The Beige Man (30 page)

“Although I have a feeling he didn’t kill Tanya,” Fredrik said.

“No, maybe not. But he knows something about the murder. He knew the people who were involved much better than he’s prepared to admit.”

A
CCORDING TO HIS
ID, Björn “Billy” Kjellgren had just turned eighteen. He looked younger. The baggy pants and hoodie hung loosely on his skinny body. His angular shoulders protruded sharply under his top. To tell the truth, he looked almost undernourished. Clumps of red-blond hair stuck out
from beneath his dark blue woolen hat. His face was fine-featured, but his skin was marred by severe acne. He sat slumped on his chair, his gaze fixed on the toes of his scruffy boots.

Irene was standing behind the two-way mirror in the interview room, watching Jonny’s struggle to get Billy to start talking. It was a waste of time.

Billy was doing very well, from his point of view. He didn’t make a single sound during the entire interview. Every question from the increasingly frustrated Jonny was met with total silence. Even when Jonny pointed out that the probable sentences for the crimes of which Billy was accused would put him behind bars for several years, his face remained impassive.

Eventually Jonny gave up. It was a rare occurrence, but this time he had met his match: a skinny little eighteen-year-old who was accused of absconding from juvie, stealing a car, leaving the scene of an accident, and manslaughter.

“The little shit seems to have had a frontal lobotomy,” Jonny said with a sigh as he and Irene were having coffee after the interview. He needed to recharge his batteries before speaking to Niklas Ström.

“Is it okay if I sit in?” Irene asked.

Jonny shrugged. “Sure. But aren’t you busy with your own investigation?”

“Yes, but I’m not due to meet Linda Holm until four o’clock. I can sit in with you until then.”

Jonny gave her a searching look. “Why?”

Irene was prepared for the question. “I want to know whether he or Billy saw anything on the night Tanya was murdered, the night Torleif Sandberg was run down. They must have been somewhere nearby, even if they weren’t the ones who hit Torleif.”

“Who else would it have been?”

“Exactly. There’s a lot to suggest it was these two, but I can’t for the life of me work out how they managed to get the keys
and steal Torleif’s car, which was parked outside his apartment block several hundred meters away.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t make sense,” Jonny agreed.

N
IKLAS
S
TRÖM WAS
slightly taller and stronger than Billy, but otherwise they were surprisingly alike, and easily could have passed for brothers. The big difference was their body language. Billy was inert and expressionless, while Niklas couldn’t sit still for a second. His body twitched uncontrollably all the time. He was the very manifestation of the phrase “ants in his pants.”

Even if Niklas wasn’t prepared to answer any questions, he was far from quiet. He kept up a constant stream of throat-clearing and small snorting noises.

After the usual introductory phrases, Jonny said, “As I understand it, you and Billy got together and decided to get out of Gräskärr. To be honest, I don’t care how you planned it or how you got away. What interests me is what you did when you reached Göteborg.”

Niklas snorted several times, drumming his fingers rapidly on the table.

“Tell me about the first few days after you took off.”

Niklas shook his head and emitted a series of loud groans in quick succession. No response emerged through his tightly compressed lips.

“It was freezing cold. You needed a place to stay. And you needed a car,” Jonny tried again.

The only reaction from Niklas was a strange whistling sound through his nostrils. Irene was becoming increasingly convinced that there was something wrong with him. Did it have something to do with his drug habit? Was he suffering withdrawal symptoms?

When it became clear that Niklas had no intention of answering Jonny’s questions, Irene took the opportunity to ask
one of her own. “Have you and Billy taken any drugs while you’ve been out?”

Niklas looked at her and shook his head firmly. “I’ve given all that up,” he answered, much to her surprise.

“So neither of you has taken anything?” she repeated, just to make sure.

He cleared his throat several times. “Billy’s never used, and I’ve stopped.”

“That’s good. Why did you stop?”

After another bout of coughing and spluttering, he said, “I couldn’t handle it. That was why I … although I don’t really remember … everything was kind of spinning around, then everything went black …”

“You mean when you raped that guy,” Jonny said brutally.

Niklas delivered a rapid volley of coughs before managing to get out, “Yeah.”

“So you’re telling us that deep down you’re a sweet little gay boy? The rape was just an accident that happened because you’d used too much crack? It wasn’t your fault that the victim sustained serious injuries and ended up in hospital for several weeks?”

Irene saw Niklas’s eyes darken, and she realized that the interview had taken a disastrous wrong turn. Jonny was wasting his sarcasm on an offense for which Niklas had already been convicted. She quickly tried to get back to those fateful days in January.

“Where did you and Billy stay for the first few nights after you left Gräskärr?”

Another bout of throat clearing, but no reply. Niklas also refused to answer any subsequent questions. Jonny’s provocative comments about the rape had made him clam up completely. Irene cursed her colleague’s stupidity but realized there wasn’t much they could do about it now. The damage was done. There was no point in carrying on; they
would just have to try again the next day. So far they hadn’t even come close to asking how the boys had gotten Torleif’s keys and his car.

W
HEN
I
RENE GOT
home, the whole family was there. She hadn’t even realized how stressed she was feeling, but as she hugged them she felt the tension leave her body. They had already dropped Felipe off at his apartment. He had enjoyed the skiing trip, apart from a sprained thumb. Krister and the girls had a healthy glow after spending several hours each day outdoors. Superficially the whole family looked fine, but they had a lot to talk about. Krister had done some food shopping in Mellerud, and he quickly made hamburgers with plenty of onion, which was one of Irene’s favorite dishes. Jenny was happy with veggie burgers from the freezer.

Sammie had been fed and was snoring happily under the kitchen table. The Huss family had dinner and discussed everything that had happened over the weekend. Irene did most of the talking. Once again she went over the story of the shooting at the casino. Krister had told the girls about it, but they wanted to hear it from their mom. The experience was therapeutic for Irene; she felt better after going through the details one more time. It was also good to shed a few tears and be comforted by those she loved most in the world.

They sat there for a long time working out how they could best help Gerd when she came home. All four were convinced that she would get through the surgery without any major problems, but the aftermath was a worry.

“She won’t be able to manage in the apartment. Two floors up and no elevator,” Irene said gloomily.

“Can’t she come and live here?” Katarina suggested.

“Of course. But you know what she’s like—as stubborn as a mule. She’s going to want to live in her own apartment.”

“So that’s where you get it from,” Katarina teased.

“Oh yes. And you didn’t exactly miss out on that particular quality either,” Irene came right back at her.

“Come on, ladies, this is about Gerd. We need to make sure she can get back into her apartment. Surely the ambulance driver or whoever transports patients home from hospital will help out,” Krister said firmly.

“The home care service usually deals with medical needs, but as far as anything else goes …” Irene left the sentence unfinished, and sighed.

“We’ll have to work out a schedule, take it in turns to go in and see her every day,” Jenny said.

Eventually Irene felt ready to tell them about Sture’s death. Krister and the girls were shocked, the atmosphere around the table was suffused with grief for a long time. They all agreed that this was all a bit too much to take in at once.

“I don’t think we should tell Mom about Sture yet. She needs to recover from the operation first,” Irene said.

Krister gazed at her thoughtfully. “Is that wise? What if she finds out?”

“If we don’t say anything, she won’t find out.”

“And when do you think we should tell her?” Krister asked.

“In a few days,” Irene replied evasively.

She had no idea when it would be a good time. Of course there was never a good time for news like that. All she knew was she just couldn’t tell her mother right now.

F
REDRIK POKED HIS
head around the door to Irene and Tommy’s shared office.

“Irene, there’s a guy who wants to speak to the person responsible for investigating the murder of the little Russian,” he said.

At the moment Irene was the only one still working actively on the case, so there weren’t many officers to choose from.

“Okay. Put him through,” she answered distractedly. Her attention was focused on the computer screen as she laboriously tried to summarize what had happened in Tenerife. Even if she kept it brief, the report still gave the impression that she spent at least a week on the island. And made up most of the events.

“He’s not on the phone. He’s here.”

“Oh, right … I just want to …”

Before she had time to finish the sentence, Fredrik had shown the man into the room. Or perhaps he had pushed his way in. He was dressed in a thick, dark blue sailing jacket with a hood, which was a practical choice given the freezing rain that was hammering against the windowpane.

“Good afternoon. My name is Martin Wallström. I have some important information regarding the place where you found the girl.”

His whole attitude made it clear he was a man who was
accustomed to being listened to. Irene guessed that he was around forty-five years old. The hair on top of his head was thinning, but at the sides it was dark and cut very short. He looked like he was in good shape. His features were sharply defined, his expression alert and intelligent behind the rimless glasses.

Irene introduced herself and asked him to sit down opposite her. Martin Wallström slipped off the expensive jacket and hung it over the back of the chair. Underneath he was wearing a thin pale grey woolen sweater over a dark grey polo shirt. Together with his black chinos and sturdy black shoes, his clothing made a sober but relaxed impression.

However, what made him interesting was the fact that he seemed to have information regarding the investigation into the death of the little Russian. No one else had come forward since they started looking into Tanya’s murder.

“I’d appreciate hearing what you have to say,” she said with an encouraging smile.

He nodded, then gazed at her appraisingly. He said abruptly, “You have to understand that this is rather … delicate.”

Irene nodded in return, as if she understood completely, but wondering what the hell this was all about. She said nothing, just waited.

“The evening when that little girl was killed … I was in the spot where she was found. Not in the cellar, of course, but on the narrow road leading to the canoe club. I parked a little way along that road.”

Irene could feel her pulse rate increasing. This could be very interesting. She made an effort not to show how hopeful she was. “What time did you get there?” she asked calmly.

“Half past eight—I think that’s pretty accurate. Possibly a few minutes later,” he answered promptly.

“What kind of car do you have?”

“A dark blue Volvo S80. Last year’s model.”

That could be the car that had screeched up Töpelsgatan at
high speed. The time and the model of the car fit with the witness reports. Which would mean that Martin Wallström hadn’t been alone in the car. According to the man with the dog that had almost been run over, there had been a woman in the car as well.

“Why did you go up there? I mean, it was late at night and extremely cold …”

Irene left the sentence hanging in the air, hoping he would latch onto it and keep talking.

“We needed a place where we could talk without being disturbed. I knew the road because I often go jogging in the area. I live in Örgryte.”

You don’t say
, Irene thought sarcastically as she nodded encouragement.

“I wasn’t alone in the car. There was a woman with me. We had … important matters to discuss.” He fell silent and took a deep breath as if to gather strength before he went on. “We’ve been involved for several months. Neither of us expected this to happen, but … the situation was starting to become untenable, so we drove up toward the canoe club to talk about what we were going to do. Should we end the relationship, or should we leave our respective partners? Another problem is we live practically next door to each other. People had started … talking. Some of the neighbors had seen us.”

Martin Wallström looked troubled as he finished speaking. Irene wondered which he thought was worse: the fact that he was screwing the neighbor’s wife or the knowledge that people were beginning to gossip.

“As you will understand, we were talking about some very critical issues. It was cold, and we left the engine running so we wouldn’t freeze. I should think we were there for almost an hour. Longer than forty-five minutes, at any rate. Then we had to leave because it was getting late. We still hadn’t reached a
final decision. Neither of us wanted to end things, but we both have children. Hers are younger than mine … it’s complicated.”

For the first time he looked away and gazed at the rainspattered window. He swallowed hard several times.

“What I wanted to tell you is that all the time we were sitting in the car, there was another car parked a short distance away. A little closer to the barrier.”

And the root cellar, Irene thought. “Was there anyone in the car?”