Silenced (37 page)

Of course, thought Alex. The woman’s about to have a baby, of course she’s got to eat.

‘What have we got, to corroborate her story?’ asked Joar once Alex had filled them in on what Johanna had said.

‘Not much,’ admitted Alex. ‘On the other hand, we haven’t got much to contradict her version, either.’

‘Are we remanding her in custody?’ asked Peder. ‘I mean for obstructing the course of our enquiries, or for her part in Therese Björk’s death, however minor it was?’

Alex sighed.

‘We’re not sure enough of our facts yet,’ he answered. ‘As for the obstruction, she can explain that by saying she was too scared of what her sister might do once she found out her parents had been killed. And as far as the misidentification’s concerned, we haven’t enough to go on as things stand. Johanna couldn’t even tell us how Therese Björk died; she claims Therese was already there when she got to her sister’s flat.’

‘And that’s precisely where we ought to be able to make progress,’ Fredrika interrupted. ‘An individual who as far as we know had nothing at all to do with either Karolina or Johanna was picked up by ambulance from Karolina’s flat and later died in hospital. That makes Karolina’s flat a potential crime scene. How soon can we get access to it?’

Joar gave Fredrika a cautious smile.

‘Quick thinking,’ he said. ‘But unfortunately I don’t think a CSI in Karolina’s flat’s going to yield much. We’ve already been there and trampled all over any potential evidence when were looking for a key to the Ekerö house.’

‘More to the point, Johanna followed her sister’s instructions to go back to the flat and clean up after she’d wrongly identified Therese Björk,’ Alex added, reminding Fredrika of the latter stages of their interview with Johanna.

‘Did Johanna know Karolina was in Thailand?’ asked Joar.

Alex nodded.

‘Yes, but she didn’t know why. When we told her that her sister was wanted for drug offences, her guess was that Karolina needed the money to pay whoever she hired to kill her parents.’

The room went quiet.

‘It really feels as if we should be interviewing Karolina Ahlbin as well,’ said Peder.

‘Yes,’ said Alex, and took a deep breath. ‘I’d go so far as to say that until we can find out what Karolina’s been up to these past few weeks, we’re stuck.’

Fredrika looked as though she had something to say, but she refrained.

‘Was she able to tell you anything about her mother’s role in all this?’ Joar was curious to know.

‘Not a word,’ Alex said.

‘Well then, we wait eagerly to hear what the Sven Ljung interview produces,’ said Joar, squinting at Peder. ‘Maybe that’s going to shed some light on Marja’s role.’

Fredrika overcame her indecision and said:

‘Erik Sundelius. Jakob’s doctor.’

‘Yes?’ said Alex.

‘He implied Johanna was mentally disturbed.’

‘So he did,’ said Alex. ‘But there we have a man who forgot to impart various bits of information about himself, as we know. So I’m not sure how much weight we should give to what emerged from our interview with him.’

‘I agree,’ said Fredrika. ‘But several people told us Johanna wasn’t well, so we can’t be entirely sure.’

‘Of what?’

‘Of whether either Karolina or Johanna is sick enough to have her own parents murdered.’

When she was younger, Fredrika had often asked herself if she would have preferred having a sister to the brother she had grown up with. As a child she had sobbed out loud when she read Astrid Lindgren’s story
My Sister Dearest
, and in adult life she had often wished she had a sister to exchange thoughts and ideas with. Poring over her notes from the interview with Johanna brought to mind all the myths surrounding the special bond that was said to exist between any pair of sisters.

We didn’t know anything about Johanna, thought Fredrika, feeling a rising sense of fascination. And just as our focus was shifting onto her, she sought us out by herself.

She returned briefly to one of her earlier theories, namely that the sisters had collaborated in the murder of their parents.

Motives. Separately, each sister had a motive, but if they were jointly guilty, the police lacked any clear idea of a motive.

Karolina’s motive, as Johanna had described it, was not hard to understand. What a broken person you must be after an experience like that. Undoubtedly broken enough to manipulate those around you the way Johanna had described.

But Fredrika was still dubious: surely someone would have seen through her? The Ljungs, the Reverend Vinterman or the psychiatrist. Or her own parents, for that matter. Hadn’t anyone ever questioned her loyalty to her father?

She gave an involuntary shudder. There was no limit to people’s imagination when it came to hurting other people. A new picture of Karolina Ahlbin was emerging. A picture that encompassed a set of problems quite different from the one Fredrika initially had in mind. Johanna being slowly erased from the family picture, and finally losing everything and everyone. A young woman who might be in desperate need of protection.

She thumbed the latest fax from Bangkok. There was nothing to indicate that Karolina Ahlbin had left Thailand, which was reassuring. But if she was the one behind the double murder of Jakob and Marja, she clearly had the capacity to contract killers from a distance.

Either she is as disturbed as her sister Johanna made her out to be, thought Fredrika. Or else . . .

She put down the sheet of paper and let her eyes stray to the window and the snow falling outside.

Or else Karolina, too, was a victim of the conspiracy that led to the murder of her father.

And her mother.

But why?

Fredrika anxiously checked the clock. It was nearly two, and Spencer had still not been in touch.

She felt she was being assailed by difficulties from all sides. She was aware of a fleeting sense of impending danger.

We’re missing something here, she thought, trying not to let the all too familiar feeling of fatigue get the better of her. And it’s something big, I’m damned sure of it.

She swallowed hard, feeling anxiety contract her windpipe. She ought to go home and leave the case to people with the proper stamina and tempo in their bodies. Go home, go to bed and sleep. Or play some music.

As her thoughts went to her violin, her arm felt mute and tender. She knew there was not a single part of her body that she was not prepared to defy.

When the phone on her desk rang, she virtually sprang to attention.

‘Fredrika Bergman.’

Silence, then a wheezing intake of breath. Then Fredrika knew who it was.

‘Måns Ljung?’ she asked, trying not to sound too eager.

More chesty breathing, someone saying something disjointed. Then suddenly much clearer.

‘You rang about Lina?’

‘That’s right, and I’m very glad you were able to ring me back.’

A strained laugh at the other end.

‘Did Mum tell you I wouldn’t be up to talking on the phone?’

Yes, thought Fredrika. And I was so stupid that I bought it, without further ado.

It was Elsie’s comments that had made the police decide against interviewing her and Sven’s son Måns, even though he had been Karolina’s boyfriend for several years.

‘I’m an in-patient at a so-called rehabilitation clinic, but if it’s to do with Lina, I’ve always got time to talk. Sorry if I sound a bit ropey . . . I’ve got some sort of infection.’

Fredrika could not have cared less about his state of health. The important thing was that he was capable of holding a conversation.

‘That’s all right,’ she said, and tried to sound professional. ‘What I really need to know is whether Karolina’s tried to contact you in the past week.’

Silence.

‘Why are you asking?’

With one hand round the telephone receiver and the other on her stomach, Fredrika took a deep breath.

‘Because I’m afraid she’s in trouble.’

Another hesitation.

‘She rang and asked me for help last week.’

‘Did she say what the matter was?’

‘Said she couldn’t get hold of Jakob or Marja and it was going to be difficult to get home because someone seemed to have closed down her email and cancelled her flight home from Thailand.’

She must have realised, thought Fredrika. And been scared.

‘Did you know she was there? In Thailand, I mean?’

There was a short fit of coughing, and it sounded almost as if Måns had put down the receiver.

‘No,’ he said eventually. ‘We’re not in touch very often these days . . .’

But she trusted you, Måns.

‘What did she want help with?’

‘Getting hold of Jakob. And sorting out her trip home.’

She could hear him snuffling.

‘But I wasn’t, like, in a fit state to help her with anything like that.’

‘Is that what you told her?’

A sigh.

‘No. And I didn’t tell her that her dad was dead. Couldn’t bloody well bring myself to. Not on the phone.’

‘So what did you do, then?’ asked Fredrika, feeling exasperated on Karolina’s behalf.

‘I rang my brother, he’s good at getting things done,’ Måns said in a feeble voice. ‘And asked Karolina to wait. But by the time I rang back, something must have happened, because she wasn’t answering her mobile any longer.’

‘Did she send any emails?’

‘She might have – I don’t check them all that often.’

Fredrika found herself breathing in the same, strained way as Måns.

‘And what about your brother?’ she said, almost whispering, and unaccountably afraid of bursting into tears. ‘What did he do?’

‘He just rang back and told me there wasn’t much he could do, and she’d have to buy a new air ticket home. He advised me not to tell her about Jakob over the phone.’

Sensible, thought Fredrika. Sensible brother.

And she asked one last question.

‘What does your brother do?’

Her follow-up question remained hanging in the air, unsaid.
Is he a druggie in rehab, too?

‘You might know him,’ said Måns. ‘He’s a policeman.’

Fredrika had to grin at her own unwarranted prejudice. But the grin froze into a grimace as Måns went on:

‘His name’s Viggo. Viggo Tuvesson.’

Feeling as if he was moving with the same momentum as a goods train on a straight stretch of track, a determined Peder strode the last few metres to the interview room where Sven Ljung was waiting. His CID colleague, Stefan Westin, who was taking the formal lead in the interview, told him the arrest had all gone very quietly. Elsie and Sven were sitting having coffee when the police rang at the door, almost as if they were expecting someone to come and fetch them. Elsie looked tearful as they took her husband out of the flat, but had not protested out loud.

‘She seemed pretty bloody resigned,’ was the way Stefan Westin put it.

Expectations of the impending interview were running high. Peder felt a distinct tightening of his chest as he entered the room and shook Sven Ljung’s hand.

He felt enormous relief that he and not Joar had been entrusted with this interview by Alex. He had to regain some of the ground he had recently lost. He also knew that within the organisation he needed people to have more confidence in him. As things stood, it was too easy to despise him and discount him.
Must, must, must do better.

Stefan Westin took charge as they began the interview with Sven Ljung. Having never met Sven before, Peder was struck by how tired and old the man looked. He took a surreptitious glance at his paperwork. According to his notes, Sven was not yet even sixty-five. Still relatively young, in Peder’s eyes. But there was something about the older man. He looked sad and distressed.

As if in mourning, after some heavy, secret loss.

Stefan Westin’s voice broke into his thoughts.

‘You reported your car stolen ten days ago, Sven. Have you any idea who could have taken it?’

Sven said nothing.

Peder raised an eyebrow. He had seen that sort of silence before, during the interview with Tony Svensson. If they had gone and brought in yet another person scared into silence by God knows who, it was going to be a tough and not particularly fruitful interview.

Sven started to talk.

‘No, none at all.’

The room fell silent again.

‘But are you sure it was stolen?’ asked Stefan.

Sven nodded slowly.

‘Yes.’

‘How did you come to discover it was missing?’

‘I needed it on the Friday morning, nearly two weeks ago. And it wasn’t there in the street where I’d left it the day before.’

He suddenly looked much smaller. Deflated.

‘We’ve got compelling evidence that your car was involved in two aggravated robberies of security vans, and a murder, during the time you say it was stolen,’ announced Stefan Westin, and Sven turned pale. ‘Would you like to tell me where you were at the following times?’

Sven had to think about it when he was confronted with the various dates. He said that on each of them he had been at home in the flat with his wife. Just the two of them.

Stefan pretended to be digesting what Sven had just said.

‘Yusuf, do you know him?’ he asked, referring to the man run over at the university.

Sven shook his head.

‘No.’

The chair legs scraped across the floor as Stefan Westin pulled himself up to the table and leant across it.

‘But we know he rang you,’ he said patiently. ‘Several times.’

‘Perhaps he was just somebody you knew and that’s all there is to it?’ Peder prompted when Sven said nothing.

‘That’s right,’ said Stefan. ‘Someone you knew, who just happened to get run over by your car outside the university. I mean, these things do happen, don’t they?’

He looked at Peder and put up his hands.

Then Sven could not hold back his tears.

Silent, rather dignified tears.

Time stood still and Peder scarcely dared to move.

‘I swear I haven’t seen the car since it went missing,’ Sven said finally.

‘We believe you, Sven,’ said Stefan. ‘But we don’t buy your story that you don’t know who took it. We scarcely even buy that it was stolen at all; we think you lent it. More or less voluntarily.’