The site was private and probably chosen with care.
"Okay, you come to this city for murky business," she said out loud. "You are careful not to be seen in a hotel or even at a public campsite. Instead, you camp in the forest, but you are so clumsy you leave a corpse and numerous traces behind."
She shook her head. Something didn"t make sense.
She went over to Ottosson and recounted what Haver had told her, and added her own thoughts.
"Maybe the perp couldn"t afford to stay in a hotel," Ottosson said.
"What kind of murderer is that?" Lindell exclaimed.
"Most people don"t stay in hotels," Ottosson said with a grin.
The rest of the day was spent reviewing the material that had been collected. This had to be done, but above all Lindell felt a need to be alone. More and more she suffered an almost claustrophobic feeling in her dealings with people, whether at work, in meetings at Erik"s day care, or in situations where the room was small and the number of people large. was spent reviewing the material that had been collected. This had to be done, but above all Lindell felt a need to be alone. More and more she suffered an almost claustrophobic feeling in her dealings with people, whether at work, in meetings at Erik"s day care, or in situations where the room was small and the number of people large.
There were reports from questionings, an initial overview of Slobodan Andersson"s business dealings, and the autopsy report.
Armas"s personal history was still missing. Slobodan Andersson had contributed a part, but much of his early life was still unknown.
Lindell heard Ola Haver return, and could hear him and Fredriksson chatting in the corridor. Her thoughts went to Berglund. She decided to wait until the following day. If he didn"t come in to work she would call him at home.
Twenty-Eight.
The call was received at two twenty-two in the afternoon. The fire-fighting unit at the Viktoria fire station, just east of the city, arrived on the scene seven minutes later, but at that point there was not much more to do other than keeping the fire from spreading into the adjacent areas. two twenty-two in the afternoon. The fire-fighting unit at the Viktoria fire station, just east of the city, arrived on the scene seven minutes later, but at that point there was not much more to do other than keeping the fire from spreading into the adjacent areas.
The closest neighbor, who had discovered the fire when he returned from a mushroom-picking trip in the forest, had hauled his garden hose over, which did not reach more than halfway. If he pinched the nozzle, however, he was able to drizzle water onto the shed.
The firefighters thanked him for his efforts but then asked him to move out of the way.
"Do you know if there are people inside?" the fire chief asked him.
"I don"t think so," the neighbor said.
The cottage, which had been constructed with sugar crates, burned down in about twenty minutes. The shed was saved but a shower of sparks lit a few fires at the edge of the woods. These were quickly extinguished.
"Just as well that piece of s.h.i.t burns down," the neighbor said and gathered up his hose, "but it"s lucky it didn"t explode. I think they have kerosene in there."
The fire chief reacted immediately by ordering all onlookers to stand at least one hundred meters back. He physically shoved the neighbor away and did not let him collect his hose.
"How f.u.c.king stupid can you be?" he said to his coworker.
The patrol unit, which had arrived ten minutes after the firefighters, went around methodically questioning the onlookers who were gathered in a group on the road. No one turned out to have any useful information to contribute that could explain how the fire had started. No one had seen or heard anything. People rarely came out to the cottage. No one was sure who owned it.
"It must be one of the dynamiter"s sons," an older man said. "The Rosenbergs, there are quite a number of them. Try ke, I think he"s the oldest."
"Have you seen him here lately?" the police officer asked.
"He came out when the chimney sweep was here, but that was at least a year ago. We exchanged a few words. He"s in the explosives business, just like his father."
The fire chief walked up and took the police officer aside. and took the police officer aside.
"It"s arson," he said.
"Are you sure?"
"Fairly. The house isn"t wired so it can"t be electric. And we saw a ten-liter container in there. We haven"t checked it carefully yet because it has to cool down first. Apparently there"s a kerosene tank in there. That"s what the neighbor thought. But the container was the first thing we saw. It was located in full view on the metal plate in front of the woodstove.
"Could it be someone who simply wanted to start a fire in a hurry?"
"That wouldn"t surprise me," the chief said, "but why start a fire in this weather?"
"To put on a pot of coffee?"
"According to the neighbor they cooked on a kerosene stove."
The officer nodded.
"I"ll call forensics," he said. "Are you sure no one was left in there?"
"I can"t say for sure, but I don"t think so."
ke Rosenberg was contacted. He was in the middle of a blasting job in Mehedeby in north Uppland. He confirmed that he was the one who owned the cottage but said he had not been there since the spring. He was in the middle of a blasting job in Mehedeby in north Uppland. He confirmed that he was the one who owned the cottage but said he had not been there since the spring.
"I come out twice a year to rake leaves and do basic maintenance."
"Does anyone else have access to the cottage?"
"No," ke Rosenberg lied. "It must be some young devil who did it. I"ll come by tomorrow when I get back to town."
As soon as they finished, he called his brother Konrad. ke was angry, but also pleased. The cottage was insured and now he was spared the task of pulling it down-something he had been planning to do for years. He had toyed with the idea of building a house and moving out there.
"When were you there last?" he asked Konrad.
"Where?"
Konrad sensed that something was up and had a deep fear of his brother.
"Answer the question!"
"It must have been awhile," Konrad said.
"It"s burned down. According to the cops only soot is left. I thought you might have set it on fire. It wouldn"t have surprised me in any case."
Konrad Rosenberg sank down on the hall floor. A fortune up in smoke.
"I said nothing to the cops about you spending time there. I thought that was best. One never knows what you get up to with your drinking buddies. So keep your mouth shut, otherwise there can be problems with the insurance company."
"Sure," Konrad said faintly and hung up.
It took him an hour to work up enough courage to call Slobodan Andersson. to work up enough courage to call Slobodan Andersson.
Twenty-Nine.
What is happening? Slobodan Andersson wondered. First Armas and now this. wondered. First Armas and now this.
Never before had anyone treated Slobodan Andersson in this way, but now he was too alarmed to be really angry. This development put Armas"s death in a new light. It had not been a robbery-related killing, an accident that he died. And how could anyone know about the cottage?
Konrad Rosenberg a.s.sured him he had said nothing and Slobodan was inclined to believe him. Even if Rosenberg was a zero he was smart enough not to reveal the source of his wealth.
Could it have been a coincidence that the house burned down only an hour or so after he and Rosenberg had been there? And now the cop was coming to see him. Did they suspect anything. Did they see a connection between the murder and the fire?
Slobodan walked to his window and looked out. On the other side of the railway there was group of schoolchildren on bikes with a teacher in the lead. An older man was walking his dog and a couple of women turned the corner toward the center of town. Long rows of cars were parked in the parking lot below his window. Everything appeared normal and yet it wasn"t. Someone, or more than one, was out to get him.
Suddenly it struck him that there were only three people who had known about the cottage: Rosenberg, Armas, and himself. Had Armas revealed the hiding place to anyone?
The thought was so inconceivable that he immediately dismissed it, but the very fact that it had appeared depressed him even further. After pouring himself a large cognac, he found himself back at the window, staring at the cars and the pa.s.sersby.
Had someone followed him and Rosenberg to the cottage? He took a swallow of cognac. There were too many questions. Take it easy, he told himself, take the questions one by one, that"s what Armas would have done. Grief for his friend burned in his chest like acid. The taste of cognac in his mouth made him nauseated, but even so he returned to the wet bar and refilled his gla.s.s. The doorbell rang at the same moment that he raised the snifter to his lips, making him jump, spilling some cognac on his shirt. Then he remembered about the female officer.
"I"m coming!" he yelled automatically, as if he had been caught red-handed. He looked out the window to the parking lot. It would not have surprised him if it had been full of blue-and-white patrol cars.
Ann Lindell was alone. That soothed his nerves somewhat. At the last visit he had been irritated by the other officer"s presence, how he sneakily moved around beyond Slobodan"s field of vision. That soothed his nerves somewhat. At the last visit he had been irritated by the other officer"s presence, how he sneakily moved around beyond Slobodan"s field of vision.
Now he had control. He placed her in the white sofa that was expensive and contemporary but in which it was completely impossible to sit comfortably and at ease.
She smiled, but not particularly warmly, and, without any small talk, started to ask him if he had thought of anything new on top of what he had already told them.
He shook his head. "Say as little as possible" went through his head, and the idea rea.s.sured him. They know nothing, they are fumbling in the dark and trying to get more information from me.
"We think we know where Armas died," Lindell said. "Was murdered," she added.
He waited for more, but it didn"t come. Instead she posed a new question.
"Could Armas have been involved in things that were unknown to you?
"Excuse me, but I don"t remember your first name," Slobodan said.
"Ann, Ann Lindell."
He nodded.
"Could this have been the case?"
"Excuse me?"
Lindell repeated the question and Slobodan read from her expression that he could not drive her too far.
"No," he said firmly. "I knew Armas as well as myself. He was a friend, like a brother to me."
Lindell sat quietly for a moment. Slobodan glanced down at his chest. The cognac stain bothered him.
"Even brothers can let you down," she said, but did not proceed to develop this thought, simply continuing with her somewhat haphazard line of questioning. "I was thinking of the tattoo. Isn"t it strange that you, if you were as close as you say, did not know what it represented? You must have seen it on numerous occasions. Weren"t you curious?"
"Armas was my friend, not my partner or someone I snuggled with. He was reserved but unquestionably loyal."
"So you didn"t snuggle?"
"What do you mean?"
"Did Armas meet women?"
Slobodan stared at her for a few seconds before answering.
"It happened, but seldom."
"You mentioned last time that there was a woman in his life."
"That was more than ten years ago. She disappeared."
"Could Armas have been interested in men?"
Slobodan burst into laughter. "My apologies, but this is too funny. You can count yourself lucky that Armas is not here to hear you."
"We found some p.o.r.nographic materials in his apartment that leads us to believe this," Lindell said and met his gaze.
"Armas was not gay, whatever you have cooked up," Slobodan a.s.serted with a steadiness in his voice that surprised him. "I don"t want you to sully his memory, suggest a lot of nonsense that hasn"t got the least to do with his death."
"Would it bother you if this were the case, if Armas was attracted to other men?"
"What do you mean, "other men"?"
"Would it?"
"That is the lowest! That is a pure insult. Should-"
"I have no h.o.m.ophobia," Lindell interrupted calmly.