Unspoken (27 page)

He tried not to say too many negative things about his job. At the same time, he could seldom come home and tell them that he’d had an uplifting sort of day. Of course he was always relieved when a case was solved, but it was hardly a matter of feeling elated. When an investigation was successfully completed, he just felt tired afterward. There was no sense of catharsis, as some people might think. Instead, he mostly had a feeling of emptiness, as if he were utterly deflated. Then all he wanted to do was go home and sleep.

After a few minutes he felt better. He rolled down the window and slowly continued driving to the airport.

The ME was waiting for him outside the terminal. His plane had landed earlier than anticipated. It was the same doctor that Knutas had worked with last summer, a lean man with thinning hair and a horselike face. His extensive experience lent him an air of gravity and authority. On their way out to the site where the body was found, Knutas told the doctor about everything they knew so far.

By the time they arrived, it was ten fifteen in the morning, and Fanny Jansson’s eyes were still staring up at the gray December sky. Knutas grimaced with dread as he thought about what the beautiful girl lying on the ground might have gone through. Her body looked so small and thin under her clothing. Her cheeks were brown and smooth, her chin softly childish. Knutas was annoyed to feel tears welling up in his eyes.

He turned his back and gazed at the woods, which were dense and inaccessible. Over near the tractor road he could see that the forest thinned out a bit. Since he had previously studied the map of the area, he knew that some distance away there were open fields and pastures. A crow cawed from far off, otherwise everything was silent except for a quiet rustling from the dark green branches of the trees. The ME was now fully involved in his examination, and would be for the next several hours. Erik Sohlman and a couple of the other techs were assisting him with his work.

Knutas realized that his presence wasn’t needed. Just as he got into the car to drive back to police headquarters, Karin Jacobsson called him.

“There’s one person who has ties to both Dahlström and Fanny Jansson.”

“Really? Who is it?”

“His name is Stefan Eriksson, and he’s the stepson of Fanny’s aunt in Vibble. She has a daughter of her own, but she divorced the father early on and married someone else, a man who had a son from a previous marriage. Fanny and this Stefan have seen each other for years at various family gatherings and the like. He’s forty years old, married with two children, and he also happens to own a horse at the stable.”

“I know that. We’ve been down the whole list,” said Knutas impatiently. “What about him?”

“He was an intern under Dahlström when he was in high school. He worked at the newspaper for two weeks. After that he was a temp for
Gotlands Tidningar
and later he also worked for Dahlström when he started his own business. This Eriksson owns a café in town, the Café Cortado on Hästgatan, but his hobby is photography.”

“Is that right?” exclaimed Knutas in surprise. This was new information to him.

“He and Dahlström may have kept in contact over all these years, even though Eriksson denied it when Wittberg and I interviewed him. A most unpleasant type of person. I could easily imagine him—”

“All right, but let’s not jump to any conclusions,” Knutas interrupted her. “What else?”

“I asked him if he spends any time at the stable, and he said that he’s there now and then. The staff at the stable confirm this. He would also occasionally drive Fanny home.”

“Does he have a police record?”

“No. On the other hand, there have been a number of complaints filed against him for suspected neglect. His family used to raise sheep, and the animals were evidently treated badly, according to the person who complained. Eriksson no longer has any sheep.”

“I want to talk to him myself. Where is he?”

“I think he’s at home. He lives in . . . oh my God!”

Jacobsson abruptly fell silent.

“What is it?”

“Stefan Eriksson lives in Gerum, which is only a couple of miles from the place where Fanny Jansson’s body was found.”

“I’m ten minutes from there. I’m on my way.”

Gerum is not a real town. It’s just a church with a few scattered farms right next to the large and inaccessible Lojsta Heath. The landscape is flat, but Stefan Eriksson’s farm and surrounding property were the exception. It stood on a hill with a panoramic view of the area. The farm consisted of a stone farmhouse with two wings and a large barn. A late-model Jeep was parked outside along with a BMW.

When Knutas rang the bell, he heard dogs barking inside. No one came to the door.

He took a stroll around the farm and looked in the windows of the separate wings. One was apparently used as an artist’s studio, and there were paintings leaning against the walls. A painting of a woman’s face was set on an easel in the middle of the room. Crowded onto a table splotched with paint were cans and tubes of paint along with paintbrushes.

As he peered in the windows, Knutas was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing his throat behind him. The detective was so startled that he jumped and dropped his pipe on the ground. A man was standing right behind him.

“Can I help you with something?”

Stefan Eriksson was almost six foot six inches tall, by Knutas’s estimate. He had on a blue down jacket and a black knit cap.

Knutas introduced himself. “Could we go inside to talk? It’s starting to get cold.”

“Of course, come with me.”

The man led the way inside. Knutas was practically knocked down by two Dobermans, who seemed beside themselves with joy.

“So you’re not afraid of dogs?” asked Eriksson without making any attempt to calm the animals.

They sat down in what must have been the good parlor.
To think that people still have rooms like this
, thought Knutas.
A remnant of bygone times
.

Stefan Eriksson was clearly fond of antiques. A mirror in an elaborate gold frame hung on the wall. Next to it stood a bureau with curved legs and lion’s claw feet; along one wall stood a grand cabinet with rounded feet. The room smelled stuffy and dusty. Knutas felt as if he were sitting inside a museum.

He declined the offer of coffee. His stomach growled, reminding him that lunchtime was long past.

“Well, I don’t really understand what you want. I’ve already talked to the police,” said the tall man, who had sat down on a plush armchair. The dogs had settled at his feet, with their eyes fixed on their master.

“I need to ask you a few additional questions, but first I would like to express my condolences.”

The man sitting across from him did not change expression.

“It’s true that Fanny was my cousin, but we hardly knew each other. And we’re not real cousins, anyway. My father—”

“I know about the family ties,” Knutas interrupted him. “How often did you see each other?”

“Very rarely. Sometimes at someone’s birthday celebration. There were problems with her mother, so they didn’t always come. Majvor can’t keep away from the bottle.”

“How well did you know Fanny?”

“There was a big age difference between us, so we didn’t really have anything in common. She was a little girl who sometimes came to visit with her mother. She never said anything. You’d be hard-pressed to find a more silent girl.”

“You own a horse at the stable where Fanny worked. Didn’t you ever see each other there?”

“That old nag is practically useless. It costs a lot more to keep her than she ever brings in from racing. But of course I do stop by the stable once in a while. Occasionally Fanny was there at the same time.”

“Did you sometimes give her a lift home?”

“Not very often.”

“Which car did you drive?”

Stefan Eriksson shifted uneasily in his chair. A frown appeared on his face.

“What are you getting at? Am I under suspicion?”

“Not at all,” said Knutas dismissively. “I’m sorry if I seem pushy, but we have to talk to everyone who knew Fanny.”

“I understand.”

“So which car did you drive?”

“The BMW that’s parked outside.”

“You knew Henry Dahlström, too, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I was an apprentice for him eons ago when I was still in school. After I graduated I sometimes filled in for him at
GT
, and I also worked as a temp at Master’s. I mean, Master Pictures, his company.”

“How did you happen to meet him?”

“I’m interested in photography, and he was teaching a course that I attended when I was in high school. And then, as I mentioned, I was an apprentice for him.”

“Did you keep in contact over the years?”

“No. When the business folded, he went completely downhill.”

“Do you still take photographs?”

“When I can. I’m married and have children and we moved out here. The café that I own in town also takes up a lot of my time. It’s Café Cortado, on Hästgatan,” he added.

Knutas detected a note of pride in the man’s voice. Café Cortado was one of the most popular cafés in town.

Suddenly the dogs rushed for the door and began barking. Knutas gave a start. Eriksson’s face lit up.

“That’s my wife and kids. Just a minute.”

He got up and went out to the entryway. The dogs were barking wildly and jumping around.

“Hi, sweetheart. Hi, kids. How are you?”

Eriksson’s voice took on an entirely different tone. It was suddenly filled with love and warmth.

His wife and children had clearly been out celebrating Lucia. Maja Eriksson came in to say hello. She was dark and sweet and soft-spoken. Knutas noticed the tender way in which Eriksson looked at his wife.

No
, he thought.
It can’t possibly be him
.

He thanked the man for his time and left.

The discovery of Fanny’s body caused a big stir in the media. The evening papers devoted a great deal of attention to the news, as did Regional News and the local media on Gotland. There was much heated debate about what could have happened to the girl. The newspapers printed maps that allowed their readers to locate exactly where Fanny was found. The farms that were closest to the site received visits from reporters and photographers. The newspapers were filled with speculations and hunches about what the motive behind the murder might be, and the TV and radio stations broadcast interviews with the stable staff as well as with the girl’s neighbors and classmates.

Without talking to Johan, Max Grenfors had called Majvor Jansson and persuaded her to agree to an interview. Grenfors was very pleased with his success in getting the mother to tell her story as an exclusive on Regional News. But he encountered quite a different reaction from Johan, who refused to interview her, which prompted Grenfors to give him a real tongue-lashing.

“I’ve managed to get her to agree to an exclusive interview, so of course we’re going to talk to her!”

Johan was standing out in a field near the place where the body had been found. He was with Peter and a farmer who thought he had seen car headlights in the area late one night a couple of weeks earlier.

“I’m not interviewing someone who’s in a state of shock,” said Johan firmly. “The woman doesn’t know what she’s doing. She can’t see the consequences at the moment.”

“But she wants to do it. I talked to her myself!”

“Exactly what do you want me to ask her, one day after her daughter was found murdered?
How does it feel?
”

“Damn it, Johan. She wants to talk. Maybe it’s a way for her to work through the whole thing. It’s her own decision. She’s unhappy with the police work and wants to say something about it. She also wants to appeal to the public for help in finding the murderer.”

“Fanny was found yesterday. That’s less than twenty-four hours ago. I can think of better ways to work through things than by talking on TV. In all good conscience, I don’t think we can do it.”

“For God’s sake, Johan. I told her that you’d be at her sister’s house in Vibble at two o’clock.”

“Max, you can’t trample on my journalistic integrity. I won’t do it. I simply won’t have this on my conscience. The woman is in shock and should be in a hospital. She’s extremely vulnerable right now, and I think it’s rotten if we try to take advantage of her weakness. She doesn’t realize the impact of TV. We have to make certain decisions for people if they’re not capable of doing it for themselves.”

Johan glanced at Peter, who was standing next to him and rolling his eyes. He told Johan to give Grenfors his greetings and say that he refused to film an interview with the girl’s mother. At the same time Johan could hear Grenfors breathing harder on the other end of the line.

“Just do the interview and we’ll make the ethical decisions back here in the newsroom,” shouted Grenfors. “See to it that you go out there to meet her. I want it on tonight’s program. I’ve already promised the interview to
Aktuellt, Rapport
, and
24
.”

“And all of them want it?” asked Johan dubiously.

“You bet they do. So get going. Otherwise she might change her mind and talk to somebody else!”

“Fine. Let TV3 interview her, or the newspapers if they want to. But I won’t do it.”

“So you refuse?” Grenfors went on.

“What do you mean by ‘refuse’?”

“You won’t carry out the assignment that I’ve asked you to do. That’s a dereliction of duty, damn it!”

“Call it whatever you like. I’m not going to do it.”

Johan closed his phone, bright red in the face. His breath was visible in big billowing puffs all around him. He turned to Peter and the farmer.

“What a fucking pig.”

“To hell with him,” said Peter, in an attempt to console him. “Let’s get back to work. I’m freezing to death.”

The farmer, who had listened in astonishment to the phone argument while he waited to be filmed, was now interviewed. He told them about the car that he had seen driving along the tractor path one evening two weeks earlier when he was out in the barn tending to the evening milking. As he was crossing the barnyard, he saw lights from the road. No one ever drove out here so late at night. He couldn’t say what type of car it was. He had stopped and waited for a while, but when the car didn’t reappear, he gave up and went inside his house.