Neither Joona nor Saga believe they’ll be able to get anything important from Edith Schwartz, but perhaps she can reveal where the photograph might be. They need it to solve this case.
Saga turns west onto Route 77 underneath the motorway viaduct on the way to Knivsta, then almost immediately turns off onto a small gravel road running parallel to the motorway.
Low spruce forests line fallow fields. The masonry edge of a manure pool has broken and its tin roof is hanging lopsidedly.
“We should be there,” Saga says with a glance at the GPS.
They slowly roll up to a rusty boom and stop. As Joona gets out, he hears the dull drone of traffic on the motorway. Twenty metres along, they can see a one-storey house of dirty yellow brick. Decorative shutters are screwed on, and moss covers asbestos cement sheeting on the roof.
As they approach the house, they hear an unusual whirring sound. They glance at each other and move cautiously towards the outer door of the house. A rattling noise is coming from the back; then they hear the metallic whine again, coming closer. Racing around the house comes a German shepherd, mouth gaping wide. He slams to a stop a metre away from Saga, jerked back onto his hind legs by a long leash. He shuffles back a little, crouches, and begins to bark. He tosses his head from side to side to set himself free. As he jumps, the leash slides along a wire line with a whining, rattling sound.
The dog turns to rush at Joona but is choked back again. He barks dementedly but stops the second he hears a voice from inside the house.
“Nils!” a woman commands.
They hear the floor creak inside and a moment later the door opens. The dog scurries back behind the house and the whirring sound disappears with him.
“We need to talk to you,” Joona says.
“I’ve already told the police everything I know,” she replies.
“May we come inside?”
“No.”
Joona glances past her into the dark interior of the house. The hall is littered with pots and pans, plates, a grey vacuum-cleaner hose, clothes, shoes, and a rusty crayfish pot.
“We can stay outside,” Saga says reassuringly.
Joona glances at his notes. It’s routine to go over details from an interrogation to catch any discrepancies or even catch someone out in a downright lie they no longer remember correctly. “What did Palmcrona have for dinner on Wednesday?”
“Ground-veal patties in cream sauce,” she says.
“With rice?” asks Joona.
“With potatoes,” she replies. “Always boiled potatoes.”
“At what time did Palmcrona return to his apartment on Thursday?”
“At six in the evening.”
“What were your duties when you left Palmcrona’s apartment on Thursday?”
“He gave me the evening off.”
Joona looks directly into her eyes and decides there’s no point in beating around the bush. He goes straight to the point.
“Had Palmcrona already fixed the noose by Wednesday evening?”
“No,” says Edith.
“That’s what you told our colleague, John Bengtsson,” Saga said.
“That’s incorrect.”
“Your interview was recorded,” Saga wants to say, but she finds herself so irritated, she decides to keep quiet.
“Did you ask Palmcrona any questions about the noose?” Joona asks.
“We never discussed private matters.”
“But isn’t it odd to just leave a man with a noose hanging from his ceiling?” asks Saga.
“Well, what could I do? Stay around and watch him?” Edith replies with a small smile.
“That’s true,” Saga agrees calmly.
For the first time, Edith inspects Saga. Without embarrassment, she runs her eyes from Saga’s fairy-tale hair caught back in a colourful headband to her clear face and down to her jeans and running shoes.
“Well, I must say, I find this a bit confusing,” Saga says. “You told our colleague that you saw the noose on Wednesday, but just now, you said the opposite.”
Joona checks his notebook for Saga’s earlier question.
“Edith,” Joona says, “I believe I understand what you’ve said.”
“That’s good,” she replies.
“Concerning the question of whether Palmcrona hung the noose up on Wednesday, you said no—because Palmcrona wasn’t the one who put it up.”
The old woman gives Joona a hard look. Then she says firmly, “He tried, but he couldn’t do it. His back was too stiff from his operation last winter … so he asked me to.”
Silence falls again. The trees surrounding them are completely still in the heat of the day.
“So you were the one who tied a laundry line into a noose and hung it from the ceiling?” Joona asks.
“He tied the knot and held the ladder when I climbed up,” she says.
“Then you put the ladder away, went back to your normal duties, and went on home after washing up the dishes from Wednesday’s dinner,” Joona says.
“That’s right.”
“You came in the following morning,” he continues. “You began the day as usual by making his breakfast.”
“Did you know that he wasn’t already hanging from the noose yet?” Saga asks.
“Well, I took a peek into the small salon,” Edith answers.
The shade of a sarcastic smile appears for a split second on her closed face.
“You’ve already told us that he’d eaten breakfast as he usually did, but that he didn’t go to work Thursday morning either.”
“He was in the music room for at least an hour.”
“Was he listening to music?”
“Yes, he was.”
“Right before lunch, he placed a call,” Saga says.
“Well, that I don’t know. He went into his office and closed the door, but before he came to eat his lunch of boiled salmon, he asked me to order a taxi for two o’clock.”
“Was he planning to go to Arlanda Airport?”
“Yes, he was.”
“And at ten minutes to two, someone called him?”
“Yes, he’d already put on his coat and he answered the hall phone.”
“Did you hear what he said?” Saga asks.
“?‘It’s not a nightmare to die’,” replies Edith.
“I’ve asked you what he said,” Saga repeats.
“Now you’ll have to excuse me,” Edith says shortly and begins to close the door.
“Just a second,” Joona says.
The movement of the door stops and Edith frowns at him through the gap without reopening it.
“Did you sort Palmcrona’s post today? Do you have it here?” Joona asks.
“Of course.”
“Please bring us everything that’s not an advertisement,” Joona requests.
She nods, walking into the house, leaving the door ajar, and returns with a blue bowl filled with post.
“Thank you,” Joona says as he takes the bowl.
Edith closes the door completely and they hear her locking it behind her. A few seconds later, they hear the whirring of the dog’s tether again. They hear his aggressive barking behind them as they walk to the car and climb in.
Saga starts the engine, then puts the car into gear and turns it around. Joona puts on protective gloves to sort through the letters in the bowl and then pulls out a manila envelope with a handwritten address. He opens it carefully and just as carefully slides out the photograph for which at least two people have died.