“HELLO THIS IS SANNA JOHANSSON,” she answered. There was a crackling sound on the line and she strained to hear the voice at the other end. It sounded as if the call was coming from abroad.
“What did you say?”
She stared at the receiver perplexed.
“I’m sorry, can you say that again?”
The colour drained from her face.
“She was fine yesterday,” said the woman. “How could we have known she wouldn’t wake up this morning,” she continued, clearly distressed.
“I don’t understand… she must have been ill,” said Sanna.
The woman was silent.
“Why didn’t you contact me earlier, as soon as she became ill? Why am I only finding out about this now, when it’s too late?” she shouted.
As she got up from the chair Sanna felt faint. She took slow, deep breaths to calm herself and walked towards the door. Her head was spinning and she couldn’t think clearly. She turned the key in the lock and leaned against the door trying to collect her thoughts. Should she call Markus?
Markus had a highly sensitive temperament and she would have to be careful when breaking the news to him.
She glanced at the clock. It was ten past nine.
“Markus is probably at work now,” she thought. “I’ll call later instead.”
She didn’t dare think about the consequences.
In a daze, she picked up her jacket and small leather rucksack as well as her helmet. She left the office at Kungsholmen without a word.
Sanna drove her Harley-Davidson through the heavy traffic, oblivious to the other vehicles on the road. She turned towards Sankt Eriksgatan and squeezed her way through the long line of cars that were honking their horns impatiently. Two cars had crashed and were parked at the side of the road, their drivers locked in a debate about the damage to their vehicles. Sanna paid no attention. She felt removed from her surroundings. She was completely alone. Malin had left her without saying goodbye.
“Look where you’re going!” growled a man, giving her the finger.
She was on her way to see Malin, the little sister who had withdrawn into her own silent world ever since the terrible day that had left none of them unscathed.
She continued to Uppsalavägen and paused before turning off towards the E4.
At just three years old, Malin was the one who had been worst affected. She was struck down with a psychological disorder known as apathy, which, from a medical standpoint, was incurable. After six months at a treatment centre, she uttered a single word, “mamma” and the doctor, encouraged by this development, reassured Sanna that the treatment was giving results and that it was just a matter of time before she would recover.
“Give it time, Sanna. Your sister will get better,” he had said.
But as the weeks went by it was clear that the doctor had been optimistic in his assessment. Malin barely said another word until one Saturday several months later when Sanna was reading aloud to her from The Brother’s Lionheart. All of a sudden Malin said “Mamma” again. This time the doctor was more circumspect and conceded that it was unlikely to be a sign of improvement. From that day on Malin never spoke another word.
Sanna’s mobile rang. At first she was tempted to ignore it but she changed her mind and decided to see who was calling. It was Kalle. She put the mobile back into her jacket pocket and soon afterwards heard the beep, indicating that he had left a message.
Sanna had ridden her motorbike to Uppsala so many times she could find her way in her sleep. She continued towards the Kungsängsleden exit until she reached Kungsgatan. She parked her bike and sat there for a while to collect her thoughts.
The mobile rang again. It was Kalle.
“Sanna,” she answered indifferently.
“Hi Sanna, I’ve tried to call you several times,” said Kalle. He sounded agitated.
Sanna didn’t know what to say. She had left the office without telling anybody and now she would have to explain herself or at the very least tell him if she planned to be back to work that day or not.
“How are you?” he asked. Sanna was normally very communicative with him so he knew that her reticence could only mean one of two things – either she was angry at him or there was some personal issue that she didn’t want to talk about.
“I have an errand to take care of. It can’t wait, I have to do it today,” she replied curtly.
“Is it to do with work?”
“No, it’s private but must be done today,” she replied.
Kalle wanted to ask more questions but he couldn’t force her to talk to him if she didn’t want to.
“Are you ok?” He felt foolish continuing to press her.
“Not really, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ll be in tomorrow, Kalle. Tell Blom that I need to take time off today.” She hung up.
She revved the engine again and continued her journey towards Uppsala University Hospital.
She was led through the long corridors of the closed psychiatric facility until they reached a room that reminded her of a church. The hospital staff had decorated a quiet room with candles for this sombre occasion. Inside, lay her sister, Malin, her body covered by a white sheet.
Sanna asked to be left alone. Malin was finally at peace. Her expression was serene and composed, a frozen snapshot of a life that had come to an end. She held Malin’s ice-cold hands and pressed her face tightly against hers. She began to cry uncontrollably.
“Dear Malin, why did you leave me? What am I going to do now? How can I go on without you?”
Since the terrible day her mother died, Malin had never recovered. She had existed in her own secret world. However, there had been moments when she seemed happy. Sanna and Malin had a special routine. As a little girl Malin would stretch out her hands and stamp her feet excitedly in anticipation of the flowers and chocolates that Sanna would bring on her regular weekly visits. She would hold the flowers in her arms while she munched the chocolate. When she had finished eating Sanna would place the flowers in a vase and sit down beside her and read aloud. She had continued to read to her through the years, even when Malin was no longer a child.
It was their ritual. A routine that Sanna had unwittingly created and which afforded the sisters moments of relative happiness. Although Malin’s body language became more restrained as she grew older, the sequence was always carried out in the same order.
Her body was cold and stiff, but Sanna hugged her close. As if she could still feel the young woman’s breath against her cheek.
Malin had lived for twenty-five years.
“You’ll be with Mamma now,” she said. She looked at her sadly and the tears ran down her cheeks.
She remained in the room for more than forty minutes while the nurse waited patiently for her outside. They walked through the corridors in silence. Birgitta was Malin’s nurse and respected Sanna’s desire to be undisturbed. Everyone who took care of Malin knew the reason she had ended up there. They knew the entire story.
“I have to think about the funeral,” said Sanna.
“We’ve been talking about that. If you agree, we would like to help organize the funeral,” said Birgitta tentatively.
Sanna looked at the nurse with her red, swollen eyes.
“What do you mean?” she asked. She had a lump in her throat. Birgitta put her arms around her and held her close like a mother with her child.
Birgitta was a gentle, caring woman in her sixties with a kind, soothing voice. By virtue of being Malin’s nurse for many years she had also developed a close relationship with Sanna, who was the only family member that visited regularly.
“Thank you Birgitta, but you have already done so much for us – for Malin.”
“It was nothing, as you know,” she said. “I hope you understand that we feel like part of your family. We would very much like to help you with this last…”
“I understand,” interrupted Sanna. “You can’t imagine how grateful I am for your support at a time like this…”
“We’re here for you Sanna… you’re not alone.” Birgitta paused. “You must know that we love Malin very much.”
“Thanks. Your words are a great comfort to me.”
Birgitta hugged Sanna again.
The women went their separate ways, after deciding that Sanna would cover the majority of the funeral expenses. Sanna had insisted on it.
MARIA WAS THE TYPE OF PERSON who didn’t care what other people thought. She had her own values and convictions. She would not let herself be influenced by the traditional rules of society. She valued her own moral compass and sense of determination. Even though she didn’t believe in marriage, she had a strong sense of family loyalty. She had made the decision to be a single mother. Even as a teenager she had questioned the importance of a man in her life. She was more interested in having children than a relationship. The more she delved into the subject the more she discovered that everything revolved around traditional norms and structures. On the one hand she was against marriage; on the other hand living together in a partnership provided no security whatsoever.
Maria herself had grown up in a single parent family. Her mother had left them when she was seven. She had taken nothing but her toothbrush and disappeared from their lives without a word. Her father and she got along just fine. They were a good team.
Everything she did in life was well planned and motherhood was no exception. However, she was unprepared for all the obstacles that lined her path. Society seemed to prioritize childless heterosexual couples that opted for artificial insemination. Heterosexual single women and lesbians were treated like second-class citizens. The climate for single women was so tough she had even considered getting herself inseminated overseas.
Early on in the process, she had the impression she was one of the few enlightened single women out there. But she soon realized that there were many others who had similar views. She gathered together a group of like-minded women who supported each other and made the situation more bearable.
When she finally became pregnant through artificial insemination she was over the moon. Her dream had come true. She gave birth to a daughter named Alva who became her pride and joy. She felt fulfilled. For nineteen happy years she watched her daughter grow and develop into a fine young woman. But then the unimaginable happened – her daughter’s life was snatched away in her prime.
Thoughts of Alva always filled her with a sense of calm. They had been perfect together. They could talk about anything; they were alike in so many ways. Alva was responsible, outgoing and easy to communicate with. She always wanted to learn new things. But her kindness and belief in the goodness of mankind had ultimately led to her demise.
KALLE KARLSSON KNOCKED gently on the glass door to her office.
“Are you busy?”
“No, come in.”
Kalle entered and sat down in Sanna’s favourite armchair. He looked exhausted.
“How’s things?” she asked.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“How did it go in Gothenburg?”
“Not very well. Badly, in fact.”
“Tell me.”
“She wasn’t at all interested in meeting me. She said that she had already spoken to the police and that everything I need to know is in the files. She didn’t say much the entire meeting.”
Kalle had been visiting Karin Bengtsson – Börge Svenson’s second wife, who had moved to Gothenburg following a difficult divorce from Börge. After three years of continuous abuse she realized that leaving him was the only solution.
To begin with she went into hiding. However, since she was a person who believed in facing up to her problems, after a month of indecision she finally decided to hire a lawyer and begin divorce proceedings.
Karin Bengtsson listened to Kalle’s persuasive arguments for why her witness testimony was so important, but she stood firm. “I don’t want to hear about Svenson. It’s a closed chapter in my life. I have closed a book that I decided never to open again.”
An uncomfortable silence had ensued. Kalle hoped that she would finally relent and start to cooperate.
“While I was there, a boy rushed into the house. It was her adopted son. He was around eleven or twelve. Then I had what I thought it would be a brilliant idea. If I talked about Viktor, perhaps I could appeal to her maternal instincts. But when I mentioned him, do you know she did? She smiled!”
“Really?”
“Yes – a weird smile that I had a hard time making sense of. It was a strange reaction. She said she was glad that she never had a child with him. Apparently, according to Svenson, since she was unable to have children she wasn’t a real woman. She believed that Svenson would find happiness with the woman who gave him a child. Of course, that’s not how things turned out…
After a pointless one-hour meeting she finally admitted that she couldn’t care less what Svenson has done or what happens to him.
She then asked me to leave since she assumed that the meeting was over.”
“What’s the next step?” asked Sanna.
“I’m writing a report…” He rubbed his eyes. “I think we have enough material to include this part of Svenson’s life in the preliminary investigation report.”
Sanna nodded slowly.
Kalle looked at Sanna and shrugged his shoulders. “If we’re lucky the prosecutor will call her as a witness.”
“Yes, definitely. We’ve got enough material. Plus, we mustn’t forget that this part of his past has been erased – maybe by him.” Sanna leaned back and placed her hands behind her neck. “We would never have found out about this if Robert hadn’t been able to access all those databases.”
Kalle sighed. He looked troubled.
“How are things going there?”
“We’ve got the DNA footprint results back but are still waiting for the results from the chair leg. I haven’t heard from Forensics and Segelström seems to be otherwise occupied.”
“I can try and contact them,” said Kalle.
“Yes, good idea! Segelström should do it but we can’t wait forever for him to get on board.”
Kalle gave a half smile.
Sanna looked at her notes. “I think Svenson should be tried for child abuse. Viktor has been exposed to extreme psychological abuse – he may never recover after the murder.”
Kalle stared at her.
“Before I forget,” he said suddenly. “A few days ago I contacted the National Criminal Technical Laboratory about the footprints we saw on the photographs. They said they don’t have the resources to deal with it just now so we’ll have to wait.
Sanna raised her eyebrows.
“Have they said when they can deliver?”
“No, they couldn’t say. It wasn’t clear if the person who was returning from holiday could take care of it.”
“I see. Maybe we can wait for the answer. It’s more important to get the chair leg analysis back.”
“I’ll talk to Hans Söderman at Forensics today. We were in the same class in high school, so that might help a bit.”
“Let’s hope so.”
Kalle pinched his ear lobe and winked at her.
“Getting back to Viktor, do you think we’ll be able to prosecute Svenson?”
“Let’s wait and see. There are two important aspects to the case. First of all, Svenson should be convicted of psychological abuse, in which case Viktor stands to receive some kind of financial compensation. I’ll check which laws can be applied to ensure that he also goes to prison.”
“Interesting,” said Kalle.
“Secondly, we need to prevent Svenson from regaining custody after he’s served his sentence.”
Kalle looked at her sceptically, “If he’s convicted.”
“What do you mean? Do you think he’ll get off?”
“You never know. With his contacts it’s possible.”
Sanna frowned.
“I don’t even want to think about it,” she said. “Anyway, according to BrB 3:5, the laws governing medically determinable psychological impairment would apply and it shouldn’t be hard to get a certificate from Viktor’s doctor, Andre Chaib, proving that. However, what I am a little concerned about is that Alkelius won’t agree. He’s the one who ultimately decides whether to bring it up at trial.”
“You know, I seem to remember that in November 2006 a change was made to the law. Children who have witnessed violence at home now have the right to a special form of compensation through the Swedish Crime Victim Compensation and Support Authority,” declared Kalle.
“Yes, although then it’s the state that pays. I think Börge Svenson should be the one who pays. That’s more than fair. He’s the one responsible, not the state.”
“I agree.”
“I think it’s important to acknowledge what this really means. It’s wrong that the state pays since it mitigates the abuser’s responsibility.”
Sanna looked at the clock.
Kalle got up to leave.
“There’s one more thing,” said Sanna. “We must focus our attention on the woman who threatened Ingrid and find out what the hell her surname is.” She leaned back in the chair. “I’ve been reading Ingrid’s journal. On June 15th Ingalill called and threatened her again. Ingrid was upset but determined to confront her husband.”
“I see. That’s just a few days before she was murdered.”
“Yes, she died on June 17th,” interjected Sanna.
Kalle frowned. “No one saw a woman leaving the house, but I’m starting to be suspicious about the man who was seen outside that evening. He threatened Pascalini and her photographer. What if it was someone Ingalill hired? I don’t understand why we can’t trace the phone call between her and Ingrid.”
“It’s so irritating. Ingalill must be pretty good at covering her tracks,” she added dryly. “And now we have this mysterious man who can’t be identified either. It’s hard to tell if we are beginning to crack this case or whether it’s getting more complicated. I also found out that Ingrid met Pamela McGavin.”
“Really?” said Kalle.
Sanna nodded and smiled.
Sanna’s phone rang. Kalle waited, but left the room when he realized it would be a long conversation.
JAVIER STARTED THE ENGINE of his car after yet another unsuccessful day. He had visited Alva Aldhamo’s old address several times. Nobody seemed to know whether her apartment had been rented out second hand or if it was empty. On the fifth floor there were two apartments – one was Alva’s and the other belonged to somebody who was seldom in Sweden. Javier had also rung the neighbour’s doorbell but it was the same every time – nobody answered.
He surveyed the property for an hour and toyed with the idea of giving up and returning to the police station. He was only too aware that there was no time to lose.
Once back at the police station, he helped himself to the cup of coffee he had been craving and returned to his desk to continue his examination of Börge Svenson’s computer.
After a couple of months, Börge Svenson started to go out with Alva more regularly.
He began to show his true nature.
Alva didn’t agree with his point of view on many issues and before long, the situation became untenable.
Javier eagerly resumed his reading of Börge’s diaries. He wanted to know all about his relationship with Alva Aldhamo. Luckily, Börge Svenson was obsessed with detail and had transcribed their conversations word for word.
“Women are supposed to indulge their men sexually,” he said.
“I don’t agree. Both sexes have a responsibility to satisfy each other. It should be mutual,” argued Alva.
The young woman had firm views about the nature of relationships. She announced that she could never get involved with a man who expected women to conform to his demands.
Alva’s views had vexed Börge but he kept his feelings to himself.
“I’ll show her. She’ll be so satisfied that she won’t be able to complain. The bloody bitch!”
These words were written three years ago, on May 5th.
Javier checked the date of Alva’s death. May 8th of the same year.
He frowned, puzzling over what Svenson had meant.
He punched in Alva’s social security number and searched for her name in the unsolved crime register. He didn’t have any idea what he hoped to find there.
“Is he guilty of yet another murder?” he wondered.
Alva Aldhamo had been brutally raped and murdered. Her killer had never been caught and the case was suspended after nine months.
This wasn’t particularly unusual. There were many unsolved murder cases and a large proportion of rape prosecutions were thrown out due to lack of evidence. The attacker either denied the allegations or the victim couldn’t identify him. There were countless examples and Alva’s case was certainly no exception.
SHE TRIED TO CLOSE THE DOOR but he was too quick. He shoved his foot inside the doorway and barged his way in. He grabbed her by the hair with one hand and with the other he held a knife to her throat.
“I told you not to play games with me,” said the thirty-five-year old, panting.
“I’ve told my brother,” she gasped.
“Oh I’m so scared,” he scoffed.
“He knows that you’ve been threatening me!” she said in a strained voice. “If anything happens to me you’ll end up in jail.”
He pulled her hair harder, forcing her to look at him.
“It’s good you told him. Now I can get money from him. He probably isn’t so keen on the police getting involved.”
He pushed her aside and stared at her menacingly. She was pale and trembling. She had no doubt that he was capable of anything – especially if the situation affected him personally.
“The mission wasn’t to murder Svenson’s wife… you were only supposed to…”
“Shit happens!” He shrugged his shoulders.
“What really happened?” she whispered.
He glowered at her, not sure where to begin. He was about to reply when his mobile rang. He glanced at the screen and moved away from her to take the call.
“Yes,” he answered. “NOW? Can’t it wait?”
She strained to listen to the faintly audible voice of the gruff male caller at the other end of the line.
“Ok, don’t scream, I’m coming now!” He shoved the mobile in his pocket.
“I’m not done with you!” he muttered as he disappeared through the door.
EVERYTHING MARIA DID WAS carefully planned. Nothing was left to chance. And she was doggedly determined to complete any task she set her mind to.
She leaned back and rested her head on her hands. Her face showed no emotion. Nothing would stop her from completing this project. She picked up the plan from the table and checked her “to-do list”.
Maria knew that there were risks attached but this was the most important project of her life. Even if she ended up paying the ultimate price.
It all started when they told her the murder investigation was being suspended. From that moment on she pledged to take the law into her own hands.
The first thing she did was to create a project outline mapping the current situation: her ability – both physical and mental, external help requirements, knowledge of the subject, the different tools available as well as the usual questions one asks before starting a project, such as: what, how and when, finances, obstacles and so on.
She pondered. This was a large, complicated undertaking, one that would have to be divided into different stages. The first step would be to look at similar murders. The most important thing was to stay in control and play her role to perfection. She had no one else to count on but herself.
SANNA HAD LISTENED AGAIN AND AGAIN to the recording of her conversation with Pamela McGavin. She was satisfied. Combined with this testimony, the documentary evidence that she had handed over to the police would confirm that Börge Svenson was a man of fluctuating moods.
She ran through her notes one last time and made sure there was nothing missing.
She put her feet up on the desk and leaned back on the chair. Pamela McGavin had contacted the police and told them her story. Sanna wondered if she had met the real Pamela McGavin. Were there still details of her life she had kept secret?
Sanna lifted the receiver and made a few calls.
“Hi Amanda! It’s Sanna Johansson from NBI. Am I disturbing you?”
“Well, hello Sanna. It’s been a long time.”
Amanda Burgos was an old work colleague who now worked for Interpol.
After chatting for a while Sanna asked Amanda whether she could find out more personal information about Pamela McGavin. She provided her with the relevant information and Amanda promised to call her contacts at Scotland Yard and get back in touch as soon as she found out anything.
Sanna hung up the phone and looked at the CD that was lying on her desk. It was a brand new sound recording of Pamela’s testimony. She picked up the disc and headed for Samir Mohamed’s office.
“Sanna!” shouted Kalle as she passed his rom.
She stopped in his doorway.
“You’re in a hurry,” said Kalle with a smile.
“No, I’m not. I just wanted to leave this CD with Samir.” She brandished the disc. ”I’m going to ask him to make three copies. It’s Pamela McGavin’s testimony.”
“Oh yes. How did it go?”
She walked into Kalle’s room and plonked herself down on the visitor’s chair.
“Very well…” Sanna grinned. She rested her hands behind her neck. “A three hour meeting. You can listen to it when I get Samir’s copies. There are a lot of similarities with Ingrid Svenson’s life. One thing that’s bugging me is why they had no contact with his parents.”
“Didn’t they?”
“No. She said that Börge refused to talk about them. It seemed as if he was afraid of them.”
“Is that what she said?”
“Yes, she had given it a lot of thought. Mainly because they both came from the same class. She assumed that the Swedish upper class was as conservative as the English and preferred their progeny to intermarry. Her parents had insisted on meeting Börge Svenson’s parents and wondered why everything was so hush-hush when it was obvious he came from the right background. But Börge had been adamant on this point. He quite simply didn’t want anything to do with his parents.”
“Upper class nonsense,” said Kalle sourly.
“Yes, I know. Although I don’t think she meant it like that. She was just being honest. Without sounding snobbish, she explained that the upper class in England tended to hang out together. She also told me that her parents often called to find out how she was. But in Börge’s case there was literally no communication.”
“Actually, I’ve been thinking about that,” said Kalle.
“What do you mean?”
“About Svenson’s parents not seeming to care about him. Do you know that they haven’t once visited him in prison?”
“No, it hasn’t occurred to me. Is that true?”
“Yes, there’s a guy there I know. I talk to him now and then. In passing I asked him how their eminent guest was behaving. He told me that Svenson keeps to himself and doesn’t talk to anyone. He reads books or listens to music.”
“I didn’t give it much thought…”
“What?” asked Kalle.
“About the fact that he had no contact with his parents. It isn’t that unusual for people to be estranged from their families.”
“No, I guess not,” said Kalle.
“I’m curious though. Why do you think he was?”
“I remember that Ingrid wrote something about that in one of her journals as well,” added Kalle.
“Really?”
“Yes. I think it was in her first journal, which was written about three or four years ago. Around the time they met or got married.” He scratched his head. “She writes that his parents had severed contact with him since he had decided not to study law.”
“Yes, but initially it was because of his behaviour. Things got worse when he decided not to study law. Apparently his parents wanted him to take over his father’s position in the company and obviously he couldn’t do that if he didn’t have the right qualifications.”
“Yes, that’s possible. He told Ingrid that he hated law and that it was the last thing he would ever do.”
“Strange.”
“Why?”
“Since Pamela is a lawyer.”
“Not just her. Tina Hedströmer is a lawyer too.”
“Was that why?”
“What?”
“Why he wanted to destroy them…”
They were silent for a few seconds.
“That was the case with Tina anyway,” thought Sanna. The question was whether he had also chosen Pamela McGavin because she was a lawyer. Two women with a profession he hated. On the other hand he had married two other women who weren’t lawyers and who he still wanted to destroy.
IT HAD BEEN RAINING ALMOST the entire morning. The time was eleven thirty and Sanna had just returned from lunch. She was standing outside her office chatting with a colleague when her phone rang.
“Hi, it’s me,” said a jolly female voice.
“Hi Amanda! Have you got something already?”
“Yup, you bet I have! I found a police report filed involving a woman called Pamela McGavin-Svenson who was born the same year as the woman you talked about. The report was made by John Braun, a consultant at St. Mary’s Hospital and describes a brutal assault. However, there’s no complaint from Pamela McGavin herself.”
“I see… John Braun,” repeated Sanna. “Could you give me his details? Does he still work at the hospital? I might need to contact him.”
“I can find out.”
“Thanks, Amanda! This is really helpful. Can you get me a copy of the report?”
“Already on its way! I should get it later today. Once I receive it I’ll send it on to you.”
“Thanks, you’re my hero!”
AT SIX THIRTY ON Thursday evening Kalle and Sanna left the office. They had a regular date once a month when they would either have dinner together or go to a pub to chat and do their best to avoid talking about work. Usually the rest of the team would join them but this time everyone else was busy. Since Kalle hadn’t been at work much lately Sanna had suggested they have a beer somewhere. Kalle agreed enthusiastically.
“Where shall we go?” he asked.
“I don’t know. What about Terreno’s Vinotek?”
Kalle looked at the clock. “If we can get in. It’s usually pretty full.”
“I know, but if we’re only having a drink at the bar it should be ok.”
“I’d prefer somewhere where we can have a beer…”
“You’re right, me too.”
“They headed off towards Lokal, a bar on Scheelegatan.
They chatted amiably for fifteen minutes before Kalle broke the rules.
“I can’t help myself.”
He looked at Sanna, who was draining the last drops of beer from her bottle.
“What?” she said, in a relaxed tone.
“What do you think he’ll say about Pamela McGavin?”
“Damn, Kalle. You’re impossible,” she said with a smile.
“I know, I’m sorry. But after listening to the recording of your meeting with Pamela McGavin I’ve been wondering what Svenson will say.”
Sanna studied the empty bottle of beer and asked him if he wanted another one.
He shook his head.
She ordered a pint of Bitter Ale and paid with her Visa card.
“Hm… I’m not sure whether there’s any point in questioning him about her. I talked to Tallén yesterday about it and guess what…?”
Kalle didn’t flinch.
“Börge Svenson wants to meet her,” she grimaced. “That bloody man wants to meet the poor woman. She’s terrified of him.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I wanted to tell him to go to hell.” She gulped her beer. “I didn’t, of course. I just said there’s no chance of that happening.”
“What did he say?”
“Exactly what I expected. That Svenson won’t answer any questions about her unless he meets her first.”
“Hm.”
“It doesn’t matter. He’ll have to answer questions in court anyway. I don’t think we should question him about Pamela McGavin or Karin Bengtsson for that matter. All the evidence will be presented in the courtroom and in due time he’ll have to explain himself. In the meantime we have to ask him about Ingalill.”
“Right.”
“I was hoping to find information about her on his laptop,” continued Sanna.
“Yes, I thought that was strange too. Maybe we didn’t search his study well enough.”
“We’ll have to go back and look again,” said Sanna, gulping down the rest of her beer.