WHAT SANNA HAD heard about him was no exaggeration. Åke Pettersson had a towering, bulky frame and with his gruff voice and hostile stare there was definitely something menacing about him. Or perhaps he just didn’t like being visited by the police and was determined to show his disapproval.
After being greeted frostily by Pettersson in the bank reception area the group headed straight to the lift. Nobody spoke. As the lift ascended Pettersson admired his cropped hair in the polished doors.
“This way,” he indicated as the lift doors opened and he strode off down the corridor.
He ushered the detectives into a spacious office of approximately thirty square metres overlooking an inner courtyard. Daylight streamed in through two large windows. The white walls were decorated with landscape paintings of Norrland. A brown leather chair and sturdy desk stood under one of the windows. On top of the desk was a black writing mat as well as a pencil sharpener, penholder and letter opener. Each item looked like it had been chosen with care. At one end of the room were two grey fabric armchairs and a low sofa table and at the other end a bookshelf filled with rows of carefully arranged blue files, each one placed at exactly the same distance from the edge. The room was immaculate. Everything seemed to be in perfect order.
Sanna couldn’t help comparing Åke Pettersson’s office to the neatly arranged crime scenes.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” asked Pettersson with a distinctly sarcastic tone.
Sanna raised her eyebrows. “Can we sit down?”
Pettersson gestured towards the armchairs.
Sanna and Kalle took their seats. Pettersson remained on his feet with his arms crossed.
The atmosphere was already tense and Sanna didn’t want to waste any more time. At any moment he could decide to dismiss them.
“How do you know Konrad Berg?” she asked.
“Konrad Berg? Should I know him?” he replied impassively.
“Well, you are members of the same shooting club!”
“Hmm,” said Pettersson, stroking his chin pensively. “Oh yeah, you mean the tall thin guy? I think people call him Konne. I wouldn’t say we’re friends exactly but we chat now and then at the shooting range.”
“We know that you called him at home, so you must be friends” interjected Sanna.
Åke Pettersson glared at her. “Am I being accused of anything,” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
“No, we just want to know about your relationship with Konrad Berg.”
“My private life is none of your business. I’ll meet who the hell I want, I don’t have to inform the cops!”
“Fine,” said Kalle. “If you won’t cooperate we’ll call you in for questioning at the police station instead. Is that what you want?”
Åke Pettersson stared at him. “Yes, that’s probably best!”
Sanna and Kalle exchanged glances.
“As you wish,” said Sanna. “You’ll receive a summons within the next few days.”
Åke Pettersson nodded dismissively.
“Could I have a post-it-note?” asked Sanna.
Pettersson glanced at the wad lying on his desk and nodded reluctantly.
Sanna grabbed a post-it-note and a pen and scribbled down a few words, then returned the items to the desk.
Pettersson, who had been eyeing her like a hawk, carefully repositioned them.
Sanna made a mental note. Her request had been a ploy – she usually used her tablet computer to jot down notes.
“Okay, we’re done here,” said Sanna.
Pettersson followed them to the lift and said goodbye.
The detective inspectors stood silently outside the building. Sanna had always imagined Umeå as a rather quiet town but it was nearly twelve o’clock and the place was buzzing. The bank was located on a pedestrian thoroughfare, replete with shops, restaurants and cafés. People hurried past, others strolled calmly. Between the buildings there was a small park crowded with people enjoying the sunshine.
“What about lunch?” asked Kalle.
Sanna gave him a long questioning look and nodded distractedly.
“Yes, that’s a good idea… What’s the time?”
“Half past eleven.”
“It’s lunch time and the restaurants are bound to be packed. Let’s pay a visit to Raino Cederberg instead.”
“Alright then,” said Kalle. “But we’ll have to take a taxi. The police headquarters are quite far north of the town.”
They made their way to the square where a number of taxis were lined up waiting for customers. Sanna climbed into the first car followed by Kalle.
“What’s the plan?” asked Kalle.
“We’ll have an informal meeting with him. I want to know if Pettersson’s on their radar. I suspect he’s a bit of a troublemaker.”
Two hours later Sanna and Kalle were sitting on the plane back to Stockholm.
“Kalle, take a good hard look at Åke Pettersson. I don’t buy Cederberg’s description of him as a fine, upstanding citizen. I would be very surprised if he’s anywhere near as law abiding as Cederberg claims.”
The informal lunch meeting with Raino Cederberg hadn’t gone quite the way Sanna had been expecting. The Chief Superintendent was ill tempered and spoke with a thick Norrland dialect. He seemed very anxious for the NBI in Stockholm to recognize his credentials as Chief Superintendent and appreciate how well informed he was about goings on in his district. He was familiar with all the criminals in Umeå and Pettersson was definitely not among them. In addition, Pettersson was a close family friend. According to Cederberg, Oxen, as he called him, was a bit rough round the edges but once you got to know him he was actually quite a good-hearted chap.
DAWN WAS BREAKING. Anders Segelström brewed his third pot of coffee and fixed himself a cheese sandwich. He was hyped and not tired at all. He poured the hot drink into a mug, placed the sandwich on a plate and arranged the items on a tray to take into the living room. He sat down on the sofa and carried on studying the photographs.
To his surprise he had found new evidence. It was an important observation and one that he had decided to analyse independently but not report until he was certain. He had test-fired his own Taser, photographed the burn wound and compared it with the scars found on the murder victims.
He stood up and began to pace around the room, debating with himself how to use this new discovery against Sanna Johansson. He had been plotting his revenge for a long time. He hated her. She was the reason he had been suspended from his job. And now, to add insult to injury, he had been forced to work with her again and pretend to be cooperative, pretend that he had moved on.
Finally he had found a way of getting his own back.
He sat down, picked up the magnifying glass and studied the images again, this time comparing them to a photograph of his own burn marks.