“No,” Patrik managed to get out.
His voice was hoarse and he shot Eva a quick look before staring down at the floor again.
“And then last night. Then it was more serious. A man, but we no longer believe the victim was the same man as the night before, was stabbed with what we believe was a knife. He was cut in the stomach and also sustained injuries to his neck and right arm. He lost a lot of blood.”
The silence in the room grew thick for a few seconds before the policewoman continued.
“He will survive, but we regard this as an attempted murder.”
Patrik lifted his head and looked at Barbro Liljendahl.
“And what does this have to do with me?”
The policewoman inadvertently sighed and Eva felt a sting of guilt.
“We’re not saying that you were involved, but you may know something that is of interest.”
Patrik shook his head.
“It does not have to come out that the information came from you.”
In your dreams, Eva thought. Patrik did not say anything.
“Where did you receive those injuries to your face?”
The swollen lip had more or less receded and the cut on his forehead was difficult to spot under his bangs.
“I fell,” Patrik said. “Skateboarding.”
Eva knew he was lying but could not bring herself to say anything. You bitch, she thought, what do you know about us?
“How long ago was that?”
“A couple of days ago.”
Liljendahl nodded.
“Your brother,” she said after a moment’s silence. “Do you think-?”
“What does he have to do with this?”
Eva stared at the five paper clips in order not to throw herself over the policewoman in an attack of uncontrolled rage.
“Why do you have to get Hugo involved in this,” she got out.
“I thought he may also have some information, something he may have seen or heard.”
She is threatening me, the damn sow, Eva thought. She wants to rip my family apart. Eva suddenly thought of Jörgen and that made her even angrier. That idiot should be here right now, taking responsibility. But it wouldn’t make any difference anyway. He would just want to be accommodating and talk too much.
“Why didn’t you ask him to come in as well, then?” Eva asked and saw the discomfort in the woman’s face.
“There is no reason to get upset,” she said.
“There isn’t? But why-” Eva said. The uncomfortable feeling of hiding behind a lie caught up with her fury and silenced her abruptly. She blushed and stared down into her lap.
Barbro Liljendahl opened the folder with a sigh. Eva observed her while she eyed through the uppermost page of a bunch of papers. Different-colored paper clips were attached to some of the pages. Eva feared the folder for what it might contain. It was as if it held all that could determine her, Patrik, and Hugo’s fate.
This is my day off, she thought suddenly and her anger flared up again.
“You know someone by the name of Zero, don’t you?”
Patrik nodded.
“We have had our eye on him for a while. As you know he is a bit… restless.”
“We played soccer together,” Patrik volunteered. “Before. He was…”
“Yes, what?”
“Nothing.”
Barbro Liljendahl gazed at him for a while before she went on.
“We think he is involved in drugs. Do you know anything about that?
“Cocaine and Ecstasy,” she added after a long period of ominous silence.
Eva turned and glared at her son.
“Did you know about this?” she asked sharply.
Patrik shook his head.
“You’re lying!” Eva screamed.
Patrik looked up. His expression betrayed fear and astonishment. Eva rarely raised her voice.
“I don’t know anything,” he said quietly. But Eva could see by his face that he would soon begin to talk.
“Perhaps you should leave us for a while,” Barbro Liljendahl said, and at first Eva thought the policewoman meant Patrik, then she realized this was directed at her.
She looked at Patrik, who nodded faintly. Eva stood up, full of contradictory feelings, and left the room without a word.
Twenty-Four
On another floor of the station, the brain squad, as Ottosson called the unit, was assembled. The group consisted of Ann Lindell, almost forty years old, who after a series of publicized cases was perhaps the most well known among the police officers in the room; Ola Haver, same age, a doubter, sometimes happily married to Rebecka, at other times paralyzed by indecision as to how best to organize his life;
Berglund, whose first name had been forgotten long ago, the veteran whom everyone privately admired for his wisdom; Allan Fredriksson, the gambler and birdwatcher, a skilled investigator who remained somewhat too disorganized to be truly top-notch; Beatrice Andersson, perhaps the most eminent psychologist among them, hard as flint, according to the male chauvinists in the building; and then Ottosson, the boss, who was referred to as “Liljeholmen”-as in the candle manufacturer-by someone on the drug squad because he liked to make things cozy by lighting candles.
Ottosson poured the coffee and Beatrice heaped mazarin cakes on a plate. Lindell chuckled.
“You are too much, Otto,” she said.
Ottosson patted his stomach.
“A little sugar never hurt anyone,” he said.
Berglund leaned over and nabbed one of the frosted marzipan cakes.
“Should we begin?” Fredriksson said, for once the person who initiated the discussion.
“Sure, sure,” Ottosson said. “Jump right in. Why don’t you go first, Allan, and tell us about the apartment.”
“Almost clinically clean, you could say. There were three sets of fingerprints. Apart from Armas’s own prints, there were some from Slobodan and a third person. Slobodan’s prints were located in a variety of places, in the bathroom, kitchen, and a marble windowsill. The unknown set of prints was found on a videocassette lying on top of the television.”
“What was the tape?”
“Porn,” Allan said.
“So Armas was watching porn with a lady friend?” Ottosson asked.
“I think it was a man,” Allan replied. “It was a homo flick.”
Lindell smiled to herself. She could hear exactly how disgusting Allan thought it was.
“I’ll be damned,” Haver said. “So Armas-”
“If you’ll let me finish, we can delve into speculation later,” Fredriksson interrupted. “Apart from this, the place was, as I said, clean. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing hidden. No weapons, cash, papers, or anything like that. I examined an address book and it contained nothing sensational from what I can tell. Some thirty names, most of them with connections to the restaurant world. The examination has not been completed yet, but I don’t expect we’ll find anything remarkable there.”
Fredriksson turned a page in his notebook before he went on.
“Regarding videotapes: there were about a hundred. Schönell is checking them out right now. It’s conceivable that there is a private tape among them. He will probably be done by tonight. Unfortunately he broke a tooth last night and had to go to the dentist. He was probably dreaming-”
“Okay,” Ottosson said, “the gay thread is the only aspect of interest we have from the apartment, if I understood you correctly, Allan?”
Fredriksson nodded.
“Berglund?”
“We have conducted initial sessions of questioning with most of the staff at Dakar and Alhambra, altogether seventeen people. Half a dozen are missing. Someone is traveling, another at a funeral, a third we have been unable to reach, and a fourth is actually in the midst of another investigation, but I think it’s a coincidence. Her name is Eva Willman and her teenage son may be involved in the stabbing of an old client of ours. It happened in Sävja recently. Barbro Liljendahl is leading that one.”
“Look into it,” Ottosson said, and Berglund gave him a long look before resuming.