Unseen (19 page)

When he reached Kristian Nordström’s address, he was struck by the spectacular view. The modern wooden house stood in lonely majesty on a high cliff facing the sea and Brissund’s old fishing village. The house was built in a semicircle that followed the curve of the hill, as if the structure were climbing up the slope. Enormous glass windows covered every wall, and a truly huge wooden deck faced the water. Parked outside was a newer-model car, a dark green Jeep Cherokee.

Knutas was sweating. He got out of the car, pulled out his pipe, and stuck it between his teeth without lighting it. He walked over to the front door, which was painted blue.
Just like in Greece
, thought Knutas, and rang the bell. It had been a long time since he had traveled abroad. He could hear the doorbell ringing inside the house. He waited. Nothing happened. He rang the bell again. Waited. Sucked on the stem of his pipe.

He decided to take a little stroll around the house. The sea was calm. The sun was blazing. He heard a buzzing in the air. He peered up at the sun, shading his eyes with one hand. Thousands of tiny black dots formed a giant swarm and were raining down from the sky. It was rather disgusting. He looked down at the ground and realized they were ladybugs. The lawn in front of the house was glittering with the tiny red bugs with their black-spotted shells. A ladybug sat on every single blade of grass. How strange. He looked up at the sun again. They looked like snowflakes drifting down in winter. That’s what they were: ladybug snowflakes.

He stepped up onto the wooden deck in back. The house seemed empty and deserted. He peered into one of the windows that reached all the way to the ground.

“Can I help you with something?”

Knutas almost dropped his pipe on the newly varnished planks of the deck. Kristian Nordström had popped into view from around the corner.

“Hello,” said Knutas, reaching out to shake hands. “I wanted to have a little talk with you.”

“Certainly. Shall we go inside?”

Knutas followed the tall man into the house. It felt cool in the hallway.

“Would you like something to drink?” asked Nordström.

“A glass of water would be great. It’s damn hot outside.”

“For my part, I think I need something stronger.”

Kristian Nordström poured himself a Carlsberg Elephant beer and handed the inspector a big glass of ice water. They sat down on leather armchairs that stood near one of the panoramic windows. Knutas took out his worn old notebook and a pen.

“I know you’ve told us all this before, but how well did you know Helena Hillerström?”

“Quite well. We’ve known each other since we were teenagers. I’ve always liked Helena.”

“How much time did you spend together?”

“In high school we were part of a group that did everything together, both at school and in our free time. Several of the people who were at the party over Whitsun were part of that group. We did our homework together, went to the movies, and hung out together after school and on Saturday and Sunday nights. I’d say we spent a lot of time together during those years.”

“Was there ever anything else between you and Helena, other than friendship?”

His reply came quickly. Maybe a little too quickly, thought Knutas.

“No. As I already told you, I thought she was pretty, but nothing ever happened between us. Whenever I was single, she was seeing someone else, and vice versa. We were never single at the same time.”

“What were your feelings for her?”

Kristian looked him straight in the eye when he answered. A certain irritation was evident in his voice. “I’ve already told you. I thought she was great. An attractive girl. But she didn’t mean anything special to me.”

Knutas decided to change tactics. “What do you know about her previous boyfriends?”

“Oh, not much, really. She had a lot of them over the years. She was almost always with someone. Usually not for more than two or three months at a time. They were guys from school, or sometimes she’d meet them somewhere else. Guys from the mainland who came over here for the summer. She’d have an affair with one of them for a few weeks, until it was time for the next guy. She was usually the one to end it. I think she probably managed to break a lot of hearts.”

Knutas sensed a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“Then there was that teacher she used to meet with in secret.”

Knutas frowned. “Who was that?”

“The PE teacher at school. What was his name? . . . Hagman. Göran? No, Jan. Jan Hagman. He was married, so there was a lot of talk about them.”

“When did this happen?”

Kristian seemed to give it some thought. “It must have been in our second year in high school, because the first year we had a different teacher, who retired after that. Helena and I were in the same class in high school, too, specializing in the social sciences.”

“How long did their relationship last?”

“I don’t really know, but I think that it went on for quite a long time. For more than six months, at least. I think it started before Christmas, because Helena told Emma that she was going to see him during Christmas vacation. Emma told me about it when she got a little drunk at a party. I don’t think she was supposed to say anything. On the other hand, she was probably worried about Helena. They were best friends, you know. He was married, with kids, and he was much older. I remember that they were together on a school trip that we took to Stockholm before summer vacation started. Hagman was one of the teachers who went along with us. Someone noticed when Helena slipped into his room at night, and the news spread to the other teachers. When we got back from the trip, a lot of rumors started circulating about them. Then it was summer, and everyone went away on vacation. After that, I at least heard no more about it. When fall came, he was no longer teaching at our school.”

“Did you ever talk to Helena about her relationship with this teacher?”

“No, actually I didn’t. All of us could see that she took it really hard. I remember that she wasn’t around all summer. When we went back to school after vacation, she looked like she’d lost at least twenty pounds. She was pale and wan, while everyone else looked healthy and tan. I’m sure everybody remembers that, because it was so unlike her.”

“Why didn’t you mention any of this before?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think about it. It happened so long ago. More than fifteen years ago.”

“Do you have any idea who might have killed her? Has anything else occurred to you since we last talked?”

“No,” replied Kristian. “I have no idea at all.”

Kristian Nordström walked with Knutas to the door. The heat washed over them as they came out of the cool house onto the stairs. Outside, all of nature was clad in the tender green of early summer.

As Knutas drove back to Visby in the afternoon light, thoughts kept swirling through his mind. What did the story about the teacher mean? Why hadn’t anyone mentioned it before, not even her best friend Emma?

It had happened a long time ago. And yet . . .

After reaching police headquarters, Knutas noticed how hungry he was. Going home for dinner was out of the question. After obtaining this new information, he wanted to call a meeting at once. He punched in his home phone number to say he would be late.

His long-suffering wife received the news calmly. Years ago, she had quite simply given up counting on him for dinner during the week.
Maybe that’s why our marriage works so well
, Knutas managed to think as he took the stairs up to the criminal investigations department. The fact that they each had their own role in life, without expecting to share every single second, definitely made their life together much easier.

The detectives who were present in the building called up their usual pizzeria to put in a collective order. Between bites Knutas reported on his meeting with Kristian Nordström and told the others what he had said about Helena Hillerström’s love affair with the PE teacher, Jan Hagman.

“Did you say his name was Hagman?” exclaimed Karin Jacobsson. “I talked to him not long ago. We went out to his house in Grötlingbo.” She turned to Thomas Wittberg. “Don’t you remember? His wife had committed suicide.”

“Oh, that’s right. It was only a few months ago. She hanged herself. He was rather strange, that guy. Introverted and hard to make contact with. Do you remember, we thought it was odd the way he didn’t seem the least bit upset or even surprised that his wife had taken her own life?” said Wittberg.

“We did an investigation, of course,” said Jacobsson. “But everything pointed to suicide, and when the autopsy report came back, we were convinced that’s what happened. She had hanged herself in a barn they had on their property.”

“We need to check up on him,” said Knutas.

“But why should Hagman have anything to do with these murders?” asked Wittberg. “It was twenty years ago that they were together. I don’t see why we should spend any time on such an old story. An affair with a high school teacher? She was thirty-five years old when she was killed, for God’s sake.”

“I agree that it seems like a long shot,” said Norrby.

“That may be, but I still think it would be worthwhile to talk to Hagman,” said Knutas. “What do you think, Karin?”

“Yes, of course. We don’t have anything else concrete to go on. Although it’s strange that none of the people we interviewed ever said anything about this PE teacher. And why would Kristian Nordström decide to mention it now?”

“He told me that it just didn’t occur to him,” said Knutas. “That it happened so long ago. And no one else said anything about it, either.” He pushed aside his pizza box.

“If we turn our focus back to the present, is there anything new to report about the victims?” asked Jacobsson.

“Well, yes, the group that’s mapping out their lives is hard at work. Kihlgård from the National Criminal Police is on his way over here. He was asleep when I phoned,” said Knutas. “Taking an after-dinner nap, as he called it.”

Norrby rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks a lot. I’m glad some people have time to rest.”

The murmuring that spread through the room was cut off by the door opening.

Kihlgård’s big, wide body filled the whole doorway. “Hey, sorry I’m late.” He greedily eyed the pizza boxes. “Anything left for me?”

“Here, take mine. I can’t eat the whole thing.” Jacobsson slid her pizza box over toward him.

“Thanks,” Kihlgård growled as he rolled up the rest of the pizza and bit into it. “This is good,” he managed to say between bites. The others had stopped talking and were watching him with fascination. For a moment they even forgot why they were there.

“Didn’t you already eat?” asked Knutas.

“Sure, but it’s always good to have a little pizza.” Kihlgård chuckled before taking another bite. “So where were you? Tell me about this teacher story.”

Knutas reported one more time on his conversation with Kristian Nordström.

“Hm. I see. We’re in the process of mapping out the lives of the two women, and so far we haven’t heard anything about this,” said Kihlgård. “It’s true that she had a lot of relationships, but not with any teachers, as far as I know. But this was supposedly much earlier, in high school, right?”

“Yes. Apparently they started a love affair sometime during the fall semester when Helena was in her second year. According to Nordström, they made plans to meet during Christmas vacation. Then the relationship must have continued through the whole spring, because it ended sometime during the summer. The teacher, Jan Hagman, was married and had children and evidently decided to stay with his wife. When the fall came, he started teaching at a different school.”

“Do we know whether he still lives on the island? The teacher, that is?” said Kihlgård, using his radar eyes to search the collection of pizza boxes on the table. There might be a piece of crust left.

“Yes, he lives in the southern part of Gotland. Jacobsson and Wittberg were out there a few months ago. His wife committed suicide.”

“Is that right?” Kihlgård raised his eyebrows. “So the guy’s a widower. How old is he?”

“Hagman was supposedly in his forties when they were together, which means that he was more than twice Helena’s age. Today he should be around sixty.”

The evening sun flooded in over the kitchen benches, lighting up the children’s hair in its glow. Emma leaned down over Filip and drew in his scent with a feeling of pleasure. His soft blond hair tickled her nose.

“Mmmm, you smell good. Mamma’s little sweetie,” she said tenderly, and then moved over to her daughter. Sara’s hair was thicker and darker, like her own. She took in another deep breath. The same tickling in her nose.

“Mmmm,” she said again. “You smell so wonderful, sweetheart.” She stroked her daughter’s head. “You’re both my little darlings. That’s what you are.”

Emma sat down next to them at the counter in the middle of the big open kitchen. It was the room she liked best in their house. She and Olle had built the kitchen themselves. Part of it, where they were now sitting, was the work area, with clinker bricks on the floor, beautiful tiles above the sink, and a big island with a free-hanging vent over the stove. She loved to stand there and cook. At the same time, she could savor the view through the windows facing the garden. There was even room for four place settings, perfect for a quick breakfast or a drink before dinner with good friends. A couple of steps led down to the dining area with the oiled pine floor, the sturdy beams in the ceiling, and the big rustic table. The windows that opened onto all sides meant that her kitchen plants flourished there, just as she did.