‘Thank you.’
‘I need to know what sort of contact you’ve had with the killer,’ said Knutas. ‘Have you talked to him?’
‘No. But something else happened.’
‘What?’
Johan told the superintendent about the photo that was left on the wall of the Regional News office.
‘Do you know who he is?’
‘I think it’s Erik Mattson. The man who’s an art valuer at Bukowski’s.’
‘No, it’s not,’ said Knutas. He didn’t want to mention that Mattson was dead, because he thought that would alarm Johan further. The situation was bad enough as it was. ‘He’s not the one. It’s his son. David Mattson. It’s possible that he might try to contact you. We don’t know what he wants, but if you hear from him, you need to ring me immediately. Do you understand, Johan? It’s tremendously important that you ring my direct line at once. Then you and I will discuss how to handle the situation. OK?’
‘OK,’ said Johan tonelessly. ‘Now I’d better get back to Emma.’
77
The whole night passed without a word from David Mattson. The police maintained their tight control on all exits from Gotland. For safety’s sake, Muramaris was kept under surveillance, but nobody really thought he would be stupid enough to go back there. They were dealing with a dangerous man who had already killed at least twice. It was still not clear whether David Mattson had also murdered his father. A postmortem needed to be performed before the ME could answer that question.
Knutas sat in his office at police headquarters in a state of anguish. A kidnapped child was the worst scenario he could imagine. The most frustrating part was that he felt so helpless. As long as the kidnapper refused to make contact and remained holed up somewhere, brooding, it was virtually impossible to track him down. A team of police officers was at the house in Roma, and the phone was being tapped. Emma Winarve was still in hospital. They had tried to interview her, but it was proving nearly impossible to get anything out of her. She was suffering from a complete nervous breakdown.
Where was the kidnapper? In the summertime he might pitch a tent or sleep in a campervan, or even in his car if need be. But at this time of year? It was most likely that he’d broken into a summerhouse somewhere — there were plenty on Gotland. But where should the police start looking? Summerhouses in remote locations were everywhere on the island, and on Faro. But if he decided to let the child live, he would need food and nappies. What was his intention when he kidnapped Elin?
Sooner or later David Mattson would make contact.
78
Nothing was so desolate in winter as a campsite. Johan parked his car close to the shoreline. He got out and trudged towards the public lavatories. The whole place was quiet, deserted and closed down. The snowdrifts were higher here. It probably hadn’t been ploughed all winter. And the steep slope he was descending hadn’t been gritted either. The question was whether he’d be able to make it back up, but he wasn’t worried about that at the moment. All he wanted was to have Elin in his arms. David had said that he wanted to make an exchange, but he refused to reveal on the phone what his demands were in order to give Elin back. He said that he would tell Johan in person. Johan didn’t think he had any choice but to go along with this condition. He’d been sternly warned not to contact the police. If David got the slightest indication that Johan wasn’t alone, that would be the end of Elin.
Utter silence had settled over the beach. The open water was grey and inhospitable. The cold was raw and damp, seeping in under his clothes. As Johan approached the building with the showers and toilets, he saw a car parked some distance away, a blue Citroen. There was no one in sight. His nerves were stretched taut. He didn’t know what David looked like, only how old he was. Johan walked around the wooden building. The windows were boarded up and the doors locked. It was easy to see why David had wanted to meet him here. Close to the city, but as deserted as could be.
Suddenly he caught sight of a tall, dark-clad figure approaching from the sea. He was powerfully built, wearing a down jacket with a knitted cap on his head. Johan felt the ground swaying under his feet. The man who was walking towards him had killed two people in cold blood and taken an eight-month-old child hostage. Johan was about to stand face to face with a psychopath.
At that moment he realized what an idiot he was for not contacting the police. He was unarmed and completely at the mercy of a madman. What was he thinking? That David would simply hand over Elin?
He stood motionless, waiting, as his brain shifted up a gear.
Of course David didn’t have Elin with him. Johan felt so helpless. He wondered wildly what he should say or do in order to have the greatest chance of seeing Elin again.
David stopped a few feet away.
‘You need to stop following my father,’ he said. ‘Leave him alone from now on and you’ll get your daughter back. You have to promise, on your honour. Leave Pappa alone.’
So that’s what it’s all about, thought Johan. His visit to Erik Mattson, the fact that he’d been tailing the man. David wanted to protect his father. That was why he’d kidnapped Elin. It was that simple.
‘Yes, of course. I promise to stop at once. My daughter is much more important to me. I’ll quit right now. Just give Elin back.’
‘Elin? Is that her name? I didn’t know what I should call her.’
He smiled. Johan saw the insanity in his eyes. The man looked drugged. It was impossible to make eye contact. David kept evading his glance. Maybe he was taking anabolic steroids, considering his size.
‘Where is she?’ Johan controlled his voice, not wanting his desperation to show. He needed to stay calm.
David opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a bellow coming from the roof of the lavatory building.
‘Police! Put your hands up. Don’t move.’
David looked around in bewilderment. Johan stood as if paralysed, incapable of thinking sensibly. This couldn’t be happening.
The arrest of David Mattson proceeded without incident. Four police officers overpowered him before he even knew what was happening. He was handcuffed and led away to a police vehicle. Johan stayed where he was, watching mutely.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Knutas coming towards him. He turned to face him. ‘How did you know?’
‘Emma rang me.’
‘Where’s Elin?’
‘We’re searching the campsite now. There are a lot of buildings here, and she’s probably in one of them. Don’t worry, she’s here somewhere.’
79
The interrogation of David Mattson was conducted immediately. The impressive bulk of the suspect seemed even greater inside the cramped interview room. He sat down opposite Knutas, who was in charge of the interview. Jacobsson was also there as a witness, and she stayed in the background.
So here I am, thought Knutas, sitting in front of the killer we’ve been hunting for more than a month. It was an unreal feeling. This was what the man looked like. The murderer who had attacked his victims from behind with piano wire, who had hoisted one man up on Dalman Gate and later dragged another body to the first victim’s grave. The person who had carried out the improbable theft of a painting from Waldemarsudde. The one question that overshadowed everything else was: why? Why had he committed those terrible murders? What was behind it all? And had he also killed his own father? Knutas was longing for an explanation, but first and foremost they needed to solve a more urgent mystery. Where was Elin?
While Knutas switched on the tape recorder and arranged his papers, he studied David Mattson. He was wearing jeans and a shirt, sitting on the chair with his legs set apart and his hands clasped. So this was the face of the murderer, a twenty-three-year-old man who lived with his girlfriend in one of Stockholm’s northern suburbs and was enrolled at the university. He had no police record.