‘There’s a divorce application in here, and he’d even taken the trouble to fill it out. There are also documents stating that he’d bought a flat on Artillerigatan in Stockholm, and that he’d sold our gallery to a certain Per Eriksson,’ she said bitterly. ‘It’s hard to believe.’
‘May I have a look?’
Knutas studied the documents intently, making his way quickly through the pile. It was clear that Egon Wallin had been making plans to decamp.
‘I don’t know how I’m going to make it through,’ she said plaintively. ‘First the murder. And now this.’
‘I can understand how tough this must be for you,’ said Knutas sympathetically. ‘And I’m sorry that I have to trouble you right now. But I need to ask you a few questions. For the sake of the investigation.’
Monika Wallin nodded. She continued to crumple the handkerchief in her hand.
‘Tell me about Saturday, when you had the gallery opening,’ Knutas began. ‘What did you both do that day?’
‘Egon left for the gallery early in the morning, before I was even awake. That wasn’t unusual if we were having an opening. He liked to be there in plenty of time, to make any last-minute changes, see that the paintings were hung correctly, and so on. I always take care of the catering, and I arrived just after eleven, at the same time that the food arrived.’
‘How did Egon seem? Was his behaviour different in any way?’ ‘He seemed jumpier than usual, impatient and irritable. I thought it was odd because everything was going so smoothly.’ ‘Then what happened?’
‘The artist, Mattis Kalvalis, showed up, and after that we didn’t have a moment’s peace. He was constantly asking for something — a glass of water, an ashtray, cigarettes, pastries, a plaster, all sorts of things. He seemed totally wound up; I’ve never met anyone so nervous before. And incredibly self-absorbed. He showed no concern for the fact that we had other things to do. It was as if he filled up the whole room.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘But then all the guests began to arrive, and after that it was non-stop activity until seven o’clock.’
‘Did anything unusual happen during the course of the day that you noticed?’
‘Yes, actually there was something. Egon was gone for a long time. I went looking for him, but no one knew where he was.’
‘How long was he gone?’
‘It must have been over an hour.’ ‘Did you ask him where he’d been?’
‘Yes, but he just said that he’d gone out to get more wine. There was so much to do that I didn’t give it another thought.’
She turned to stare out of the window, and for a while neither of them spoke. Knutas was waiting for her to go on without his prompting. During sensitive interviews, it was important to know when to keep quiet.
‘How did he seem when he came back?’
‘Exactly like earlier in the day — strangely agitated.’
‘Do you think one of the guests had upset him?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said with a sigh. ‘If so, it was most likely Sixten Dahl. He was the only one there that Egon didn’t like. He’s an art dealer in Stockholm.’
Knutas gave a start. Sixten Dahl was the one who had accompanied the artist and his manager back to Stockholm on Sunday morning. But for the time being, Knutas didn’t let on what he knew.
‘Why didn’t Egon like him?’
‘They would run into each other occasionally, and Egon always complained that he found Sixten overbearing. Maybe it was more the fact that they were very alike,’ she mused. ‘They often competed for the same artists and had the same taste in art. Mattis Kalvalis was one example. I know that Sixten Dahl was interested in him too, but Mattis had chosen Egon.’
‘What happened after the opening?’
‘We went to Donners Brunn for dinner.’
‘Who was there?’ asked Knutas, even though he already knew the answer.
‘Egon and I, Mattis Kalvalis, and the others who work at the gallery.’
‘How many of you work there?’
‘Four altogether. The others are Eva Blom and Gunilla Rydberg. They’ve both been with us for twenty years.’
Knutas was busily taking notes. The mention of Sixten Dahl was extremely interesting. He hoped that by now Wittberg had managed to get hold of the art dealer and the two others. Eva Blom was an old acquaintance. She and Knutas had been in the same class as children, and he knew that she lived with her family in Vate parish. On the other hand, he didn’t know Gunilla Rydberg.
‘Are you aware that both the artist and his manager have left the hotel?’
‘What? No, I didn’t know that.’
‘They went to Stockholm yesterday morning. Do you know why they might have gone there?’
‘No idea.’ Monika Wallin looked genuinely surprised. ‘Mattis was supposed to come in today to sign the agent contract with Egon. Although that’s no longer relevant, of course.’
‘When are they due to return to Lithuania?’
‘Tuesday afternoon. I know that for certain because we had planned to have lunch together before they left for the airport.’
‘Hmm.’ Knutas cleared his throat. ‘Let’s go back to the night of the murder. Did anything significant happen during dinner at Donners Brunn?’
‘No. We ate a good meal, had plenty to drink, and enjoyed ourselves. By then Mattis had calmed down; it was probably just nervousness, and he was finally able to relax. He told us lots of funny stories from Lithuania, and we all laughed so much that we cried.’
‘When did the party break up?’
‘We left the restaurant around eleven. We said goodnight outside, and then everyone went their separate ways. Egon and I took a cab home. I went to bed almost at once, but he said that he wanted to stay up for a while. That wasn’t unusual. I fade away when it gets late, but he’s always been a night owl. I almost always go to bed before he does.’
‘Where did you see him last?’
‘He was sitting in his chair in the living room,’ she said pensively.
‘His wallet and mobile were both missing when he was found. Did he leave them at home?’
‘I’m sure he didn’t. Egon never went anywhere without his mobile. He always had it with him, even when he went to the gents’. And I find it hard to believe that he’d leave the house without his wallet. Besides, I would have found them in the house, but I haven’t.’
‘Shall we try to ring his mobile? It might be hidden somewhere,’ suggested Knutas.
‘Absolutely.’
Monika Wallin got up to get her own mobile. She punched in a number. Nothing happened. She tried again as she walked through the house.
‘Nothing,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I just get his voicemail.’
‘OK,’ said Knutas. ‘Thanks for trying. Could you write down his number for me?’
‘Of course.’
‘Just one more thing about Saturday. We’ve heard that a sculpture has disappeared from the gallery.’
‘Yes, it’s very annoying. One of the guests must have taken it.’
She seems very composed for a woman whose husband has just been murdered, and in such a macabre fashion, he thought. And then to find out that her husband was planning to leave her and move out without even telling her.
Knutas wondered if he would have behaved the same way if Lina had been murdered and hanged like that. He thought he would probably have been sedated in the psychiatric ward of Visby Hospital. He shuddered inwardly and quickly brushed aside the thought.
‘You have two children, is that right?’ he went on.
‘Yes. A son who’s twenty-three. He lives in Stockholm. And a daughter who’s twenty. She’s studying to be a doctor in Umea.’
‘What does your son do?’
‘He works at a day-care centre.’
‘I see.’
‘The children will be here later today.’
‘I understand,’ said Knutas. ‘Pardon me for asking such a personal question, but how was your relationship with your husband?’
Monika Wallin answered instantly, as if she’d been expecting the question. ‘Safe and boring. We had a good marriage in the sense that we were good friends, but over the years it had become more like a brother-sister relationship. We ran the the gallery together, but otherwise there wasn’t much.’