Among the ones she got from Johansson, four class photos from the comprehensive school in Vaxholm were included. Big brother Kjell Göran with teacher and schoolmates when he started first grade, and the same arrangement right before he left ninth grade and finished his studies. Corresponding pictures of his little sister, Birgitta, who went to the same school. There was a striking physical family resemblance between the siblings, especially if you knew what the parents looked like, but their similarities also ended there. It was their attitude to the outside world and the camera that set them apart.
The seven-year-old Kjell Göran Hedberg was a sturdy little thing who calmly observed the photographer. In contrast to the majority of his classmates, he did not smile. He observed what was happening, and what he saw did not seem to bother him in the least. His sister did not smile either, but because she seemed to have inherited their father’s vigilant eyes, she looked almost suspicious.
The same slightly curly, dark hair, same brown eyes and harmonious facial features. Kjell Göran with his hair neatly parted on the side despite the curls. Sister Birgitta with a bow in her hair. The same neat clothes to which their mother, Cecilia, must have devoted considerable effort as she sat in front of the sewing basket in the parlor or in the laundry room down in the basement. But quite different expressions. Big brother ready to meet the world on his own terms, even though he was only seven years old and a handsbreadth tall. His little sister, always ready to defend herself against the same world, regardless of what it might be willing to offer her.
Nine years later little seemed to have changed. A sixteen-year-old Kjell Göran in the center of the picture. As tall as the tallest of his male classmates, with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and his arms crossed over his chest. With the help of a comb and Brylcreem, the slightly curly hair was replaced with a wavy black Elvis hairstyle, according to the custom of the time. The gaze was the same-calm, observant-but because he now permitted himself a slight smile he almost seemed amusedly indulgent about what was happening. Not so his sister. The long hair arranged in a ponytail, no bow anymore, but although in an objective sense she ought to have been the cutest of all the girls in her class, she could only offer the camera the same suspicious, dark eyes.
He must have treated them quite differently, thought Lisa Mattei.
80
School transcripts, thought Lisa Mattei as she closed the file of pictures of Kjell Göran Hedberg and his relatives. I have to see his transcript, she thought, and only five minutes later she was sitting with Police Superintendent Wiklander, head of the bureau’s CIS squad, and in ordinary cases also her immediate superior.
“Transcripts? You want to see Hedberg’s transcripts,” Wiklander repeated, nodding at Mattei. “A strange coincidence,” he observed, nodding again.
“What do you mean, coincidence?”
“A few days ago when our esteemed boss and I were discussing what data we should pull about Hedberg, for some reason he mentioned his transcripts.”
“I see, he did.”
“Yes. I remember that he said something along the lines of that perhaps it’s best to pull his transcripts too. Not because he thought they seemed particularly interesting, in context, but mostly not to make you sad when you came and asked about them. And he probably did it because he really can see around corners.”
“So that’s what he said,” said Mattei.
“Exactly that,” said Wiklander. He sighed contentedly and handed over a thin plastic sleeve of papers. “Dear Hedberg doesn’t seem to have been a typical intellectual. More like an ordinary, practical minded nobody, so perhaps you shouldn’t expect a communion of souls.”
“Thanks,” said Mattei, getting up.
“No problem,” said Wiklander, shrugging his shoulders. “Before you run off I have a message for you too. From Johansson.”
“I’m listening,” said Mattei.
“That you’re not allowed to talk with Hedberg’s teachers, old classmates, or anyone whatsoever who can even be suspected of having known him. Not under any condition.”
“That’s what he said?”
“Exactly that,” said Wiklander. “So drop any thought of that. Otherwise you’ll have the devil to pay. Direct quote from our top boss. His orders. To be on the safe side, mine too.”
“I hear you,” said Mattei, nodded curtly and left.
From an educational standpoint Kjell Göran Hedberg belonged to a long lost generation. During the nine years he went to school in Vaxholm, he got grades after every completed semester-nine years and eighteen semesters. Grades on a seven-degree scale, where a capital A summarized total success and a C complete failure, which to be on the safe side were supplemented by statistics that showed how everyone in the same class as Hedberg had done.
He was a typically mediocre student who was awarded B or Ba in almost all subjects. With the exception of history, metalworking/woodworking, and gymnastics including games and sports, the master pilot’s son remained safely anchored within the class’s median during his entire school career.
Already in his fourth year Hedberg got an AB in history, and along with two classmates shared the honorable first place. Two years later he had been raised to a small a, or “passed with distinction,” which he then retained for the rest of his schooling. On the other hand, he lost first place. Statistics on the class’s final grades showed that one of his classmates got a capital A, and that he was one of three who got a lowercase a.
I’ll bet the others were girls, thought Lisa Mattei.
In metalworking and woodworking he was one of the better in the class and had an average of AB during his last three years in school. The same AB that gave him an honorable shared second place in woodshop and a shared ninth place overall. Of the first six places in the class, there were five needleworkers, divided into two capital and three small a’s, but only one pitiful woodworker.
Wonder which ones they might have been, thought Mattei.
In gymnastics including games and sports Hedberg had been best in class throughout his time in school. With one strange exception that happened when he was in eighth grade. Already in fourth grade he had been the only one to earn a small a, and starting in grade five he had a capital A. With one exception. In the fall semester of eighth grade he dropped to a small a, which made him one of four. In the spring semester he got an AB and slipped down to a shared eighth place in a class with a total of twenty-four pupils. Then he found his way again. He received a capital A in the fall semester in ninth grade, and the only one with that grade when he finished the nine-year comprehensive school in Vaxholm in June of 1960.
Problems with puberty or something else, thought Lisa Mattei, and five minutes later she had already decided. She simply had to talk with Hedberg’s old teacher. Regardless of Johansson, Wiklander, the devil, and all the other brethren who despite their worthless statistics tried to oppress her and her sisters.
Hedberg’s teacher was named Ossian Grahn and he appeared in the class photo with Kjell Göran Hedberg and his classmates. A short man in his thirties with cheerful eyes and unruly blond hair. After fifteen minutes of the usual tapping on the computer, Lisa Mattei also knew most of what she needed to know about him.
Former secondary school teacher Ossian Grahn was born in 1930 and retired in 1995. He had been a widower for five years, with two grown children, lived in a single-family house on Båtmansvägen in Vaxholm, and was in the phone book with name, title, address, and number. A search on the Internet yielded a hundred hits besides and showed that Ossian seemed to be a very active retiree. Not only in the retirees’ association in Vaxholm, where he had been on the board for many years, but also because of his intellectual interests. Interests that in the last five years alone had left traces in the form of three published writings. A book with the title Boatmen and Peasants in Southern Roslagen, where he was the sole author. An article in a larger work on Vaxholm’s fortress. Another article, “Ancient Monuments in Roslagen,” published as an offprint by the local historical society in collaboration with the municipality of Norrtälje.