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Beatrice suspected that Bo Gränsberg did not have any concealed assets.

“A direct question: Do you have that kind of money?”

“Not exactly, but quite a bit.”

“And Bosse?”

“He was going to arrange it,” said Bergman, looking unhappy, because he was smart enough to realize that Bosse’s violent death might have concerned money.

“He was going to put in a smaller portion,” he explained. “Not fifty percent, that is.”

“How much?”

“Around a hundred and fifty grand.”

“That’s a lot of money for an unemployed, homeless person.”

Bergman nodded. He turned his eyes away. Suddenly he realized that there was a coffee mug in front of him and he took a gulp.

“Lukewarm,” he said.

“What do you think?” Beatrice asked.

“What do you mean?”

“How was he going to get hold of a hundred and fifty thousand kronor?”

Göran Bergman took another gulp.

“It’s a bit sensitive,” he said at last. “I don’t know if I should talk about it, but you’ve met Gunilla, Bosse’s ex, she’s a really good lady, you know. She has always-”

“Can she come up with that amount?”

Beatrice had the impression that Gunilla Lange lived quite frugally, but on the other hand, perhaps that was why she could invest so much money on a homeless, alcoholic former husband.

“A hundred anyway,” said Bergman.

“That’s a fair amount,” said Beatrice, and Bergman nodded in agreement.

“Why? Bosse was perhaps not the safest investment you could imagine.”

“No, but the fact was that he was sober for a couple of months. He really believed in this project, and I did too. I know we would have made it work. And I think Gunilla saw that too, she had seen him in his prime. He made decent money back in the good old days.”

“But then he was sober, uninjured, and had a well-ordered life,” Beatrice objected.

“That’s true, but he really wanted to. Adamantly. ‘This is my chance,’ he said.”

“Was there anything between Bosse and Gunilla?”

“No, no, but I think they still liked each other a lot. He often said that.”

“But he had another woman, from what I understand?”

“That one,” said Bergman. “She’s just after money. Do you know that old hag is a gambling addict? She can sit in front of those machines for hours on end. And sometimes she goes to Åland and gambles away tons of money on roulette.”

“She never wins?”

“Ingegerd is a loser,” Bergman maintained.

“And then she broke up with him?”

“She did,” said Bergman bitterly. “And Bosse had a relapse and got stinking drunk for two days. Deep down he knew that Ingegerd wasn’t good for him, but he was still depressed, because you need someone to hug now and then.”

Beatrice nodded.

“Do you have someone to hug?”

“Oh, sure,” he said. He smiled that crooked smile again. “Ursula is her name. The best thing that’s happened, they always say, but for me it’s true. A good lady like that is like a gift from above. She’s the one who gets me to paint too. She took a few paintings to a gallery in town and this fall I’m going to have a show. Can you imagine that?”

He shook his head and observed the painting on the easel again.

“Not that one maybe,” he said, laughing nervously, but soon became serious again. “But Bosse got back on his feet! He sat here and sweated and shook for a whole day. And I made coffee and painted and we talked and talked. He crashed over on the couch and came out like a human being. The next day he went and picked up a few things he had with that bitch. Bosse was strong sometimes. I know we would have managed it! Östen, the guy from the gallery, was here and took a look. He wanted to see more paintings. He called me a naivist and damn it, I probably am naive sometimes, but Bosse and I would have made the company work.”

“I think so too,” said Beatrice.

Bergman gave her a quick look. His eyes were misty.

“In a way I expected this,” he said. “Bosse was a very sad man.”

Seven

Over the two days after Bo Gränsberg was found the image emerged of a man who had just gotten back on his feet. It was Beatrice who used Göran Bergman’s words at the morning gathering.

At the time of his death Bosse Gränsberg was forty-four years old, born in Domkyrko parish. His parents, Gerhard and Greta Pettersson, both worked at a clothing company, his mother as a seamstress and his father as a kind of factotum watchman and chauffeur. When Bo was five years old they changed their surname to Gränsberg, after the place in inland Västerbotten where Gerhard was born.

He had no siblings and his parents had been dead for many years. According to Gunilla Lange, he had pleasant memories of his upbringing and she had never heard him say a bad word about his parents.

What Beatrice produced about his adolescence barely deviated from the pattern for a working-class boy: no brilliant performance in school, with his best grades in math and PE; after completion of elementary school, training as a construction worker at the Boland School, and then a job right away as a carpenter at BPA. There he stayed for five years before he took a job as a scaffolder. Göran Bergman was one of his coworkers.

Bergman was the primary source of information, and his opinion was that then, at age twenty-five, was the best time of Bosse’s life. He had been with Gunilla for several years, they rented a two-room apartment in downtown Petterslund, he was hardworking and earned good money, his involvement in sports gave him friends and strengthened his self-esteem.

Then came the accident. A faulty anchor in a facade, his own mistake; in one stroke, a single bolt changed his life. At first he was hopeful, even though the doctor at the construction industry health office was pessimistic about his chances of returning to his old job, and encouraged him to get retraining. Bosse on the other hand was convinced that the injury would heal; a construction worker has to take a few knocks, he reasoned. But as the months passed and the pain did not subside, his mood became more and more bitter and contrary. He turned to the bottle for consolation. Until then, according to Gunilla, he had a relaxed attitude toward alcohol, drank no more than most, and despised those who couldn’t handle liquor.

After repeated promises of sobriety, and just as many relapses, Gunilla left him, even though she was still in love with him. She left him to protect herself, aware that wives of alcoholics could never control their own lives, but always became victims, whether or not they drank themselves.

Bosse moved to a studio apartment in Eriksberg, intensified his drinking, was sent to a treatment center but soon quit the program, and then his decline accelerated. After a year he was evicted from the apartment. Bo Gränsberg became one of a growing army of homeless people.

The change came during the late winter of 2007. Göran Bergman and Gränsberg had kept in touch the whole time, even if during the most difficult periods it was sporadic, when the idea of a joint investment in a scaffolding and service business for construction companies came up.

Bergman was convinced that they would succeed, and as he was presenting his case Beatrice let herself be convinced with him. When it came to scaffolding, the naivist amateur painter was a realistic pro. She had also made inquiries among others in the industry, and all had testified to his capability and enterprise.

Gränsberg got similar ratings, even if they were darkened by his drinking in recent years. But the majority were prepared to agree with Bergman: Their business concept was not crazy at all. The chance that they would succeed was fairly good.

“It’s cruel,” said Beatrice after her presentation. “After so much misery, just when he starts getting back on his feet again, he gets clubbed to death. He was on his way back up again, but got knocked down for good.”