The Killer's Art (11 page)

He introduced himself and Pia. ‘We’re doing a report on what happened, and we’d like to get your reaction, of course. You worked so
closely with Egon Wallin,’ he said, giving Eva Blom a solemn look. She was a short woman, barely reaching up to his shoulders.

‘As long as you don’t take any pictures,’ she said tersely. ‘I don’t want to be on TV.’

‘Unfortunately that’s the only way for us to report on anything, since we work for Swedish television,’ explained Johan. ‘Could we at least take some footage inside the gallery?’

Grenfors wasn’t going to be pleased that they hadn’t got more interviews. And Johan had stubbornly refused to comply with his boss’s request to get an interview with the new widow. There was a limit to what he would stoop to doing just for the sake of a good story.

D
etective Inspector Karin Jacobsson was the person that Knutas cared about most at his job. They had worked together for fifteen years. She was an astute and skilled officer, but it was Karin’s personality that had drawn him to her from the very start. She was charming, lively and spirited; she always had an opinion about everything, and he’d never met anybody who was able to get to the point so fast. At least when it came to their work. She was a sweet, petite woman with dark hair and doe-like eyes. She spent much of her free time playing football, as was evident from her muscular physique. Her most remarkable feature was the gap between her front teeth, which was most apparent whenever she smiled or laughed. Karin almost always wore jeans and a shirt. In the summertime she would occasionally appear at work wearing a dress, causing a few raised eyebrows. She was thirty-nine but looked younger, and she was still single, at least as far as Knutas knew. If she was involved in a relationship, she was keeping it to herself, which was practically impossible to do in a small town like Visby. Her parents lived in Tingstäde, and she saw them now and then. There was something enigmatic about Karin that Knutas couldn’t work out.

Right now they were having coffee in his office, considering various motives for the murder of Egon Wallin.

‘It does seem strange that the artist and his manager would leave for Stockholm on the very morning of the murder, but there could be a perfectly reasonable explanation,’ said Jacobsson. ‘Maybe it was something they’d planned long before.’

‘Well, I hope we can get hold of them soon so we can hear what they
have to say. We can’t dismiss the fact that it’s a damned odd coincidence for them to end up on the same plane as Egon Wallin’s biggest competitor. And a guy who had previously tried to get his mitts on Kalvalis.’

‘I agree. But how many flights to Stockholm are there on a Sunday?’ Jacobsson went on. ‘It may have nothing at all to do with the case. I think that first and foremost we need to ask ourselves why Egon Wallin went out in the middle of the night. What normal person goes home with his wife around eleven after a festive evening and then suddenly decides to take a walk? Besides, it was freezing cold on Saturday night. The only reason I can think of is that he went out to meet someone. A love tryst, to put it bluntly.’

‘I’ve also been thinking along those lines. But who is this lover of his and where can we find her? And why hasn’t she come forward? Egon Wallin didn’t take his car, nor did he ring for a cab; we’ve already checked on that. So he must have left home on foot, and then he either ran into the murderer somewhere outdoors, or he was killed at the home of his mistress.’

‘Others could also be involved,’ Jacobsson interjected. ‘Maybe his mistress had a husband who discovered what was going on, and he killed Egon Wallin during the night.’

‘Unless it was his mistress who did it,’ countered Knutas. ‘Though I have a hard time imagining that a woman would be able to hoist up his body like that. Provided she didn’t have help, of course.’

Knutas stopped to sneeze loudly. He took a few moments to blow his nose before going on.

‘Good Lord, we can keep on speculating for ever, but it won’t really get us anywhere.’

Jacobsson drained the last of her coffee and got up.

‘How are things going, by the way?’ asked Knutas. ‘How are you?’

He regarded her intently. There was something weighing on her; he’d noticed it for several days now.
She’s really sweet,
he thought as he observed her hesitation.

When she first arrived at Visby police headquarters, he thought for a
while that he was falling in love with her, but then he met Lina and forgot all about his budding interest in Karin.

Knutas was not the only one who had a hard time deciphering what Karin thought or felt about personal matters. She had a reserve as thick as armour, which meant that no one dared ask any questions about her private life, at least initially. Unless it had to do with football.

The strange thing was that Knutas himself found it so easy to talk to her, even though she was reticent about confiding in him. He often turned to Karin when he had problems with Lina or the children. She was always sympathetic and willing to listen. But if he later asked her about similar concerns, she was always evasive. Yet he was still very fond of her, and he sometimes worried that she might look for a more challenging job. Although Karin had worked on the Visby police force for sixteen years, he wouldn’t feel secure until her personal life prompted her to settle down permanently. As things now stood, if she met someone over on the mainland, she’d be gone. Or if she was offered a job that she couldn’t refuse.

Sometimes he felt like her father, even though there were only thirteen years between them. Knutas had become dependent on having Karin Jacobsson as part of the team, and he certainly didn’t want to lose her.

She paused for a moment before answering his question.

‘I’m fine, thanks.’

‘Sure?’

Her expression was inscrutable as she met his gaze.

‘Of course. I’m fine.’

Even though he could see that something was bothering her, he knew better than to ask any more questions.

E
mma had been caught completely off guard by Johan’s sudden proposal of marriage. In a sense it was inevitable, as if they would have to come to that decision sooner or later. They had a child together, after all. By the time she had chosen to keep the baby and break up her marriage, she’d already made up her mind. And yet she had kept wavering back and forth. When she thought about how she’d behaved since meeting Johan, it seemed a miracle that he still wanted to be with her. That he hadn’t grown tired of her long ago.

He had left the house for the city and his job a short time ago. He had kissed her before leaving, but had not said any more about the matter or pressed her for an answer. She had watched him walk down the snow-covered path towards his car, studying his dark curly hair, his brown leather jacket that was nicely worn, and his washed-out jeans.

It was really quite simple: she loved him and it was obvious that they should get married. At the same time she was terrified that her relationship with Johan would end the same way as her marriage with Olle had. The dreariness of daily life would come creeping in once the elation of living together had waned. The excitement would fade, gradually but relentlessly leading to the point when they were no longer excited by each other. Their sex life would wither and become mechanical and obligatory because neither of them would have the energy to sustain the passion that once existed.

She shivered under the blanket, where she could still smell Johan’s presence. They just couldn’t let that happen. She got up, stuck her feet in her slippers and put on the T-shirt that was still lying on the sofa. She
went into the bedroom and leaned over the cot where Elin was sleeping.

In the kitchen, sunlight was streaming in through the window. It was almost unreal after so many weeks of grey skies. She’d nearly forgotten what sunshine looked like.

She made coffee and toast, then sat down in her usual place near the window and peered out at the snowy landscape. There was enough snow for the kids to go sledging, and that made her happy. There was a hill nearby, and the kids loved to take their sleds over there. Soon Elin would be old enough to go along with Sara and Filip.

Right now they were staying with their father. She was actually getting used to this every-other-week existence and was now able to enjoy being alone with Elin half the time. She looked at the kitchen chair across from her. That was where Olle had sat all those years, drinking his green tea; the smell had always made her slightly sick. Johan didn’t drink green tea, thank God.

She wondered what other bad habits would come to light if they moved in together. Things Johan hadn’t mentioned yet, but which would become apparent as soon as he moved in with all his belongings.

That’s where he’ll sit from now on,
she thought, trying to picture Johan occupying the chair opposite. How long would love last this time around?

She sighed and put another slice of bread in the toaster. She realized that she was still suffering the effects of a failed marriage, and that her thoughts were much too negative. There was nothing to indicate that this time things would go just as badly.

After she finished eating and cleared away the breakfast things, she looked in on Elin again. She was still asleep.

As she left the bedroom, Emma caught a glimpse of herself in the small round mirror in the hall. She stopped, took the mirror from its hook and carried it back to the bedroom. Then she lay down on the bed and held the mirror overhead.

For a long time she lay there, staring up at her face, so pale in the wintertime. Her eyes looked sleepy and sad, her lips colourless; her hair was still lovely, flowing over the pillow. Who was she really? And what
did she want? She had given birth to three children, yet she still felt like a lost little girl. In her heart she didn’t know what to make of the person she saw in the mirror. She was loved by many, but she felt rootless. She’d never been a particularly self-confident person.

Suddenly she realized that she’d never made any of her own choices. Not really. She had allowed circumstances to steer her. When she met Olle, he had courted her and usually taken the initiative. He was cute, pleasant, considerate, and very much in love with her. Had she simply slipped into the relationship like a passive dolt?

She moved the mirror a bit further away, and stared into her own eyes. What was she thinking? It was time to make up her own mind about what direction her life was going to take.

And when it came right down to it, the decision wasn’t hard to make. Not at all.

L
ate in the afternoon Knutas received answers to several important questions. Wittberg came into his office and dropped on to the chair in front of his desk. His hair was tousled, his cheeks red with excitement.

‘You’re not going to believe this. There’s so damned much to tell you that I hardly know where to begin.’

‘Just go ahead and start.’

‘I got hold of Sixten Dahl, Mattis Kalvalis and his manager, Vigor Haukas. It’s true that they all travelled together to Stockholm. At the gallery opening Dahl made the artist an offer he couldn’t refuse. Since he still hadn’t signed the contract with Egon Wallin, he agreed to go and see Dahl’s gallery on Sunday, to meet his co-workers and discuss the details of the offer. So far, nothing strange about that. But when it comes to the sale of the gallery here in Visby, it turns out that Egon Wallin sold it to a certain Per Eriksson from Stockholm.’

‘Yes, we already know that.’

‘What we didn’t know was that Per Eriksson is just a front. The real owner is Sixten Dahl.’

Wittberg leaned back with a triumphant smile.

‘You’ve got to be joking.’ Knutas had to take out his pipe. ‘We’re going to have to do some more digging into that. Are those two guys from Lithuania coming back here?’

‘They’re already at the hotel. But they’re leaving for home tomorrow, late in the afternoon. I took the liberty of telling them to be here tomorrow at noon.’

‘Good. What about Sixten Dahl?’

‘The Stockholm police are going to interview him early in the morning.’

‘Great job, Thomas.’

The phone rang. It was the ME, who wanted to give Knutas a preliminary post-mortem report. The superintendent placed his hand over the receiver.

‘Is there anything else?’

‘You can bet there is.’

‘We’ll take it up at the meeting later. I have the ME on the phone.’

Wittberg left.

‘Starting with the cause of death,’ said the ME. ‘Wallin was strangled several hours before he was hanged from the noose. Judging by his injuries, he was probably attacked from behind and strangled with a sharp wire, such as piano wire. He has defensive marks on his arms, skin scrapings under his fingernails, and scratches on his neck, all indications that he fought back. At the same time the wire cut deep into the flesh so that—’

‘Thanks, that will be sufficient. I don’t need to know any more at the moment.’

Knutas had grown more sensitive over the years. He could no longer tolerate hearing detailed descriptions of a victim’s injuries.

‘Of course.’

The ME cleared his throat and then let a slight hint of disappointment enter his voice as he went on. ‘As far as the rest of the injuries go, he has several cuts on his face, a bruise over one eyebrow and a scratch on his cheek. He probably sustained these injuries in connection with the assault and when his body was dragged along the ground.’

‘Can you say anything more about the time of death?’

‘I can’t fix the time any closer than to say he was most likely killed between midnight and five or six in the morning. That’s all I have right now. I’ll fax over a copy of the results right away.’

Knutas thanked the ME for his call and put down the phone. Then he rang the main number for the National Criminal Police office and asked to be connected to Inspector Martin Kihlgård. The relationship
between the two of them was complicated, but right now Knutas needed help from the National Police. Since Kihlgård was enormously popular with his Gotland colleagues, it would be foolish to ask for anyone else. Knutas listened to the phone ringing for a long time before Kihlgård answered. It was obvious that he was eating something.