)

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

PETER RAMSTEDT SOUNDED
grumpy when Henrik Levin phoned. His lawyerly voice was sharp and direct. Twice he repeated that he absolutely didn't have time to be present at a new interview with Kerstin Juhlén and especially not at this afternoon at the time the chief inspector had proposed.

“Since my client is particularly anxious that I be with her and I am at the moment in court, it would be more suitable if we come in this evening or tomorrow morning,” said Ramstedt.

“No,” said Henrik.

“I beg your pardon?”

“No,” said Henrik. “It is not suitable this evening or tomorrow morning. I don't know if you realize it, but we are in the middle of a murder investigation and we need to talk to Kerstin Juhlén now.”

There was silence at the other end. Then the lawyer's voice could be heard again. He spoke extremely slowly and resolutely.

“And I don't know if you realize it, but as her legal representative I must be present.”

“Fine, in that case you both better be here at eleven this morning.”

Henrik ended the call.

* * *

At two minutes to eleven the lawyer came into the interview room to join Kerstin and the others. His face was bright red. He put his briefcase on the floor with a deliberate thud and sat down next to Kerstin. He gave Henrik and Jana an arrogant smile, put his cell phone in the pocket of his striped jacket. Then the interview began.

Henrik started by asking some direct simple questions about Hans Juhlén's financial situation, which Kerstin answered in a soft voice. But when he moved on to more specific details, she hardly had anything to say.

“Like I told you, I didn't have access to all of my husband's accounts and have no idea of the balance and thus could not say how much was in them.” But she did say that his salary was transferred to a joint checking account and the payments on the mortgage and other maintenance costs came from that.

Hans had taken upon himself the responsibility for their financial situation as it was his salary that paid for their keep.

“He was the one who took care of everything,” said Kerstin.

“As I understand, financially as a couple you were quite well-off?” said Henrik.

“Yes, very.”

“But you said he wasn't one to waste money?”

“That's right.”

“Was that why he didn't help his brother with money?”

“Has Lasse said that? That he didn't get any money from Hans?” Kerstin's voice had changed. The tone was high.

Henrik didn't answer. He stared at her pink T-shirt. The elastic of the round collar had loosened a little and a loose thread hung down from a sleeve. He had the urge to reach across the table and pull it out. How could she leave the thread hanging there, he wondered.

“He did get money from Hans,” said Kerstin. “Far too much money. Hans wanted to help him but Lasse gambled it all away. Hans didn't want Simon to be affected, so in an attempt to help his young nephew, he transferred money directly into an account in Simon's name. But since Lasse was his legal guardian, he simply withdrew the money from the boy's account and lost it all on the horses. Of course my husband got angry and stopped sending any more. Perhaps that wasn't the best thing for the boy, but what could he do?”

“According to Lasse, it was you who stopped the payments,” said Henrik.

“No, he got that wrong.”

Kerstin put her thumb up to her mouth and started to bite a raw cuticle.

“He didn't receive any money recently, then?” said Henrik.

“No, not for the past year.”

Henrik pondered this, then looked at Kerstin again.

“We're going to check into your accounts,” he said.

“Why?” Kerstin met Henrik's gaze and continued biting her cuticle.

“To verify that what you've said is correct.”

“You need permission,” said Ramstedt, who had now leaned over the table.

“We've already arranged that,” said Jana briefly and held out the signed search warrant.

Ramstedt snorted audibly, leaned back and put his hand on Kerstin's shoulder. She looked at him and Henrik noticed a nervous twitch from her left eyelid.

“Well then,” said Henrik. “I have one more important question. This morning a boy was found dead. I have his photo here.”

He placed two high-resolution images, one from the scene and one from the security camera, in front of her.

She gave the pictures only a quick glance.

“We must find the person who murdered your husband and that's what we are going to do, in the end,” said Henrik. “But so far we have only one suspect and that is you. So if you wish to be released, you must try to think whether you have seen this boy anywhere near your house.”

Kerstin sat quietly for a few moments.

“I have never seen him before,” she said. “I promise, I've never seen him before. Never.”

“Certain?”

“Absolutely certain.”

* * *

Her headache had eased up. Even so, Jana Berzelius swallowed a second pill with a large glass of water. She had let the tap run quite a while before she considered the water cold enough.

When she was done, she put the glass down in the office sink and got to work. She had emails and calls to answer, and she was still waiting for two summonses to be approved. Now Yvonne had given her three more to deal with.

Torsten Granath stepped into the office kitchen and quickly went across to the cupboard and took out a coffee mug.

“A lot of work?” said Jana.

“Isn't there always?”

Torsten swung around to put the mug on the tray of the coffee machine, but in his eagerness he lost his grip and the mug fell.

In no time, Jana reached out with her right hand and caught hold of the mug before it hit the floor.

“Neat catch.”

Jana didn't answer, just handed the cup over to her boss.

“Is that what you learned at that posh boarding school?”

Jana remained silent. Torsten was used to her taciturnity and now, carefully this time, made himself some coffee.

“If I can't even manage a cup of coffee, perhaps I should retire!”

“Or at least take things a bit more slowly,” said Jana.

“No, I haven't time for that. How are you getting on with the Juhlén case, by the way?”

“I'll have to release his wife tomorrow,” she said. “I've got nothing concrete to link her to the murder. That's going to please Ramstedt.”

“That man! For him the law is simply business.”

“And the women are his reward.”

Torsten gave Jana a broad smile.

“I trust you,” he said.

“I know.”

Jana knew he meant what he said. He had trusted her from the very first day she came to the office. Thanks to excellent references from her trainee years, she got the much sought-after job as a prosecutor in Norrköping despite hard competition. That she was the daughter of the former Prosecutor-General Karl Berzelius might have contributed to her appointment. Her father, Karl Berzelius, had good contacts within the civil service in general, and Sweden's courts in particular. Jana had, however, managed all her university studies on her own. She had graduated in law at Uppsala University with the highest grade and her father would have felt proud when she was given her certificate. Or at least satisfied. She didn't know because he wasn't there. Instead, it was her mother, Margaretha, who told her daughter, “Your father sends his greetings and congratulations,” as she handed over a bunch of carnations the color of port wine, then gave her a pat on the shoulder and a smile that said that Jana shouldn't expect more.

It had always been taken for granted that Jana would follow in her father's footsteps. To choose another career would have been unthinkable. She had heard that since she was a child. So she had also had hopes that Karl would come and congratulate her personally. But he didn't.

Jana scratched at her neck, then held her hands together over her chest. She looked at Torsten, who was still smiling, and wondered if he had had a call from her father. Karl Berzelius had retired two years earlier, but that didn't stop him from involving himself in Swedish jurisprudence. Especially concerning the cases where his daughter was the prosecutor. Twice a month he would phone Torsten and find out how she had done. This was something that her boss couldn't possibly object to. And nor could Jana.

Karl was like that.

Forceful.

Controlling.

Torsten's smile vanished from his face.

“Oh well, I must move on. I've got to go to the vet's at four o'clock. My wife is worried about Ludde. Thanks for catching the cup, that saved us having to buy a new one.”

Torsten gave Jana a wink before leaving the room.

She remained standing beside the granite counter and watched him leave.

“You're welcome,” she said quietly to herself.

* * *

The Juhlén bank account statements filled fifty-six pages. The bank official had been helpful and Ola Söderström had thanked him politely three times in a row.

Now he looked quickly through the sheets that showed Hans Juhlén's private account. On the twenty-fifth of every month a transfer of seventy-four thousand kronor was recorded from the Migration Board. Ola whistled when he read that impressive sum. It was a lot more than his salary of thirty-three thousand.

Two days later, on the twenty-seventh, a transfer was recorded from the same account of almost the entire balance. Only five hundred kronor were left, and that had been the pattern over the past ten months.

It was when he then started looking at the couple's joint checking account that he realized that something was wrong. That was where the money from Hans Juhléns's account had been transferred to. It wasn't in itself strange in any way. What was odd were the large withdrawals of forty thousand kronor. Once a month, that same amount had been withdrawn from the account and the withdrawals had taken place on exactly the same day of the month and at exactly the same branch.

Always on the twenty-eighth. Always at Swedbank. And always at Lidaleden 8.

* * *

The information about the large cash withdrawals reached Henrik Levin from Ola while he was in the elevator at the police building. The reception on his cell was poor, and so he had to concentrate to hear Ola's voice. He leaned against the lead-gray elevator wall and held his head at an angle so that the phone would be as high as possible. When that didn't help, he stood as close to the doors as he could. Eventually he got off the elevator and heard the message.

“So forty thousand kronor has been withdrawn from their joint account every month, on the same day and for the last ten months,” he said when he stepped out of the lift.

“Yes, that is correct,” said Ola. “The question is what was the money used for? To pay a person blackmailing him?”

“We'll have to find out.”

Henrik ended the call, and fast-dialed Mia to ask if she wanted to come with him to visit a bank in the district Hageby.

“He's paid forty thousand a month? That's just incredible!” Mia said.

“Are you coming with me to Hageby or not?”

“No, I'm only halfway done here,” said Mia and explained that it took time to go through all the current reports of missing children and adolescents. Contact with social services had led to nothing, and so far neither the residents at the Immigration Board's refugee centers nor the teachers in the junior secondary schools had recognized the boy. And if nobody could explain his identity by the end of the day, Mia would have to look farther afield and start in neighboring municipalities. In the best case she might find something there.

“But it could also be the case that this boy doesn't have any papers. That he comes from another country, and that he has come in without any contact with the Migration Board,” said Mia.

“Yes, but he must have had some sort of contact since he was evidently inside Juhlén's house,” said Henrik.

“True,” said Mia.

Henrik walked out of the police building, unlocked his car, got in and started to drive. He was still on his phone, grateful that Sweden had yet to ban the use of cell phones while driving.

“Or perhaps it's simply a question of his parents not having noticed that he is missing. Perhaps they don't read the papers, and think their son is staying with a friend or a relative or something,” Mia went on.

“Sure, but I think most parents know where their children are and would contact the police if they didn't come home in time. Wouldn't you?” said Henrik and stopped at a red traffic light at a pedestrian crossing.

A mother with two small children crossed in front of him. Both children took big steps so as not to touch the parts between the white pedestrian crossing lines. The blue bobbles on their caps bounced up and down with every step they took.

“Yes, I suppose I would, but not all parents react in the same way.”

“No, you're right of course.”

“But we can at least hope we soon get in a report of a missing boy. It would be very nice to find out who he is.”

“Or that we strike it lucky at one of the schools that we still have to check.”

Henrik ended the conversation, put the phone down next to the gearshift and looked out of the window. The mother and children had now crossed the street and disappeared behind a house corner.

Henrik stroked the steering wheel and sighed, his thoughts on the dead boy. It
was
weird that he still hadn't been reported missing by anybody. And even weirder was that his finger and handprints were found in Juhlén's house. Could pedophilia be involved? A boy out for revenge who wanted to kill the man who abused him? The thought wasn't completely absurd, but it was unpleasant and he immediately dismissed it.

There was a lot of traffic on Kungsgatan and Henrik drove slowly past Skvallertorget and on toward the park. He took the third exit at the roundabout and continued down Södra Promenaden. The traffic got a bit lighter when he reached the E22, and after a couple of kilometers he took the exit toward Mirum Galleria.