The entrance to the building which accommodated Linus Svärd’s apartment consisted of an intricately carved wide double door sporting two substantial brass knobs, above which perpetually leapt a couple of supple fish-shaped metal knockers. Zetterberg pressed the intercom buzzer and, almost immediately, it was answered by Linus. The door clicked, and in they stepped off the hot street.
The hallway was cool, with thick, cream-painted stone walls, and was full of antiques – oak chests, leather-upholstered chairs, ceramic vases, brass urns, earthenware amphorae, lanterns, cannon balls piled in pyramids, and pictures of ancient knights and coats of arms. Beyond was a high atrium filled with foliage; ferns and palms and ivies cascading from unseen balconies. A raised pool full of magnificent carp nestled in one corner, and the sound of running water gave the whole an air of serenity and tranquillity like an Arabian palace. Anita looked up and could just make out a small rectangle of deep azure sky. A wide staircase led from the atrium; the steps worn in the middle from centuries of use. The conversion of the house into apartments had been tastefully and carefully done, and none of the former grandeur of the central living space had been sacrificed.
When Linus let them in, the apartment was small but perfectly serviceable, though it didn't exude the affluence of the communal area outside. The gallery window of the living room Anita and Zetterberg were shown into looked out onto the street and did nothing to muffle the noises of everyday Maltese life. Anita was thankful for the fan in the middle of the ceiling, which gave welcome relief from the energy-sapping heat. A lot of the furniture was large, dark and heavy, and there were richly patterned rugs on the floor, but the décor was light and the pictures were modern.
Linus appeared nervous. He didn’t bother offering them coffee. Instead, he lit up a cigarette, which he puffed at with a vehemence that couldn’t be doing his lungs any good. Zetterberg took the most comfortable armchair. Anita had to sit down on the small sofa. She felt at an immediate disadvantage, as the other two were higher than she was.
‘Right, let’s get started,’ Zetterberg said in her best business-like manner. She produced the promised tape recorder. ‘You’ll have to put up with Inspector Sundström’s presence.’
He blew out some long-held smoke. ‘That’s OK. I spoke to Inspector Sundström last evening on the way back from the waterfront.’
‘Did you?’ Zetterberg glared at Anita. ‘That is most irregular. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘There was nothing to tell.’ Anita felt awkward, like a child who’s been caught out lying.
‘I didn’t reveal any details. I just told her I was innocent.’
‘That’s for us to decide.’ Zetterberg was clearly irked. What capital would she make out of it when they returned to Malmö? She clicked on the recorder. ‘I want you to go through the day of the murder as you remember it.’
Linus flicked ash into the saucer he was using as an ashtray. ‘I’ll not forget that day in a hurry. It didn’t start well, as Göran was in a shitty mood. In fact, he’d been like that almost from the moment I arrived from Gotland.’
‘You’d been on a dig there,’ Zetterberg confirmed.
‘Yeah. Viking site near Visby.’ Despite the tape recorder, Anita was making additional notes. Zetterberg should have been doing that, as it was her case, but Anita hadn’t objected because it gave her an excuse to get more involved. After a sleepless night listening to Zetterberg snoring, she had been plagued by pinpricks of doubt that Linus might not have been their killer of twenty-one years ago. Today, she was determined to find out once and for all. ‘It hadn’t been right for a while. I wasn’t sure why. We still had sex...’ His mind wandered for a moment. Zetterberg shifted uneasily in her seat. ‘...but the love had gone. On his part.’ Linus twizzled the saucer, which disturbed and flaked the fresh ash. ‘It was a hot day so we decided to have a barbecue. Well, Ivar decided, and when he wanted something, it usually happened. I wasn’t in the mood, and Göran certainly wasn’t.’ He frowned. ‘Actually, Ivar was a bit wound up about something, too. Not his usual self.’
‘None of the others mentioned that,’ queried Zetterberg.
‘If they didn’t, then maybe it was nothing. Anyhow, it didn’t take long for Göran to pick a fight. I could see the others were getting uptight with him around, and I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I lost my rag, probably yelled a bit and then flounced off. I realized that I had to reassess my life.’
‘Which you did up Stenshuvud?’ Anita was annoyed at Zetterberg’s interruption. It was as though she wanted to get through the interview as quickly as possible.
‘Yes. It’s beautiful up there, and you can find a quiet spot if you keep off the main paths. I had a lot to think about. I could tell there was no future with Göran. He’d changed. He’d been loving at first. I wasn’t sure if it was something I’d said or done. He was sensitive about certain things, and I may have upset him somehow. I just don’t know,’ he said hopelessly as though the thought still bothered him.
‘He’d transferred his affections to Ivar.’
Linus suddenly guffawed, which sounded odd coming out of those feminine lips. ‘All that was ridiculous. Ivar’s as straight as they come. No, I think it was more that Göran was in awe of Ivar. We all were. But when I came back from Gotland, I could see that there was a change in Göran’s relationship with Ivar. Something wasn’t right.’
‘We’ll get back to that later. I want to know more about the day of the murder.’ Zetterberg’s impatience was increasingly evident. Maybe it was her own presence that was putting her off, thought Anita.
Linus flicked more ash before continuing. ‘It was late by the time I returned along the beach. I was down by the shore when I heard shouting up at the chapel. I rushed up. I can’t remember much, but I realized as soon I saw the body on the floor that it was Göran. I don’t even remember who was in there at the time. I just lost it. I grabbed him, which I shouldn’t have done because you’re not meant to touch a body. But I was so emotional. Whatever I’d been thinking about on Stenshuvud disappeared in a flash.’ His voice quavered. ‘The love of my life was lying there, dead.’ The image that he seemed to be recreating in his mind halted his flow completely. ‘Even now...’ he started again but stopped.
‘What happened after that?’
He took his time before he continued. ‘The rest was a blur. I think the others appeared, or some of them. Larissa took me back to the house. I remember that. She cleaned me up. My T-shirt was covered in Göran’s blood from when I’d held him. Then the police came to talk to us. It was some detective called Nor-something.’
‘Nordlund,’ said Anita.
‘Him. He took away the T-shirt. After a couple of weeks, it became obvious that the police were concentrating on me. Weren’t you?’ The accusation was aimed at Anita.
‘What was it like around the house in the following weeks?’ Zetterberg asked.
‘What do you think?’ he said angrily, stubbing out his cigarette. ‘Crap. No one could believe it had happened at first. Everybody stuck to their stories, and no one accused anybody else. It slowly dawned on me that some of my friends began to believe that I was responsible, though none of them were really upset by Göran’s death, except me.’
‘And later?’
‘When we were allowed to leave the cottage, we all split up. I went to Malmö for a while. I tried to get my life together again. But it was impossible to get an academic position in Sweden because of the publicity the case had stirred up, especially when she went public.’ Anita kept scribbling, which helped her avoid his fierce gaze.
‘How did the others react to you?’
‘Ironically, it was the girls who stayed connected. Larissa was in Malmö and was supportive. So was Carina until she moved up north and started her brilliant career. She’s the only one who’s stayed in touch.’
‘And Ivar and Lars-Gunnar?’
Anita could detect genuine sadness in his eyes. ‘After we left the cottage, Ivar never spoke to me again. We’d been very close since the first weeks at uni. But not a word. Lars-Gunnar was the same after he split from Carina. But I don’t blame him as much; his brain was addled by drugs by then. He had no idea what he was up to. No wonder Carina felt she’d had enough and left him.’
By now Anita was getting thirsty and wished she’d brought a bottle of water. She would have asked for some, but she didn’t want to break the flow of the interview.
‘You mentioned earlier that something wasn’t right with Göran and Ivar.’ Zetterberg spoke as though measuring her words. ‘When did this start to surface? You must be the one most likely to know as you were a good friend of one and the other’s lover.’
‘Here, I suppose. Malta. That ill-fated trip, as it turns out.’
‘The others seemed to think it was fun.’
Linus crossed his arms thoughtfully. ‘They probably did. But not for me. Göran began to act strangely. It was only meant to be a break. Bit of sun, plenty of drinks, some laughs. An escape. Except for Ivar, it wasn’t. He was keen to find out as much as possible about the Siege of Malta and spent a lot of time in Valletta. I don’t think Larissa was too pleased. She just wanted to relax like the rest. But Ivar was really into the Knights of St. John and the whole Christian-Muslim, East-West thing. He spent a lot of time in the National Library here, and at the Grand Master’s Palace, and in book shops. He liked to drag me along because I was interested and he could bounce ideas off me. In fact, it was in an old bookshop in Archbishop Street that he came across Björnstahl. The shop’s derelict these days.’
‘You say Björnstahl? Was he another student?’ Zetterberg queried sharply.
‘He was a Swedish orientalist, linguist and traveller.’ This was Anita’s first contribution.
‘What was he doing here?’ demanded Zetterberg, who was annoyed that Anita knew of someone she didn’t.
‘I don’t know if he was ever here as he died in the 1770s. Istanbul I think.’
‘Well done,’ Linus said with some admiration. ‘He spent three years in Constantinople as it was then, but he actually died in Salonika in 1779. I don’t think many people have heard of him these days, even in Sweden.’
‘I remember my ex-husband talking about him. An academic.’
Linus clicked his fingers. ‘That’s right. I’d forgotten that one of the cops on the case had a Lund University connection.’
‘Just tell us about this bloody Björnstahl!’ Zetterberg snapped. ‘If it’s at all relevant.’
‘I’m not sure if it is, but it caused problems between Göran and myself.’ Linus left them waiting while he lit up again. ‘We were in this dusty, old second-hand bookshop when Ivar came across A Tour Through Sicily and Malta by Patrick Brydone. It was in the form of letters to William Beckford. Ivar was fascinated because, though worn, it was a first edition. He was really excited.’ Anita noticed Zetterberg’s eyes glaze over. ‘After he bought it, we went off to a bar so he could have a look through it. Obviously, the bits he was interested in concerned Malta. But then, as we were about to leave and head back up to Mellieha, where we were staying, Ivar discovered some musty leaves of paper stuffed in the back of the book. It was four pages of a letter. They were old and written in Swedish. The first part was obviously missing, so Ivar couldn’t work out who it was to. But it was signed by Jacob Björnstahl. It was quite a find.’
‘So this was new material that no one had seen before?’ asked Anita, who, after her years with Björn, could appreciate that such a discovery could have been highly significant for an academic.
‘Precisely. It was part of a discourse on the Malti language. He’d written about the origins of Malti briefly in one his own books of travels which came out in—’
‘This is all very interesting,’ Zetterberg cut in, ‘but can we get to the bit where this find caused a problem between you and Göran?’
Linus shrugged. ‘Ivar swore me to secrecy about the Björnstahl letter. Göran sensed there was something he was missing out on because Ivar was so pleased with his discovery. Göran was seriously hacked off with me, as he realized I must know what Ivar was up to and I wouldn’t tell him. It was difficult for me, but Ivar was my best friend at the time. I think it was at that time that Göran tried it on with Ivar. As you know, he didn’t get anywhere, and Göran didn’t take rejection well. I sometimes wonder if he only tried to get close to Ivar sexually as a way of finding out what Ivar was up to academically. They had become serious rivals.’
‘That’s what I want to talk about next,’ said Zetterberg, who was keen to step onto safer ground. ‘This rivalry between Ivar and Göran. Lars-Gunnar and Carina both mentioned it. Did it destabilize the group?’
‘I suppose it did eventually. I think it really only developed after they both started doing their doctorates. I hadn’t seen much of either of them after I got my degree, as I was away on digs for weeks or months on end. Obviously, I was in regular contact with Göran, but I didn’t fully realize what was happening until I saw them together that time on Malta. Not an edifying sight when they were both arguing. It was all about points scoring.’
‘I get the picture,’ Zetterberg sighed. ‘What about you and Göran? Did you know he was supplying Lars-Gunnar with drugs?’
Linus blew out a shaft of smoke which he then batted away with his free hand. ‘Yes. But not at first,’ he added quickly. ‘He supplied us all. Just for recreational use. Nothing heavy. He just seemed to know where to get hold of stuff easily. We didn’t ask any questions. I don’t think any of us realized that Lars-Gunnar was getting in deeper and deeper.’
‘Except Carina.’
‘I assume she must have known before the rest of us. Things had got really bad between Malta and meeting up in Knäbäckshusen that summer. I hadn’t seen Lars-Gunnar in the meantime. By the time I got to Skåne, it was obvious he was heading in a bad direction.’
‘How did you feel about Göran fucking up your friend?’
‘I didn’t believe it at first. Until Carina came and begged me to get Göran to stop supplying him. I became angry and confronted Göran. He just laughed and said it was Lars-Gunnar’s life; if he wanted to destroy it, that was his problem.’
‘Angry enough to kill him to protect a friend? Or murder him because he jilted you?’ Zetterberg asked accusingly.
‘No! No.’ Linus waved his hand emphatically, causing the ash from his cigarette to scatter and flutter towards the floor. ‘I didn’t kill Göran. I know it looks as though I had reasons...’ He stopped. His eyes began to moisten. ‘Despite everything...’ His voice grew hoarse. ‘Despite everything he did, I still loved him.’ Anita had to strain hard to hear his next words: ‘I still do.’
‘But you know that Carina had a row with Göran shortly before he died?’
Linus found his voice again. ‘We all did, except Lars-Gunnar. The rest of us were in the garden of the cottage, and Carina had cornered Göran in the kitchen. The window was open. She ended up slapping him and saying some pretty nasty things to him. I was mortified to hear this in front of the others. It was true, of course. By then, the rest of them had had enough of Göran.’
‘Why didn’t he just leave?’
Linus shook his head dolefully. ‘He was going to, but I persuaded him to stay. I still thought we could build bridges. If I hadn’t, he might be alive today.’
‘And what about the threat he made to Carina?’
‘What threat?’
‘About your precious Ivar suffering the most?’
‘That was nothing. He was just grandstanding. Lashing out against Ivar because he knew we all loved him. Anyhow, even if there had been some sort of threat, he certainly never had the chance to carry it out.’
‘Do you know that Göran was still alive when he was found?’ Zetterberg expected this news to shock Linus.
It did, and Linus’s mouth dropped open. His voice was almost inaudible. ‘But he was... you know... when I found him with...’
‘We now know that he was still alive when the young boy, Kurt Jeppsson, found him. Not only that, he said something.’ Anita could tell that Zetterberg was deliberately testing Linus. If he had killed Göran, then could the dying man have implicated him?
‘What did he say?’ A bead of sweat appeared on his temple.
‘“Burnt it.” That’s what he said.’ Was that relief or puzzlement on his face? Anita wasn’t sure. ‘Mean anything?’
As Linus shook his head, Anita could tell he was now miles away. Was he back in that chapel? Zetterberg stared hard at the man whose life had changed irrevocably that night.
Anita couldn’t help finding out what he had been up to since his disappearance from Sweden. ‘How come you ended up back here in Valletta?’ Zetterberg flashed her one of her trademark looks of annoyance. She was merely there to take notes and keep quiet.
Linus pulled himself together. ‘I was taken with the place on that first visit. And after I left Sweden, I worked on a number of digs around the Mediterranean. Egypt and Syria mainly. God, what a mess Syria’s in now. What they’ve done in Palmyra is unforgiveable.’ There was more than a hint of rage. ‘Sicily as well. It’s just over the water. So Malta seemed an ideal place to use as a base.’
‘So why are you a tourist guide for wealthy Americans?’
‘They tip well,’ he said flippantly.
‘The real reason?’
‘Ah, the truth.’ He squinted at the whirring fan above his head. ‘Disgraced myself on a dig in Egypt five years ago. Pretty Arab boy. Didn’t go down well, and now I’m persona non grata in that line of work. That’s why I’m in here,’ he said indicating the apartment. ‘Down on my luck. My only friend, Carina, came to the rescue. And when she comes over to write, I vanish and stay with a friend over in Sliema. They’re not crazy about gays here, but we’re tolerated, in case you were wondering.’
‘As far as I can judge, Carina’s the only one who thinks you’re innocent.’ Zetterberg was taking over again. ‘Now, she’s either doing that because she really thinks you are or she’s trying to make up for the fact that she killed Göran and ruined your life. What do you think?’
‘I don’t think. I merely exist.’
‘That’s not an answer,’ Zetterberg spat back fiercely.
‘All I know is that I didn’t kill Göran.’
‘You’ve had years to mull it over. If it wasn’t you, which one of your supposed friends do you think did?’
‘I have no idea.’
Once they were out in the street, Zetterberg turned to Anita. There was a look of triumph in her eyes. ‘I think you got it wrong all those years ago. He didn’t do it.’