SANNA AND KALLE WERE exhausted after their long day spent reading through the preliminary witness statements and preparing the interview schedule.
They walked down the corridor to the investigation room, each holding a steaming cup of hot coffee.
Of the fifty people that Samir Mohamed and Monica Lindh had managed to talk to, ten had supplied plausible accounts of the evening’s events and were selected for further questioning.
“As I see it, there are six eye-witnesses who we can count on to provide potentially interesting information – what do you think?” asked Kalle as he studied his notes.
“I agree, we can leave the other four until later if necessary,” replied Sanna as she typed something onto the computer. “I’m curious about what Anna Cartagena has to say. Out of everyone who claims to have seen something, she definitely sounds the most credible.”
Kalle nodded. “I’m most interested in Hugo Svensson. According to Monica he comes across as rather arrogant and sure of himself but he was very specific about what he saw.”
They exchanged knowing glances and Kalle mimicked the man’s supercilious manner.
“Watch out!”
Sanna slapped Kalle on the front of his shoulder. He had been balancing on the back legs of the chair and grabbed hold of the edge of the table to avoid losing his balance. Sanna watched the situation unfold with amusement and made an attempt to catch him as he toppled over.
Their roars of laughter drew the attention of other colleagues.
“What’s going on?” shouted a man from the other end of the corridor.
We’re working!” replied Sanna. “Ok, where were we?”
“You were about to put Hugo Svensson at number two on the list,” answered Kalle, who couldn’t stop chuckling.
“Right,” said Sanna trying to regain her composure.
They continued in the same fashion with the rest of the witnesses. Forty-five minutes later the list was complete.
Sanna collected the folders that contained information about the people they wanted to question. She pulled out a tabloid newspaper that was buried underneath. A headline caught her eye and she flicked through the pages to Lorena Pascalini’s article.
“Who’s this witness?”
“What?” said Kalle, continuing to write in his notebook.
“Have you read Pascalini’s article? She quotes a man whom she apparently interviewed on the day of the murder.”
Kalle put his pen down and looked up, intrigued.
“Yesterday’s Evening Post?”
Sanna nodded.
He stretched out his hand and Sanna passed the newspaper to him.
“I wouldn’t pay too much attention to it. Pascalini likes to create headlines”
He began to read a section of the article out loud.
“There was so much blood in the kitchen that I thought several people were dead in there.”
Sanna leafed through the police cadets’ notes.
“No, I can’t find anything… neither Samir nor Monica mention him…”
She glanced at the clock on her mobile. “I have to be at a meeting in five minutes. Find out who the man is.”
“I’ll try, but Pascalini can be a bit tricky,” replied Kalle. “I doubt she’ll tell us anything.”
“Typical. She’s always sniffing around trying to get information from us but when the tables are turned it’s a different story.”
Kalle nodded in agreement and they left the investigation room together.
ON THE WAY TO THE COFFE MACHINE Kalle took his mobile phone out of his pocket and called his partner, Mia, to find out if she wanted him to pick up anything for dinner that evening. When the answering machine picked up he remembered with a jolt of panic that it was his turn to collect the children from school. He ran to his office, grabbed his jacket and rushed to the garage to fetch his car.
“You look stressed!” commented a passer-by.
“I forgot I had to pick up the kids,” said Kalle tersely.
“Oh dear! Now you’re in trouble!” taunted the man.
Kalle took no notice. He started the car and drove off at full speed. It was only four thirty but the roads were already congested and as he approached Essingebron the traffic ground to a halt. He looked at the clock again and drummed his fingers impatiently on the wheel. “Damn!” The worst of it was that he had promised Mia he would fetch the children on time today. His mobile rang.
“Kalle Karlsson.”
“Hello, this is Johanna. I just wanted to check who’s picking up the children today.”
“Me. I’m stuck in traffic. I’ll be there in ten minutes, hopefully.”
“Ok, good to know. See you soon then.”
Kalle brooded over the call. Was he really that late? He looked at the clock again and frowned. Mia had warned him that the new headmistress was very punctilious. But he didn’t realize she was this inflexible.
“With that woman, you have to show up when you say you’re going to.” Mia had said.
They had toyed with the idea of moving the children to an after-school club closer to home, but hadn’t had time to look into it yet. They knew it wouldn’t be easy since the queues were long and there was no guarantee the children would end up in the same place.
He smiled to himself. “I should be able to handle this kind of confrontation,” he thought.
Life at home was well organized and harmonious. Mia and Kalle had fallen in love while still in high school and had moved in together despite their parents’ objections. Mia was nineteen and Kalle had just turned eighteen. Two years later they decided to start a family. First came a boy, Pontus, and soon after that Liza was born. That was eight years ago and they were still deeply in love and very happy.
When he finally reached the school, Liza and Pontus ran to him. “Why are you so late, Dad?” pouted Liza.
IT WAS NINE O’CLOCK on Wednesday morning. Anna Cartagena had been called in for questioning and she was sitting on a hard chair in the bleak interview room. She appeared nervous and impatient, glancing repeatedly at the clock hanging on the wall to the left of the door.
Her shoulders were slumped and she had the air of a shy, insecure schoolgirl. She was one metre seventy tall and slimly built with short blond hair that was tightly combed back away from her narrow face, emphasizing her small, pinched mouth. Her blue eyes were vigilant, like a fearful animal on the lookout for predators. She wore a classic blue suit and clutched her handbag tightly to her body.
Sanna strode into the room. “Good morning. I’m Inspector Sanna Johansson.” She shook Anna Cartagena’s hand and sat down opposite her, dispensing with any additional formalities. She turned on the recording device and slid it across the table.
“Interview with Anna Cartagena of 25 Skogsvägen, Djursholm on Wednesday 19th June led by Sanna Johansson of the Stockholm Police Force and assisted by Samir Mohamed. The time is five past nine.”
Sanna repeated Anna Cartagena’s social security number and civil status. She noted that during her preliminary interview, the witness had informed the police that she had recently moved into the area and didn’t know any of the neighbours or the Svenson family.
“You stated that you were near the Svenson family’s house when the attack took place?” said Sanna in a gentle but firm voice.
“Yes, I could hear a woman screaming for help… The man who was attacking her was using very aggressive language…”
“I see. What time was this?”
“I was on my way home from work. So it must have been between five and five thirty, which is when I normally get home.”
The woman’s eyes flickered as if trying to avoid looking directly at Sanna. “You couldn’t miss hearing the screams coming from the house. I thought it was a burglary so I was really scared.”
“What did you do then?”
“The first thing I did was to contact the neighbours and tell them that something was wrong. Someone suggested I call the police, which I did directly.”
“Did you see who was in the house?”
“I don’t know the family who lives there. There was a man in the kitchen and it looked like he was attacking someone. I couldn’t see who it was but after what happened now I know it must have been Mrs. Svenson.”
“You say that you saw a man inside the house. Where were you standing? What room was he in?”
“I just told you – the kitchen.”
“Can you describe this man? What did he look like?”
“I saw him when he came out of the house. He looked Swedish but apart from that I’ve no idea who he was.”
“Do you think you would be able to identify him if you saw him again?”
Anna Cartagena leaned back in the chair and stared at Sanna.
“Do you think you would you be able to identify the man if you saw him again?” she repeated.
Anna Cartagena sighed.
“I don’t know. Maybe. There was blood all over his face. It was very difficult to see who he was or what he actually looked like…”
Anna Cartagena felt a little uneasy. The inspector was looking at her suspiciously and yet she was trying as hard as she could to remember exactly what she had seen in the Svenson family’s kitchen. She was doing her best to be as specific as possible.
They sat in silence. Anna Cartagena looked away to avoid Sanna’s piercing gaze, which was unnerving her. “I don’t have to sit here and be questioned,” she thought.
“I’ve told you everything I can remember. Are we finished?” said the woman with such resolve that Sanna was taken aback at her sudden change of personality.
“Where were you standing?” continued Sanna.
“I was probably about ten or twenty metres from the house. The windows are big so it’s pretty easy to see into the room from outside.” Anna Cartagena blushed a little and discreetly wiped some sweat from above her lips. “I think it was the kitchen. It looked like it anyway…”
“Was there anybody else in the house? Did you see anyone else?”
“No.” Anna Cartagena looked at the clock.
“Was there anybody else in the house?” insisted Sanna.
Anna Cartagena suddenly became more alert. “Actually,” she replied: “I might be imagining it but I think I saw somebody running away. It could have been a child.
Sanna raised her eyebrows. She immediately thought of Viktor.
“Was the man you saw in the kitchen the same person who came out of the house?” insisted Sanna.
“I’m pretty sure it was. There was no one else in the house – as far as I could tell, at least.”
“Was there anyone else in the area?”
“What do you mean?”
“Behind the house, for example?”
Anna Cartagena stared at Sanna. She was starting to lose patience.
“Börge Svenson is insisting that we have the wrong man and the attacker is still at large but if anyone else was at the house Anna Cartagena would have noticed.” thought Sanna.
“Come to think of it, I did see someone at the back of the house.”
“What was this person doing?”
“He was walking away. I remember he kept turning back to look at the house…” She drew her hand up to her mouth.” I didn’t pay much attention since I was more concerned with what was happening inside…”
Sanna jotted this down in her notebook. “Check for footprints behind house.”
“What did he look like?”
The woman rubbed her forehead.
“I think he was between thirty and forty years old. He was tall and fit looking.”
“Someone you’ve seen around before?”
Anna Cartagena smiled.
“I’m afraid I’m the wrong person to ask… I have a hard time remembering faces.”
Sanna regarded the witness, wondering how she would react when confronted with the suspect during an identification parade.
Sanna thanked her for being so helpful and asked her to contact them if she remembered anything else that might be of interest.
“We’ll get back to you later during the investigation,” she added.
IN ANOTHER INTERROGATION ROOM, Kalle Karlsson was interviewing Hugo Svensson – a man in his fifties who claimed to be well acquainted with the Svenson family.
“Börge would never do something like that to Ingrid. He’s incapable of harming anyone. How could you even consider it?” He frowned, leaning back in the chair with his legs and arms crossed. “This whole thing is completely ridiculous,” he protested. “I can’t believe you haven’t released him yet. You’ve got the wrong person! You know that don’t you? ”
Kalle looked closely at his witness. Svensson appeared aloof and disinterested and expressed himself in an authoritative manner. His two-day’s worth of well-groomed stubble and sporty casual Italian clothing softened his appearance somewhat and made him more boyish looking. An enigmatic smile seemed permanently glued to his face like the Mona Lisa painting. Kalle sighed inwardly and wondered what made him so convinced of Svenson’s innocence. There was little consensus among other witnesses on the identity of the man they had seen leaving the house.
“In your statement you seem very specific about what you saw,” said Kalle, raising his voice. “How close to the house were you standing when the murder was committed? Did you see who came out?”
Hugo Svensson thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. He shifted his position in the chair and repeated: “Murder?”
“YES. Murder!”
Hugo Svensson looked deflated.
“I mean… I was at least a hundred metres away and there were a lot of other people in front of me,” he confessed. He took off his glasses and examined them against the light to see if there was any dust.
“And you are prepared to testify under oath that the man who came out of the house was NOT Börge Svenson?”
“Yes... well… no, not exactly… what I mean is that I know Börge very well and I have a very hard time imagining him as a wife beater,” he replied with a deadpan expression.
“Mr. Svensson, you do understand, don’t you, that the purpose of these interviews is to determine whether anyone actually witnessed the events that occurred in the Svenson family’s house on the afternoon of the 17th of June? More precisely, between the hours of five and five thirty. Above all we need to establish if there is anyone who CAN provide us with a good description of the person WHO was seen leaving the house. We want eyewitnesses! Not people who know the family or…” Kalle was finding it difficult to keep his voice down. “Not just now anyway,” he continued in a gentler tone. “By the way, are you related to Börge Svenson?” Kalle scratched his head.
“No, I’m not,” answered Svensson. “But I do know the family very well. I’ve known Börge since we were children. We’ve been through a lot together. We’ve been friends as long as I can remember.”
Kalle thanked Hugo Svensson for his help in coming forward as a witness and informed him that the police might contact him again since, as a close friend of the suspect, his testimony might naturally be of interest. “We would be very interested in talking to you again about the Svenson family.” he added.
AT TWELVE O’CLOCK Sanna and Kalle met by the coffee machine. They had both finished interviewing their first witnesses. Although they were already exhausted, two more interviews were scheduled for that afternoon.
“I’m going to meet Elvira Abramson in three hours. I hope she has something valuable to tell me.” Sanna was subdued. “How did it go?”
“About the same as your interview, I’m guessing…” Kalle sipped his hot coffee, grimacing as the scalding liquid burnt his mouth.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Judging by the look on your face things didn’t go that well.”
Sanna scowled at him.
“Too hot for you?” Sanna gulped her coffee down and threw the mug into the rubbish bin on the way out of the room.
“Yeah, what can I say – I’m a very sensitive chap,” he answered playfully.
“Oh, so you’re a sensitive chap are you?” repeated Sanna in the same jocular manner.
They walked to Sanna’s room together and sat down in the visitor armchairs.
“Anna Cartagena claims she saw a man behind the house,” began Sanna.
This news pricked Kalle’s interest.
“Do you think Pascalini’s witness saw him?”
“At present it is difficult to know what to believe.”
“Directly after our conversation yesterday, I called Pascalini and left a message on her answering machine. I hope she calls back.”
“Okay… I’ll ask Segelström to take a look at the area behind the house,” said Sanna.
The lines between Kalles’ eyebrows deepened slightly as he nodded.
“We’ll have to interview the other witnesses. Perhaps somebody knows who he is or saw him at the scene.”
“Okay.”
Sanna approached her desk. She picked up the interview schedule and sat down again.
Kalle moved his chair closer to hers.
“Elvira Abramson is next on my list – she’s the Svensons’ closest neighbour.”
“I have Einar Melkerson. A widower who seems credible but is very old fashioned, which concerns me a little.”
“Why?”
“Well, I talked on the phone with him. On the one hand he seems trustworthy but on the other hand he is very conservative, which could influence his views on how the upper class should behave, if you see what I mean.”
“I see,” answered Sanna thoughtfully. “It could be tricky if he gets defensive and withholds valuable information. We’ll have to be strategic. Maybe we shouldn’t take everything he says literally but try to read between the lines, so to speak. When are you meeting him?”
“He’s coming at one thirty.”
“I can sit in with you if you like. I’m a bit curious about him.”
She stared at him intently. Kalle didn’t respond.
“Only if you want me to. I just thought it sounded interesting. But I totally understand if you’d rather conduct the interview alone,” explained Sanna, suspecting that Kalle was less than enthusiastic about her proposal.
“No, no, that’s ok. I was just working out what I want to ask him. I wonder if he knows anything about the Svenson family.”
“You’ll think of something – you always do. I may pitch in with a few questions – if that’s ok with you, of course.”
HE WAS AN ELDERLY, UPRIGHT gentleman who walked with vigorous steps. His face was rough and weather beaten and his thick grey hair was combed back away from his forehead. He was almost one metre ninety tall and wore a grey, glen-check suit and a discreet matching tie. Slung over his right arm was a grey overcoat and in his left hand he clutched a pair of black leather gloves. The man approached the receptionist at the police station in Kungsholmen.
“Good day, I have an appointment with Detective Karlsson.”
“Your name please sir?” asked the receptionist.
“Einar Melkerson.”
She punched in a few numbers on the telephone.
“INSPECTOR Karlsson will be down in a few minutes,” said the receptionist, pointedly. The inference wasn’t lost on Melkerson, who stared at her but said nothing.
Seven minutes later Kalle entered the reception area. He shook hands with Melkerson and apologized for keeping him waiting. Melkerson looked at his watch.
As they rode the elevator to the fifth floor, Kalle explained that for the most part the questions would be routine and focus on establishing exactly what the various witnesses had seen on the day of the murder. He also informed Melkerson that Inspector Johansson would be sitting in on the interview. Melkerson listened intently as the pair strode down the hallway.
They arrived at the sparsely furnished interview room at the same time as Sanna. After the usual polite introductions, Melkerson turned to her and requested a coat hanger. Kalle pointed to a hook on the wall. The elderly man sighed and folded the overcoat inside out exposing the exclusive label, Götrich, stitched to the inside pocket. He then laid it over the back of the chair.
Sanna and Kalle exchanged looks.
The three of them sat down on the hard, uncomfortable chairs.
“Before we start, I feel I ought to mention that I know Börge Svenson’s family well,” said Einar Melkerson. “His father, Harald, is a very good friend of mine,” he continued without taking his eyes away from Kalle. His expression was hard to read.
Kalle nodded and made a note in his book.
“I’m going to turn on the recorder,” said Kalle, moving the equipment across the table towards the old man.
“Interview with Einar Melkerson of 11 Skogsvägen, Djursholm on the 22nd of June conducted by Inspector Kalle Karlsson of the Stockholm Police and assisted by Inspector Sanna Johansson. The time is 13:00.
“You say that you know the Svenson family?” began Kalle.
“Yes, that’s correct. I know Harald Svenson very well. His original surname was Svensson, with two “s”.” He looked at Kalle intensely. “Our families have consorted for generations. My late father Melker Eriksson and Pär Svenson, Börge Svenson’s grandfather, were childhood friends. I also know Gunnel Nordstad, Harald’s wife. Initially, Harald had intended to take her family name because Svenson had become such a common surname…”
He straightened his tie. “But, the thing is, even before the 1800’s, Harald’s grandparents had changed their patronymic name to be the family name, and then continued the patronymic tradition by changing their name to Svenson.
So the name Svenson has been passed down from generation to generation and all the relatives were, to say the least, actively opposed to such a change.” Melkerson drummed his fingers on the table. “These days it seems as if everyone is called Svenson. It should be forbidden to take a patronymic surname… your family name is a reflection of who you are!”
Melkerson ignored Sanna and directed all his responses to Kalle. So far, the only time he had bothered to look at her was when he requested a coat hanger.
“Anton Nordstad, her late father, was close friends with Harald, whose parents also knew each other…” He paused. “They live in Östermalm now.”
“Who lives in Östermalm?” asked Kalle.
Melkerson, making the most of this opportunity to delve into the Svenson family history and flaunt his expertise on the subject, continued without replying to Kalle’s question.
“Maybe you don’t know this, but Strandvägen used to be a rundown area. My parents lived in Malmgårdarna. You see, the area that used to be known as Ladugårdslandet only became fashionable after the 1800’s. That’s when it was renamed Östermalm. Families like the Torstenssons built their villas there.” He tapped the table with his bony fingers and glowered at Kalle. “They were good friends of my grandparents.” He leaned back triumphantly.
“I see. But we’ve gone a bit off track here,” said Kalle offering the elderly man a cup of water.
“No thanks, I’m allergic to plastic.” He cleared his throat and stretched his neck.
“Where were you on the day of the murder?”
“What do you mean?” answered Einar Melkerson with an edge of irritation in his voice.
“I mean in relation to the Svenson family house,” explained Kalle patiently.
“I usually take Bobby for a walk at five o’clock and then I …”
“Bobby?”
“Bobby’s my dog,” he explained, looking intently at Kalle as if waiting for the next question. When Kalle didn’t respond he continued:
“Anyway, I was out with Bobby and usually we head for the woods. I don’t like walking my little one in areas where there are lots of people and cars – it’s far too stressful.” He paused and took a small white tablet from his pillbox and popped it in his mouth.
“Where was I?” he asked nonchalantly.
Kalle sighed inwardly.
“So, you went out at five o’clock to walk Bobby?”
“That’s right. Anyway, on the way back our normal route takes us past Mr. and Mrs. Svenson’s house. Their son, Viktor, likes to pet Bobby. Viktor wasn’t there so I figured he was either busy or hadn’t come home yet. I decided to check things out so I went to the back of the house to see if anyone was in the kitchen, but it was empty. I thought it was a bit odd since the young lass – Viktor’s mother – is usually home cooking supper at that time. Then I heard shouting from inside. Very strange.” He leaned in towards the recording device and repeated: “Very strange! In our family nobody ever shouts or raises their voice.” He stuck out his chin and looked away. “It amazes me how the younger generation behaves these days…”
Melkerson fell silent, lost in his own thoughts, and stared at Kalle impassively.
“Did you see what happened inside the house?” asked Kalle. Melkerson was relating an endless stream of irrelevant details and he had half a mind to end the interview there and then.
Sanna, in turn, realized it would be pointless taking over. Melkerson evidently had no time for female detectives. She wrote a note and gave it to Kalle: Let’s take a break.
Melkerson noticed this and glanced at Sanna before continuing.
“Well… No, I don’t remember.”
Kalle felt he was losing control. The interview was going nowhere yet he couldn’t quite put his finger on what the problem was. Was it Melkerson’s habit of addressing him as if he was talking to a child or was it the way that he leered at Sanna every now and then?
“Let’s take a short break and continue in five minutes. Do you want anything to drink – coffee, tea?” Kalle asked tersely.
“Yes, a cup of coffee would be nice – black with one lump of sugar, please.”
Kalle and Sanna left the room.
“I feel like we are banging our heads against a brick wall here,” said Kalle. “He’s getting hung up on totally pointless details. This will take forever.”
“No, it’ll be ok,” Sanna lied. “You can manipulate him. Ask direct questions and make him stick to the facts.”
In truth she agreed with Kalle – the chances of this interview leading them anywhere were almost non-existent.
“The way he ignores you is really pissing me off,” said Kalle as he strode towards the coffee machine. Sanna scurried to keep up with him.
“There’s nothing we can do. He’s treating me as if I have no business being here – or worse, that I don’t even exist. I’ve been sworn at and called a “fucking whore” or “cunt” by working class yobs before but I tell you Melkerson’s behaviour towards me is just as insulting.”
Sanna’s phone rang. It was the receptionist calling to say that Elvira Abramson had cancelled her appointment because she had eaten something that didn’t agree with her and wasn’t feeling well.
Sanna sighed.
“Problem?” asked Kalle.
“Not exactly. Elvira Abramson can’t make it,” said Sanna, who was more concerned with immediate issue of how to handle the old man.
“We have to focus on his statement and get as much information as possible. I have a feeling he knows something and is being deliberately evasive. Either that, or he doesn’t know what to make of things himself,” continued Sanna.
”I wonder if he really does have anything to tell us. My guess is that he won’t reveal any family secrets. In his circles these types of family problems are brushed under the carpet. Plus he knows the Svenson family well… and wife beating… ” He shook his head. “I hardly think that’s something Melkerson would concern himself with.”
While Kalle balanced a mug in each hand and made a concerted effort not to spill his coffee on the floor, Sanna sipped hers as she walked. They returned to the interview room where Einar Melkerson was waiting.
“Black coffee with one sugar.”
“Thanks,” answered Einar Melkerson, smiling. He placed the sugar cube between his lips and tentatively sipped the warm coffee.
“Resuming the interview with Einar Melkerson. Present is Inspector Kalle Karlsson assisted by Inspector Sanna Johansson. The time is fifteen forty-five.”
“You said you heard someone screaming inside the house. What did you do then?”
“Did I say that?”
“Yes, you did. Would you like to listen?”
“No, that won’t be necessary.”
“So, what did you do?” insisted Kalle.
“I craned my neck up to see who was making so much noise. I saw people running – a man chasing a woman perhaps, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I don’t hear that well anymore.” Melkerson tapped his hearing aid to indicate that it didn’t work that well.
“Just then Bobby started to bark – he usually barks when something’s up. I didn’t want to expose him to any danger so I left.”
“Did the man have a weapon or something he was using as a weapon?”
“I really don’t know. Everything happened so fast… it was over in a flash…”
“If you were so close – as you claim – you must have seen who was inside.”
“Yes, of course I did. It was them. Börge and his wife…”
“You’re sure it was Mr. and Mrs. Svenson?” asked Kalle.
“What do you think?” Melkerson stared at Kalle in a threatening manner.
“I don’t think anything, I just want to make certain that you’re in no doubt about what you saw.”
“You’d better believe it,” replied the man. “I have nothing against the young lass but she was one of those so-called liberated women…” As he emphasized the words “liberated women” Melkerson looked Sanna directly in the eyes for the first time and pointed in her direction.
“What do you mean by a so-called liberated woman?” asked Kalle, observing Sanna’s reaction.
“One of those women who work and don’t care about their families, of course.”
“You think it’s wrong for women to work?”
“Yes, I do.” Melkerson shifted in his chair. He leaned forward and began drumming his fingers on the table again. “In the old days they were real women! Real women who recognized their responsibilities and the importance of their role in the family.”
“Are you insinuating that Ingrid Svenson was a bad mother?”
“Not exactly… well, in some ways, yes.” The man spoke slowly and carefully enunciated his words.
“So, as far as you’re concerned it was just a matter of time until Ingrid Svenson would be beaten to death by…” Kalle stopped himself just in time.
“No, that’s not what I meant.” He leaned closer to the recording device and repeated: “That’s not what I meant! But honestly, men have to put up with so much these days. In my day women stayed at home and took care of the family – they did their duty!”
He opened the pillbox again and popped another tablet into his mouth. As he chewed his chin moved in an exaggerated fashion. He glared at Sanna.
Sanna glared back at him. She stood up suddenly and grabbed the water jug. She poured water into a plastic cup and slammed it down on the table in front of him.
“Here, drink. You need some cold water!” she ordered.
Melkerson, who had been watching her curiously, raised his eyebrows and gave her an icy stare. He took the cup of water and drank it obediently.
Kalle who had feared the worst breathed a sigh of relief.
Sanna stared at Melkerson. She was like a lion stalking its prey, preparing to attack. The silence was deafening.
Kalle was at a loss. He was usually very much in control during these interviews but this time he was floundering. He leafed through his notebook for a good leading question.
“Did you see the man leave the house?” he asked.
Melkerson jerked to attention as if he had just been awoken from a deep sleep. He cleared his throat.
“No,” he answered hesitantly. “You see, Bobby was agitated and it was time for him to have his dinner. He usually…”
“I think we can end the interview here,” interrupted Kalle before Melkerson could continue with his tiresome anecdotes about his dog. He glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s five thirty.”
Sanna passed him a note. Kalle read it and continued his questioning.
“I have one more question before we finish. Did you see anyone in the vicinity of the house?”
Silence.
“Did you see anyone in the vicinity of the house?”
“I’m thinking,” Melkerson answered.
Kalle decided it was pointless to continue.
“Yes,” said Melkerson at last. “Now that you mention it, I think there was someone snooping around the house,” Somebody I’ve never seen around before.”
“What did he look like?”
Melkerson said nothing.
Kalle rubbed his forehead impatiently.
Melkerson sighed and looked at the ceiling. “Hmm,” he said. “I can’t really remember. You see, at that moment, I was picking up Bobby’s poo,” He said and drummed his fingers on the table.
“But maybe you remember something about him. Anything at all. Was he tall, short, young, old?” insisted Kalle.
“Yes, now I remember. He was probably a young lad around fifty or so,” his lips curled into a nervous smile.
“We are very interested in finding out more about this man. So if you remember anything else we would be very grateful if you could contact us immediately,” said Kalle.
“Of course.”
Kalle followed the witness out of the room and thanked him for agreeing to be interviewed.
In the hallway, Melkerson enquired whether the police had apprehended the suspect. Kalle told him that they had someone in custody but added that he couldn’t divulge any details before an arrest warrant was issued.
“Someone I know?” asked Melkerson, who already knew full well that Svenson was sitting in a police cell.
“As I said, we haven’t completed the preliminary investigation.”
After the meeting Sanna strode to her office, slamming the door behind her.
It had been a peculiar meeting. On his way back to the office Kalle contemplated what to do next. He had been taken aback by Sanna’s reaction at the meeting. Maybe he should give her time to calm down. On the other hand, proper procedure dictated that they should sit down together and review the interview.
He turned around and strode towards Sanna’s room. He knocked lightly and pushed the door ajar.
“Coffee?”
“No!” she answered sharply, staring at him coldly. He immediately regretted his decision. To his relief she continued: “I think I need a glass of ice-cold water,” she took a deep breath. “…But coffee will do.”
They sat in the canteen. She drank a café latte with sugar and, as usual, he had a strong black coffee. Most of their colleagues had already left for the day.
“That was a long interview,” said Kalle eventually.
“Yeah.”
“He seems to know who murdered Ingrid Svenson.”
“Yeah”
“A strange type.”
“You can say that again!”
Sanna stared at the table and drank her coffee with stiff mechanical movements. She looked pale.
“Sometimes I wish I didn’t feel such a heavy sense of responsibility for everything I do.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wish I had the guts to throw water into that bloody old man’s face!”
“For a second there I thought you were going to actually do it.”
Sanna raised her eyes.
“Do what?”
“Throw water in his face, of course!”
“What a bastard! How could he say things like that? Doesn’t he realise this is the 21st century? Although it really shouldn’t surprise me – his attitude is probably fairly typical for men of his generation.” Sanna massaged her forehead and closed her eyes. “It’s what we’re stuck with.”
“Tired?” asked Kalle.
Sanna nodded. She was staring into space reflecting on the interview with Melkerson.
She lifted the empty cup to her lips. Kalle went to fetch more coffee for both of them.
“Sometimes I wonder how things were in the old days. I met my old Aunt Gunvor this weekend. She told me that their father gave her and her sisters away to other families who didn’t have children of their own or needed help in the house. As if they needed a maid, so to speak.”
“When was this?”
“Not that long ago. Apparently it was common practice in Sweden at that time! Gunvor was fifteen. My grandmother was born in December 1919, if I remember correctly. She was three years older than Gunvor, who in that case would have been born in 1921 or 1922, which means this was 1937. If her father – a pastor – could do that to his own daughters just think how much more prevalent it must have been among the uneducated or those on the peripheries of society. Can you imagine, in our beautiful country women were treated like livestock!”
“Is this true?”
“Yes. She was talking about her own childhood experiences. I was horrified to learn that my own grandmother had been treated in that way. How could that sort of thing happen here in Sweden?”
“Wasn’t it just a way for them to get work experience?”
“I know that people did that in the old days, just like today. It’s natural to want to help your kids find work. But that’s not a good enough reason to give them away. Not in my opinion anyway.” She took a last sip of coffee, crumpled up the paper cup and threw it into the waste paper bin.
He nodded, listening intently.
“Don’t you think it’s strange that people are hardly ever curious about their grandparents’ lives,” she continued. “I think it’s important to learn as much as possible about our ancestors. To make a long story short, my grandmother died years ago and I knew almost nothing about her childhood. When I met Gunvor I realized it was a good opportunity to find out more.”
Silence.
“As I said, my grandmother Anna was the eldest. Gunvor told me that she had escaped from a farm where she had been forced to work as a maid. The farmer – a much older man – wanted to marry her. He was a powerful figure and she was afraid that he would force her into marriage. So she ran away to Stockholm.”
“Incredible that her mother could allow it.”
“Yes, I know! I can’t get my head around it. Bear in mind you never really know what goes on in other people’s relationships and as you know, in those days women weren’t worth a thing – either here in Sweden or in the rest of the world for that matter. It’s incredible that you never read about it in any history book. As usual, everyone tries to paint a rosy picture about our country.”
Kalle smiled and nodded in agreement.
Sanna got up and beckoned him to follow her.
Kalle stretched his arms upwards and moved his neck, first to the right and then to the left. He looked at the clock that was hanging on the wall.
“I’ve got to get home! Mia’s going to a meeting and I promised to be home by six.”
“Then you’d better hurry.”
“Are you going home too?”
“You bet. After a day like this I don’t even have the energy to think.”
“See you tomorrow.”
”Yeah.”
FOR THE OTHER VICTIM the drama continued. Viktor’s frail, defenceless body lay motionless upon the white hospital sheets – his condition testimony to the trauma he had experienced. His eyes were devoid of expression, staring blankly into space. One can only speculate as to the extent to which a child’s mental state could be damaged by being forced to witness the murder of their mother.
Viktor’s condition hadn’t altered since Sanna had found him hidden in the closet. It was difficult to decipher or imagine what was going on in his head. Viktor was a six-year old child who was so traumatized that he was no longer capable of expressing any emotion.
ONE OF THE BIGGEST problems within the police force was its ageing computer system – particularly the lack of a national database.
Sanna dedicated her entire morning to a fruitless search through the criminal records register. Her primary goal was to find out if Börge Svenson was guilty of any previous crime. She checked all the relevant databases, including Vicklas, a sex crime register that had been shut down a couple of years ago. But there was no mention of him anywhere.
Sanna’s next step was to contact a good friend of hers in the technical division. She picked up the receiver and punched in the number.
“Hello Robert, it’s Sanna from NBI. How are things?”
Robert was one of the most competent computer technicians she had ever met, and known for his expertise in police databases. He was someone who almost always had an answer to her questions. She had no doubt that he would be able to dig out more information on Börge Svenson – if any existed.
He was the type of person who rarely bothered to initiate contact but whenever you called him he sounded as if he had been expecting to hear from you and always had a lot to say.
Apart from the chance to chat with a dear colleague, she liked the fact that a conversation with Robert always provided her with valuable information.
“Hi! No, not really. It’s full on as usual.” He had a dark, husky voice and a peculiar habit of accentuating certain vowels. “I’ve got a huge pile of reports to go through – abuse, theft and the whole works. Soon I’ll lose track of what I’m doing. What can I help you with, Miss S?”
“Well, I’m investigating a murder right now. We suspect the husband but of course he’s denying it.”
“Hmm,” said Robert.
“I can’t pin anything on him. His name is Börge Svenson.”
“Not another Svensson.”
Sanna chuckled.
“No, not this time. This guy is related to the Svensons who own the well-known law firm.”
“Whoops!” he said.
“What I’m wondering is whether any complaints have ever been made against him previously. The victim’s name is Ingrid Svenson and the family lives in Djursholm. Wait a minute, I’ll give you the address.”
Sanna flicked through her papers and gave him the woman’s address and social security number.
She heard Robert typing on the other end of the line and an occasional sigh of frustration.
“Let’s see… No, Ingrid Svenson herself has never filed any complaints. However, somebody else made an anonymous complaint against him on behalf of his wife, but she denied it. It must have been a misunderstanding.”
“Typical!”
“Yes, it’s odd. Why didn’t she follow through and let her husband get what was coming to him. This often happens. To be honest, I’m so used to it that I barely react any more when a woman withdraws her complaint saying she was confused or doesn’t remember what happened. It seems as if women were raised to put up with anything. I read somewhere that abuse is always preceded by a process of psychological breakdown, a form of brainwashing. Do you get it? Brainwash! Until she believes that the abuse is her fault.”
Sanna could picture his wild head of hair and broad face. He was a robust man with a rotund stomach and bushy eyebrows. Robert didn’t take life too seriously. He was a thinker but nothing really seemed to bother him. He was always even tempered and composed and his personality instilled a sense of calm in others.
“What astonishes me the most,” he continued: “is that in so many cases the woman actually defends the guy who abuses her. Do you get it? She defends the one who abuses her!”
His habit of accentuating certain words meant his voice resounded in her head long after a conversation was over.
At the other end of the line, Sanna remained silent – this was such a familiar story that she no long had the energy to comment on it.
THE PRELIMINARY FORENSIC examination report had arrived. After analysing traces recovered from the crime scene, the laboratory in Linköping had determined that there were four sets of fingerprints. Three belonged to adults and one belonged to a child. Two sets had traces of fresh blood and were deemed to be of relevance to the investigation. These prints were cross-matched with those of the deceased and the suspect. It was assumed that the third set of prints, which belonged to a child, were Viktor’s but these results would be released later. No match was found for the fourth fingerprint. Even though this was probably an old print it would still be taken into consideration and followed up until a match was found, most likely within the family or with one of their employees.
Sanna could hardly believe what she was reading. “It’s incredible that there were no other fingerprints – if someone else committed the murder, as the suspect claims, there must be evidence. People always leave pieces of evidence behind them. We have a problem here. Svenson claims that his wife was already dead when he returned to the house yet all indications point to him. We must find out if there is DNA evidence of a third person.”
It was crucial to be able to reliably identify the chair leg as one of the murder weapons, but because of the nature of the evidence and its complexity it would be a while before the final results were received. It wasn’t just a question of securing DNA matches but also finding fingerprints on the object.
In line with standard procedure, the suspect, Börge Svenson, had been swabbed and his saliva sent to the National Forensics Laboratory in Linköping to compare his DNA with traces from the murder scene as well as from other unsolved crimes.
Sanna’s gaze rested on the name of the person who had carried out the tests, Bosse Sandell. He must be the new recruit. She decided to call him and ask a few supplementary questions about his analysis. She was also curious about the unfamiliar person with whom she would be working with in the future and wanted to introduce herself. She believed that it was easier to work with other organizations if you developed personal relationships with their employees.
“Hi, thanks for the DNA report! My name is Sanna Johansson from NBI. I am part of the investigative team working on the Svenson case.”
“Which DNA report?” he answered abruptly.
“Börge Svenson’s,” answered Sanna, slightly taken aback by his tone of voice.
Sandell didn’t answer.
“Hello, are you still there?”
“Yes. What do you want to know about his DNA report? Is something wrong?” he continued in the same hostile manner.
“No, everything looks fine. I just want to find out if Börge Svenson is included on any old DNA registers.”
At the other end of the line, she could hear Sandell exhaling heavily.
“A DNA analysis provides a DNA profile in numerical form based on ten selected measuring points. As I’m sure you know, the physical DNA tests that come in for analysis are usually destroyed within one month. In rare cases we will keep them for up to six months if the person in question is still a suspect or has been sentenced to penalties other than fines”.
“But….” Sanna tried to interrupt him.
Bosse Sandell ignored her and continued his monologue.
“During an investigation, A DNA profile ends up in the DNA Investigation registry, which is a database with DNA profiles from unsolved crimes. The profile is then compared with others.” Sandell continued to babble without pausing for breath.
“Usually matches are reported automatically by comparing DNA profiles in the Track registry, Investigation registry and DNA registry. A match could consist of one or several matches between DNA profiles from the different registries.”
“That’s not necessary.”
Sandell ignored her attempt to interrupt.
“According to the report from the Swedish National Laboratory of Forensic Science, there were no matches for Börge Svenson’s DNA profile.”
Sanna felt as if she had been mowed down by a tractor.
“Please don’t hesitate to call me if you have any more questions,” he continued. “But I have a massive work load and need to get on with other stuff now.”
He hung up without saying goodbye.
She sat for a moment with the receiver still in her hand, stunned. She had just received a lecture on a subject she already knew a lot about. It appeared as if her new friend at the National Forensic Centre was more irascible than she was.