LITMIR.BIZ

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labelled ‘Börje Knudsen’, which Patrik had learned yesterday was the name of victim number three, or two if viewed chronologically. They sat down and Kjell shoved the stack of files over to Patrik. ‘I spent yesterday looking through everything again. After we got your query, well, I must say I started thinking about a number of cases in a different light than we did back then.’ He shook his head a bit regretfully, as if apologizing.

      ‘So there weren’t any suspicions back then, six years ago? Any sense that something was not as it should be?’ said Patrik, careful not to sound accusatory.

      Kjell shook his head again. His big moustache bobbed comically when he moved his head. ‘No, we honestly had no idea that there was anything odd about Börje’s death. You’ve got to understand that Börje was one of those regulars that we expected to find dead someday. He’d been close to drinking himself to death several times before, but managed to pull through. This time we just thought that … Well, we simply made a mistake,’ he said, throwing out his hands. He had a stricken expression on his face.

      Patrik nodded consolingly. ‘From what I understand, it was an easy mistake to make in this particular situation. And for a while we thought that our murder was an accident as well.’ This admission seemed to make Kjell feel better.

      ‘What was it that made you respond to our query?’ asked Martin, trying not to stare at the bobbing moustache. He was still pale from the car ride, and gratefully stuffed a couple of digestive biscuits in his mouth. That helped a bit. Usually it took him an hour or so after a long car trip before he was himself again.

      At first Kjell said nothing as he leafed through the pile of folders, looking for something. Then he pulled out a file which he opened and placed in front of Patrik and Martin. ‘Look at this. Here are the photos of Börje when we found him. He’d been dead in his flat for about a week, so it’s not a pretty sight,’ he added. ‘Nobody noticed until the body started to smell.’

      It was indeed a horrifying scene. But what caught their attention was something that Börje had in his hand. It looked like a piece of crumpled paper. When they leafed through the photos they saw a close-up of the paper after it was taken from Börje’s hand and smoothed out. It was a page from the same book that Patrik and Martin now recognized so well. Hansel and Gretel by the Brothers Grimm. They looked at each other and Kjell said, ‘Yes, this is something more than mere coincidence. And I remembered it because it seemed so strange that Börje would be holding a page from a children’s book. He didn’t have any kids.’

      ‘Do you still have the page?’ Patrik held his breath and felt his body tense in anticipation. Kjell didn’t say a word, but a smile played at the corners of his mouth as he took out a plastic bag that had been placed on the chair next to him. ‘A combination of luck and skill,’ he said with a smile.

      Patrik reverently took the plastic bag and studied the contents. Then he handed it to Martin, who also scrutinized the page with excitement.

      ‘What about the rest? The wounds and the way he died?’ Patrik asked, trying to study the photos of Börje’s body more closely. He thought he could make out blue shadows round the mouth, but the body was in such a state of decay that it was hard to tell.

      ‘Unfortunately we don’t have any information on the trauma. As I said, his body was in no condition to do an autopsy, and Börje was always in a more or less injured state, so the question is, would we have reacted even if …’ His voice trailed off and Patrik understood what he meant. Börje had been a drunk who often got into fights. The fact that he had presumably drunk himself to death had not occasioned any reason for a thorough investigation.

      ‘But he did have a great deal of alcohol in his body?’

      Kjell nodded and his moustache hopped. ‘True, he had an abnormally high blood alcohol level, but his tolerance had increased over the years. The ME’s conclusion was that Börje had simply drunk a whole bottle and died from alcohol poisoning.’

      ‘Does he have any relatives we could talk to?’

      ‘No, Börje had no one. The only people he had any contact with were police officers and his wino pals. Plus whoever he met during his stints in jail.’

      ‘What was he in for?’

      ‘Oh, there were plenty of things. The list is in the top folder there, with the dates. Assault, intimidation, DWI, manslaughter, burglary, you name it. He probably spent more time inside than out, I should think.’

      ‘Can I take this material with me?’ said Patrik, crossing his fingers.

      Kjell nodded. ‘Yes, that was the idea. Promise you’ll let us know if we can be of any further assistance. I’ll see about asking round a bit as well, check out whether we can dig up anything else that might help you.’

      ‘We really appreciate this,’ said Patrik as they both stood up to go.

      On the way out they had to jog to keep up with Kjell.

      ‘Are you driving back tonight?’ he asked as they reached the front entrance.

      ‘No, we booked a room at the Scandic. So we can go over the material at our leisure before our next stop tomorrow.’

      ‘Nyköping?’ All at once Kjell looked very serious. ‘It’s not very common for a killer to strike over such a wide area.’

      ‘No,’ said Patrik with the same gravity. ‘It’s not very common. Not common at all.’

      ‘Which one would you like? Tracking down the bow-wows or going through Marit’s file?’ Gösta couldn’t hide his frustration at the work assignments that they’d drawn. Hanna didn’t seem exactly cheerful either. She’d probably been looking forward to a relaxing Saturday morning at home with her husband. But Gösta reluctantly had to admit that if ever there was a reason to draw overtime, this was certainly it. An investigation involving five murders was not everyday fare at the station.

      He and Hanna had installed themselves at the kitchen table to tackle the work that Patrik had asked them to do, but neither of them felt the least bit enthusiastic. Gösta looked at Hanna as she stood at the worktop pouring coffee. By no means plump when she started working at the station, she now looked downright gaunt rather than just slim. He wondered again what her home life was like. There was something about her expression that seemed tense, almost tormented, lately. Maybe she and her husband couldn’t have children, he speculated. She was forty and still childless. He wished he could offer to lend an ear to anything she wanted to tell him, but he had a feeling that such an offer would not be well received. Hanna pushed back a strand of her blonde hair. He suddenly thought there was so much vulnerability, so much uncertainty in that simple gesture. Hanna Kruse was truly a woman of contradictions. On the surface she was strong and brave. At the same time for brief moments, in certain gestures, he could read something else entirely, something … broken; that was the closest he could come to describing it. But when she turned to face him he wondered whether he’d read too much into things. Her expression was now stony. No weakness in evidence.

      ‘I’ll take Marit’s documents,’ she said as she sat down. ‘You take the doggies, okay?’ She looked at him over the edge of her cup.

      ‘Fine with me. I said you could choose.’

      Hanna smiled, and the way it softened her face made him feel even more doubtful about his speculations. ‘It’s a shame that we have to work, don’t you think so, Gösta?’ she said with a wink.

      He couldn’t help smiling back. He pushed aside his meditations about her home life and decided simply to enjoy the company of his new colleague.

      ‘Okay, I’ll take the mutts,’ he said as he stood up.

      ‘Woof,’ she replied with a laugh. Then she started leafing through the folder before her.

      ‘I heard there was a bit of a drama going on here,’ said Lars with a stern look at the cast members sitting around him in a circle. Nobody said a word. He tried again. ‘Could somebody please clue me in on what happened?’

      ‘Tina

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