When the excitement over the welcome news had died down, the meeting continued with a discussion of what had been uncovered so far. Thomas Wittberg had been out knocking on doors and had gathered some interesting information from Snackgardsvagen, where the Wallins lived.
‘First of all, it appears that Monika Wallin has a lover,’ Wittberg began.
‘Is that right?’ said Knutas in surprise.
He hadn’t picked up any clue that something like this was going on when he had interviewed Egon Wallin’s widow the previous day.
Everyone sitting at the table was paying close attention.
‘She’s sleeping with a neighbour, Rolf Sanden. He lives in the same row of terraced houses. He’s been a widower for a number of years, and his children have all moved away. He’s a construction worker who took early retirement. Apparently they’ve been fooling around for years, according to the neighbours. Just about everyone said the same thing, except for an old woman who seemed almost blind and deaf, so it’s not so strange that she hadn’t noticed anything. If Egon Wallin knew nothing about their affair, then he was the only one in the whole neighbourhood.’
‘The neighbour, Rolf Sanden — have you got hold of him?’ Knutas asked Wittberg.
‘You bet. He’d just come home from the mainland when I rang the bell, but he was on his way out again. I made an appointment to interview him tomorrow. At any rate, he was quite talkative and readily admitted to his affair with Monika Wallin. Considering the circumstances, I thought his behaviour rather odd; he seemed almost exhilarated. It seems crazy to act so happy when your neighbour and the husband of your mistress has just been murdered. He should have at least pretended to show some sympathy.’
‘He probably sees his chance now,’ said Jacobsson. ‘Finally able to make their relationship public after all the sneaking around in secret. Maybe he’s really in love with Monika Wallin and has been waiting to take her to the altar.’
‘Maybe he’s the one who did it,’ Norrby interjected.
‘Well, it’s possible,’ said Wittberg. ‘Provided it wasn’t the wife, of course.’
‘Or both of them,’ growled Sohlman in a ghoulish voice, holding up his hands like a vampire ready to attack.
Knutas stood up abruptly. Sometimes all the wild speculating that went on got on his nerves.
‘The meeting is adjourned,’ he said and left the room.
26
Between interviews, Johan and Pia stopped by the Regional News office to pick up some batteries for the camera and check on the latest news. Just as Johan was about to switch on his computer he received a text message on his mobile. It said: ‘Yes, I will. Soon.’
He sat in his chair, staring at the message with a silly smile on his face.
‘What is it?’ asked Pia, noticing that he had stopped what he was doing. Without saying a word, he handed her his mobile.
Pia read the words but merely looked puzzled. ‘What does it mean?’
‘That Emma said she will.’ He turned to face Pia. ‘She said she will!’ he shouted happily. ‘Don’t you understand? She’s ready — at last!’ He pulled an astonished Pia out of her chair, gave her a big hug, and then danced her around the room.
She laughed. ‘But “will” what? What’s this all about?’
Then it finally dawned on her.
‘Wow. Do you mean it? She wants you to move in with her? Get hitched for real?’
‘Yes!’ shouted Johan. ‘YES!’
A few colleagues from the radio division stuck their heads in the door to see what was going on. Johan’s joyous outburst had been heard in half the offices.
Pia grabbed his mobile again. ‘And it says “soon”. How soon? What does that mean?’
‘No idea, but I’d marry her tomorrow if I could. This is fucking fantastic!’
In his mind Johan saw images flit past at breakneck speed. Standing next to Emma in a church, with all of their relatives and friends; the big wedding party afterwards with Emma in a romantic white gown, cutting the wedding cake; Emma in overalls with a kerchief on her head and a big belly, expecting their second child; peacefully baking a cake in the kitchen while Elin played on the floor; with Emma and the children on a sun-filled holiday somewhere; parent meetings at the school; and buying a summerhouse so they could sit on the porch in their old age, each holding a cup of coffee while their grandchildren ran around on the lawn. Johan rushed over to his colleagues from the local radio station and gave each of them a hug before he picked up his phone to ring Emma.
She sounded out of breath, and he could hear Elin gurgling and babbling in the background.
‘Is it really true? You will?’ he cried, his face radiant.
Emma laughed. ‘Yes, I will. I’m sure about that.’
‘That’s crazy. I mean, it’s wonderful, sweetheart! I’ll go and get my things and move in today — is that OK with you?’
‘Sure, do that,’ she said with a laugh. ‘Then we can start living together right away.’
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can tonight.’
‘Ring when you’re on your way.’
‘Hugs and kisses.’
‘Kisses. Bye.’
‘Bye…’
Slowly he put down the phone, hardly daring to believe what he’d just heard. Had she really said yes after all the vacillating back and forth? He stared at Pia with tears in his eyes. ‘You think she means it?’ he asked.
‘Yes, of course she does,’ said Pia, smiling. ‘She really means it, Johan.’
27
E rik Mattson usually left his job at Bukowski’s Auction House around five. On the way home he often stopped at the Grodan Restaurant on Grev Turegatan to have a drink. The bar had just opened when he stepped inside, but it wouldn’t take long before it was filled with well-to-do residents from the Ostermalm district, having a drink after work. People like himself. At least in appearance.
He and his closest friends met here as often as they could. On this particular evening Per Reuterskold, Otto Diesen and Kalle Celling were having a beer when Erik came in. They’d all known each other for years, ever since they went to secondary school at Ostra Real.
Now they were over forty, which was more obvious on some than others. The difference nowadays was that most of his friends made do with a beer or two and then went home to their families. On a couple of evenings each week Erik, on the other hand, would just stop by his flat for a quick shower before he was back in the neighbourhood around Stureplan.
He had children too, but he was divorced and the kids had grown up living with their mother. The reason for this was Erik’s abuse of alcohol and drugs. He managed to keep his habit relatively in check, but not entirely. After having several relapses while he was taking care of the children, he’d lost joint custody. The divorce had deeply affected him, and he’d landed in a terrible depression. At the time the three children had been very young, and presumably they hadn’t noticed how chaotic his life had become or the bitterness that had welled up between their parents.
Over time things had improved. Erik succeeded in controlling his dependence enough that it wouldn’t have an impact on the children, and after a while he was allowed to spend time with them every other weekend. Those days were priceless. Erik loved his children and would do anything for them. Almost. He couldn’t completely give up drinking. That was asking too much. But he kept it to an acceptable level, as he said to himself.