‘Huh,’ said Pia. ‘Maybe somebody from Radio was working here overnight.’
‘Shh.’ Johan gave her another nudge.
When he got close enough to the far wall to see what the photograph showed, at first he couldn’t believe his eyes.
It was a picture of himself, sitting in his car outside Erik Mattson’s house. The picture was dark, but it was still possible to see that he was staring up at a window.
Slowly he sank down on to a chair, without taking his eyes off the photo. ‘What’s wrong?’ he heard Pia saying behind him.
Johan couldn’t say a word.
72
The entire team was present at the police meeting on Monday morning. Someone had made coffee and set on the table a basket of fresh cinnamon rolls from the Siesta pastry shop. Kihlgard was whistling merrily. Knutas guessed that he was the one who had brought the provisions. Kihlgard loved to munch, as he put it.
The murder of Hugo Malmberg had pushed the controversy about Karin Jacobsson’s promotion on to the back burner. Knutas was grateful for that.
The meeting began with Jacobsson reporting on what she’d discovered about Hugo Malmberg’s background.
‘So who’s the son who was given up for adoption?’ asked Wittberg.
‘I think it would be worthwhile checking out one potential candidate,’ said Jacobsson. ‘Someone who was invited to Egon Wallin’s gallery opening, who was in Visby at the time of Wallin’s death, who has a special interest in Nils Dardel, and who also happened to rent the cottage at Muramaris. He’s in his forties, and he’s been popping up in the investigation like a jack-in-the-box right from the start.’
‘Erik Mattson,’ exclaimed Kihlgard. ‘That soft-spoken, ultra-correct man who has made so many public statements with regard to the theft at Waldemarsudde! Could he really be the perp?’
‘But that’s impossible. He’s much too thin,’ objected Wittberg. ‘Do you really think he could have hoisted Egon Wallin up in the gate and dragged Hugo Malmberg — his father — to the cemetery? Not on your life.’
‘He could have had help, of course. I realize that he couldn’t have done it alone.’ Jacobsson glared at Wittberg. Apparently the promotion controversy wasn’t completely forgotten, after all.
‘And the motive would be… what? The fact that his biological father had abandoned him?’ Wittberg looked dubious.
Lars Norrby was quick to chime in. ‘And what about Egon Wallin? Why would Erik Mattson kill him?’
‘Obviously I don’t have answers to all the questions,’ said Jacobsson crossly.
‘So you haven’t checked to see whether Mattson really is the son given up for adoption?’ Knutas gave Jacobsson an enquiring look.
Her face fell. ‘Well, no…’ she had to admit. ‘I haven’t.’
‘Maybe that would be a good idea before we start jumping to conclusions.’
Even though his tone of voice was a bit stern, he sympathized with Jacobsson when he saw the pleased expressions on the faces of Wittberg and Norrby.
Later that afternoon, there was a knock on Knutas’s door. Jacobsson came in and sat down with a dejected look.
‘I’ve talked to Erik Mattson’s adoptive parents — Greta and Arne Mattson, who live in Djursholm. They’ve never told Erik that he was adopted. So he has no idea that Hugo Malmberg is his father.’
‘What sort of relationship does Mattson have with his parents?’ Knutas asked.
‘It’s non-existent. They broke off all contact with him when it became apparent that he was using drugs and was homosexual.’
‘Homosexual? He’s gay too? That seems to be a common thread in this whole investigation.’
‘I agree.’
‘But that sounds rather harsh. Did they really break off contact just because of that? It certainly doesn’t sound very loving.’
‘No, it doesn’t,’ Jacobsson agreed. ‘On the other hand, they seem to have a good relationship with his ex-wife Lydia and his children. Or at least two of them.’
‘How old are they? His children, I mean.’
‘The boys, David and Karl, are twenty-three and twenty-one. The daughter, Emelie, is nineteen.’
‘Which child doesn’t have a good relationship with the grandparents?’
‘Apparently, David. The eldest. I talked to Erik’s father, who by the way sounded very nice, and he said that David was the most sensitive and was hit the hardest by the divorce. Erik and his wife split up because of his drug abuse. And he lost custody of the children because he neglected them when they spent weekends with him. But that didn’t seem to bother David. Evidently he has always sided with his father.’
Knutas fixed his eyes on Jacobsson for a long time without saying anything. Then, with a resolute expression, he picked up the phone as if he’d suddenly had an idea.
73
It took Anita Thoren, the owner of Muramaris, less than fifteen minutes to get to police headquarters after Knutas rang.
‘How good of you to come over so quickly. As I said on the phone, I’d like you to have a look at some pictures.’
‘Certainly.’
Anita Thoren sat down on the sofa in Knutas’s office. In front of her he placed five photographs of men in their twenties. He asked her to study the pictures carefully and take her time. Jacobsson and Wittberg were present in the room as witnesses.
‘That’s him,’ she said. ‘That’s the man who rented the cottage in February. I’m absolutely positive.’
The silence in the room was palpable as she placed a photo on the table. The picture showed a smiling young man. His hair was cut short and he looked well groomed. He appeared to be muscular and very fit.
The young man staring into the camera was none other than David Mattson.
K nutas decided that both Erik Mattson and his son David should be brought in for questioning. He rang Kurt Fogestam, who promised to see to it that both men were picked up immediately. Because Anita Thoren had identified David, the prosecutor decided to issue a warrant for his arrest. Traces of Egon Wallin’s hair and clothing had been found both in the cottage and in the van, so there was a definite link to the man who had rented the cottage. They now knew that he was the murderer. The only question remaining was whether he had acted alone or together with his father. Knutas still couldn’t explain what Egon Wallin had to do with the case, or why ‘The Dying Dandy’ had been stolen. But he hoped that everything would become clear during the interrogation.
Knutas cursed himself for not thinking to check up earlier on the people who had rented cabins at Muramaris. They’d been so preoccupied with trying to locate the person who’d rented the cottage when Egon Wallin was murdered that they hadn’t thought about going back in time. That infuriated him. His oversight might be partially due to all the turbulence created by Jacobsson’s promotion to assistant superintendent; it had made him shift his focus away from the investigation.
While they waited to hear from the Stockholm police, a mood of tense anticipation prevailed at police headquarters.
Knutas stood at the window in his office and lit his pipe. He inhaled deeply and then blew the smoke out through the window.
He was on tenterhooks. They were finally on the verge of untangling the Gordian knot that had grown more complicated and mysterious as time passed. He rang Lina and told her what was going on, explaining that he wouldn’t be home for dinner and probably not until very late, for that matter. She was happy, for his sake, as well as for herself and the children. Now they’d finally be able to see him in the evenings again.